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Chapter Text

“Are you even listening to me?” Jin asked. Namjoon groaned, cello on his back and arms full of books. Jin thought it was absolutely ridiculous how Namjoon did all the reading for all of his classes. Jin preferred to work smarter, not harder for his gen eds to save time to practice his violin; he preferred to take the same classes as his dongsaeng and copy his work, with modifications.

“To be honest, hyung, no. I get it, it sucks, but he must really be good if he beat you out for it. You’re the best we have and everyone knows it,” he replied graciously. Jin frowned. The halls were basically empty, and the linoleum floors and cold lighting of the rest of the school were so different from the warm wood and full acoustics of the practice rooms.

“I was the best,” Jin said, quietly. Namjoon stopped.

“Hey,” he said gently, and moved to give him the world’s most awkward hug, books shifted into one arm and cello still strapped to his back. Jin laughed a little into his chest, then looked down where Namjoon’s expensive hoodie had risen up and saw fresh bruises. He frowned. There was no need to ask; they both knew why they were there, and he wasn’t going to bring down the mood by letting Namjoon see he’d noticed. He took a deep breath and tried to remind himself there were more important things in life than who got principal violin. Confidently, Jin pulled himself away from Namjoon and took his books.

“Let hyung get it,” he said. Namjoon smiled with full dimples in a way that made Jin feel at home. In the years they’d known each other, that smile had always made Jin feel loved.

“Thanks. My shoulder was killing me. Do–shit, he’s coming. He’s coming. Head down, hyung.” Namjoon jerked his head to the ground and pulled out his phone like he was texting someone and Jin groaned. He was tired of avoiding that little oboist. He never talked to anyone anyhow; Jin had no idea what Namjoon was so afraid of.

“Hi Yoongi-ssi,” he said, noting that Yoongi’s worn cardigan had a new hole in the shoulder and wondered if Yoongi had even noticed. Yoongi nodded a nod so lazy that his head barely came back up after it went down on his way to the bathroom. Once he was gone, Namjoon elbowed him.

“Why would you say something?” he whisper shouted at him, face bright red. Jin smirked at him.

“I’m tired of waiting for you to get things rolling.” They stepped into the big practice room for the orchestra and Jin felt, as always, like he had stepped into a magical new world, to where he truly belonged. Their college orchestra was the best in Korea, and the room they all spent the most time in reflected that. Everything was warm, the wood, the lighting, the color of the sound panels on one wall, and today, the light streaming in from the windows. Jin breathed in deeply, savoring the tension leaving his chest. God he wished this day was really perfect, that he was concertmaster this year like he’d been told he would be today. When he met that new guy, he would be lucky if Jin didn’t spit in his face. Namjoon started setting up for practice while Jin stood near the door, taking it all in.

“Um, excuse me?” A shy boy with the biggest, most vulnerable eyes Jin had ever seen looked up at him. He looked so lost, like he needed a hyung to protect him, and also like he needed a hyung to give him a better bowl cut. That could come later, though. Jin’s heart about burst looking at him in his zip-up hoodie and jeans. Besides a few like Namjoon, who was rich enough to look good in anything, most of the students dressed in slacks and sweaters, casual but smart. He smiled kindly at the freshman.

“Hi, I’m Seokjin. I let my friends call me Jin.” The boy smiled at him and his eyes crinkled, but then he returned to looking nervous.

“I was–Can I call you Jin?” he asked, head tilting. Jin laughed and nodded.

“Yes, or hyung. What’s your name? You seemed like you needed something?” Jin’s smile had a way of disarming people, and Jungkook was disarmed. His tensed shoulders dropped and Jin noticed how pretty they were, how wide compared to his waist.

“I’m Jungkook. I’m looking for the rehearsal room for Orchestra A? Is this the right one?” he asked. Jin put his arm around his shoulder and led him in.

“You’re in the right spot. This is my favorite place to be in the world,” he said. “And we have the same instrument. We can practice together. Do you want to meet my friends?” Jin was really feeling himself in his groove as a hyung. He had a hard time protecting his friends from the things that were hurting them, but a shy kid? This was easy. He could make a shy kid feel seen and loved and comfortable, confident. That was a problem he could solve.

“Really?” Jungkook’s whole face lit up. Jin took him to Namjoon.

“Namjoon, this is Jungkook. Namjoon and I grew up together. We played in the middle school orchestra together, even. We live a bike ride away from each other.” Namjoon looked up at Jungkook with his friendly, dimpled smile and waved.

“And over here we have Jimin and Hoseok. They’re both insane. They double major in the dance program so they’re good friends. This is Jungkook,” he told them. Jimin looked him up and down and smiled with a bit too much excitement, and Hoseok elbowed him and they laughed before introducing themselves with their characteristic warmth, feeding off the other’s energy.

“And last but not least, Taehyung. He plays the trumpet.” Taehyung smiled and extended his hand. His hair was soft and fluffy, his clothes brown and loose, breezy and classy.

“And the saxophone. Are you interested in any of the jazz groups? I’m the saxophonist in the official school ensemble and play the trumpet and lead our student jazz organization. We need a–” Jin patted him on the back.

“He just got here, Tae. You have time to recruit him later.” Jungkook giggled and looked at Taehyung demurely, and Jin rolled his eyes. Usually it was Jimin flirting with every guy in the area until someone took a bite, but today Tae was really leaning into the obvious interest.

Conductor Lee walked through the big double doors and the whole room rushed, everyone taking their seats, Jimin hurriedly putting his flute together. Jungkook sat next to Jin, in the first violin seat. Jin leaned over to whisper the etiquette to him like a good hyung, at great risk to himself for talking during practice, as he knew he would remind Jungkook later.

“Oh, we have assigned seating even during practice here. That’s for the first violin,” he explained, kindly. Jungkook smiled at him with that sweet, round face that Jin already found so loveable.

“Oh, I should have said! I’m the new concertmaster. Conductor-nim said I was a real prodigy,” he replied, not boastful at all. Jin felt his face fall and so many emotions welling up in his chest, and Jungkook looked crestfallen, wondering if he’d said something wrong, but the conductor stood tall at the podium and there was no time to talk. Namjoon tried to communicate, shaking his head at him from the other side of the horseshoe as if to say, “Hyung, don’t spit on him.” They all stared up at the serious man with mostly gray hair, though he wasn’t all that old. Jin loved Conductor Lee, and that’s part of what made this feel like such a betrayal. He had a hard time looking at him, eyes stinging. No. He couldn’t cry in his chair like some amateur. He’d have to play the chair he’d earned.

“We have some challenging pieces ahead of us this year,” Conductor-nim said with a warm intensity. “And this year, we’ll be learning an additional score to accompany the dance department’s production of Sleeping Beauty.” No one made a sound. Usually the Orchestra B handled the dance department’s music, with the exception of Nutcracker. Jin looked nervously at Jimin, who he realized only now when he wasn’t sunshining with Hobi looked tired, even though the term had only just started. Of course, he would have been practicing all summer. They all were, but few with as much intensity as Jimin. He would try to buy him dinner after practice today.

“Now,” Conductor Lee said, motioning for Jungkook to stand up. “Please welcome our new concertmaster, Jeon Jungkook. In my years as a conductor, I’ve seldom heard such technical talent and expressive musicality from such a young pupil.” Jungkook bowed politely as the older man smiled at him with great fondness, and the room clapped politely, Jin included. Fuck, he hated this. Being replaced by some kid who reminded him of a scared rabbit freezing in fear before hopping away.

“Now, let’s see where we all are.” And with that, everyone opened their–expensive–score books.

***

He knew it was petty, but after three hours of practice he stood without looking at Jungkook, walking straight to Jimin.

“Dinner?” He asked. Jimin’s expression grew darker, and he shook his head.

“Not during dance season. That kid looks devastated, Jin. I know how you feel but–”

“You don’t know how I feel,” Jin snapped. Jimin took a deep breath, too tired to argue.

“I’ve been passed up for plenty of parts I wanted badly and worked really hard for and didn’t eat for weeks for,” he said, flatly. “I know how you feel. But he’s…” Jin knew what he meant. He was just a kid. He didn’t know Jin at all, or mean to take the chair from him. Jin only realized they were both staring at him when he saw–god it killed him–Jungkook take a deep breath, gather his courage, and walk over to them as almost everyone else was packing up and leaving. That kid was the one being brave, being mature.

“Did I–I’m sorry–can I still call you hyung?” His voice cracked and Jin felt like an asshole. He’d have to decide now if he was going to be one, and looking at this guy he just couldn’t do it, and especially not here, in his real home. Jimin gave him a pointed look, hand on his hip.

“Of course you can. I’m…I’m sorry. I–maybe we can talk about it privately later.” He took a deep breath. “I was just about to invite you to dinner with us, which Jimin is definitely going to.” He put his arm around Jimin’s waist, protective. He hated that he could feel the bones under his clothes. Hoseok got weird about food too, but only during key times, and his muscles never seemed to start to atrophy like Jimin’s. He never looked gaunt, more like a dancing machine. Jimin didn’t seem to realize that he was a pure brick of muscle when he ate well. Jungkook smiled, cautiously, like he was afraid to blow his chance, and he nodded. As Namjoon walked up, Jin called out to Yoongi, who was the slowest person he’d ever seen at putting away a single little oboe.

“Yoongi-ssi! Do you want to join us for dinner today?” He watched Yoongi’s face light up and quickly fall and Jin looked down at the torn cardigan again, and then at his sneakers coming apart at the seams, scratches on his oboe case, and things finally clicked. He wasn’t careless, he was just poor. Jin had been surprised to see his face brighten like that at the invitation, and he found himself not really wanting to see it fall again. Had he wanted to hang out with them all this time? He guessed they would find out. Jin at least had never seen him hanging out with another soul, and he’d even seen him eating alone, sometimes crouched on the floor instead of at a table. Poor was another problem that was easy to fix: Jin had money, after all. Before Yoongi had a chance to decline, he added:

“My treat, for all of you. We’re celebrating the start of the semester.” He ignored Namjoon looking like he was actively having an aneurysm next to him.

“If you’re sure, I’d like to join you,” Yoongi said, drawling and low. It was the most words Jin had ever heard him piece together at one time. It might be more than he’d ever heard him say, period, and the first indication he had that he wasn’t from Seoul. Namjoon whispered frantically.

“Hyung, I–” Jin interrupted him with a pat on the back.

“Guess you have to talk to him, Namjoonie.” Jungkook grinned at Jin along with Jimin and Hoseok and Taehyung, who had both walked over. He preened, glad his genius master plan was appreciated by some people with good tastes in matchmaking plots.

***

Dinner was, Jin had to admit, awkward. He couldn’t help being weird with Jungkook, still bitter about Conductor Lee’s decision, Yoongi was scrutinizing the menu for what Jin assumed was the cheapest item–which he wouldn’t find here–and Jimin was doing the same for the dish with the fewest calories. They both exuded stress. Namjoon’s soul was no longer in his body, and he wouldn’t even look at Yoongi–he was on his god damn phone, like Jin hadn’t arranged this nicely just for him. Taehyung grimaced at Jin, and his eyes begged him to do something. Jin knew Taehyung wouldn’t say a word this whole dinner–someone would probably evem have to order for him with this many people here. Still, at least he always came.

“Jungkook, do you know any other instruments?” he finally asked, and tried to look kind, but his core friend group groaned, recognizing this as him sizing up Jungkook. Fine, so he was. At least Namjoon wasn’t looking at his phone any more. Jungkook smiled, relief reaching his eyes, and nodded.

“Oh yeah, I’ve always loved music. I sing, I play the piano, the viola–” Jin scoffed. “--which is actually a really great instrument! And I started learning the janggu. I want to learn some other Korean instruments, too. Maybe a haegeum and a flute, not sure which woodwind.” Jin’s nostrils flared, and his smile became tense, but Yoongi’s smile softened, and he blushed as if afraid to join in the conversation.

“I play the haegeum,” he said so quietly Jin could barely hear him a few seats over, but Namjoon was finally looking at Yoongi, since he was turned to look at Jungkook, so that was a start. “I’m not the best or anything, but I can show you some basic stuff.” He looked back at the menu, wondering if he spoke too much, but Jungkook beamed.

“Thanks, hyung! Sorry. I can talk casually with all of you, right? Can I call you hyung, too?” Yoongi blushed harder and Jin took a deep breath. Yoongi was probably embarrassed, and he was about to scold Jungkook on his behalf, but Jimin’s twinkling laugh was faster, and the more inviting approach.

“Jungkookie, you know you traditionally wait for someone older to tell you it’s okay,” he teased, reddening Jungkook’s cheeks, and he looked scared briefly before Jimin finished: “But yes, you can call me hyung.” Everyone agreed, even Yoongi after everyone else already had.

“Well. You can’t call me hyung,” Jin said, feeling betrayed. Jungkook blinked at him.

“But you already told me I could twice? I even doubled checked.” Namjoon sighed at Jin, who tried to save face, sitting up straighter.

“Yes. Well. You can call me hyung but you shouldn’t speak casually with people older than you,” he said. Jungkook cocked his head.

“Aren’t you only like a year older?” he asked. Jin felt his own ears turn red.

“I’m four years older than you.” Jungkook looked surprised.

“What? How? I thought you and Namjoon hyung were the same age?” Namjoon looked nervous. Jin looked down at the menu, which was a single page, so he didn’t know why everyone kept staring at it, except he did, because he was doing it now too.

“I started school a year late, and then I repeated the last year of middle school. And now I’m a junior. Namjoon is actually a year younger than me, too. We just ended up in the same grade,” he said, flatly. Jungkook laughed, clearly about to tease, but stopped when he saw Jin’s face looking down at the menu. He looked at the menu like he was looking at the photograph of someone who he missed very much. Silence filled the round table.

“Everyone order,” Jin said. He tried to save things by getting Hobi and Jimin to talk about dance, which Hobi did, enthusiastically, but Jimin seemed to deflate rather than get excited like he usually did. Jin wondered if something had happened, maybe a bad audition. When the food came, he saw Jimin was only moving it around on the plate, occasionally picking up food with chopsticks, putting it near his mouth, and lowering it again to try and trick them into thinking he was eating. Jin wondered, genuinely, if it fooled any of them, or even his parents when he went home to Busan for the holidays.

Yoongi stopped breathing, focused his energy instead on gathering courage, and grabbed a really beautiful hunk of meat in his chopsticks, the best cut on his plate, and held it to Jimin’s mouth.

“It’s really delicious, you need to try it,” he said, casually. It was then that Jin noticed Yoongi’s eyes weren’t actually bored all the time, but rather lazily taking in everything all at once. He needed to stop that–describing everything Yoongi did as lazy. He was just taking his own time, Jin realized, doing things his own way. And he actually seemed like a really sweet guy; the kind of guy who would give up his food for someone he’d just met might actually be someone he wouldn’t mind Namjoon with long term. He wondered how affected Yoongi was by everything around him, whether noticing so much was a blessing or a curse. Jimin, of course, had to take the meat, and almost melted into his seat as he chewed it slowly, savoring.

“It is good, isn’t it? Thanks, hyung. Sorry–can I call you hyung?” They all laughed, Yoongi’s gummy smile showing, and–oh my god, Jin thought, looking past Yoongi at Namjoon. That idiot is jealous. Namjoon was shaking his leg staring Jimin down, Jimin giving him pointed looks, Namjoon not getting them. Jimin mouthed to him, Un. Fucking. Believable and Jin could see that Jimin was really hurt by the angry way his eyebrows came together, how sad his eyes got, how those eyes started to avoid faces.

“Oh! Hyung, can we trade numbers about the haegeum?” Jungkook asked Yoongi, leaning over. Namjoon looked at Jimin again, fighting for eye contact, and pleadingly this time, apologetic and–Jin could think this guilt-free because he loved him so much–pretty pathetic. Jimin rolled his eyes while Jungkook and Yoongi touched phones, but decided to be a good friend despite the earlier slight while Jungkook was commenting cluelessly on Yoongi’s busted up phone screen.

“Oh, Namjoon wanted to…learn the haegeum… too. It’s been a lifelong dream of his. Maybe you two should also exchange numbers,” he said, not attempting to hide that it was a lie. Yoongi blushed, and Jin thought he looked so sad and wondered why, if he thought they were making fun of him. Yoongi looked at Namjoon, and they made eye contact for the first time in the two years they’d known each other.

“You really want to learn?” he asked quietly. Namjoon panicked. His eyes met every one of theirs–even Tae’s–before he finally looked back at a confused Yoongi, each one of them either encouraging him or looking at him like he was hopeless, heads shaking. Jin tried to give off both vibes equally, the hyung that could do it all.

“No,” he blurted out. “I just want your number.” Six pairs of eyes stared at him, Jin cursing him in his mind. So that’s what you came up with? he thought, but Yoongi just nodded, said, “Mm,” and gave Namjoon his phone. Jimin laughed with real joy, which brought a small smile to Jin’s face. His family. He loved them.

Chapter Text

After dinner, Jungkook caught Jin, asked him to talk. Jin agreed to give him a ride home alone with Namjoon, who didn’t drive. Jungkook and Namjoon talked as Jin silently drove first to Namjoon’s house, even though the two lived much closer to each other.

“Hey,” Jin said, rolling down his window when Namjoon stepped out in front of his beautiful, green lawned mansion that Jungkook didn’t even blink at the size of. He looked at Namjoon with real concern, and reached out a hand.

“Call me if you need anything, okay? I can be here in less than five minutes. Five minutes if you call when I’m in the shower,” he said. Namjoon took his hand, squeezed it, smiled nervously.

“You worry too much. Everything will be fine.” He made to walk away, but found he couldn’t let go of his hyung’s hand. They had always had each other. He looked at their joined hands instead of at Jin.

“I love you,” he said, and his voice cracked, a few tears escaping, running down past his glasses. He squeezed Jin’s hand harder, and Jin squeezed it just as hard in return, and Namjoon made no attempt to hide his tears or wipe them.

“I love you, too,” he said, making sure there wasn’t even a hint of a joke in his voice. He did love Namjoon. He was the closest thing he had to a real family. Namjoon gave his hand a final squeeze before letting go and walking toward the white mansion, cello in hand. Jin watched him go inside before driving away toward Jungkook’s house.

“What was that about?” Jungkook asked, worried looking at Jin’s somber expression. Jin’s mouth had become fixed in a straight line.

“Nothing. Pretty nice house, right?” he asked, feeling petty even as he said it for using Namjoon’s misery as a way to fuck with this kid. Jungkook shrugged.

“Yeah, it was all right,” he said. Oh, he’s rich rich, Jin thought. Wait. I’m rich rich, too. Jungkook looked down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs.

“You’re upset with me and I don’t really know what I did,” he said. “But I’m sorry. I hope we’re still friends? You’re…you were the first person who talked to me. I asked two other people and one guy led me into the wrong room, and the girl just ignored me…” Jin’s heart softened. He sighed, glad he was driving and didn’t have to look at Jungkook’s sweet face, softer than it first appeared.

“I’m sorry. In a top school like this, there are a lot of assholes. That’s how we all met, actually, except for me and Namjoonie, and Jiminie and Hoseokie. And I guess Yoongi-ssi. This is the first time we’ve ever hung out with Yoongi.” He felt guilty as he said it, wondering if they’d subconsciously left him out for not looking or acting like them. He continued without dwelling on the thought, but determined to do better.

“Some guys were really picking on Taehyung. He’s–he’s a little different.” He sounded so protective of him. “Jimin and I happened to be there, and we both stepped in, and then we both got him some boba to cheer him up after. The three of us really liked each other. So Jimin introduced us to his Hoseokie, and I introduced Namjoonie, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.” He sighed, hating that he had to be a good person, hating that Jungkook made him want to be good, like he had been that day with Tae. He looked straight ahead at the road and drew in a deep breath.

“I really wanted principal violinist. The conductor-nim pretty much told me it was mine last year. He’s–I visit his house sometimes. I…I really wanted it but it also hurt my feelings that he chose you,” he said honestly. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry. I was just surprised. I–Holy shit, is this where you live?” His jaw dropped. His home was at least as big as his, but while his home screamed “new money” Jungkook’s was the more traditional style of Korean mansion implying it had been inherited for multiple generations. It was tasteful in a way that made Jin feel trashy. He pulled into the driveway while Jungkook giggled.

“Yeah, I know it looks kind of goofy. Do you want to come in? I can give you a tour. There’s some cool stuff, I guess. Do you like traditional houses?” House? Did he just call this a house? Before Jin used his brain, he opened his mouth.

“No,” he said, deadpan. “I actually hate them.” Jungkook’s mouth dropped, unable to tell if his hyung was joking or not.

“O-oh. That’s fine. Maybe another time. Thank you for telling me. About all that, I mean. Not the–I’m sorry. Did you say you go to his house?” Jin ignored him.

“Let’s practice together soon,” he said. Jungkook’s whole face brightened, eyebrows raised, eyes shining.

“Really?”

“Yeah. We can play in my house if you want. I have my own practice room, and my parents usually aren’t there.”

“Okay. Yeah. Text me,” Jungkook said, dreamily. Part of Jin loved to see his dopey grin, and another part he was actively trying to beat down wanted to wipe it off his face.

“You literally never gave me your number. You got everyone else’s, though, so I guess I could get it from one of them.” He wasn’t bitter.

“O-oh. Right.” Jin got his KakaoTalk info, and felt like less of an asshole as he drove back toward his house. At a red light, the conversation flashed before his eyes.

“Why did I say that thing about traditional houses?” he asked the little koala figure on his dashboard. It bobbed its head.

***

Yoongi fucking hated this apartment. As soon as he walked in he could smell the mold, see the mold, mold all up the walls, floors damp since it had rained yesterday. Everything felt damp and musty after it rained, even his bed. He collapsed into the squeaky mattress, exhausted. At least he didn’t have to worry about food for today. It had been nice of Jin to feed them all. He’d felt guilty accepting since they didn’t know each other too well, and half suspected they’d all leave him at the restaurant with the bill as a joke. He’d had to remind himself, repeatedly, that the whole reason he’d always liked their group was because of how nice they all were. In a cutthroat environment like that, he had immediately picked up on all the people who loved each other, supported and uplifted others.

The Namjoon thing felt like a joke, too. Maybe one of them had found out how he felt somehow. Namjoon had seemed so uninterested in him the entire few hours they were there, and then Yoongi felt like he was the butt of some joke he didn’t get. But he did get the hot cellist’s phone number. He wondered if Namjoon would actually text him, but tried to beat down the hopeful part of him with a metaphorical baseball bat, which he tried to picture hitting a damp, deteriorating cardboard box with “HOPE FOR MY LOVE LIFE” written on it in Sharpie. In his mind, it made a squishy wet sound when it got bashed into the pavement. He wasn’t good enough for a guy like that anyhow. Even if Namjoon really was interested–which didn’t seem likely based on how annoyed he seemed to be sitting next to him at dinner tonight, kicking his leg like that every time Yoongi spoke–once he knew more about Yoongi, he knew that he’d be disgusted. He stared at a water damage pattern on his ceiling. He hadn’t felt full in weeks, and wasn’t used to the feeling. His oboe had needed a tune up, and the music each semester was expensive, especially with an entire extra ballet this semester. He’d have to make up for it.

His eyelids got heavy calculating how much money he would have at the end of the month. Not enough. He could already see he’d have to do his side gig. Before he fell asleep, he set an alarm for two hours. Tonight he had his shift at the gas station, 11:00 pm to 6:00 am. Then he could come home and nap another three hours before school. Shit, no. Two hours. Tomorrow was Wednesday, he had a general education course in the morning. Geology–why the fuck he needed geology was beyond him. He played the damn oboe. Namjoon was in that class, too. He took notes so diligently, while Yoongi only even showed up so he wouldn’t fail the attendance requirement. Maybe he could borrow Namjoon’s notes now, and start to do better on the exams. His eyes fluttered closed, he put his own hands in his hair, and he fell into a deep sleep on the hard, damp bed.

***

Jimin couldn’t even remember this guy’s name as he got slammed into the cold bathroom floor. It was so fucking gross and he knew it, and falling like that hurt, but all he did was cry out. He didn’t try to get away, or tell him it hurt. The guy was big, twice his width easily, and on top of him now, sucking his neck, grinding, then pulling off his jeans roughly. At least it was a single stall this time.

“Get on your knees,” he groaned, and Jimin obeyed without a moment’s hesitation, even arching his back. The man pulled his legs uncomfortably far apart in that position, spit on his ass a few times for lube, and plunged himself in. It fucking hurt, and Jimin cried in quiet streams cut by moans and whimpers, but he also liked it in a strange way. It felt familiar, almost comforting, and when What’s-His-Face asked:

“Do you like it, you fucking slut?” pounding in harder, jerking Jimin’s head back pulling his hair, he moaned yes, yes yes. When he was done, he didn’t even bother to get Jimin off and honestly Jimin hadn’t expected him to. What’s-His-Face took Jimin’s small face in his big hand, looked in his eyes, and laughed at him. That was pretty new, and not at all comforting, and it made Jimin feel disgusting inside, uneasy and panicked.

“I knew you had a reputation, but I didn’t honestly think it was true,” he said, rather cruelly, then leaned forward, nibbled Jimin’s ear until he moaned in pain or pleasure, unable to help it, then whispered into it.

“I’m going to see you again.” This was the second time already; Jimin usually avoided reconnections for precisely this reason. Then he let go of Jimin’s face, pulled up his own pants, and left Jimin sprawled out on the floor, a messy heap of a person. Jimin felt numb on the thankfully darkly tiled bathroom floor, and when he tried to get up, pain shot up his back and ass. He got himself cleaned up–he hadn’t used a condom, again–got his pants on, then let himself cry for a moment in the bathroom, holding himself crouched against the greying white wall, a sickeningly fluorescent light flickering above him.

In these situations, he often wanted Hoseok, but for the first time, for whatever reason, today he actually called him. He knew his Levi’s smelled like piss, that he looked roughed up, and that no one he loved should see him like this, but he wanted Hoseok. He didn’t want to think about why he wanted Hoseok here with him, but he honestly couldn’t imagine how he was going to leave this bathroom without Hoseok by his side.

“Jiminie? Everything okay?” Hoseok asked. Jimin’s soft, gentle cries turned into sobs, just wet sobbing into the phone, years of sadness and self-hatred coming out. He was so lightheaded, his stomach constantly hurt, his overworked muscles constantly ached and spasmed and never got a chance to rest, and he was a stupid fucking slut who was going to catch an STD one of these days. And now he was a bad friend, because he knew he’d interrupted something Hoseok was doing to make him worry, like he knew he was. How could he not? Jimin never cried like this.

“Can you come get me?” he asked. “I’m in–” he let out a wail. “--the third floor gender inclusive bathroom. Music building, not dance.” He felt ridiculous even saying it, even more so when he hiccupped.

Hoseok was there in ten minutes, and Jimin was sure he’d left a personal practice session, because he was in his favorite dance sweats but with his street shoes on. After Jimin let him in, he fell into his arms, and Hoseok held him there, stroking the hair that guy had just pulled, holding him even though he was covered in bathroom floor pee and germs and that guy’s sweat. He got snot all over Hobi’s favorite sweatshirt, a souvenir from seeing Firebird in New York city on vacation with his noona.

“Did he hurt you?” Hoseok stroked his hair, and Jimin knew he wasn’t even thinking about how gross he was.

“Yes. I mean no–I mean I’m in pain, but I told him yes. I didn’t fight anything. He even asked and I kept saying yes. I–” he choked on his own sobs. “Will you take me to the clinic?” he asked.

“Jiminie of course I’ll take you to–you’ve got to stop doing this. You’re going to get seriously hurt,” he said. “And all the antibiotics and PrEP make you feel like shit.” He kissed his forehead, and Jimin remembered how it had pressed into that guy’s pelvis and started gagging thinking of Hoseok’s lips there. He ran to the toilet, and Hoseok held his fluffy black hair back while he threw up, helped him rinse his mouth after.

“Sorry,” Jimin said. He was finally able to stop sobbing, but his eyes looked awful from throwing up, red and swollen from crying and pressure. He dug into his bag, put a few eye drops in, then some colored contacts to hide the worst of it. He liked how he looked with grey eyes, anyhow. Hoseok watched him get himself together like he was scared it was the last time he’d ever see his dorm mate in one whole piece, then offered out a hand.

***

“No,” said Jungkook, cockily. He pointed to the music on their shared stand. “Look, it’s lighter so you should be using the upper part of your bow here.” He played from the score with–Jin was sorry, but it was true–the dumbest bowing he’d ever seen in his life.

“I can’t believe they let you have final say on the bowing. I guess if you were just playing that part, but the piece actually moves on,” he said, equally as smug, motioning to the rest of the music. “You’d have to do this–” Jin here brought his bow to the violin he’d been balancing on the shoulder rest and played the section as Jungkook had, then quickly moved back to the previous bowing, making it look intentionally ridiculous, pretending he was at risk of injuring someone with his bow. Jungkook laughed with crinkled eyes, then threw himself onto Jin in a loose hug, knocking both their resting violins together.

“Ow! Don’t hurt my baby. She’s worth more than both our lives,” Jin said, patting him anyhow, always happy to have a joke well-received by an appreciative audience. He hated how attached he already was to Jungkook after just a few days–really just one practice, one dinner, since they’d had yesterday off group practice and only texted briefly about school.

“Jesus christ,” Jin overheard one of the second violins, a beautiful, usually quiet young woman, say to her best friend and stand mate, a mean guy who breathed through his mouth. “No one can take a break with those two around still playing.” She rubbed her temples. Her friend mouth breathed as he nodded, “Truly annoying. And a little high school for the ahjussi.” Jungkook looked up at Jin, still wrapped onto him, with big scared eyes, and Jin met them with a giggle that got Jungkook started laughing, too. Jin couldn’t believe he’d been willing to throw him into traffic last practice, but then he remembered their seats should be switched and he thought he might still be a little willing to throw one of his violin fingers under a really slow moving bus, but then he considered that Jungkook might be so talented that that would turn into a success story where he was the villain. Still, he thought, all publicity is good publicity.

“What are you thinking about?” Jungkook asked him in that dreamy voice that made Jin wonder what planet his dongsaeng was located on.

“The rich tone of the viola,” Jin lied, too straight faced for trusting Jungkook to be quite sure, which Jin loved. Taehyung walked toward them, and Jin wondered how he always looked so cool even though he dressed like an old man on swing dance night at the senior center. Taehyung got on his knees and snuggled right up next to both of them, even though he’d had about one and a half conversations with Jungkook, total, since he never talked when they went out, but Jungkook didn’t seem to mind, Jin noted with a strange mixture of annoyance and pleasure. Jungkook bit his lip shyly every time Taehyung came over, and Jin could feel himself getting pissed off about it but couldn’t figure out why. He wasn’t into Taehyung, Jungkook was a nice guy around Tae’s age, and they’d look cute together. Plus, Jin usually liked when people just seemed to “get” Tae. Maybe betrayal, Jin decided. It was probably the thought of Taehyung dating the guy who stole his damn spot. He’d have to be the good hyung, of course, and try to hook them up. Maybe they’d thank him in their wedding speeches. He got a little lost imagining them, Jungkook in a suit, tailored to his trim figure. And thank you to my hyung–if you hadn’t shown me where your rightful seat was for me to steal, I never would have met the love of my life. Jungkook smiling and raising a glass of champagne. The audience saying “aw,” clapping as Jin bows gracefully, the humble best man. Maybe they would actually break up before the wedding fighting over who got him as best man. Jin didn’t believe in most–or any–of his fantasies, but he had a lot of fun imagining them.

“Have either of you thought about one of the jazz ensembles? The student-run group is a great way to enjoy music without so much pressure.” Tae seemed off today. He wasn’t usually so affectionate with Jin, but he was cuddled close, tapping Jin’s wrist in a pattern: dum-dum-dumdumdum-dum-dum-dumdumdum. Jungkook looked at Jin for his own answer, and Jin stared at him as if in combat. Sorry, kid. You’ve got to make your own decisions.

“I’d like to,” Jungkook said shyly, unsure. Tae’s entire face lit up, and Jin felt bad for having just hoped Jungkook would refuse. “But I only really play the piano and the viola other than this thing,” he said, waving his violin like it cost hundreds and not thousands of dollars. Tae’s smile was wide, like he couldn’t stop it, had been hoping for this moment. He tapped Jin’s wrist faster and lighter, and Jin ruffled his hair, running his hands through it. He’d do anything for Tae. He’d even be the best man at his wedding with his enemy, he decided as he ran his hands through the soft curls, hoping to soothe whatever anxiety was trapped in his friend. But he desperately did not want to join a jazz ensemble.

“We already have a pianist–you’ll love her, she’s so good. She did this like–” Tae sat up to demonstrate, performing hand movements and little shoulder dances along with his deep, rich singing, imitating a piano in a way that had Jungkook giggling like a schoolgirl and Yeji the second violin and the mouth breather praying for the heat death of the universe to come a little earlier. Jin kept his hand in Tae’s hair, the thought crossing his mind that he could have just joined one of the damn jazz groups to make Tae this happy.

“But we’ve been thinking of adding a vocalist. Do you sing? I like to sing, but I like the trumpet more,” Tae said. Jungkook blushed–Why is he blushing? Stop it! Jin shouted in his head.

“Tae has a really beautiful voice. His piano impression just now didn’t do it justice,” Jin said, wingmanning despite his complicated feelings.

“I sing karaoke and my friends like it. I took some classical lessons for a few years. Maybe you could give me some quick lessons on jazz singing this semester. Would that be okay?” he asked shyly. Tae nodded but didn’t have a chance to speak before he ran full speed back to his seat and picked up the trumpet he’d set there. Conductor Lee walked back into the room, raising an eyebrow at Tae. He’d never been unkind to him and even seemed sometimes to be extra gentle, ignoring behavior he would have snapped at others for, but Jin could tell he didn’t really like Taehyung much, for whatever reason. When Jin and Conductor Lee had dinner together, they didn’t really talk about that kind of thing, didn’t gossip, but Jin wanted to know why, to know how someone could love him so much and not love one of his best friends.

“I hope everyone had a restful break,” he said. Jin loved the authority he commanded even though he never projected his voice as much as other conductors Jin had worked with. “Let’s start again on Tchaikovsky.” Everyone cut the smiles, cut the laughter, and got straight to work, and Jin worked even harder when he saw Namjoon as the lead cellist lock eyes with the concertmaster, knowing it should have been him, could still be him next year.

***
Yoongi had almost dozed off with his oboe in his mouth and was glad rehearsal was over. His whole day at school was over, which was sad. He’d have liked to squeeze in some lessons, especially on piano. He knew his piano playing was amateurish, obviously self-taught, and it embarrassed him any time he had to play for others, even sometimes alone. He knew they could tell.

“Oh, before we leave,” the Conductor said, and Yoongi groaned inside, not wanting more, not right now. “Everyone wear your performance attire to our next rehearsal. I want to correct any issues well ahead of time. You’re dismissed.” He was glad he picked up that black shirt last year. As he was putting his oboe carefully away, he felt like he was being watched and looked up from the oboe with a frightened jerk like waking from a nightmare. He yelped when he saw Namjoon directly in front of him. Did he tiptoe over here? he thought. Namjoon was also startled by the reaction and jumped back, and hit their flutist Sara with his cello case on his back.

“Watch it!” she huffed before leaving.

“Sorry!” Namjoon said to her, then turning to Yoongi, “Uh, sorry! I just wanted to know–” He looked to the other side of the room, and Yoongi noticed Jin nod on his way out the door with Jungkook before Namjoon turned back to him.

“Sorry! Um. I wanted to know if I could take you to dinner later tonight. And I was really worried you wouldn’t know what I meant by that–you know since it’s kind of unusual for Koreans to eat alone. Not that you’re unusual!” he hurried, Yoongi staring at him, unsure of where this could possibly be heading now that his crush had just implied–to be fair correctly–that he was a friendless loser.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean–I just thought I should tell you I mean it as a date, and Jin hyung said I should do that because he’s really worried I’m not coming off the right way, and I think I should stop talking and let you answer now probably.” Namjoon’s shoulders sagged in relief at being finished with his task, then tensed again as he realized Yoongi hadn’t yet answered.

Yoongi’s heart felt like it would pound out of his chest, and like he was about to black out. Shit, I haven’t eaten yet today he remembered, and I think he might actually like me. These two things combined to make Yoongi feel a little ill–he had been crushing on Namjoon, yes, but that crush had always given him hope, too. But now that he was faced with it in reality, he knew there was a pretty good chance he’d blow it. God, Namjoon looked so scared. Yoongi snapped himself out of weighing pros and cons. I deserve to be happy, too, he thought, briefly and uncharacteristically.

“I would really really like that,” he answered after a small delay, shy gummy smile on full display. The way Namjoon’s entire body lifted up, his face filled with color and dimples showing, Yoongi really believed him, believed he liked him back, let himself have hope. The warm lighting in this room always made him feel sleepy, but it seemed to give Namjoon a kind of life, making him glow like a shooting star, a firework, the kind of thing you didn’t have a choice but to hold forever in your heart as something beautiful after having witnessed it. The most beautiful moment in life might just be Namjoon, smiling at him, looking directly at him, in an abandoned practice room, papers left on black chairs.

“Shit,” Yoongi said, and Namjoon’s face fell again. “No no, it’s not you,” Yoongi said, waving his hands dismissively. “I just have work tonight.”

“You have a job? I mean, that’s fine. I’m sorry,” Namjoon looked ready to run out the door. “I meant, where do you work? Do you give lessons? I can meet you after.”

“A gas station,” Yoongi said quietly, looking down. “I work the third shift.” Namjoon took his oboe case for him, motioned for them to walk out together, and Yoongi did.

“Which gas station?” He had to repeat himself because Yoongi honest to god wasn’t sure how to answer. No one had ever asked. He didn’t know the address or anything.

“Uh. The SK Gas near the sandwich place. On north campus.”

“Oh,” Namjoon said, rather lamely. “But you would go out another day?” His voice was full of hope. Yoongi blushed, really unable to believe all that was for him.

“Yeah. I’d really like to. You should text me,” he found himself saying, looking down at his worn Vans. “I’d like to talk to you more before we go out. I honestly thought you asking for my number was a joke, because you didn’t text. I guess I’m a little confused right now,” he said. Namjoon seemed surprised to hear him speak so much, which always bothered Yoongi–it was always people who never talked to him who were surprised when he wasn’t chatty with them for some reason. Like it was always on Yoongi to approach people, to put himself out there to make friends.

“You thought it was a joke?” Namjoon was crestfallen, and the glow was gone now that they were in the less beautiful hallways, the spell of the room broken. Maybe the surprise wasn’t to hear him speak so much after all. Yoongi stopped walking in the hall to blink at him.

“Obviously? You didn’t talk to me all night and then everyone was laughing when you asked for my number, and then you didn’t text me.” He tried to sound matter of fact, but he had to admit it had stung.

“My fr–Yoongi-ssi.” Namjoon took a deep breath and centered himself before looking at him straight on for the first time this whole conversation, and likely the whole two years since they’d first met. Yoongi looked around nervously, nervous about people overhearing, or what those sincere eyes were about to tell him. It could be something hard to hear.

“My friends were just sick of hearing about my crush on you. It’s been–uh. A while. That’s all. That’s kind of embarrassing to admit but–I was just nervous. I–” Namjoon looked down again, had to take another deep breath before finishing, but Yoongi waited, could always be patient, even when his heart felt like it was fully inside his skull alongside his brain, beating each other against his skull and pounding blood everywhere with nerves. He could wait forever, no matter how he felt.

“I’ve never seriously dated anyone before. I just didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry I blew it so hard,” he finished, and wiped a single tear away with a humiliated laugh. Yoongi sure knew how that felt, and he wasn’t about to let the sweetest man he’d ever met feel that way for longer than he had to, even if he kind of had it coming. He took one of Namjoon’s hands in his own, like Yoongi himself liked when he was feeling down, and instantly felt his own body relax. It had been so long since he’d held even a friend’s hand.

“That’s okay,” he said softly. “I haven’t either. I think we all practiced too much in high school to have real dates.” He looked up at Namjoon with a playful smile, hoping for a laugh and getting one. Namjoon’s palm was sweaty. He wondered if his was too.

“You didn’t blow anything. I really like you, too. Let’s go out tomorrow night. I have Thursdays off usually,” he finished. He would be broke if he didn’t side gig tomorrow, but he didn’t care. He wanted to go on the date, and he could make some sacrifices to make that happen. Namjoon smiled again.

“I’ll text you tonight.” They smiled at each other.

“Yeah.” Parting ways, Yoongi felt like he might make it through this shift tonight, and the heavy black fog started to clear from around his temples.

***

Jin led Jungkook into his house–okay, so he also called his mansion a house, so what–and felt a little embarrassed by how new money he knew his family looked by owning that mansion, knew from years of knowing other rich people from music lessons. For one, everything was stark white, and cool grey, and minimalist except for weirdly elaborate light fixtures his mother had wanted back when they bought the home. Jin thought it looked like a show home made by someone incredibly tacky, but of course he knew he was lucky to live in such a nice place.

“Eommeoni? Abeoji?” he called out, not hopeful. The sound echoed. “We’re alone or I’d introduce you. That piano is–we don’t really play that one,” he explained when he caught Jungkook eyeing the shining black grand in the main living room. Jungkook seemed nervous as hell, and Jin couldn’t figure out why. Maybe he hadn’t had a lot of friends to practice with in high school? That would make sense. A lot of mid players really hated the best players–Jin tried not to think of what that meant for himself and his own resentment. He led Jungkook to his practice room which–shit I didn’t clean that up--Jin showed signs of sleeping in, a small Japanese futon unrolled with pillows and a well-loved stuffed koala waiting to be held. Jungkook grinned at him, less nervous.

“You sleep in your practice room with a stuffy? What’s his name?” He picked up the koala, a souvenir from the zoo. Jin snatched it from him.

“Sometimes I don’t want to go all the way back to my room, and his name is Koya. Joonie and I have a–when we were kids we’d buy each other stuff with our favorite animals on it to remind each other we were best friends.” Jin felt his ears go tomato red. “Namjoonie’s favorite animal is the noble koala.” He tossed Koya back on his futon, which was actually his real bed. He avoided his bedroom whenever possible and only really slept there a few nights before a concert when he wanted his back in good shape.

“What’s your favorite?” Jungkook asked. Jin scowled.

“Ask Joonie. We should practice. I can play well enough to accompany you if you want to practice any solos, too,” he said, motioning to his own Yamaha digital piano, the nicest model that came with a bunch of features Jin never planned on using. “Are you in any contests this semester? I bet you are, wunderkind.” Jungkook’s eyes started moving around, a nervous habit that made him look so much like a bunny that Jin grabbed his cheeks playfully. Jungkook gasped and slapped him off, affronted, Jin laughing lightly.

“I am. I’m doing Paganinian–don’t laugh! It’s impressive.”

“Every child prodigy there will be playing Paganiniana, but I support you,” he said, patting Jungkook, who grew more serious. He was like Hoseok, Jin realized, unable to really hide his facial expressions. It was a good thing he seemed less judgy than Hobi or Jin would probably lose his mind.

“Your practice room seems like the most beautiful room in the house,” Jungkook said, so sincerely it caught Jin off guard. At first, Jin thought about teasing him about not having gotten a full tour, but something about how genuine Jungkook was compelled him to walk to the large windows, look at the green leaves just beginning to change colors with the autumn. He had his awards in here, pictures of him and Namjoon at competitions, educational music posters he no longer needed but which brought him joy. Doyoung was in some of the pictures with him, the only pictures of him in the house, because this was Jin’s space, and his parents couldn’t touch it, a deal they had made long ago.

“It is,” he said softly, half expecting to see Doyoung sitting at the base of the tree below, eating an apple. He turned to Jungkook, whose hesitant arm reached out toward him about a foot away from where he stood at the window, unable to touch, unable to move closer than where he stood. The warm autumn light streamed onto Jungkook’s honey skin and brought out the brown flecks in his dark eyes, made Jin want to reach out and touch that arm, feel the warmth of it in the sun, but Jungkook slowly lowered it, tilting his head at Jin as if lost in a similar train of thought. Jin didn’t want either of them to be thinking anything too deep about the other.

“Come on Paganini, we’ve got practice. I found us some fun duets, too.”

Chapter Text

Jin and Jungkook could both practice for hours and hours at a time, both determined to be the best. Practice with Jungkook was different, a mixture of Jin’s usual, serious solo practices–slowly playing difficult bars of music, repeatedly, until he wanted to scream with boredom–and more fun. They were just laughing about the aftermath of a competition to see who could play Flight of the Bumblebee the fastest, Jin dodging his instruments and stands chasing a giggling Jungkook, zip-up jacket flapping behind him. It was dark now, too dark to see out the window beyond the tree directly in front of them, but neither had felt the time pass, and it was still bright and warm inside Jin’s practice room. Jin grabbed at Jungkook’s hood and then his arm before he could shed the jacket to escape, pulled him in toward his chest, and then tackled him to his sleeping mat. He play hit him.

“You can’t say you’re the fastest if you’re skipping half the notes!” he yelled with a little whack. Jungkook squirmed happily, laughing deeply.

“It was a speed test, not an accuracy test! Just say your old finger joints can’t keep up!” Jungkook whacked ineffectually at Jin, who tickled him, Jungkook kicking and swinging his hand toward Jin in delight.

“Be nice to your ahjussi. Show respect to your elders,” he said, them both losing it again remembering that sophomore earlier calling him a “mister.” Jin pulled Jungkook up to a sitting position by the arm, indicating that the game was over. Maybe he was an ahjussi–hanging out with Jungkook was a physical sport. Jungkook looked at Jin like he–a person he had known for several days–was the person he loved the most in the world, and it made Jin’s ears grow red with heat. Jin checked his phone for the time. It was about 11:00 pm; they’d really lost track of the time. Jungkook leaned on him to peek at his phone screen and looked horrified.

“Fuck, are your parents going to kill us? We were so loud,” he said, worried. Jin shook his head, stood up and stretched, leaving Jungkook sitting on the mat. Jungkook picked up Koya and pet him gently.

“Don’t worry. It’s pretty sound proof in here, and they probably aren’t home anyway. Let me make you a quick dinner. You should stay here tonight or you won’t get any sleep before your morning practice. Hyung will drive you.” Jungkook held Koya closer to him, looking nervous, leaning against the wall. Jin wondered if he thought he was going to poison his ramyeon for the principal seat. Am I above that? He couldn’t say for sure, but yes. He was above that.

“Are we both going to sleep on your futon?” he joked. Ah, that was it. Jin smiled and pulled him up, letting him hang on to Koya. He didn’t actually mind when he touched his precious stuffed friend.

“You can sleep in my room. It’s a nice bed. You’ll be in good shape tomorrow. Is ramyeon okay?” He kept his hand on Jungkook’s sleeve, pulling him down the white staircase and into the kitchen–also white, but with more practical black granite countertops. He started pulling things out and putting them onto the spacious island–spices, two noodle packs, green onion, garlic. He would never feed Jungkook anything straight from the bag.

“Ramyeon sounds great. Can I help?” he asked. Jin looked at him fondly and handed him the garlic and green onions.

“Want to chop? Dice up as much garlic as you like.” Jungkook nodded enthusiastically as he was handed a nice chopping board and a beautiful knife, freshly sharpened. Jin watched him, made a disapproving noise, and stood behind him, taking Jungkook’s hand to adjust the way he held the knife. Jungkook froze, even his hand stiffening on the knife.

“Sh, it’s okay. This is just a safer and faster way to chop. I’m not mad, you’re doing fine,” he said. Once he was confident with Jungkook’s cutting technique, he got to work, putting water, sauce, a variety of other sauces from his fridge, and seasonings into a large skillet.

“Conductor-nim actually showed me that. I go to his house every couple of weeks and we cook together,” he said, wondering why he trusted Jungkook with that information, which always seemed too personal when he first got to know people. Jungkook frowned at him, so Jin looked at the skillet instead, willing his ears to cool down, watching for the boil.

“I’ve known him for a pretty long time, actually. He ran a really intensive music program I was in all through middle school. He left when I was in high school. He was there when–something bad happened, and my parents…I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear all this,” he said.

“No I do,” Jungkook said, but Jin dropped in the noodles and pretended he couldn’t hear over the sizzling. Steam rose up from the skillet and Jin caught Jungkook licking his lips at the smell. He put two different oils into a smaller skillet and cooked the garlic before adding it to the big pan, too, stirring the noodles with long chopsticks the whole time, looking balanced, in control. Jungkook leaned on the island, watching Jin work, the cold overhead light hitting the shiny counter driving him crazy. Jin scooped the entire skillet into a large bowl and pushed it to Jungkook, who looked at him blankly.

“What are you waiting for? Does it not look good?” Jin asked, a little huffy.

“No, it looks great. Um, are we sharing a bowl?” Jungkook asked, feeling stupid. Jin started washing up the pots.

“What? No. I’m allergic to garlic, go ahead.” Jungkook looked at the steaming bowl of noodles, thickly sauced, and as he smelled the spice he had to suck a little bit of drool back into his mouth. Cute, Jin thought.

“Why did you add garlic?”

“What?” Jin leaned an ear toward him, like he couldn’t hear him over the running faucet.

“I said, why did you add garlic?” Jungkook felt like he was shouting in that huge echoing room. The sound in this house was a disaster, and all the lights were weird overhead chandeliers with lightbulbs way too bright for the situation at hand.

“Why would I serve you subpar noodles just because I’m allergic to garlic?” Jin asked. He dried his hands, got an apple from a bowl, washed it, and ate that while Jungkook stared at him with a dumb smile on his face, then a giggle. He picked up the noodles and slurped a huge bite, furrowing his brows together like he was angry, and moaned. Jin smiled at him as he munched on his apple, feeling very satisfied with himself.

***

Yoongi was barely able to keep his eyes open by midnight, and every time the bell on the door rang out he jerked like he’d been woken from sleep, even though he could tell he wasn’t really sleeping because if he were sleeping he’d be less tired. There wasn’t much to do at one in the morning. Yoongi rotated the expired snacks when he got in, taking them home in a bag, but today, everything was fresh. He’d still get to take home the leftover kimbap when he left, at least, but his stomach was practically screaming for more food right now. He hadn’t eaten yet, except a granola bar for breakfast that they were giving away at a table outside the school, promoting some event. The bell on the glass door rang and he jerked up, eyes widening when he saw Namjoon with a takeout container.

“Hi,” Yoongi said. He didn’t know what else to say. Of course he comes in and I look like absolute shit, he thought. The outfit of the day was a huge torn up T-shirt with a gas station name badge pinned to it, a black beanie, and black sweatpants with both a hole and a bleach stain from mopping the nasty floors here. Plus, he was so pale he knew the fluorescent lights made him look green and possibly ill.

“Hi. I uh. I thought I’d bring you some dinner.” Namjoon held up the takeout bag. “But I didn’t know what you’d want, and Jimin told me that I might be ‘serving stalker’ and took the flowers I got you.” He laughed, then yawned. Of course Namjoon wouldn’t be used to being up at one in the morning. Yoongi smiled, genuinely touched by the gesture even though this isn’t how he’d usually choose to present himself to a potential date.

“Thank you, that’s really nice. And not stalkery. Sit down and eat with me? Or are you too tired?” He hoped desperately that Namjoon would stay. No one had ever done anything like this for him before. He wanted to hang on to the moment, like that moment in the practice room. He felt uneasy at how many of his favorite moments had taken place today. Or technically yesterday.

“You don’t mind?” Namjoon asked. Yoongi unfolded a second shitty plastic chair for him. Holidays were the only days the managers staffed more than one person, so the chair was gross and dusty, spider webs very visible on the black plastic. Yoongi wiped it off with the bottom of his oversized T-shirt while Namjoon stared at him mouth open.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said, staring at the clean chair. “That was really gross. I start getting tired around now and wasn’t thinking.” He switched the chairs. Namjoon shook his head.

“No, it was fine. I mean it was really nice. Do you need caffeine? What’s your favorite coffee here?” He wandered to the automatic coffee machine and Yoongi waved for Namjoon to stop.

“I actually don’t get any free drinks,” he said. Namjoon looked at the machine, then back at Yoongi, and Yoongi realized he’d just copped to not being able to afford a $2 cup of gas station coffee. Before Namjoon could comment, he blurted out,

“My favorite is the americano flavor.” Namjoon beamed and bought them each an americano from the machine, setting one in front of Yoongi on the speckled grey particle board countertop.

“Thanks.” He took a sip, felt himself slip into a bliss so sincere that he hoped Namjoon didn’t notice. The cup was so warm in this chilly building, and he knew the caffeine would really help perk him up. Namjoon smiled and started unpacking the food, hearty warm noodles with beef, even side dishes. Yoongi blushed looking at all the food, wondering what any customers would think seeing a full dinner laid out where they bought their smokes.

“Namjoon-ssi, you didn’t have to go all out like this. Thank you for the meal.” Yoongi got some bowls from the gas station’s food section and portioned out a generous serving for Namjoon. Namjoon shook his head, but Yoongi stood firm.

“I like to eat with people. I don’t want to be watched while I eat alone,” he said, and Namjoon accepted the food graciously and ate it well, too. Yoongi was a little worried he’d have to pay him back for this. He didn’t really know how dating was supposed to work, especially when the couple was two men. His last boyfriend had been years ago, when a “date” was “holding hands walking outside.” Yoongi’s chest was tight. He felt like the silence was awkward even with them eating, and it looked like Namjoon was tense too. Rather sadly, Yoongi thought that he always seemed afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing. If he wanted one thing for Namjoon in his presence, it was that he’d feel a little more at ease; Yoongi didn’t want to be another thing Namjoon was afraid of. He remembered once last year how Namjoon had spilled a coffee on Jin, how he’d acted like that for the first time–in Yoongi’s presence anyway–around Jin, how sad it seemed to make Jin, too. Jin had just joked about it, squeezed his shoulder, bought him a new coffee.

“What do you do when you’re not at school?” he asked as casually as he could manage, but it still ended up sounding like a corporate ice breaker question. Still, Namjoon thought about it, chewing on a bite of noodles.

“I guess mostly homework and practice. I hang out with Jinnie and call him a lot. I like to read books, but uh. Everyone wants to punch me when I talk about them.” He laughed, and Yoongi loved the rough edge to it, almost hoarse. “Don’t hate me, please, but I write poetry. That’s pretty much it. My sister and I ride our bikes together sometimes.” He took off his glasses–those are the thickest lenses I’ve seen in my life, Yoongi thought–to wipe some noodle sauce off of them sheepishly. Poetry. His crush wrote poetry. Yoongi scrunched his face up, eyes into crescents, to show how overwhelmingly cute he thought that was. Namjoon giggled fondly at his face, hiding his own in his hands, happy to have given Yoongi cute aggression.

“I would love to read your poetry. Or read a book with you. I like psychology books a lot. Jung is really interesting to me,” Yoongi said, still smiling. Namjoon’s jaw dropped.

“Did you know I was literally reading Jung now? Every once in a while I pick up some of his collected letters. I just read one where he wrote about music and the collective unconscious. He said–wait a second.” He dug around in his little messenger bag for a notebook, a slim dark green book with “SKETCH BOOK” in gold foil on the cover, and read from its pages with excitement, quickly. Yoongi stopped eating, leaning a bony elbow on the peeling countertop to admire Namjoon’s excitement.

“‘Music expresses, in some way, the movement of the feelings (or emotional values) that cling to the unconscious processes.’ Isn’t that fascinating? Now, he admitted he wouldn’t be able to expand on that because he doesn’t have a lot of knowledge of music, but he also wrote in that same letter that the structure of music is circular.” He set the notebook down to draw a circle in the air, and Yoongi saw that Namjoon had the messiest handwriting of anyone he’d ever known, and on a notebook with the tiniest grid paper, which on this page at least Namjoon had ignored the lines and limits of. He made a noise to show he was listening, and Namjoon kept on.

“Like a story. I think I want to try to write an essay expanding on that–music as archetypal like other stories, as a part of what makes us human.” He paused, slipping the notebook back in his bag. “Sorry, that was boring.” Yoongi shook his head.

“I thought it was really interesting. I liked to hear you talk about it. I think you should write it.” He nodded as if confirming his own thought as a good one. “Yeah, you should write it and show me.” Namjoon looked so fucking cute, lips parted, eyes so hopeful but, Yoongi couldn’t help but think, so hurt, even when he looked really happy, blushing like this for Yoongi of all people. He couldn’t imagine what Namjoon saw in him in that moment, but he had to admit he was happy that he saw whatever it was that he did.

“What about you? Do you live with your parents, too? Hobbies?” Namjoon gathered their trash up, waving away Yoongi’s hands reaching out to help.

“Pretty much just music. I play a lot of instruments. I self-taught a few of them. I uh. I know people think this is kind of…beneath us, but I make lofi tracks. I like to edit sounds. I’m working on making enough to make a long video on YouTube for people to study or work to. I need music on to even do my laundry. And I read books sometimes, but maybe only like one a month. I’m not that smart or anything, I just read what sounds interesting to me at the moment. And I live alone. My parents are in Daegu…” He trailed off. Namjoon beamed.

“I put on lofi when I read and study, or I start noticing the sounds of everyone else in the house and focusing on them. That’s so cool. Maybe you can help me–my old cello teacher wanted me to help her record some practice tracks for her students, but I told her I didn’t even know where to start. Maybe you can show me how? I mean–I don’t want free audio engineering lessons from you or anything, I’m sorry. That was really disrespectful of your time.” Yoongi shushed Namjoon, shaking his head with a playful smile.

“Sh, you worry too much. I’d love to show you. Jungkook and I are already talking about trading music lessons from each other. It’s pretty much all I ever want to do when I’m not practicing, so I don’t mind at all.” Painfully awkwardly slowly, he reached out his arm to touch Namjoon’s hand with his own, relieved Namjoon didn’t jerk his hand away. He looked at their hands instead of at his face, knowing this was a little heavy for the first date–was this their first date?

“I don’t want you to worry so much when we’re together,” he said, honestly. “It makes me anxious to think I’m saying the wrong thing, and I’m already pretty anxious. So relax.” He made his voice joking on the last word, knowing better than anyone that that was easier said than done, and squeezed Namjoon’s hand. Even looking at their hands, he could feel Namjoon staring at him.

“Thanks, hyung.” He blushed. “So. How did you get started with the oboe?” Yoongi shrugged. It was a little embarrassing to tell the story to a lot of people, not because he was ashamed–he was actually quite proud of himself and grateful to everyone who helped him on his journey–but because other people often looked down on him when he told it, saw him as beneath them, a charity case, someone without passion. But looking at Namjoon, he couldn’t imagine him judging him like that. He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d think, but it wasn’t judgment.

“I was in a program when I started middle school, for poor kids to learn instruments under really good teachers. They were mostly volunteers, students for the kids just starting, and then later professional musicians. The oboe was kind of an accident. They had us all, like, blow into the instruments to see who could make a sound, and they matched you based on interest and natural affinity. I didn’t really care much about the strings then. I was kind of good at a few of the instruments, so they let me pick. I picked the oboe because I liked the way it vibrated. It kind of tickled and I thought it was fun. And it looked cool.” He smiled, bashful at his rather trivial younger self. Namjoon laughed, but it was a kind laugh.

“That’s really sweet, actually. You stuck with it all that time? Tell me more.” Namjoon looked sleepy, but happier than Yoongi had ever seen him, eyes closed into his smile, and it encouraged Yoongi to keep going, where usually he’d be trying to hide the blush on his cheeks while someone made fun of him.

“I did. I really loved it. I loved the sound, the way it–I was obsessed. I practiced constantly. It made my parents really happy to see me so involved in something until I stopped doing my homework to practice more.” He grinned mischievously. “But I got good enough that my teachers started helping me audition for other programs too–that was part of what they did too, helped you audition and network and stuff, and practice college interviews. And they got me into a really good intensive in high school on a full scholarship. And that’s where I met someone who was in a traditional Korean group, too, and she showed me how to play a lot of instruments when we hung out. She was like me, not a lot of other hobbies. I got a part-time job to buy some of my own and she got someone to cut me a deal, and one of my other teachers upgraded her digital piano and she let me just have hers for free. So I got to really expand my musical interests because of the friends I made and the people I met. But I still really love the oboe. I even use it in my lofi. I think it has a really calming sound. The cello would be great in lofi–sorry. I talked too long. How did you get into cello?” He knew he’d talked too much, but he didn’t actually feel embarrassed about it. Namjoon still looked happy to hear him talk, and he hadn’t laughed except at the joke about his grades.

“Can I tell you a secret about all the rich kids who learned an instrument?” he answered. Yoongi nodded.

“They might tell you they started because they were so passionate about the cello or whatever, but the truth is our parents picked an instrument and made us. All of us, and usually strings. The lucky ones got to try a few and stick with the one they liked the most.” He grinned, and Yoongi laughed.

“They always act like I hate music.”

“They’re just mad because they know they wouldn’t have stuck with it. Don’t let it get to you,” Namjoon said, resting his head in his hand, elbow on the counter. Someone came in for a beer, and Yoongi had to work for two minutes. He was worried Namjoon would use it as a chance to escape, but he stayed right where he was, looking a little bit awkward, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be there. Yoongi turned back to Namjoon as soon as the customer left.

“What about you? Were you lucky or not?” Yoongi asked. Namjoon smiled, but it was such a sad smile that Yoongi worried he’d said something wrong. When Namjoon looked at him, his eyes were watery, but he didn’t cry, and his smile seemed to come directly from his heart.

“I was the luckiest. My parents picked the cello, and I loved it. I still think it’s crazy how well it suits me,” he said. Yoongi nodded. It did suit him–a big, gentle, warm instrument that matched its player.

“Can I tell you something a little heavy?” he asked. Yoongi nodded, making sure to look extra awake, extra attentive.

“I…I really needed the cello. Need it. It helps. My…” He seemed to be struggling, seemed worried. Did he think Yoongi would judge him? Yoongi decided to try to help, but wasn’t sure it would come off the right way.

“I noticed you have bruises sometimes,” he said quietly. “My dad hit me, when I was a teenager. That’s the only reason I noticed,” he added quickly, knowing how easy it was to feel self-conscious, like everyone could tell. “If it’s not like that for you I’m sorry I said anything.” Namjoon looked at him with his brows pressed together.

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry. It’s embarrassing at my age. At my size. But if he hurts me, it helps to play. If it’s bad, Jinnie hyung picks me up, and he always has me play something with him to calm down. I’m really grateful that I have the cello, and that so much of the music for it is just…perfect. I’m basic. I love to play Bach when I need to feel grounded.” He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, and Yoongi respected him a little more. Not that he hadn’t before–he definitely had, for many reasons–but knowing he was going through so much and remained so kind, so level, really spoke to the kind of person Namjoon was. He seemed reliable, thoughtful.

“Thanks for coming tonight, Namjoon,” Yoongi said, sincerely. His heart was a little more at ease; Namjoon’s intentions with him were plain and tender. “I know it’s probably late for you.” Namjoon nodded, trying to hide a yawn.

“I should go soon or I’m going to fall right off.” Yoongi tilted his head curiously.

“Fall off?” he asked. Namjoon blinked.

“My bike.”

“Your bike–you rode all the way to the shitty part of town with takeout containers and you were going to also bring a bouquet?” Yoongi asked, incredulous and so frighteningly fond. Namjoon nodded.

“Don’t worry, I have a basket on the back. Goodnight, hyung. Thanks for not thinking I was super creepy for the impromptu date.” Namjoon grinned sleepily, leaned over and kissed Yoongi with great tenderness and even greater nerves, on the forehead. Yoongi closed his eyes feeling the soft lips brush against his bangs. He hadn’t been kissed on the forehead since he was such a little kid. He opened his eyes and tried to take in a last look at Namjoon before he left, admiring his sleepy hair. He looked so much like a boyfriend, so soft and casual and boy. Yoongi wanted to take care of him, to show him that same tenderness.

Chapter Text

Jin had always fallen into friendships quickly. It wasn’t that he trusted too quickly or easily, but rather that he’d always had a good eye for who he wanted to spend his life on and who he didn’t. And it really pissed him off that Jungkook was clearly in the former category, and furthermore, it really pissed him off that making a friend was pissing him off. Two weeks after meeting him, and he was already a core part of their friend group.

“Christ, Seokjin-ah,” his private instructor said, physically restraining his left hand with her own. “You’re playing Sonatensachs like you’re trying to break the world record for the fastest violin playing. Or the angriest.” Jin stretched and all his tense joints and muscles cracked, Soyoon cringing.

“And you know what I’m always saying?” Jin asked as if he had been talking and not playing the violin in a shitty practice room at 8:00 pm. “You can’t skip notes if you’re trying to play the fastest! It’s cheating.” He waved his bow around and Soyoon ducked.

“Yeah, I think the lesson is over today. Can I recommend slow, deliberate practice and…let’s just say more mindful bowing?” she said.

“Thanks Soyoon-ssi. Really feels personalized today.” She laughed and waved him out the door.

“Go home, Jin. Whatever this is, sleep it off,” she said, always happy to have Jin for a bit. He knew he livened things up.

The hallway was even darker this late when even the end windows didn’t let in their pathetic amounts of light. Jin peeked into the other practice rooms–the ones with open doors casually, with a wave, and nosily looking into the small door windows of the others. Near the exit, he heard a familiar laugh: Taehyung. He peeked in through the cracked door to say hello and saw him there with Jungkook, both of them giggling, dressed casually. It was the smallest practice room in this wing, rough for two people and a piano, and they were close. Jin wondered which of them had planned that. He meant to say hi, but it was like he couldn’t move, and he just stood in front of the crack, watching them, Tae demonstrating a vocal technique and helping Jungkook through it. Jungkook’s voice was higher than Tae’s, and they sounded like a perfect fit when they sang together.

“Want to sing a standard for fun?” he heard Taehyung ask, Jungkook nodding with excitement as Taehyung clumsily played Body and Soul, the two giggling their way through a convincing performance. Jin could imagine how they both smelled clean and unperfumed in there, how the warmth of their bodies would feel in that little room, the weight of their singing bouncing against the cramped walls despite the soundproofing boards.

Jungkook locked eyes with him and stopped singing, confusing Tae for a moment before he turned around and smiled at Jin. Neither Jin nor Jungkook broke their gaze.

“Hyung, come in. Want a lesson too?” He looked back at the piano quickly. “I have a lot of music you could try if you want to just have a little noraebang, too.” Jin finally tore his eyes from Jungkook, shaking his head and opening the door wider.

“I was actually just coming to ask if either of you needed a ride home tonight?” Tae shook his head, but Jungkook nodded his vigorously.

“I do,” he said. Tae tilted his head.

“You rode your motorcycle here today, though,” he said. Jungkook looked at him pleadingly.

“You know I get scared to ride that at night, because I’ve mentioned it so many times. We like really lost track of time, huh?” Jungkook hinted. Taehyung shrugged and started packing up his music.

“I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned it? I thought you liked it at night because there were fewer cars on the–ow!” He rubbed his arm where Jungkook had elbowed him. Jin turned out the lights with Tae still packing up, unamused.

“Whoever wants a ride better follow me out now, because I’m leaving. Love you, Tae Tae,” he said. He walked straight out the exit, Jungkook running behind to catch up, tripping and almost dropping his violin case. Jin grabbed it absentmindedly.

“Hyung’s got it,” he said. Why did his voice sound so strange to himself, so far away? He unlocked his car, threw their instruments in the back, and checked his phone for the hundredth time in the last hour in the driver’s seat waiting for Jungkook to buckle up. His parents hadn’t answered his texts in three days.

Me: Hey, here’s the performance schedule for the semester. It would be nice to see you. Miss you.

He scrolled up to the last message that wasn’t his own.

Abeoji: Eomeoni ordered you some laundry detergent for your wools.

Jungkook touched his arm, and god how long had he been staring at the phone? He tried hard to stop the tears, squinting his eyes shut and gripping the steering wheel hard even though he hadn’t even started the car, but it only made him sadder. The grip on his arm got tighter.

“Hyung. Hyung.” Jungkook’s voice was high and unsure. “Let me drive. I’ll just get a taxi from your place. Or I can stay,” he added, cautiously. Jin’s cries got more hysterical, and he felt fucking out of control. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t tell what had made him suddenly feel so sad about his shitty life which was actually fine and honestly not that shitty. A lot of people had it a lot worse. Doyoung had had it worse.

“I can’t go back there. I’ll just go back inside. I’ll call you an Uber. I’m sorry.” Jin could barely breathe out the words and wasn’t sure Jungkook even understood them, but his dongsaeng held him back by that grip on his arm when he tried to leave the car.

“No, no. Stay right here, okay? I’m going to make a quick phone call, and then I’ll drive.” Jungkook stared at him until he nodded and then stepped out of the car, closing the door but keeping a hand on it, like he thought Jin would speed away. Like he’d ever do that. After a few minutes on the phone, Jungkook gently pulled Jin out of the driver’s seat, wrapped his hand around Jin’s waist–god, that made him cry even harder–and helped him tenderly to the passenger seat.

“Come on, ahjussi. You aren’t fit to drive. Don’t worry~ This beautiful young man will take care of you tonight.” He gently wiggled Jin’s shoulder, bunny teeth showing through his anxious smile. He closed him in, and hopped into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and seat height and distance even though they were close to the same size.

“You’re ruining the work of years of fine tuning for absolute perfection,” Jin tried to joke and choked on a hiccup at the end. He didn’t want to go back there. That huge house suffocated him. Nobody loved him there. He didn’t belong there.

“If that’s your idea of perfection…” Jungkook said with a playful surrender. Jin could tell he was driving extra diligently because it was his car, and he cried the whole way in silence, surprised when they pulled up to Jungkook’s beautiful hanok home, and not his parents’ McMansion. Jin stayed in the car, assuming Jungkook needed to grab something here for whatever reason, but Jungkook opened his door and held out a hand.

“Come on. My appa is cooking for you. You’re lucky it’s not Eomma.” Jin stared at the hand before taking it, looking up into Jungkook’s worried eyes. Getting out of the car, he stood close to Jungkook, and they maintained their gaze, almost identical to the one in the practice room but with less distance between them.

“I can’t meet your parents,” Jin finally said. “My handsome face is covered in snot.” He sniffled as if to prove a point. The simple garden looked so beautiful in the light of an almost full moon. Jungkook looked like he belonged here, out in moonlight, somewhere timeless.

“Sh, hyung. It’s okay. I already explained that you’re usually very handsome but look like shit tonight. That’s what the phone call was about,” he said in that sincere way of his that made Jin unsure.

“Wait, really?” he asked. Jungkook shrugged with a huge grin and took Jin’s hand. Fuck, I taught him how to fuck with people, Jin thought. He held the hand back and let himself be led uselessly up the little porch, and then into a shoe room.

Jin gasped when they moved into the living room. Namjoon would kill to live in a place like this, he knew. Wood floors and trimmings, cream walls, gorgeous canvases and prints on the wall. So many plants and side tables with pottery on them, and a high ceiling, but not too high to see the quality of the wood.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. Jungkook looked at him with genuine confusion, brows furrowed.

“I thought you hated traditional homes,” he said. Jin looked around, taking everything in. To him, the most surprising part was that it still looked like a home, like people lived there. He furrowed his own brow and met his glance.

“Why would you think that?” he asked. Before Jungkook could answer, a beautiful middle aged woman with Jungkook’s eyes and a long, loose dress belted at the waist ran to hug Jungkook like she hadn’t seen him in years, even kissed his cheek.

“Kookie, I hope you had a nice day, darling.” She smiled warmly at Jin, who bowed a full 90 degrees.

“Oh stop that,” she said, pulling him into a hug that got him started crying again, but Jungkook’s mother kept speaking to him as if she didn’t notice a thing.

“We’re so excited to finally meet you. Jungkookie talks about his Jinnie hyung every day.” She pulled away to get a better look at him, smiling, betraying no sense of worry or disgust or of anything negative at all.

A man with Jungkook’s nose in the same pink casual modern hanbok set he’d seen Jungkook wearing popped in, kissed his wife on the head and then his son before extending a hand to Jin, which he shook back with both hands, trying, again, to bow 90 degrees. The man laughed a little, but didn’t stop him like his wife had.

“He really does talk about you so much. Thank you for being so good to our son. I’m sorry, if I’d known a little earlier–” here he gave a pointed look at Jungkook, “--I would have made you something a little nicer than bibimbap. Come, sit at the table.”

Together, the four of them had the first dinner with a full set of parents that Jin had had this year, and it was nice. He found himself crying a few times, and no one said anything, though Eomma–as she insisted Jin call her–had brought him some tissues, casually. He learned that Jungkook could paint, and that most the paintings hanging on the walls were his, that he struggled to make friends, that he got very bad scores in math but was paradoxically a whiz on his physics exams, that he had made them a stapled book as a small child explaining why he should be allowed to own a goldfish–a goldfish he then “lost” a week after getting it. Jin cherished each and every story, for blackmail, he told himself, and he loved the way Jungkook’s parents looked at him when they told them. Jin was happy Jungkook had parents who cherished him. He was a boy who deserved to be cherished.

After dinner, Jungkook left to use the bathroom, and Appa–again, Appa’s idea, not Jin’s–approached him, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Really, Jin, thank you. Jungkook is…He loves people so much. He’s stayed friends with people who have been truly cruel to him. He has so much love in him, he just doesn’t understand…” He laughed, and he scrunched his nose the same way Jungkook did when he laughed.

“I’m sorry, I know I sound like a sentimental old man. But thank you for taking care of him,” he finished. Jin laughed bashfully, feeling very much like he didn’t deserve all that, and waved him off.

“We just hang out. I don’t do anything for him. But–”

“That’s not true at all. You give him rides and buy him food and bring him snacks when you think he hasn’t eaten, even when you’re not in the same practice session. You help him with his homework, and he says you’ve really improved his playing by inviting him over to practice so much. You even introduced him to all your friends–he’s never been out with friends so much. He’s so much more confident lately. It’s been really nice to see. Please don’t underestimate yourself,” he said. The sound of Jungkook’s feet running down the long hall quieted them but brought out smiles.

“Jin, will you sleep with me tonight?” he pleaded.

“That depends. Are we going to elbow hyung in the ribs again?”

“First of all,” Jungkook said, “No promises. Secondly, I already apologized. Thirdly, the noodles made me sleepy and that movie sucked.” Jin huffed.

“Fine. But Notting Hill is a masterpiece.” They said their good nights, Jin surprised that he was included in the hugs, and Jungkook practically dragged him all the way down the back hall to his bedroom. The heated wooden floors felt a lot nicer than the ones in his house, and Jin thought it must be because the wood looked so much warmer.

Jungkook’s room–Jin wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He had it furnished traditionally, modern make but definitely inspired by the home, with a low double bed and warm wood everywhere, photos of him and his family on the walls. He was always alone or with his parents or at a performance, never with friends. Jungkook lit a few candles, turned on an essential oil diffuser with a gentle yellow light, turned on a small paper desk lamp on his nightstand, and turned out the lights. Jin blinked, a little surprised at how well he could still see.

“Sorry, I really hate lights,” Jungkook said. “You can borrow some of my pajamas. Do you want plaid or cats?” Jin felt a little out of it. His parents. Doyoung. Doyoung. His parents. He wiped fresh tears. Jungkook ran to his dresser, shoved some pajamas at him.

“Sh, it’s okay. You need cats. They’re so soft.” He wrapped his arms around Jin’s whole body, rocked them both while Jin cried, until Jin started stripping to change. Jungkook’s mouth opened and he stared at his teary hyung.

“You’re right,” Jin said, stepping into the pants still topless. “These are really comfy.” He put on the top next–the cats were sleeping on clouds and moons, and there were little fish in the stars. So cute. Jungkook hadn’t moved, holding his pajamas still.

“Aren’t you going to change?” he asked. Jungkook’s eyes widened.

“Uh, yeah. Right. I. Forgot.” He changed quickly, and Jin admired how tiny his waist was, how big and strong his back and shoulders were. He accidentally licked his lips. Fuck, did he see that? He thought back to his first crush, how he’d told Doyoung, how Doyoung had loved him and opened up when he had been so scared to like a boy, and the tears started up again.

“I’m sorry. I’m usually not like this,” he sobbed. Jungkook hugged him again, rubbing his back.

“Sh, I know. Usually you’re much, much worse.” Jin laughed and hugged him back, folding his head into the crook of Jungkook’s neck, feeling warm with him, safe.

“I miss my brother,” he whispered. Jungkook’s firm hand rubbed his back, relaxing him a little.

“Do you want to talk about him?” Jungkook asked. He sounded small, afraid to say the wrong thing. “Get into bed. You feel cold. My duvet is electric.” He tucked Jin in, turned on the blanket, crawled in after him and wrapped his arms around him again. Jin had worried he’d been too much, that the bed had been an excuse to shut him up, but he really did feel a little easier in the warm, linen covered duvet, with his dongsaeng’s even warmer body around him. He hardly ever slept in a bed anymore. It felt nice.

“He would have loved you,” Jin whispered. He moved to his back and looked at the wood beam ceiling, the candle flame’s shadows dancing on it. The deep breath he took smelled like sandalwood and vanilla.

“They’re worse now, like hardly ever home. But my parents were never really…present I guess. Doyoung took care of me. He was five years older and he never made me feel like a pain in his ass even though I know I was.” He stopped trying to fight the tears, just let himself cry. He could feel Jungkook’s full attention on him, felt a hand in his hair that he leaned his head into.

“He killed himself when I was 13. I miss him.” His voice broke, he knew he was being too loud, that Jungkook’s parents could probably hear him breaking down like this. “When they don’t talk to me–when I’m sad about anything else, I just miss him even more. I found him. I hate that that’s how I remember him first.” If I hadn’t been there, how long would it have been before my parents noticed him? A week? Jin thought. He choked, felt himself being pulled and didn’t fight it, ended up with his face in Jungkook’s chest, Jungkook holding him close.

“What made you so sad this time? Let’s try to make that a little better, so it hurts a little less,” he suggested cautiously. Loving came so naturally to Jungkook, he knew just where to hold him, where to rub, where to stroke, what to say–nothing fake. Jin hated fake sympathy more than anything.

“I don’t know,” Jin said honestly. “I–there’s this.” He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, pulled up the texts from his parents, showed Jungkook.

“Oh, hyung,” Jungkook said, full of sympathy, held him tighter.

“It’s more than that, though. I don’t know. They hardly ever come.” Jin realized what brought on the second pang of sadness, but he couldn’t say it. When I saw you and Taehyung, looking so good together. He wrapped his arms around Jungkook, both hanging on to each other.

“I’m really sorry,” Jin said, sincere. “This is a lot. You haven’t known me for that long. This was really nice of you.” His eyes were so swollen he could hardly open them. Jungkook pulled the blanket up higher over them so Jin’s neck was warm too, and Jin could smell that musky fresh laundry scent. He breathed it in deeply.

“It doesn’t matter that it hasn’t been long. I know you’re a really good friend,” Jungkook said. “I want to help if I can. You help me. And–” he paused, unsure if he should continue. “I know we’re going to be close forever. It feels like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.” Jin looked up at his face, soft and sincere, and Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed at him–so cute. He touched Jin’s face, and Jin couldn’t help it. He leaned his face in just a little more, so he could feel Jungkook’s breath on him. Jungkook’s whole face softened, and Jin thought he’d lean in too, but he reached up and stroked Jin’s hair instead.

“You should get some sleep. You look tired,” he said.

“R-right. I’m sorry–thank you.” Jungkook was right. Being miserable was a tiring experience, and dehydrating besides. He closed his eyes, and was asleep within a few minutes, still holding Jungkook, still enveloped by Jungkook in return, faces still close.

******************

Jimin danced hard during rehearsal. Hobi was always telling him he should cool it a little, save the hard dancing for his performances, but Jimin knew if he didn’t practice hard, he wouldn’t do well doing it in front of other people, especially because while other dancers stayed moving throughout the day, he was sitting on his ass playing the flute for a good chunk of most days. The flute helped him to feel like one with other people–playing music together as a big group, it was magical. It made him feel like he belonged in the universe. But the dancing was just for him.

He practiced a difficult flip for the fifth time. He had to shoot up from a position lying down, and then immediately flip forward and extend his body up, like he was being lifted from the ground. It was hard, and he was so fucking tired, but the dance practice room mirrors showed him so many things to improve. He stopped, took a gulp of water, and decided to stretch out his spasming legs. He was long past being worried about the muscle spasms–they just happened when you danced so much; Hobi got them too, and the ballet dancers he hung out with sometimes. He spread his legs into full side splits, reached out in front of him, until his stomach and face were on the floor. He breathed a sigh of relief and leaned into the stretch, extending his arms a little more.

Someone whistled behind him, someone else laughing as he walked away. He jerked up too hard to look behind him and cried out when it fucking hurt his side and neck. What’s-his-face from the bathroom–was it last week?--was standing in the doorway.

“Do you leave the door open so anyone can get a good look at your ass?” he asked. Jimin rubbed at his sore neck.

“I leave the door open because it helps it smell less like sweat,” he said. “What are you doing here? I’m working.” What’s-his-face–Minho! Jimin finally remembered–stepped in, closed the door behind him, and Jimin had a bad feeling about the future of this conversation. Minho was part of the ballet company–not Jimin’s world–so they had no real reason to see each other beyond running into each other.

“I thought we should talk,” Minho said, stepping closer. He wore black sweatpants and a college sweatshirt, which also made Jimin feel uneasy–he didn’t like that they were both wearing things easy to pull off.

“I don’t really have time. I really need to finish practice and shower before orchestra.” He tried not to sound scared, but his body instinctually scooted back on the floor away from Minho to the wall, muscles screaming out for him to stretch or be still. His heartbeat was too loud. Something horrible is about to happen. The thought entered Jimin’s mind almost calmly, matter-of-factly, in opposition to the panic and tension in his body. He’d cornered himself; Minho was bigger and stronger than him, and he felt like pure muscle when he pulled Jimin by the legs onto his back, Jimin crying out in pain. His neck. He groaned and Minho was on top of him, grinding and already hard.

“Stop,” Jimin begged, but Minho bit at his neck.

“I told you I’d see you again, but I heard a rumor you fucked Hyunki instead,” he growled in Jimin’s ear. Jimin furrowed his brow.

“Who?”

“The male principal, you fucking slut.” God he was bad with names, but he had done that, running into him at a cafe/bar hybrid with single stall restrooms. Hyunki had been a really nice guy, actually, and still said hi to him in the halls. Minho pulled off Jimin’s grey sweatpants, and he felt his sweaty skin touch the dusty, cold dance floor. His body broke out into goosebumps.

“Please no. No, no, no.” He tried again to scoot away, voice growing more frantic. This was the first time in his life he’d ever begged for sex to stop. His struggling started to piss Minho off, and he pulled Jimin up to a sitting position by the hair–his neck--and as he cried out stuck his cock in his mouth, black sweats still on his legs with only his dick pulled out, thrusting. Jimin gagged and hit his thighs desperately, and as he felt some vomit rising he bit his dick. Bad choice, he realized immediately.

“Did you just fucking bite me?” Minho hit him in the face hard, kept hitting him, and Jimin gasped for air sobbing. Minho took Jimin’s face roughly in his big hands like he’d done the second time they’d fucked, in that gross bathroom, and the way his thumbs dug in hurt like hell. He spit on his face, again and again.

“Guess you just wasted your lube,” and before Jimin even knew what was happening he was back on his back and a sharp pain ran through his entire body, and he screamed but Minho’s hand was on his mouth. He tried to beg for it to stop, but he wasn’t sure how understandable he’d be even if his mouth were free. Minho lowered his body further onto Jimin’s, his weight pressed against him so he felt like he was suffocating, with the hand on his mouth, trying to gasp, not being able to, his body relaxing against his will, no no no no. His hands and feet were suddenly freezing, his heart beating too hard, too fast. A sharp pain in his neck, from sucking, from teeth.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He thrust in harder, harder, Jimin’s body going slack, and he finally felt his ass fill with cum, relieved it was almost over. The hand came off his mouth and Jimin gasped, desperately trying to get enough air, but it only lasted a moment. Minho’s hand moved to his neck, and when his cock came out, his hand went inside, fucking inside him roughly with three fingers, four fingers, a fist. Jimin’s sobs were weak, but the sharp flashes of pain were too much. Too much. Finally, Minho took his hand out and the other off his neck, rubbed the cum and blood covered hand on Jimin’s face, stuck it in his open mouth. Jimin didn’t bite this time. Then, Minho tried to get Jimin off with his hand, using his own cum as lube.

“No, no. Please, no.” Jimin hadn’t been hard, but his body was in such a state of shock that it didn’t take long for a horrible mixture of pain and pleasure to annihilate him, washing over his full body, and that’s when the tears started flowing. Minho rubbed this on him too, all over him, on his stomach under the sweatshirt still on his body. That can’t have even felt good for him. Jimin’s thoughts were hazy, didn’t feel like his own.

“Good luck with your other music geek,” Minho said, pulling his pants up. He flipped Jimin onto his stomach, slapped his ass, and left Jimin there feeling like his whole body, whole mind were falling apart.

***

Jin could feel how puffy his eyes were from crying so hard the night before–okay, and in the bathroom twenty minutes ago–and from the stares he got when he walked in to practice and started setting up. Namjoon arrived shortly after with a giant bruise on his cheek with a crying Taehyung clinging to his arm but also somehow being dragged by Namjoon. Jin sighed. It was not going to be a good day. He met them at the door, holding his violin.

“Hyung you look awful,” Namjoon said, worried. Taehyung hyperventilated next to him.

“You both look terrible. Tae Tae, what’s wrong? Sh,” He kissed his head.

“I don’t want to go in. I hate it. I hate it in there.” Jin blinked at him. How could anyone hate the beautiful space they shared together, as friends, as musicians?

“What do you mean? You love orchestra,” he said, rubbing his back. Tae shook his head violently, started scratching at himself. Jin and Namjoon took his hands, trying to soothe. Yoongi ran up to them, paler than usual.

“Taehyu–Namj–” He looked between them all, horrified, unsure what to address first. “Jimin needs help. Bad. I’m sorry to interrupt. I left him with Hoseok.” They all immediately panicked–except Taehyung, who already had that covered–and followed Yoongi to the bathroom closest to the practice room, Jin setting his violin on his chair on his way out. Jimin was in Hoseok’s arms in the handicap stall, being rocked.

“Jimin, fuck!” Jin yelled when he saw him, unable to stop himself. The right side of his neck was almost entirely a deep bruise, with bite marks all over–one of them was fucking bleeding. His face was bruised up worse than Namjoon’s, and he was standing like he was in horrific pain. Jin could only imagine why. There were thumbprints on his neck. He was pretty sure even if you were choked fucking, there shouldn’t be any marks at all.

“Don’t yell at him,” Hoseok snapped.

“I’m not yelling at him I’m just yelling,” Jin said. “We need to get you to a doctor, Jiminie.” Jimin shook his head, crying.

“I just want to practice. I’ll go after practice. Please. I just want to play.” They all stared at each other, unsure what to do, how seriously hurt he was compared to how much better he would feel if he played. He sounded awful, like there was something very large and sharp currently lodged in his throat. Jin touched his back.

“I don’t think Conductor-nim is going to let you play looking this beat up,” he said, and he could see everyone was relieved he’d come up with a reason to turn the request down. Jimin just kept crying that he wanted to play, though, and Jin felt evil.

“Hold on,” Taehyung said, and ran away. No one really noticed, all eyes on Jimin. Someone came in to pee, left immediately.

“Jiminie, you’ve got to stop–” Namjoon was interrupted by more hysterical sobbing.

“I knew everyone else would say I brought it on myself, but I thought you would all be better,” he yelled even though it clearly hurt him badly to strain his voice like that, at the same time Hoseok was yelling at Namjoon that now wasn’t the fucking time. The sound echoed harshly against the bathroom tile, everyone in the hall outside hearing for sure. Jin hoped everyone was early for practice. Jimin didn’t need to be embarrassed any more than he was. Taehyung ran back in.

“Conductor-nim said we can have the practice room later, Jiminie. We can all practice together, just us. Okay? We’ve got everyone but a percussionist. It’ll be fun,” he sounded desperate, stroked Jimin’s hair. “But right now, you need to get to the hospital.” Jimin cried harder, fully falling into Hoseok, whose strong, thin arms held him up.

“Human bites are really dangerous, and they might be able to help…everything else. Please,” Taehyung begged. “I don’t want to go to practice today. I’ll take you.” Hoseok pulled Jimin closer, protectively.

“I kind of wanted to take him,” he said honestly.

“I’ll talk to seonsaengnim,” Jin said, reverting to his childhood name for Conductor Lee. “Both of you should go.” They stared at him, knowing about his frequent dinners at his home and wondering what sway Jin could have over their practice attendance, but they nodded. Hoseok kissed Jimin’s cheekbone that had a small cut from Minho’s nails, and the way Jimin looked at Hoseok broke Jin’s fucking heart: He thinks he’ll never want him now. He thinks he’s blown it because he’s hurt. Even more hurt. He rubbed his own face to keep from crying. That was the last thing Jimin needed. He reached into his pocket for his wallet and handed Hoseok his debit card.

“I’ll text you the PIN. Get him whatever they suggest and pay for the appointment up front. And anything else he wants.” He knew Jimin’s family weren’t half as wealthy as his, didn’t want him to spend his own allowance on something that had brought him pain. It wasn’t much, but it was something he could do.

“And get dinner or coffee or something before you come back–anything you want, Jiminie, okay?” He kissed his cheek, and Jimin reluctantly moved out of Hoseok’s arms to hug Jin.

“Thank you, hyung.” Jin could feel how stiff Jimin was. He was definitely going to kick that guy’s ass as soon as it was appropriate to ask who it was. He kissed his head again.

“We should go, jagi,” Hoseok said, and they all gave Jimin little words of encouragement before letting him leave. The rest of them stood rather stupidly in the bathroom for a moment, feeling helpless, and absolutely none of them even touching on that “jagi,” even alone.

“We should go to practice,” Namjoon said flatly, the defeat in his voice evident. “Conductor-nim will be upset.” He was avoiding looking at Yoongi, but he couldn’t avoid Jin, who cradled his face in his hand and kissed his dimple before holding his hand to walk back to practice. He glanced at Yoongi, hoping he wasn’t overstepping, but Yoongi seemed to understand.

******************

As the setting sun streamed into the practice room, Jin and his little family started setting up for practice. The chairs were in disorder, and they had fun shoving them out of the way, setting up for their own tiny orchestra. Jungkook stood at the podium, and Jin pulled him down.

“I should obviously be the conductor,” he said. Everyone, even Yoongi, groaned.

“We don’t need a conductor, we’re just having fun to cheer up Jimin, remember?” Namjoon said. Jin scoffed.

“Fun can be professional.” Satisfied with the placement of the chairs, he held the bouquet he’d gotten Jimin, filled with Jimin’s favorite pinks. He’d wanted to go bigger, but the florist convinced him that “gaudily large” wasn’t super appropriate for a “feel better about a tragic happenstance” bouquet. He was glad they took Samsung Pay, or he would have had to pay for it with Namjoon’s money, which would have felt like cheating.

Finally, the remaining three walked in, Jimin looking much more alive but very embarrassed, and a little more bruised up now that injuries had had a moment to settle. Jin walked to them first, handing a blushing Jimin his bouquet with a hug.

“I love you so much. Be okay, okay?” he said softly. Jimin hugged him back.

“I love you, too,” he whispered. Jin could tell even with him whispering that it hurt him to talk. His beautiful, lyrical voice sounded so hoarse, and it fucking upset Jin, that some prick could take away such a beautiful voice. Jungkook cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, practice is about to begin. What do you want to play, Jiminie hyung?” Jimin blushed.

“Anything not heavy on the violin. I don’t want to hear you two idiots trying to outplay each other. It should be us shining tonight,” Jimin replied hoarsely, switching between speaking and whispering, motioning to Hoseok and Yoongi.

“We need a flute concerto. Or just a trio for us,” Hoseok said. Everyone laughed, except playfully scowling Jungkook and Jin.

“Mozart’s first flute concerto! For our Jiminie,” Yoongi suggested. Hoseok beamed at him, nodding.

“Do you even want us to play? Maybe we can practice 4:33 while you all do your own thing.” Namjoon whacked Jin on the head lightly, and they played through their music, stopping to giggle when Yoongi messed up his part, to whoop and clap when Taehyung played particularly well, to boo every time the violins played more prominently in the piece.

Jimin smiled sincerely, and they giggled playing in the dark before Taehyung flipped the lights on. Jimin looked at his flute and stroked it gently, sniffled but kept his smile. Hoseok stroked his hair, tried not to look at his bandaged neck, or the heat packs along his shoulder visible under his sweater.

“Namjoonie, let’s sight read some probably awful duet together. You’re the only good string player,” Jimin said, Jin thought to subtly let him know he wasn’t still upset with him about earlier. Jimin, the kind of friend who would comfort you after you’d hurt him, over and over again. The thought made Jin feel a little ill; he couldn’t remember the last time any of them had actually apologized to Jimin, for anything. Jimin always fixed things, let them save face, gave them permission to just go back to normal. He’d have to chat with Namjoon. The two did sight read, both of them laughing at how terrible the duet they’d found was, something awful for a high school competition piece probably, and Jimin’s sight reading was just terrible in general. Everyone groaned and fake plugged their ears while they powered through the piece.

“Thank you,” Jimin said to everyone as they packed up their instruments. Hoseok wrapped his arm around Jimin’s waist, and Jin was pleased to see Jimin leaning into it, not fighting it. They would be sweet together, if Jimin would just let them.

Chapter Text

Jin listened to Jungkook play through his contest piece with a careful ear, his full attention on the music, listening as he read the score. He pencilled in some marks on the sheet music with a studious face. Jin’s practice room had quickly become Jungkook’s second home, and he was nervous as hell about the contest, which Jin honestly thought was a little stupid. Jin had always killed at those, never outside of the top ten, and Jungkook was officially deemed a better player than him as of this year. Jungkook finished, lowered his violin immediately and looked at him with a furrowed brow, biting his lip.

“First of all, don’t cut off your last note and then look at the judges like a dog who’s just been kicked,” Jin joked. Jungkook made to look like he’d thwack him with his bow. Jin looked back down at the score more seriously.

“Quickly, play from the beginning. First few bars.” Jungkook obeyed.

“Now, what dynamic did you just play?” Jin asked.

“Uh. Mezzo-forte I guess,” Jungkook replied, shifting nervously.

“And what does this arrangement start you at?” Jin asked. Jungkook grimaced, clearly having no idea.

“Um…mezzo-piano?” he guessed.

“Try fortissimo,” Jin said. “Do you want me to play an accompaniment? I can exaggerate the dynamics, you can follow me. Also,” he added. “Your fingers here…” He showed Jungkook the score where he’d circled, then picked up his own violin, not bothering with his bow.

“Your left hand is doing this–” He demonstrated, hoping it was obvious how awkward it looked. “There’s so much tension. I think here you should reach–” he moved his finger down slowly. “--and then your hand can follow that reach down, and you can do the same going back up, so you’re not jerking your hand around too much and then tensing up doing that big reach on the way back up all the way from down here. My hand tensed up just looking at yours. Do you want to try it that way?” Jungkook stared at Jin’s hands, and when he was finished met his eyes and–fuck, Jungkook was tearing up.

“Sh, sh, you did so fantastic, Jungkookie,” he said.

“I know,” Jungkook said, choking back a sob. “I sounded really great. That’s not why I’m crying.” Jin took his violin from him, setting it down on his piano bench, and rubbed his shoulder.

“And so humble for a prodigy. What’s the matter, then?” Jin pulled him to sit with their backs against the wall on his sleeping mat and handed him Koya, endeared that he really seemed to feel better cuddling the little guy.

“No one’s ever helped me like this,” he replied, falling into Jin’s arms like he belonged there. Jin felt something stir in his stomach, something he was becoming more okay with as time went on. He wanted to kiss him. He had to admit it. He wanted to kiss him right now, but he couldn’t do that to him, couldn’t make him feel like his help was transactional. Jin hugged him a little tighter, feeling like he was protecting Jungkook from him, a shitty shitty feeling.

“Jungkookie, listen to me, okay? I’m–I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you when we met. The music world can be fucking nasty. I’m sorry I was a part of that. But you deserve–” Something caught in his throat. He couldn’t finish. Love. Help. The world. Everything. To be cherished.

“I deserve what?” Jungkook asked, a note of hope in his voice. Jin took a deep breath.

“To win the competition. We’re just polishing here. It’s nothing. The talent and skill are already there.” Jungkook furrowed his brows, looking at him with completely unconcealed disappointment.

“I hate it when you don’t say what you mean,” Jungkook said. “You can be such a–” Jin didn’t let him finish, took his face in his hands, kissed him, kissed him so deep and desperate. Jungkook kissed him back, clinging to his shoulders, hard–Jin hoped he would leave marks, proof he didn’t dream this. Jungkook started to pull off Jin’s T-shirt, and Jin had to make a decision. His dick was hard and Jungkook was pressed against it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck it, he decided, and lifted his arms to help Jungkook, then watched him pull his off. He fucking moaned when he saw him shirtless in front of him, like he’d never seen a half-nude man before. Embarrassing, but it seemed to excite Jungkook, whose mouth flew to Jin’s neck, his ear, his mouth, and down his chest, stopping to suck his nipples. Jin’s hands dug–too hard, he was sure–into Jungkook’s back.

“Bedroom?” he managed to ask, breathy, chest rising and falling dramatically. Jungkook nodded, kissed him again, and then picked Jin up like he weighed nothing and carried him to the room he’d by now spent several nights in.

“Really?” Jin asked, not even laughing.

“I thought you’d be too slow,” Jungkook said. “And I wanted to do this.” He tossed Jin onto his made bed, dark blue duvet, and climbed on top of him, kissing him hard while Jin moaned into his mouth, not afraid of making noise, no one around to hear. Jungkook grinded his hard dick against Jin’s, and Jin wanted their pants off now. He squirmed, and Jungkook got the message, taking off his own hanbok pants and briefs, folding them loosely before tossing them. Jin’s mouth opened seeing Jungkook’s strong, thick thighs, his hard dick that looked like it would fit perfectly inside his hand, his mouth, his–

Jungkook pulled Jin’s pants and underpants off, kissing at his much softer thighs, taking his dick in his pretty mouth. Jin could hardly look at him. It made him feel a little light headed. He grabbed his hair, not pushing, just needing, needing. Jungkook pulled his face up, spreading Jin’s legs.

“Is this okay?” he asked, panting, sweat already beading at his neck. Jin nodded, opened his nightstand and got out a bottle of lube, putting it on the bed.

“Fuck me. Fuck me,” he begged, just in case Jungkook wasn’t sure his message got across. Jungkook flipped Jin onto his stomach–weird position to choose for a first time with someone you plan on seeing again, Jin thought.

“Hold your ass,” Jungkook said, and Jin thought how different he was in this context, how confident. Worried this was going to fucking hurt with the lack of prep, he held open his ass anyhow, adjusting so he was arching his ass up. He let out a surprised whimper when he felt Jungkook’s tongue there. This was new to him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do, so he just followed his instincts, leaning his ass further into Jungkook’s face, moaning when it felt extra good. Jungkook’s hands were locked tight around Jin’s thighs, squeezing, and he moaned back, reaching for the lube, and Jin felt one finger slip in easily–and felt like a little bit of a slut about it, it usually taking longer to get two fingers in before he got railed. He prepped himself most of the times he’d had sex, and the other times he’d wished he’d just done it himself. It had always been a little rushed.

Jungkook took his time, though, muttering under his breath like this was hot for him, even though he couldn’t be getting anything out of it as far as Jin could think. He fucked Jin with one finger for a while, then two, then used his mouth again, and then he flipped Jin over. Jin was sure he was about to get fucked, but Jungkook’s mouth was at his balls, then wrapped around his cock, and three fingers fucked him easily with Jungkook tonguing his head. Jin felt so good. So good. Fuck.

“Let me suck your dick. Please,” he said breathily. Jungkook moaned happily and sat on the edge of the bed, Jin getting to his knees on the floor with wobbly legs. He gave a filthy blowjob, Jungkook thrusting into his mouth, gauging how rough he could take it without getting hurt, checking in every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t hurting Jin. Jin felt safe being choked on Jungkook’s dick, able to fully enjoy the brief moments of no air, and when he felt satisfied with how horny Jungkook was, he crawled back onto the bed and lay on his back, legs spread invitingly open.

Jungkook was on top of him within a moment, his strong body enveloping Jin. Jin squeezed Jungkook’s shoulders hard, threw his neck back, eyes squinted shut, and gave out a loud cry when Jungkook pushed into him, his dick just a little on the large side. He felt a hundred soft kisses all over his face, moaned and opened his eyes to look at Jungkook.

“Sh, sh. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? We can stop, it’s okay.” He looked into Jungkook’s eyes, full of love and worry, and felt his breathing steady.

“No. Please. I just need to relax a sec. It’s been a while,” he admitted, focusing on relaxing his body, keeping his eyes glued to Jungkook’s as he slowly worked in shallow little thrusts of his hips to test the waters. Finally, Jin nodded at him, and Jungkook kissed him.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, mouth still pressed against Jin’s. Jin thrust his own hips up, satisfied with Jungkook’s moan in response.

“I want you.” Jungkook fucked him hard then, not holding back, Jin not wanting him to. He tilted his head and let Jungkook kiss and nibble his neck. Jungkook lowered onto him, his thrusts getting faster and deeper. Jin cried out at each thrust, yelling, “Yes. Yes. Fuck,” unable to control his hips from helping Jungkook thrust deeper, until Jungkook moaned loudly into Jin’s neck and he felt his ass fill up with warmth, Jungkook’s warmth. He wrapped his legs around Jungkook’s waist. Jungkook whimpered, face still comfortable in Jin’s neck. They both panted heavily, and the feeling of Jungkook’s breath on Jin made him shiver.

“Don’t go,” Jin begged. Jungkook moaned and kissed his neck as if to affirm he had no plans to, unable to speak yet. After their panting died down, he pulled out of Jin, who hissed in pain and whimpered. He hated the empty feeling after sex, wanted to hold on to Jungkook forever, but Jungkook’s mouth around his dick again made up for the loss, and soon Jin came too, Jungkook swallowing his cum and then kissing him on the mouth, before settling his head on Jin’s chest, cuddling.

“I can’t believe you did all that to get out of trying a new fingering technique,” Jin joked sleepily, voice low. Jungkook leaned his head up to kiss Jin’s jaw.

“Shut up, hyung.” Jin held him to his chest, knowing Jungkook was listening to his heartbeat.

What the fuck did I just do?, he thought. He tried not to freak out.

***

Yoongi sat waiting for Namjoon’s knock on his door, ready for his relationship to end tonight. He’d cleaned up as well as he could, but it was still a basement apartment with mold climbing the walls. He didn’t want to fucking have this talk. He wanted to hang on to Namjoon. He loved being around him so much, loved his soft, nervous kisses, loved to see him flip through his notebook to tell Yoongi what he’d been thinking and reading about, loved to make him play Bach’s cello suits for him in the practice room, the way his eyes got lost in the music even when he acted like he didn’t want to play. The love they shared for music, how they both thought of so little else but music when they could mentally afford to.

The knock. Yoongi took a deep breath, but he was still shaky. He opened the door to Namjoon dressed extra casually, cozily in wide legged sweatpants, who had brought a bouquet of cool toned flowers with him. Yoongi was going to cry. Namjoon was going to break up with him, and the flowers would be staring at him. He knew Namjoon was too good for him. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up–

“Hyung?” Namjoon’s voice was too high. Yoongi was something he was scared of right now. He had to remember that he’d sent Namjoon the worst text anyone could receive in a relationship: We need to talk about something pretty serious. He had to put him at ease, as much as he could. He couldn’t be something that he feared, even if he knew he was something he’d be upset by. He took the flowers and breathed them in, so lovely.

“Thank you, Namjoonie. Come in. I’m sorry. It’s…gross in here.” His face felt hot as he watched Namjoon’s face when he stepped further inside, taking off his shoes and looking surprised his feet were damp. Yoongi cringed. Of course it had to have rained the day before. Namjoon didn’t attempt to hide his disgust, at least.

“Hyung, you live in here?” he asked, then cringed at how rude his own question was. But Yoongi understood–it was a shithole.

“Yes. You can sit on the bed or at the table, whatever is fine.” He put the flowers in a mason jar with water, fluffed the delicate purple and cool pink flowers carefully before setting them on the table. It was a studio apartment, everything in the same room but the bathroom he shared with the other basement units and half of the first floor, cramped with instruments and books on top of stacked milk crates to keep the moisture off them as much as he could.

“Why don’t you dorm?” Namjoon asked, sitting on the bed and trying not to look like he regretted his choice.

“This is $400 cheaper a month than the dorm,” Yoongi said evenly. Namjoon stared at him.

“Because it’s covered in black mold, hyung. No wonder you feel sick all the time.”

“It’s what I can afford.” Yoongi felt defensive, and he didn’t want to. He was already nervous. The conversation was already going poorly. He sat down next to Namjoon on the bed, looked down at his hands. He spoke softly, so Namjoon had to get closer to hear him.

“This is really hard for me, Namjoon. I know you’re going to be upset. But please be–” his voice cracked. Namjoon panicked.

“You’re breaking up with me,” he said. Yoongi laughed a little, shook his head.

“No, you’re breaking up with me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I lied to you. I didn’t know when the right time–” He saw Namjoon’s face, already hurt, and he took a deep breath.

“I fuck men for money. I’m sorry.” He sniffled, looked down and tried not to cry. I’m a whore was too crass, and I’m a sex worker seemed to leave too much leeway for interpretation of what activities went on. He chose the most direct option. Namjoon stared at him for too long, and Yoongi could feel he was unhappy.

“Why? Do you…do you like it?” he finally asked. That wasn’t the question Yoongi was expecting, and it made him feel more hysterical than he’d ever been in his entire life, crying and angry, like a switch had flipped.

“Yeah, Joon, I fucking love getting fucked by pricks who only leave tips if I cry. I love going to school and then fucking men I don’t want to fuck before I go to work until six in the morning so I can pay to live in this shitty apartment. What kind of fucking question–” Namjoon’s lips were on his, hard and bruising for the first time, and Yoongi sobbed into the kiss.

“Shush, hyung,” he said, voice dark and strained but not angry. “I just meant–I didn’t want to assume you were miserable if you weren’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re grossed out. I understand if you don’t want to see me again. I just–please don’t tell anyone. I won’t hang out with your friends and make it weird for you. I–” Namjoon kissed him again, put a rough hand on his waist.

“I said to shush,” he said quietly. “Don’t say things like that.” They both sat in near silence for a few long, long, minutes, only broken by Yoongi’s tears.

“You didn’t lie to me either, so stop thinking that,” Namjoon finally said. “You told me now because you want to…get serious. Right?” His voice was flat, thoughtful. Yoongi nodded. Embarrassed didn’t cut it. This was humiliating.

“Do they come here or do you go somewhere? Do you use a condom? Are you on any medications to help…prevent stuff? Do you get tested regularly?” Yoongi wasn’t quite sure where this was going, but he felt like he was talking to a caseworker.

“They come here, mostly. I used to–sometimes I still–if things are rough I’ll go out to look for…guys. I have t-ten or so men I’ve been seeing regularly for like a year who are reliable with paying me and haven’t killed me yet. I’m not on PrEP. I don’t get tested very often. It’s all too expensive. I…I usually make them wear a condom but this guy flew off the handle this weekend, and he didn’t.” His voice got higher at the end, and he started crying again remembering that shitty night–they actually had used a condom the first time, but the guy dumped it on his fucking face and then fucked him a second time without one. He gave him a lot more money than usual, too. They always did that when they crossed a line, like begging Yoongi not to drop them as clients, and it gave him such difficult feelings, not sure whether his autonomy was worth losing the money, almost always deciding that his autonomy was next to worthless in this economy. Namjoon’s grip around his waist tightened to the point that it was almost too tight, and he pulled him closer into a side hug, neither of them facing the other still.

“Okay,” Namjoon said slowly, clearly trying very very hard to ignore the fact that this had happened recently, while they had been together. “That’s all pretty dangerous and setting yourself up for weird stalkers.” Yoongi sniffled and nodded. He couldn’t argue. He’d just had to change his door code after that same guy watched him unlock it one day. He’d just walked right in.

“You need to move, hyung. For like–twenty different reasons,” Namjoon said, looking around. Yoongi lost it again.

“I can’t afford to live anywhere else. I can’t afford to move, either. Like a truck, or–” Namjoon turned to face him, hands on his shoulders.

“Just let me–”

“No,” Yoongi said firmly, throwing his hands off of him. “The last fucking thing I want is my boyfriend of like a fucking month paying my fucking rent.” He tried not to sound hysterical, but he couldn’t help it.

“Can’t you ask your parents for help?”

“Do you think I’d be living here if I could ask my parents for help? I–They kicked me out. I was homeless for three months before college started. I had to get an aunt to drive over my instruments before school started. They didn’t even want to send them, or let her take them. And auntie didn’t even want to get involved either, but she felt bad I was sleeping in bathrooms before I got this place so she did it for me.” Namjoon’s face softened at the pain in Yoongi’s voice, the obvious jealousy dissipating and leaving something more tender. He leaned forward to kiss him again, softly this time, surprising Yoongi.

“Okay,” he said, calmly. “I’m going to pay to get you tested, and for a general checkup after living here for this long, and for any prescriptions they write you. Don’t argue, it’s for both of us.” He touched Yoongi’s face tenderly, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. Namjoon’s hands felt so big on Yoongi’s face.

“You’re also not paying for any more dates,” he said.

“You deserve to feel special, too,” Yoongi muttered.

“I do feel special. You make me feel special. You–the way–” he seemed to change his mind, deciding it wasn’t the time. “It’s stupid for me not to pay. Unless it’s something really big, I have basically unlimited money. Speaking of which, Jungkook is going to start paying you for his haegeum lessons.” Yoongi shook his head, feeling defensive of Jungkook.

“It’s fair. He teaches me piano–”

“He’s filthy rich and he’ll pay you for the lessons. Stop worrying about looking like a mooch.” Yoongi paused, upset at having been read like that, at being so obvious and so obviously having a mindset so different from Namjoon’s: the mindset of someone always worried about money.

“And you’re getting out of here. I can’t invite you to my house, but I’m going to call Jin. His parents are home like twice a week. They won’t notice or care if they do,” Namjoon said. Yoongi frowned, wondering if that’s why Jin always seemed so lonely. He opened his mouth to argue, but Namjoon shook his head and he closed it again, feeling defeated.

“I’ve stayed with Jin, too. You can save up some money with him. It’s crashing with a friend for a while. Everyone does it. And honestly it’ll make me feel better having someone there with him. And you’re going tonight if I can help it. I can feel the mold in here growing.” He shivered. They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Yoongi’s eyes traveled to the bouquet on the table, so pretty. He sniffled, wiped his eyes with his T-shirt sleeve. He was so thin his arms looked gross even to him. He didn’t deserve this–didn’t deserve Namjoon. He didn’t.

“I love you,” Yoongi said for the first time, quietly, still looking at the flowers, so bright and beautiful in such a gross setting that they seemed to glow. His chest hurt, and he put a hand to it after confessing, hoping to calm himself down, to kill the butterflies that made him want to vomit. Namjoon’s hand gently cupped his chin, turned his head back toward him. He was teary, too, but he looked more at ease, like he was sure of what he wanted.

“I love you too, hyung. I just want you to feel safe.” He kissed him for a long, long time, the longest they’d ever kissed.

***

Taehyung had been trying to talk to his friends all day. He knew they were busy. He knew they were going through a lot right now, but he’d never felt more lonely in his life, and he needed one of them, just one of them. He came to orchestra practice extra early even though he hated being in that huge room, full of people who hated him. He scratched at his hands, hoping someone else would come early.

Jin came in, saw him and stopped, looking nervous.

“Hey, Tae Tae. You’re early.” He started setting up instead of going to him, even though there were 40 minutes until practice started, and they were all usually practically in each other’s laps until the second Conductor Lee walked through the door. Did everyone hate him? Had he done something? Maybe they were finally sick of how nervous he got when they did anything, went anywhere. He bet it was hard to hang out with someone like him–he didn’t have to bet, had been told straight up by others. He’d just hoped things would be different this time. Jimin had told him he was too tired to talk, and Taehyung had understood–he’d been through a lot recently, had been resting more, focusing on healing physically and mentally. But maybe that had been a lie. Jungkook had pretended not to see him earlier; they’d made eye contact, and he had quickly looked away and turned a corner.

“Yeah. Can you watch my trumpet? I’m going to run to grab some stuff I forgot and use the bathroom,” Taehyung said, still picking at his hands. They were red and sore; he’d been picking at them too much lately, and skin kept scabbing over, opening and sometimes oozing again, scabbing over even if the skin didn’t break. He knew it was gross but he couldn’t stop. Jin didn’t even look at him as he nodded. He couldn’t come back. Everyone always got sick of him–first his parents, then his grandma who had died last year, and now his new friends, the only people he’d ever trusted beyond halmeoni. He passed the bathroom, then the lockers, and left the building. He took a moment to look around. The sky was dark; it had been raining so much recently. The dark skies and rain had been making the orchestra practice room look even more menacing than usual. Taehyung picked a direction, and he ran.

***

Jin had grown increasingly uneasy throughout the beginning of practice, uncomfortable sitting next to Jungkook, staring at Taehyung’s seat, waiting for him to come back. Jungkook kept looking at him, then at Tae’s seat too. Jungkook must have felt bad about fucking him when Jungkook and Taehyung had become so close. Maybe Taehyung already knew and was upset with him, upset at being alone with him earlier. Fuck, where was he?

“Seokjinie. Seokjinie-yah.” Conductor Lee snapped his fingers to get his attention. Jin looked up at him in a daze, at the man who had kept him alive for years when no other adult cared about him. He thought of Taehyung’s parents, not too unlike his own, and then of Taehyung’s grandma. Jin met the conductor’s eyes, saw the concern in them that he had to try not to show too strongly in front of the other students. He could hear people whispering behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Jin said. But instead of focusing, playing, he shoved his violin and bow–multiple thousands of dollars each–at Jungkook and ran out of the room, a horrible feeling brewing inside him. He dialed Taehyung on his iPhone with shaky fingers. He’d left his trumpet. That’s what Jin thought as he ran to the bathroom, shouting for him, calling him over and over. He left his trumpet. Jin couldn’t breathe, remembered finding Doyoung, called Taehyung again, then again on Kakao. He ran outside, stopping outside the door, and it started to rain again. He took a deep breath, letting the rain fall on him. If he were Tae, where would he go? He picked the direction with the tree with the brightest red October leaves, and he ran in the cool rain, toward the river.

The few people outside stared at him from under umbrellas as he ran past them, calling out for Taehyung. He would do anything for Taehyung to be okay. He wanted Jungkook more than he’d ever wanted another human in his life, even his parents when he was younger, but he would back off if it meant Taehyung would be okay. He could give up a part of himself to not lose another brother. Finally, under a landscape like a sad painting from the Industrial Revolution–grey bridge, dark grey sky, grey river, grey stones–he saw Taehyung’s warm brown tweeds crouched under the bridge, head between his knees, dark curly hair splayed out.

“Taehyung!” he called from across the street. Tae looked up, saw Jin waving at him, and Jin ran across the bridge and down the other end of the hill to meet him, slipping in the mud and getting covered in filth, but he didn’t care. He was so relieved to see him. The bridge–he had been worried when he saw the bridge that he–

Jin tackled Taehyung into a hug, sobbing, panting, holding him tight. It got Taehyung’s clothes absolutely filthy; he’d have to pay for the dry cleaning. Taehyung froze in surprise before hugging him back.

“How did you find me?” He asked. Jin stroked his hair, brushing mud into it. He kissed his forehead and calmed down so much to feel the warmth of it. It wasn’t the same. Everything would be okay.

“I know you like the river, and I thought you’d follow the prettiest trees,” he said, feeling a little stupid. Taehyung laughed as his own tears fell faster.

“That’s exactly what I did.”

“Why would you run out like that? You scared the shit out of me,” Jin said, taking Tae’s oozing hands and kissing them, so so happy he was alive, okay.

“Everyone is upset with me. I didn’t think anyone would care.” Jin didn’t try to hide his confusion.

“No one is upset with you, jagiya. Shit.” His phone was ringing. Seonsaengnim. “Sorry, he’s probably worried. I ran out really dramatically for you, like a K-drama.” He grinned at Taehyung through his tear soaked face, and they both laughed imagining the scene with a sentimental score over it, a Subway ad across the bottom as the scene ended until the next episode.

“Jinnie, what the hell happened?”

“Taehyung is okay. I’m sorry. I–”

“Where are you?” Jin told him the bridge, the street, the name of the coffee shop nearby, unsure what was helpful.

“Both of you stay there.” Jin hung up the phone.

“Conductor-nim is going to get us. Why do you think everyone is upset with you?” He kept his hold on Taehyung.

“I thought you were all tired of me. Everyone gets tired of me. And if I quit orchestra, none of you will want to see me again.” Thunder drummed in the sky and he started picking at his hands again. Jin shivered, the chill hitting him even worse now that he was also wet. His teeth chattered but he took Taehyung’s also-cold hands anyhow.

“What do you mean if you quit orchestra?” Taehyung cried hard, and Jin felt his heart burst. How had he missed all of this?

“I hate it, Jin. That big room. I can hear people calling me a spazz if I move around too much. They throw things at me,” His throat tensed up as he spoke. “And then–I never do a good job. You have to be perfect and I’m not perfect. The music is so rigid. I want to have fun like I do in my other groups but I don’t want to lose you. Every time I’m in there I hate music.” His sobbing got a little on the hysterical side at the end, and Jin tried to wipe his tears, but just smeared tears and mud all over his face.

“I’ve been trying to get you all to join one of my other groups so we can all stay friends, but you never even think about it.”

“Oh, Tae Tae. I love you. We all love you. You don’t–we don’t all have to do the same thing. We still love Jimin and Hoseok when they’re too busy dancing to hang out. We can work around your schedule. It’s okay. We’re not giving you up that easy. I’m not upset with you. I just–Taehyungie, I hate jazz.” Taehyung couldn’t help but laugh. Jin saw Conductor Lee’s simple black car pull up, saw him get out with an umbrella and head toward him, running once he was sure it was them. Jin felt pretty bad about what he was about to do to his car’s interior.

“Come on, let’s get you in the car,” Conductor Lee said, dark circles looking deeper under the heavy clouds. He pulled Jin into a hug once he stood, kissed his temple, small trails of mud on his coat.

“Are you okay?” He looked Taehyung over, too, worried at his hands. He took a pair of gloves out of his pocket and helped Taehyung into them, even though the gloves looked too expensive to be washed after covering muddy, torn up hands.

“We’re both okay. I’m sorry, seonsaengnim,” Jin said.

“I’m taking you home to get cleaned up.” Jin sat in the front seat, and reached back to Taehyung, not wanting him to feel alone back there.

***

Taehyung was clearly uncomfortable with how comfortable Jin was in their conductor’s apartment, knowing where the towels were, getting Taehyung some water himself before he showered the mud away. He liked the apartment though–it reminded Tae of the conductor’s office, cozy and academic, a black piano in the living room, and several cased string instruments, tall bookcases in a deep, rich wood. Conductor Lee put a soft blue throw blanket he would definitely need to wash later around Taehyung while he waited for Jin.

“Sorry I only have one shower,” he said, and then disappeared, coming back with tea as Taehyung was beginning to doze. Taehyung hated to imagine what he did to Jin, how early it had started, but he couldn’t actually picture this guy doing it. The guy looked really worried. He always made stressed music students cups of tea or creamy instant coffee in his office, let them nap on his sofa or read from his bookcases–Taehyung was easily overwhelmed and in there a lot himself. He’d even told him that his parents didn’t really care about him, that his grandma was dead, and he still hadn’t been creepy. Still, that didn’t mean anything. It could be that he was in love with Jin specifically–he was very handsome.

“Can I play the piano?” Taehyung asked, tea warming his cold hands that had been immediately washed by his professor in the kitchen sink and had some kind of first aid spray applied. It had been a little embarrassing, but he didn’t seem to mind. The older man looked at his fingers, double checking they weren’t hurt, and nodded. Taehyung played and sang, needing to cheer himself up with something pretty. He started with The Way You Look Tonight, letting his voice carry warmly throughout the room until it came back to him, washing over him in beautiful music. Conductor Lee watched him from the sofa with a soft smile, like he liked to hear Tae play. Taehyung lowered his hands after the song, looking at them in his lap. They already looked a little less gross.

“I thought you hated me, but you made me tea and you look like you like when I sing, so I’m confused,” he said directly, biting his lip and hoping he didn’t get in any trouble. People hated it when you asked them what they meant. Conductor Lee blinked in surprise.

“I’ve never disliked you, Taehyung. You’re a wonderful musician–very expressive, and a kind young man. Seeing you improvise, I can always feel that music is your own dream, and not anyone else’s.” He sipped his own tea and thought while Taehyung sat with the surprise that the conductor had attended at least one of his jazz groups’ performances. “I guess it’s a little frustrating, as an instructor, when a very gifted student doesn’t want to be there. I want you to thrive, but I can tell I’m not the teacher who will help you do that. I’m sorry if you felt that.” The apology finished so genuinely that Taehyung couldn’t really say much, just nodded. Jin came out of the shower then, wet hair, in lounge clothes he certainly didn’t bring with him.

“All yours, Tae. You can borrow some of my clothes. Sorry they’re probably a little big. I left some out.” Tae stared while his hyung let himself be hugged by his teacher, leaned into him, sniffled like he only did when he felt truly safe.

“Why do you have clothes here?” He tried not to sound accusatory, he really did, but. Well. It didn’t look good. But did it look bad? Jin gave him a look that told him to watch himself.

“Because I stay here sometimes when I’m really lonely, and when I get sick. And I’m in my mid-twenties, and I can keep my clothes where I want.” He spoke more gently with him. “Go wash up and get warm. Hyung will dry your hair.”

***

Jin was fourteen years old when he swallowed all his parents’ pills, never bothering to find out what mixture he had taken. He had no idea how long he was in the emergency department of the hospital, but knew he spent two weeks in the juvenile psychiatric ward afterward. His parents visited him three times in the emergency ward, twice before he was really present, not really all the way back to the land of the living. Every day he waited for them to visit in the psych ward so he could see them. On his third day, the nicest nurse said he had a visitor during lunch, and he was surprised it was his teacher from intensive, though he realized even then that he shouldn’t have been. These days, Jin knew his parents would have had to approve that visit with an unrelated adult ahead of time, knew they still didn’t visit. Mr. Lee sat across the cafeteria table from a beaming Jin, who was refusing to eat his food.

“Seonsaengnim!” He was so fucking lonely, so scared, and the sight of someone familiar meant so much. His teacher smiled at him. His hair only had a few strands of grey back then.

“I have a card from your classmates, a letter from your Namjoonie, and I brought your violin. They said you can play while I’m here, if you want to. But you should eat first.” Jin shook his head, looking down. His stomach and throat still hurt from his stomach being pumped, and it felt horrible to eat.

“You need to have something so you can get strong and come back.” Mr. Lee tried to keep his voice light. Jin was sure now that he had looked at death’s door that day, thin and pale and ill.

“It hurts,” Jin whispered, like it was a dark admission and not something anyone could have expected. He remembered seeing a brief flash of pain in his teacher’s eyes before his comforting smile came back, stable and calm. He’d thought about that short moment often over the years.

“I’m going to show you a trick. When you feel too sick to eat, you don’t have to worry about eating everything.” He took the cup of juice and the stick of yoghurt off his plastic tray and moved them closer to him, peeling the lid off the grape juice for him.

“You can just start here. You should eat more if you can, but if you can’t, this will still help.” He was able to eat just that, and Mr. Lee was right–he did feel just a little stronger. A nurse led them to a recreation room further in the back, so that Jin’s playing wouldn’t disturb anyone.

“What should I practice?” he asked, violin balanced on his shoulder like a pro.

“Don’t practice. Play whatever you want to. Just have some fun.” Jin didn’t have to think. He just played–imperfectly–what he remembered of a Sibelius concerto, a piece he’d been drawn to despite knowing it was probably above his level. Mr. Lee watched him attentively, praised his expressive playing even though Jin knew his memory was faulty and that he had played many wrong notes. Jin would never forget how powerful that half remembered concerto felt in that moment, how healed he felt from feeling his instrument vibrating against his body, becoming one with him. A purpose. A sound as sad as he felt. He wasn’t alone if he had that violin with him, and that was the exact moment he realized it.

“Do you know why I brought it?” Mr. Lee asked him. Jin nodded.

“Because I need to practice no matter what,” he said confidently. Mr. Lee laughed.

“Not even close.” He ruffled Jin’s hair, thinner then, some of it having fallen out from the stress on his body. “Because you’re going to find so many songs and things and people that make you happy and whole and give you a reason to want to keep going. So many people who love you, and beautiful music to play. You’ll always have that. Okay?” Jin never forgot what he said, hugged him tightly and held onto the feeling of being held in return. That hug was the last time Jin ever worried that his teacher wouldn’t come back to him.

Mr. Lee apologized that he wasn’t allowed to play music unsupervised here, something about the strings, asked if he was okay seeing Namjoon, that he had felt like he should check before bringing him, and then promised to bring him the next time he came. And he did. He visited often, and brought Namjoon pretty often, too. Jin’s parents stopped in once for fifteen minutes in those two weeks apart from the discharge date, and he’d spent the whole time hugging them and crying, begging them not to go, not speaking much at all beyond that. He heard that nice nurse ask the receptionist once:

“Where the hell are that poor kid’s parents?”

Chapter Text

Jin knew ignoring Jungkook’s texts was a dick move, but he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know what to do about Jungkook and Tae, didn’t think Jungkook’s future love life should be ruined just because he got horny when he was stressed. That’s all it was; he could tell himself that. For the next few days after they’d fucked, he barely spoke to Jungkook, even leaving right after rehearsal, dragging a now slightly less tired looking Yoongi with him, making the excuse that he had to practice. Jungkook had even asked to practice together on day two, and Jin had refused, saying he needed to focus. Namjoon had shaken his head at him, mouthing, “Dick. Move.” He’d talked to Namjoon about it very briefly, with no details, but other than that thought it was something he needed to figure out on his own. Namjoon’s perspective was all wrong anyhow–maybe because Jin left out so many details, he thought Jin and Jungkook were in love.

Today after practice though, he knew it was time, especially with their first performance coming up so soon. There shouldn’t be any bad blood between them. He got Namjoon to take Yoongi on a date that night–really had to twist his arm–and immediately after practice, when he’d usually run away, he turned to Jungkook so directly that Jungkook almost fell back in his chair.

“Do you want to come over and practice today?” He asked, in the worst fake casual way possible. He would have smacked a guy for talking to him like he was talking to Jungkook. But Jungkook looked like an abandoned child who was just picked up again, hopeful, scared. I’m a prick, Jin thought.

“Yeah! Yeah I’d love that. I practiced the fingering you suggested.” Jin could picture him practicing alone in his house, his sweet parents putting up with the same few measures of music being repeated for hours, Jungkook needing to keep moving because he was so upset about the mistake he made.

“You’ve got to show me.” They drove to Jin’s house in horrifically awkward silence, so awkward Jin turned on the radio even though he hated driving to music, then turned it off when he got too distracted, then back on when the silence got too awkward, Jungkook looking at him like he was doing something really strange. As soon as they walked through the front door to Jin’s stupid showroom of a house, he started anxiously, not even facing Jungkook until halfway through his speech.

“I’m sorry. I know you probably have a lot of regrets and it wasn’t fair of me to make you feel that way. It was selfish. I’ve always been selfish but I’ve usually managed to be a better hyung to my friends because I love you all so much, and I’m sorry I didn’t do better with you.” Jungkook stared at him.

“Jin, what? I liked it. Did you not like it?” Jin stared back at him, not really predicting this. He’d kind of imagined more sobbing, more Thank you so much for being the bigger person and understanding why I never want to fuck you again, more implications that Jin’s ass had honestly felt pretty mid at best, and that Jungkook was not interested in experiencing more of it, and that furthermore it had tasted a lot weirder than other asses but that he’d been too polite to say so at the time.

“No, I liked it. But even if you liked it–thanks by the way–you still regret it, obviously.” They stared at each other some more, both confused. “Right?”

“Uh. No. I was worried you regretted it since you acted like I didn’t exist for several days–thanks for that, by the way. But to be honest I was kind of hoping you liked it as much as I did, and that if I asked you out like I had planned to immediately the next day when you were ignoring me, you’d say yes, and that we could like. Do it again? Possibly forever?” Okay, so Jin had misread the situation, and Jungkook was mildly pissed off.

“But you’re in love with Taehyung,” Jin said, accusatorily. Jungkook strained his neck forward and squinted at him like Jin was the stupidest person on earth, and Jin was starting to feel like maybe he was.

“What? I’m not in love with Tae,” he said.

“Yes you are,” Jin pushed. “And I’m very nicely giving you up so you two can be happy together. You’re welcome.”

“Jin, you’re in love with Tae. That’s why I was nervous to make a move for so long–I wanted to hit on you like, immediately in case you were wondering. But you were ignoring me the last few days because you regretted giving in to me being a predatory creep and wanted to beg for Taehyung back instead. You ran out during practice. He was really upset.” They stared at each other some more, both standing completely straight and unmoving except for the long, slow blinks.

“He was upset about jazz. I’m not in love with Tae–why aren’t you in love with Tae?” Jin felt his ears redden, embarrassed he was so off the money–he was never wrong, obviously–and protective over Taehyung besides.

“Why aren’t you?” Jungkook exclaimed. “Like he’s great! I’m still not in love with him, though.”

“Yeah! He is great. If you aren’t in love with him then why would you take lessons with him to join his jazz ensemble?” Jin yelled, confused.

“I like jazz, Jin! Is that a crime?” Jungkook yelled back. “And it seemed like it meant a lot to him!”

“Yeah! It did! That’s why he was upset the other day! We were blowing him off and he thought it was him, but it’s just that none of us really likes jazz!” He yelled louder. More staring. Jungkook started to laugh.

“It’s not funny! Stop it!” Jin said. “I was so stressed about hurting you two that I threw up my boba!” Jungkook kept laughing, harder.

“You threw up your boba because you’re old and you still get it at 150% sugar with pearls and two different kinds of popping jellies and the dairy foam on top,” he said.

“Yes, but I was also stressed!”

“How do you think I felt?” Jungkook asked. Jin was so pissed off. He took a few steps, closed the space between them, took Jungkook’s face in both his hands and kissed his lips, deep and sincere, and Jungkook’s hands found his waist, clinging to him, melting sweetly in his arms like he wasn’t mad at all anymore. His eyes blinked heavily at Jin, in a dreamy trance.

“Go out with me,” Jin said.

“It was my idea first,” Jungkook said, still holding onto Jin’s waist in a way that made his heart drop into his stomach, smiling, unable to do their act, Jin unwilling to even acknowledge it was an act.

“It was my idea better, but you’ll probably try to steal my principal ideas…guy…chair, too,” he finished extremely lamely, not even laughing at his own joke.

“Hyung, how many times do I have to ask you to shut up?” Jungkook kissed him again, moved one hand down Jin’s front, rubbing until he felt Jin’s dick harden, then pulled away.

“Now my contest is the day before our performance and I’m really scared and I really really need your help practicing, I’m serious!” he said, anxious as hell. “I lied about practicing my fingering! Every time I looked at my violin at home I cried and Eomma had to make me hot chocolate and I got a weird speech about great artists and their nerves from Appa and I had to stay awake through the whole talk even though I was really sleepy from the cocoa!” He stomped his foot a little. Cute, Jin thought for the ten thousandth time, even though his dick was telling him he should smack this kid.

“Fine fine fine, you little shit! We’re bringing out the metronome. I can tell you’re going to try to speed through it.”

“I’m showing off my dexterity!”

“You suck at counting!” Jin yelled back. He took both their violins and stomped upstairs to his practice room, heart absolutely bursting with love.

***

“Do you really think the dance program is good for you?”

Jimin hadn’t stopped thinking about Hoseok’s question for days. He didn’t think the things Hoseok was worried about–the long, grueling practice sessions, the dieting–were all that bad. They were just the price you paid for perfection. And he would reach perfection for this recital. But now, Hoseok was here, asking him for advice for a choreography project, and he had to think about that instead. “Instead? Maybe they aren’t so different,” he thought. It was hard not to play his talk with Hoseok over in his head while he was right in front of him.

“I need like…So the dance is about someone different than me. You know how I’m always like–” here, Hoseok danced low and light, effortless. Jimin giggled, nodded. Truthfully, it had been hard to go back to the practice rooms, and he was glad Hoseok was here with him, though of course he couldn’t tell him that. Not now.

“So the concept of this is more like...More like the swans from Swan Lake. I haven’t seen that one since I was a kid, but it really fascinated me. Duality. Flying, desperation, perfection. But I don’t want any rigid ballerina shit, I want that more emotive style like yours. So I was thinking about a flip forward to a leap like flying, then like…a bendy thing like a swan’s neck, and reaching, reaching, reaching before falling back in a jerk.” He demonstrated very loosely, the flips only suggested by his “duh duh DUH” as he moved forward. Jimin thought he looked so lovely and effortless doing even that. He wished he had that effortless charm Hobi did when he danced.

“Can you show me how you would do it?” Hoseok asked. Jimin nodded.

“Can I hear the music one more time?” Hoseok nodded and played the piece from his iPhone speaker, a picture of their friend group before Yoongi and Jungkook had come along stuck in the back of his phone case. It was heavy on the strings, not a song Jimin had heard before, but a nice one–very desperate, as Hoseok had said. He wondered if it had been a double project, commissioned from one of the music students. He started to sway along to the music, longing, reaching in his mind, picturing what he would do. He was all warmed up from practicing all morning; it was all about the vision, now.

“Okay, so I think I’d do something like this. But only have your dancer do this if they feel safe. It’s pretty difficult. You could really hurt yourself if you weren’t confident.” He started counting slowly, clutching something close to his chest, jerked in opposing directions, before he flipped forward effortlessly into a reach to the left, to the right, then forward, lingering before jerking back as if pulled and reverse somersaulting flat onto his back, reaching up. He saw himself in the mirror, splayed out like that, and felt a little nervous, couldn’t help but notice he’d gained a little weight since he’d been resting more. He couldn’t let that asshole ruin his dancing; he’d have to get back to moving more, eating less. Hoseok’s clapping brought him back to the present.

“Jiminie, that was crazy.” Jimin sat up, hair tousled cutely.

“You mean crazy good, right?” Jimin joked. Hoseok sat on his knees next to him.

“I do.” He saw Jimin staring at himself in the mirror again, tapped his knee to bring his attention back to him.

“I wish you would look at yourself like I look at you, for just a day even. You would love yourself forever.” He hopped up cheerfully and pulled Jimin up by his arm.

“Stop practicing for like ten minutes and get lunch with me?” Hoseok was so hopeful, but Jimin shook his head.

“I’ve got to keep going.”

“You need to eat to keep moving. You’ve been at it for hours,” Hoseok said, like there was something bothering him that neither of them could really explain. Jimin looked in the mirror again, this time noticing Hoseok there with him. They looked so insignificant there, with the whole big grey room reflected back toward them. He spoke quietly.

“I’m not going to let him see me look like an idiot on stage.” Hoseok hugged him from behind, an attempt at playfulness that fell flat, immediately abandoned.

“To be honest, hon, right now? I think this is what he wanted. He wanted to hurt you and you’re hurt. Don’t let him win.” He spoke with a smile, but the words came out heavy. Jimin turned his head to look Hoseok in the eye, kept his eyes there when Hoseok didn’t look away. Hoseok’s eyes searched his, deep and longing with his sad little smile.

“You’re not doing well, Jimin-ah. You’re wasting away. You’re obsessive at home now, even.”

Jimin closed his eyes, turning his head from Hoseok’s. He knew he had to make a decision.

“I just don’t see how you can keep this up without seriously hurting yourself. I’m scared for you. I get so scared. Dancing just seems to hurt you more and I don’t want–I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. You dance so beautifully, but it’s not the most important thing.”

Jimin opened his eyes and lifted his head suddenly, and turned around to face Hoseok directly. He took his hand in his smaller one, smiling to himself because Hoseok didn’t hesitate to lock their fingers.

“Let’s get lunch,” he said. Hoseok beamed at him, eyes emotional. He leaned forward to kiss Jimin on the mouth, their first kiss. The start of something Jimin had longed for so secretly for two years now. Hoseok.

“Jimin, I’m in love with you, but I can’t do this. I can’t be worried you’re not going to make it back home in one piece every day for the rest of my life. Will you think about it? Please.”

Jimin kissed him back, unsure if he could really change in the way Hoseok needed him to, but willing to try. If he couldn’t do it for himself–and he really, really couldn’t–he could try to do it for Hoseok. At least to start.

“I’ll think about it, hyung. I–I’m in love with you, too.”

***

Yoongi adjusted surprisingly well to Jin’s freaky giant mansion. He had been worried about living with someone else, not liking noise and knowing he himself could be annoying, and he was extra freaked out when he came inside for the first time and saw that it looked like it belonged to some Patrick Bateman type. He was afraid to cook and ruin the countertops. He was afraid to use the bathroom and ruin the porcelain or the tub lining. What if he slept in the bed and woke up the next day with the whole house enveloped in mold, a furious Jin kicking him out onto the streets? He had nightmares like that the first two nights.

But Jin mostly left him alone, just told him he could stay in the guest room, that Yoongi could use that bedroom to practice in whenever his parents weren’t home, or he could use Jin’s practice room if he texted Jin first to make sure he wasn’t using it and if he promised not to touch the stuff on his walls, but that he could fool around with his violin if he was careful and it was in there. Yoongi really couldn’t believe he trusted him enough to touch that beautiful violin, and he didn’t fucking dare even with permission. They ate together–or kind of together, Yoongi’s stomach a little nervous–and watched films when Yoongi wasn’t at work, and Jin seemed to really enjoy his company. He kept telling him to quit his job and hang out more.

Yoongi was drawn to the beautiful grand piano in the living room, though, tired of his own shitty Yamaha P-45, wanting to feel the real weight and vibration of a piano. It was in the living room, not Jin’s practice room, so he thought it was probably fair game and sat at the bench, playing a languid scale and being immediately impressed by the depth of tone of the real deal, shivers down his spine from just a scale. He moved to the Chopin piece Jungkook was helping him with now. He had so many shitty self-taught habits on the piano, and every time he practiced on a real piano he could feel that his practice on the low-end digital wasn’t the same, wasn’t preparing him. The piece sounded so hauntingly sad on this piano, in this horrible, lonely mansion that had nonetheless saved him, sound reverberating throughout the entire house. He closed his eyes, feeling the music in his fingers as the strings of the piano subtly conversed with him through the keys, not noticing at first Jin’s frantic steps down the stairs.

“Stop. Stop, stop,” Jin begged, sounding more anxious than Yoongi had ever heard him. Yoongi jumped into a wrong note, stopped, looked at him frightened. ”Shit. Shit shit he’s going to kick me out and he’s pissed at me,” he thought.

“I’m sorry–I’m sorry. It was just in the living room so I thought–I won’t touch it again. I’m really sorry,” Yoongi said, not even wondering why he couldn’t play, but already thinking about how he could make it up to Jin, his only hyung who he already loved so much and who he felt so indebted to. Jin seemed to remember himself, remember where he was, and looked at the piano confused.

“I’m sorry. It felt like you were a gho–I mean, that was my brother’s piano,” he said, like that meant anything to Yoongi. Yoongi nodded anyhow.

“I understand,” he lied. He didn’t, but he did. He could see whatever it was was painful for Jin, and that much was easy to understand. Jin stared at the piano.

“You play really well,” he said, sounding strained and strange to Yoongi’s ears, distant, and Yoongi knew he didn’t play well at all and wondered why he’d said that. Jin’s phone rang and he answered on the first ring, as if glad to have a distraction, but his face fell even further, saying nothing beyond his initial hello and a “sh, I’m on my way” before he hung up.

“Come on. We’re going to get Joonie.” Yoongi followed him out the door, asking no questions until they were in the car and on their way.

***

Namjoon got into the back of Jin’s car with his cello, crying, shaking in a way that always broke Jin’s fucking heart. He drove away as soon as he was in, not even fully waiting for him to buckle up.

“Hi, hyung,” he said to Yoongi, trying and failing to act normal. Jin was happy that Yoongi reached a hand behind him to hold his Joonie, his poor hurt baby brother, and that Namjoon took it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said back. Jin was surprised by his level of not freaking out, or at least not looking like he was freaking out. Jin had been dealing with this for like what now? Ten, fifteen years? And he still freaked out every time. He was freaking out right now.

Yoongi helped Namjoon out of the car at home, Jin taking his cello inside. He had run back into Namjoon’s house for the cello once, senior year of high school. Namjoon simply didn’t feel whole without it.

In that sterile living room, Jin held Namjoon close, his palm on the back of Namjoon’s head, kissing his cheek, scared. He was shaking too, today. He’d been thinking about Doyoung too often recently. It was hearing that fucking piano–he was already on edge. He held Namjoon’s face in both his hands, saw the big thumb prints and stroked them so gently, before he caught Yoongi in his peripheral vision, desperate to love Namjoon but not wanting to interrupt. Jin liked Yoongi more and more the longer he stayed, and he was so fucking touched that Yoongi would let him have his moment. He stepped back.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been hogging him,” he joked. Yoongi immediately moved in to hug Namjoon just as desperately as Jin, but had to hug him from the waist instead because he was shorter. They looked good together, like two real nerdy guys who were different kinds of nerds.

“Joonie you’re not fucking going back there,” Yoongi said. Jin had to agree, but he knew from experience this conversation would not be going anywhere, but especially not right now. Joon cried desperately, and Jin stepped in for him.

“We can talk about that later. Joonie, why don’t you play something on the cello?” He rubbed his back. Yoongi’s gaze met Jin’s, and Jin had a really strange feeling, never having experienced this with someone else before. But he got the sense that Yoongi would be around for a very, very, long time, and that Yoongi understood Namjoon’s pain better than Jin did, on a more personal level. That felt uneasy–not bad, but strange for sure. He was used to being Namjoon’s rock, but he knew that it wouldn’t be right for him to be his only rock forever.

“You can play a duet. Yoongi, you can play on Doyoung’s piano. Play, play,” he reassured when Namjoon looked at him in surprise. Namjoon always played to calm down, to remember why he kept going. They were the same in that way, the way they practiced together all through their youths to give themselves a reason to live. Yoongi was like that too. Jin could tell by the way that all his hobbies were just playing other instruments and recording tracks, by the way he lingered in the room after practice like Jin himself did. He’d been stupid to think he was too lazy to put an oboe away quickly. He just didn’t want to leave. It was so obvious now.

“Brahms 1! Yoongi-yah, you can sight read Brahms 1, right?” Yoongi nodded, and Jin set up Namjoon’s cello for him. Namjoon stared at Jin full of emotion, pain replaced with something so much deeper, so much more powerful. He looked Jin directly in the eye as he took the cello from him.

“I love you, hyung. I’m glad you–Thank you,” he said. Jin touched the hand that held the cello.

“I love you both,” he said. He carried a simple velvet covered dining chair his mother had bought and then never used over for Namjoon to play on, pulled up some sheet music for Yoongi on his tablet.

Namjoon’s bowing was shaky at first–it always was after he was hurt like that, scared. But with Yoongi playing beside him, Jin watching them lovingly from a loveseat in the living room, knees pulled up cozy, Namjoon became less nervous, felt himself in the music more in a way that never ceased to touch Jin. He loved to watch Namjoon’s face as he slowly forgot who he was, where he was, what had happened, as he became one with his cello, big and deep but surprisingly delicate, not unlike Namjoon himself. Yoongi, squinting at the music seriously, afraid to mess up and ruin Namjoon’s immersion in the piece but playing more or less perfectly. He needed confidence, and glasses. Jin would have to make sure he got to the optometrist. He loved them. He loved them, and he realized watching the two play without so much as looking at each other, yet perfectly in sync, that he didn’t want Yoongi to leave. He liked having him there, someone to cook for so they both ate at least sometimes, someone else’s voice, someone else’s music. They were all so intertwined in Jin’s own feelings.

***

“Okay, okay. But who plays Sibelius better?” Jungkook asked, and he and Jin started playing at the same time, with interpretations so differing that it could only be to one-up each other. Their friends groaned, plugged their ears.

“You’re both awful,” Jimin said, and all but the violinists laughed because they could tell he meant it in that moment despite their high level of playing. They were in a bigger practice room, a little audience around a piano and a music stand.

“We’re here to support Taehyung. Why did you dweebs even bring your violins?” Hoseok laughed. He wrapped an easy arm around Jimin’s shoulder, and Jimin leaned in like Hoseok and home were the same word. Jin wondered how long they’d been dating–if those two even knew they were dating–and if they were ever planning on telling them, or if it never crossed their minds.

Next to him, Jungkook breathed a dramatic sigh.

“I guess some people just don’t appreciate virtuosity,” he said. Jin pushed some of Jungkook’s hair, growing out so long, behind his ear.

“I mean, they didn’t really see it when you played,” Jin said. Jungkook’s reply was interrupted–everyone was grateful to see–by Taehyung walking to their makeshift stage, bowing as everyone clapped, Jin whistling loudly, Hoseok wooing.

“Thank you, thank you,” Tae said with a final bow. “It means so much to see you all here, especially after Jin informed me that all of you except Jungkook hate jazz.” Yoongi looked at Jin, betrayed.

“I like jazz,” he said. “Not that anyone bothered to ask me.”

“I guess I didn’t ask anyone. I just assumed you all hated it,” Jin said kindly. Taehyung cleared his throat.

“Anyhow, here’s Everything Happens to Me. Just pretend you don’t know what genre it is and you’ll like it, I swear.” He played the song on the trumpet, solo, face full of emotion. Taehyung looked natural playing for his friends there in a way he hadn’t even a single day in orchestra, swaying with the music, moving naturally and freely, his baggy vintage clothes following the flow of his body, of the music. Jin was surprised to find that Taehyung was right–he did like the way the song sounded.

Taehyung’s personal recital was a hit, performing impressive saxophone solos and singing standards on the piano, closing the concert singing the same song he’d opened with at the piano, a full circle. His friends gave him a standing ovation, whistling and cheering. Namjoon ran to the lockers and took out a colorful bouquet, Taehyung beaming from the surprise.

“No one’s ever gotten me flowers,” he said as he took them from Namjoon, burying his face in to cherish the scent, as if he wanted to remember the way his first flowers smelled forever.

“Taehyung, that was incredible. Do you think you could show me a few things on the saxophone?” Namjoon said, eyes awed. He pushed up his thick frames as he eyed the instrument, completely oblivious to the way Taehyung beamed at him. He picked up his beloved saxophone with the arm not occupied with the bouquet, making everyone cringe that he’d drop his expensive instrument. He thrust it at Namjoon.

“I’d love to. Try it! If you don’t mind my spit I guess. Reeds are pretty gross.” Namjoon took the instrument from him, looking frightened he would embarrass himself or destroy Taehyung’s beloved sax.

“Close your lips there–perfect. A little firmer…Good. Now, take a really good breath. And let it go.” Namjoon made a firm honking sound, went a bit cross eyed at it and took it out of his mouth with a sense of reverence that made Jin snap a few covert candid photos, giggling at how sweet Namjoon looked.

“The way it vibrated–wow.” He held it up to look at it better, almost dropped it. Taehyung didn’t flinch, but Jimin lept into action to grab it mid-fall, at the same time as Namjoon, who thankfully caught it in time.

“Sorry,” Jimin said as he backed off. “I’m just traumatized from the time you flung my flute pretending you were conducting with it and you had to buy me a new one because it was ‘the least repairable flute’ the repair shop had ever seen except for the one that got run over by a car.”

“Okay, so we’re still not letting that go?” Namjoon asked.

“It was last semester,” Jimin said.

“Thank you all for coming,” Taehyung interrupted, staring at his flowers, all the fake showmanship gone and only sincerity remaining. “I know you don’t like the music I play. It means a lot that you’d sit through it for me.” Jin frowned, hugged him tightly from the side, careful not to disturb his bouquet.

“I’m really sorry, Taehyung. I wasn’t listening right before. Tonight–everything you played was beautiful. I loved to listen to the music you made.” Taehyung turned to fully hug him back, wiping a few stray tears on Jin’s shoulder by rubbing his face on it. Everyone nodded.

“I guess I’ve never given it a real shot. I loved everything you played. Especially when you sang,” Hoseok said.

“You play so beautifully. The songs have so much more emotion than I realized,” Jimin said. “They made me want to take your waist and dance with you. Let’s take swing together.” Taehyung smiled at him, nodding.

“Yoongi and I can’t have a moment like that because we were never close minded about more popular musical genres. Maybe now you’ll all be a little more open minded about the viola,” Jungkook said. Everyone, even Taehyung, groaned, except for Namjoon, who looked thoughtful.

“I wonder if I can find some really nice solo viola pieces,” he said. Something about Namjoon’s sincerity made Jin hesitant to crack the joke about the cellist having sympathies with the other lame strings. He kept it in. Character growth. Instead he wrapped an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, kissed his temple, making Jungkook blush happily. Taehyung stared at them.

“Wait, are you two dating?” He asked. Shit. He’d forgotten to tell them. Namjoon shook his head at them while Jungkook snorted laughing.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. It never seemed–I was–Especially after–” Yoongi could feel the anxious energy seeping out of Namjoon, wanted to ease his mind but was truthfully nervous about the news he’d just been given. A virgin. Shit. Shit shit shit. He’d assumed they were just taking things slowly.

“Sh, honey. There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, first of all.” They sat cross-legged on the bed–his bed, he guessed, still not used to really living with Jin–across from each other. Yoongi put both his hands on Namjoon’s knees, rubbed gently. Soothe. All he wanted to do was soothe him.

“And you don’t owe anyone any info like that that you don’t want to give them,” Yoongi continued. “I’m glad you told me, though. I’m sorry your first time has to be with…” He wasn’t quite sure how he wanted to end the sentence. Someone like me, maybe? A whore. Someone already ruined, used up by so many men Yoongi had stopped counting. God Namjoon deserved better. Namjoon put his hands on Yoongi’s.

“Has to be with who? Someone I love? Someone who cares about me? I feel really lucky that it’s with you, hyung. I just feel bad that I put you in this position. I’m sorry,” Namjoon said.

“Stop apologizing. I’m just…I’m a little scared, I guess.” He looked around the room, mostly to ground himself. He’d started going to therapy through the university–this was something the therapist recommended he start doing when he started feeling anxious. He could look for specific colors in the room, or for something that made him happy. The room still wasn’t really his, didn’t have much of his personality in it. The only things in there that made him really happy were his desk and Namjoon. He settled his eyes on Namjoon’s thick glasses.

“Me too,” Namjoon admitted. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, closed his eyes. Yoongi was glad that he at least felt safe, didn’t feel like he needed to be alert here with him. They’d been dating over a month at this point, and things had moved slowly, something that had confused Yoongi at first, and then comforted him. He reached one hand up, touched Namjoon’s cheek, and cherished the way he leaned into his hand, eyes still closed.

“What scares you the most? Let’s talk about everything now, so it’s a little less scary when it happens. Which. We can wait as long as you want. I’m not in any rush.” Yoongi wanted Namjoon, and badly, fantasized about him sometimes guiltily, but he could wait forever for him, too. He’d want to be with Namjoon if he decided then and there that he never wanted to have sex. If the last few years had taught Yoongi anything, it’s that you could definitely have enough sex to last you an eternity. There were more important things. Namjoon’s eyes stayed closed as he thought about Yoongi’s question, opened to meet Yoongi’s as he answered, safe and confident even when talking about his insecurities. That made Yoongi feel warmer and safer inside, too.

“I’m really scared I won’t make you feel good,” Namjoon admitted hoarsely. Yoongi smiled, taking extra care to make it kind, no hint of mocking. His thumb stroked Namjoon’s cheekbone, and Namjoon’s lips parted in response. He looked so vulnerable there, in his hand, and Yoongi realized that usually when someone was touching Namjoon’s face, they were grabbing it roughly, or hitting it. He frowned, made his hands extra gentle.

“I promise I’m not expecting you to be Casanova your first time. And you definitely won’t be anywhere even in the ballpark of the worst sex I’ve had. I…I think just having sex with someone you love can be enough. It doesn’t all have to be perfect. And I love you so much, Joonie.” Namjoon smoothly moved forward to meet Yoongi’s lips softly, gently sliding Yoongi’s hand to Namjoon’s heart as he moved into the kiss. It was a vulnerable move, Yoongi feeling the nerves directly through Namjoon’s quickened heartbeat.

“Could–I know this is lame. But can we go over how it will work now? Before anything happens? I’ve–I’ve seen porn. Obviously. I mean–I hope that’s okay–” Yoongi shushed him, calming, pulled Namjoon to his chest to hold. Namjoon seemed to fit there perfectly even though he was so much bigger than Yoongi.

“Of course that’s okay. And yeah, we can do that.” Namjoon stiffened in Yoongi’s arms, like he was trying to fight an urge, but the urge won, and he bolted up anxiously, hopping off the bed to dig through the little brown messenger bag he’d thrown on Yoongi’s desk chair–Seokjin had bought him a desk for him to work. It didn’t match the decor at all, a big desk that could fit his growing collection of schoolbooks and music equipment. He had cried in Jin’s arms that night, so grateful, Jin joking that he better make him some nice lofi to pretend to study with before he fell asleep. Yoongi was working on that now, actually, a gift.

Namjoon took out his notebook–he was already on a new volume. Yoongi could tell, because the notebook was identical to the one from their first date but the color had switched to a dusty baby blue. Namjoon dug around for a pen. Yoongi cleared his throat and Namjoon looked to him, frozen standing above Yoongi’s chair.

“Sweetheart, do you really need the notes? Or are you taking them because you’re anxious?” He tried to be gentle, light, but he really didn’t think Namjoon would appreciate being left to his own devices if it meant he would be faced with his sex notes the next time he tried to add in a quote from a novel. In the month they’d dated he’d gone through at least one and a half, maybe two, and Yoongi wasn’t sure if it was him being so much smarter than he was or whether it was an anxious compulsion.

Namjoon stood considering for a moment and then sheepishly put the book back in the bag and climbed back on the bed, back into Yoongi’s arms, which welcomed him readily, rocking him. He took a deep breath, obviously trying to ground himself with the woody smell of Yoongi’s body wash–obvious to Yoongi because he was doing the exact same thing to Namjoon and his fresh shampoo smell.

“Sorry. It was anxiety. I’m nervous about how things start. They skip that in porn, usually. I read that I need to prep you, but I don’t really know how to do that.” His voice was low, embarrassed, and Yoongi did his best to talk openly, like sex was just a normal, human thing. He worried his best wouldn’t be good enough, though, since sex honestly fucking embarrassed him.

“You don’t have to prep me if you don’t want to. I’ve prepped myself a lot,” he said. Namjoon looked up at him.

“No. I mean. I want to. If that’s okay.” Yoongi nodded.

“So. Uh. You can use your mouth if you want to–but you probably don’t–and you’ll definitely need to use your hands. But I guess if you don’t want to I can probably find a toy–”

“Hyung. I want to touch you. That’s the point.” Yoongi paused, considering this. That did make sense.

“Right. So you can use your mouth however it feels natural, if you want. You basically can’t hurt me with your mouth unless you really shove your whole tongue–sorry.” He sighed. It was hard shaking his past, where he often had to be very crass and very deep in a well of humiliation at the same time.

“You can do whatever with your mouth.” He tried to be less…whatever that was. “You’ll want to lube your hands and rub…outside for a sec, and get it moist. Then slowly put one finger in, and move it gently until you can get the whole finger in.” He looked down at Namjoon, who was shifting so his head was lying in Yoongi’s lap, looking up at him attentively. Yoongi genuinely couldn’t believe this terrible tutorial was working, but it seemed to make Namjoon feel better, so he continued.

“Then you can add one or two more. What I’ll need kind of depends on how big you are, I guess. Does that make sense?” Namjoon nodded, then made an open fist, showing Yoongi the space between his hand, confusing Yoongi. It looked like he was miming holding one of those little cans of soda.

“I’m like this wide maybe and maybe six and a half or seven inches? Or so?” Namjoon helpfully provided. Yoongi looked at the hand, paling a bit. Namjoon’s hands were actually bigger than his, so it was probably wider. “Focus, Yoongi. He wants to study.” He forced his mouth to stay closed, but couldn’t force out the picture of Namjoon’s dick stretching his sore mouth open. He repeated: ”Yoongi, keep your fucking mouth closed” as a silent mantra.

“Okay, so three fingers. For sure.” Namjoon shifted uneasily in Yoongi’s lap, and Yoongi was glad this conversation was really fucking awkward or it might have done something to him with the images that had just been in his mind.

“Um. How will I know? For sure? That you’re ready for more?” Yoongi breathed in relief, stroking Namjoon’s growing hair. This he could help with.

“I’ll tell you every time I’m ready for another finger, when I need more lube, and when I’m ready to fuck. Don’t worry about any of that.” He couldn’t bend down far enough to kiss Namjoon while he was lying on his lap, so instead he kissed his own palm and touched it to Namjoon’s cheek, thinking nothing of it until Namjoon’s hand shot to keep his hand there, a huge adoring smile on his face. Yoongi tugged it away playfully, but stroked his hair with it next, admiring his face. He didn’t know how he’d bagged a guy this cute.

“And what about the position?” Namjoon brought his knees closer to him. “Maybe you can be on top?” he asked, hopeful. Yoongi tried not to cringe, almost agreed, but decided to be honest. He didn’t want to do things he hated with Namjoon, especially not his first time, when he’d be hyper-aware of how much or how little Yoongi was enjoying everything.

“I can if you really want this time, but I actually really hate being on top,” Yoongi admitted. He didn’t tell him that it made him feel humiliated, like an animal. It reminded him of being with nasty men who wanted to convince themselves Yoongi loved fucking them, loved it so much he hopped on their dicks, no force necessary–forgetting, of course, about the money. He was sad to see Namjoon look disappointed, but he brightened up soon after at the thought of a problem to solve, sat up.

“I want to be able to hold and see you, but I’m worried if you’re on your back I’ll never be able to get it in and I’ll embarrass myself. The angle is kind of…” He stared at Yoongi, thinking, and Yoongi decided it would be better not to interrupt whatever mathematical thoughts he was having. Namjoon smiled: an idea. Yoongi tried not to be too endeared, failed. He couldn’t help twisting his face up at how cute Namjoon was. Namjoon grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it, laughing lightly.

“It’s only a little funny! I’ve seen this in porn, does it actually work? You could be like this–” He flipped Yoongi onto his side, lying down, and Namjoon lay behind him, pressing himself up against Yoongi, who was choking back a moan.

“This way I can kiss your neck, you can move your head back and we can make eye contact, but you can move it away too–it’ll be more comfortable and I know you don’t like to make too much eye contact,” he said. “Damn, read for filth,” Yoongi thought.

“Plus, I can put my hand on you and play with you while I fuck you. Unless I have to hold your leg up–is that necessary? Or just a porn thing?” Namjoon asked. Well. This was Yoongi’s life now. He laughed lightly, sitting up.

“Honey, that was a little too close to the real thing.” He leaned over, kissed Namjoon chastely on the forehead, then shrugged at the actual question. “Just porn, to get a good look. You might need to for a sec to get it in, but then it’s optional.” Namjoon took Yoongi’s hand, kissed it so tenderly that Yoongi wondered if he’d misread the awkward vibes of this entire conversation.

“This means a lot, hyung. I love you. A lot.” He kissed it again and again, rubbing soft circles into Yoongi’s palm, until he lay back on the bed next to Namjoon, facing him, and kissed his lips.

“I love you too. I want this to be good for you.”

***

“Seokjinnie?” Jin didn’t mean to jump like an eager dog when he heard his dad’s voice, but he did, leaping from the kitchen island stool with Jungkook right there, humiliating himself, running to greet his dad like he was terrified he’d be out the door before he got a chance to see him. His dad looked so much like him, an older, more tired version of himself in a wool suit, and he crashed into his body, throwing his arms around his neck, trying not to care that he could see Jungkook walking into the living room from the kitchen more slowly, seeing everything.

“Abeoji, I missed you. Did you get my text? How long are you staying? Is Eomeoni coming?” He clung, clung, arms unmoving around his neck, locked in. His father patted his back, gently tried to pry him off, then less gently until he was basically trying to shove him off.

“Jinnie, I’m tired. I’m going to head to bed soon. I haven’t spoken to your Eomeoni today. I think she’s coming today or tomorrow. We were going to try to spend the weekend together. Who’s this?” he asked, motioning to Jungkook.

“Did you get my text? This is Jungkook from school. Jungkook, my Abeoji,” he said as Jungkook bowed low, looking more than a little nervous. Jin thought it was kind of cute, that he was nervous to meet his dad. His arms went to his dad’s neck again.

“Jesus—Jin. Aren’t you a little old for this?” He finally pried him off like it disgusted him, Jin hurt. He’d only seen them once this entire month, unsure sometimes if they were home or not. They never even told him where they were. He knew his father spent nights in the office sometimes from some fights he’d overheard years ago. Honestly, he’d assumed his mother was doing the same, and that maybe both were having an affair. Once she’d complained about the flight back to Korea, and he didn’t even know where she’d been. He wasn’t really encouraged to ask questions, and to be honest he didn’t really care why, just wanted them there.

“I’m sorry. I just missed–”

“In front of your friend? What if he tells everyone at school you act like this? Then they tell their parents, and word gets back around to me. It would be embarrassing at work.” Still, he fixed Jin’s hair, and he felt his ears get hot from the attention, a dumb smile fixed to his face.

“Are you coming to one of the concerts? It’s the first one this semester. We’re doing the Tchaikovsky concerto you like–”

“The what? I’m sorry, you know I was never good at remembering any of your music stuff,” he said. Jin could see Jungkook’s face frozen into a panicked smile.

“You liked it,” Jin insisted.

“When is it?”

“Next weekend, Saturday and Sunday.” Jin hated the acoustics in this stupid house so much right now. The marble everywhere, besides being tacky, was making it clear to him that he was practically yelling and that his father was speaking at a normal indoor volume. He wanted so badly to put his hands back around his Abeoji, wanted to feel his father’s arms around him too, for real, had to restrain himself, jumping up and down a bit to burn off the energy. “Like Jungkook.” His father thought it over.

“I think we can do Sunday night. I’ll talk to your Eomeoni tonight,” he said. Jin’s heart was beating so hard in excitement he really thought he’d pass out. They hadn’t come to any of his performances or contests last year, and only one contest they’d hoped he’d win freshman year.

“Really? What if she can’t go? Will you still come?” He despised himself for how loud and desperate he sounded, and in front of his fucking boyfriend.

“Yes, Seokjinnie. I’ll try to come. Is your friend still staying here? Is this the friend?” He nodded at Jungkook again, who made an awkward little noise, and Jin wondered if he thought his father was being rude to him. He definitely had never been chatty or physical with any of Jin’s friends like Jungkook’s father had, but he thought his dad was pretty normal.

“No, Jungkook comes over to practice with me. Yoongi is the one staying over. He’s out with Namjoonie now. We’re all friends,” he said, figuring his father would be more interested if he tied these people to someone he knew.

“Just checking. Make him a key if you want. Make sure he doesn’t steal anything if you do. I’m beat, Seokjin. I’m going to go rest. It’s been a while since I slept in a bed.” He stretched and his joints and muscles hissed and popped as if to prove a point. He patted Jin on the back, awkwardly, but looked at him like there was a chance he really loved him, which was enough for Jin, had always been enough. Jin took the hint as a last opportunity to hug his father, wrapping his arms around his back, and tried to hold on to the feeling of being hugged back, if only for a moment, and with an accompanying eye roll.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Jin and Jungkook both watched the staircase until the sounds of doors and walking stopped. After a few tense seconds of waiting, Jungkook turned to him, voice low outside of the practice room.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brows pushed together. Jin furrowed his own brows back.

“What do you mean–let’s go to the practice room. Really, it’s fine in there,” he reassured, still whispering, the sound bouncing off all the negative space of the living room. “They went all out on the soundproofing panels so I could practice late, and their room is further down.” They walked up to the practice room, the snacks in the kitchen abandoned, and Jungkook started talking the moment the door was closed, before Jin had even switched on the lights let alone dimmed them.

“Did that not hurt your feelings?” Jungkook asked, plainly. Jin squinted his eyes at him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, having some suspicions about what he meant, not wanting to admit them. It was always such a treat to have his parents here. He hated to spoil it with his own feelings until after they’d left. Jungkook looked even sadder, stepped toward him, held him in his strong arms. Shit, Jin thought, experiencing emotions while his dad was still in the house for the first time in years. He couldn’t help how he clinged to Jungkook, desperate for contact, for love.

“Honey, he flung you off of him and then blew you off,” Jungkook said. Then, softer, “That would really hurt my feelings. If I hadn’t seen Appa for days, even, and he didn’t want to hug me when he came home.” Didn’t want to. He squeezed Jin harder, imagining his own hurt, projecting it onto Jin–ridiculously. Jin was just happy to have his dad home. He just had to repeat it to himself. He was just happy to have his dad home. Didn’t want to. Jin clung harder, too, afraid of bruising poor Jungkook but not able to stop. Didn’t want to. His dad didn’t want to hug him. He sniffled, buried his head in Jungkook’s chest to try to hide it despite knowing that he wasn’t fooled. It was about saving as much face as he could. This was not a good look.

“I don’t even know why I still miss him,” he finally choked out. “The last time he spent a week here I was a senior in high school. They–they started working more and going on work trips more after Doyoung…Like I said they were never really…” Jin was fucking annoyed with himself for crying on Jungkook again, but he just shushed him, rocked him in his strong arms. He thought about freshman year of college, how he’d been so lonely he’d almost tried again, Seonsaengnim letting him stay for two weeks then. Seonsaengnim cooking for him. Seonsaengnim looking after him when he’d had the flu last year, using his own sick time to care for him the first bad day when his fever was too high for him to be comfortable leaving him alone with no one to take care of him. Seonsaengnim at almost all of his contests when he probably had a million better things to do. Jin sobbed.

“Tell me about it. It’s okay,” Jungkook said, rubbing his back. “I’m here.” Jin didn’t know what to say, so he just said what he’d been thinking.

“Any time I needed help, it was always Mr. Lee there.” He awkwardly nuzzled his face up into Jungkook’s hair, almost a bob, trying to reach its softness, its clean smell. Jungkook lowered his head for him, and Jin buried himself there, knowing they looked ridiculous. “But I never really thank him or anything. I thank my parents any time they do anything. Or if they’re just there. Or half there. But I never really thanked the guy who cleaned my puke bowl.” Jungkook held him thoughtfully for a moment, a little “hm” sound to show he was thinking, that he didn’t think Jin’s attachment was stupid. He felt like a dumb kid with daddy issues.

“I don’t really thank my parents like that all the time, either. I don’t really say, ‘thank you, Eomma,’ when she holds my puke bowl. I just call for her when I’m sick. Maybe Mr. Lee is just more like your parent,” Jungkook said.

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Jin asked. Everyone always acted so weird about him liking his teacher so much, even his friends, everyone but Namjoon. He felt Jungkook shrug in his arms.

“I mean, it’s not normal, no. But who cares? You love him, right? And I think he really loves you. When I auditioned he even mentioned you, said he couldn’t wait to hear how we sounded together. I think a family can be whatever you want it to be. And honestly, hyung? That thing with your dad was not it. It was sad to watch.” Jin pulled away from him, the tears having stopped.

“I must have looked pretty pathetic. I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he said, hoping Jungkook would ever be able to see him as a sexual object again after the amount of snot he’d gotten on his shirts in the past month. Jungkook shook his head.

“You weren’t the one who looked pathetic.” He sounded angry. Angry for Jin. His friends had been angry for him before, but he’d never really had anyone he’d slept with respond like that. He liked it. He was a protective hyung; he’d already lost too much, knew he couldn’t lose more. But it felt nice, to have someone want to protect him like that too, in a different way than Jimin or Namjoon.

“I wished he were my dad,” he said quietly. It felt evil to admit. He knew his own father had been through a lot, too. Jungkook smiled at him.

“Tell him how you feel. Be honest.” They stood in silence. Jungkook bent down, came up with Koya, handed the worn toy to Jin. Jin took Koya, his most prized possession, stroked the soft fur and squeezed it to his chest, felt a little better. Quietly, as if someone might be listening in on the next thing he was about to reveal, he said,

“My favorite animal is an alpaca. They just always made me laugh as a kid, and I liked how soft they were when I got to pet one on a field trip. Namjoon’s house is full of alpacas. He even uses the joke presents. There’s an alpaca patch he sewed to the inner lining of his coat. It’s eating a pizza.” Jungkook smiled, a real smile, stroked Jin’s hair.

“He really loves you, too,” Jungkook said. Jin nodded.

“I’m glad you’re–this is too heavy to say this soon,” Jin warned. “But I’m glad you’re in my family now, too.” He sniffled again, fought a tear hugging his koala. “Neither of them is coming to the concert, huh?” Jungkook’s smile remained on his face, a few tears welling up behind his round eyes as he shook his head.

“No. They’re not. But I’m glad we’re family too. My parents will cheer for you–which reminds me. I’m ‘Jungkook from school?’” He raised an eyebrow playfully, but Jin could see he was really hurt, and chose not to take the joke route he was so kindly given.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “My Eomeoni doesn’t care too much, but he’s really homophobic. It was the only time I saw him hit my brother. Did you tell your parents about us?” Jungkook nodded.

“I get it. Sorry. I know it’s not the time. I just…I don’t like the feeling of being hidden I guess. Even if I understand why.” Jin nodded. It was a shitty feeling; he knew from experience.

“And I did tell my parents,” Jungkook continued. “I hope that’s okay. They’re really happy. Too happy. They keep talking about how I’ve never brought boyfriends home before–like they think I’ve had like a bunch but I’ve just been too afraid of their parental reaction to bring all these guys over?” Jin laughed, and Jungkook did too, relieved to have lightened the mood.

“Anyhow, they love you. I got a talk about how when you sleep over next time–that’s right ‘when,’ not ‘if–’ you had to sleep in the guest room, but that’s what they would make me do if one of us were a woman, too, unless we were married, and they’re not homophobic. I’m pretty sure my mom bought an ‘I love my gay son’ T-shirt on Etsy.” Jin laughed harder, kissed Jungkook on the mouth, loved being kissed back.

“I’m so glad they cherish you,” Jin said. Jungkook looked into his eyes, which made Jin feel a little dizzy. The depth of emotion in Jungkook’s eyes was a lot to handle for someone who lived like him, in a constant cycle of repression and weeping. Both of Jungkook’s hands moved to Jin’s face, and he kept their faces close as he spoke.

“You know it’s not because of me, Jin. Right? It’s because of them. I’m loved because I was born to parents who happen to be total dweebs, not because I’m more loveable than you. And you’re really cherished too–just by other people.” Jin sniffled. No. We’re not doing this. No more crying over people who don’t care about you. He took a shaky breath in, closed his eyes, tried to picture what he needed. He opened his eyes again, nuzzled into Jungkook’s hands.

“Fuck me,” he said. Jungkook’s eyes widened, unsure.

“Um, I’m not sure–” Jin held his face back, both of them locked into place.

“Please. Please. I need to feel loved and cherished right now. I know you’ll make me feel loved and held and good. Please.” He kept his eyes on Jungkook’s, hoping to convey that he wasn’t too fucked up to give consent. It worked; after a few moments of searching Jin’s eyes, Jungkook kissed him harder, grabbed his ass while Jin’s hands moved from Jungkook’s face to his waist, moving under his shirt, moaning. Jungkook looked around, and Jin laughed.

“Are you picturing us fucking on everything in here to try and decide how to take me?” he asked with a kiss. Jungkook kissed him back, aggressively.

“Yes. Do you have any better ideas? I don’t want to ruin the futon, and your room is off limits tonight because of the sound. I think the floor, or I can bend you over the piano.” Jin shook his head, kissing him again, speaking between kisses.

“No, I’m giving that to Yoongi. The floor is fine. You haven’t fucked me from behind yet, but I think I’m confident enough that you’re not just here to hit it and leave that I’ll let you if you want,” he said to try to cover, very sneakily, that he wanted to be taken from behind, wanted desperately to feel loved even while he was being used like nothing but a hole, no eye contact. Jungkook hummed a moan picturing Jin on all fours, Jin secretly pleased by the volume despite his dad–and maybe Yoongi by now–being home, and Jin took off his own shirt, lowering himself to the floor on his back to allow Jungkook the pleasure of ripping off his pants, which he did with relish after some more kissing. He undressed himself, too, and god Jin wanted him pounding into him, wanted to feel his strong thighs pounding against him, but Jungkook was on top of him, kissing, kissing, and Jin didn’t want that to stop either, was practically high on it, surprised he still got butterflies from making out after the fucking they’d done.

“I doubt you have lube in here,” Jungkook said, necking him. Jin thrust up his hips shallowly, hands running up and down Jungkook’s wide back.

“Just use spit,” he said.

“It’ll hurt,” Jungkook said. He had a point. Jin looked around, briefly considered rosin–that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever thought--and decided he didn’t give a single shit if it hurt tonight. He’d always liked a little pain. Not like Jimin, not to torture himself psychologically, but more like an occasional treat.

“That’s fine. I like it like that sometimes,” he said. Jungkook hovered a gentle hand over his throat.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Encouraged. Hit me if you want, too. You don’t need to warn me. Choking on your dick, too. I trust you.” He kissed him, hard, Jungkook matching his energy. “I’ll tell you uuuh…” He thought.

“I’ll say ‘viola’ if I want you to stop.” Jungkook laughed, a full belly laugh Jin felt with him pressed so close onto him, and laughed, too.

“Anything off limits?” Jungkook asked. Jin wondered why they hadn’t had this talk before, but then realized they’d only had normal rough sex before, not “no lube anal” rough sex.

“Listen if I say the word. No spitting or pissing on me unless it’s for lube–I mean no pissing at all. Spitting for lube only. Don’t call me any slurs. I hate the f one. You know.” Jungkook nodded, kissed him.

“How about you?” Jin asked, dick hard and ready for action pressed against his hot boyfriend, but not wanting to skip on making sure Jungkook was comfortable, too. Jungkook looked really surprised, had to think like no one had ever really asked him.

“If I’m hurting you for real, I need you to tell me.” Jin nodded. “I don’t like…This is embarrassing but I really don’t like to be talked to like I’m really tough and masculine. I also don’t like that slur. And…I don’t like to feel like an abuser even if it’s a roleplay.” Jin nodded, kissed him more tenderly.

“Please fuck me now that we’ve done housekeeping,” he asked politely. Jungkook laughed, kissed him again, traveled down to eat him out, spreading his legs wide. Jin moaned as Jungkook started to add fingers, the sensation already a little uncomfortable, stinging, perfect. Jungkook spent a lot of time on Jin’s ass before finally flipping him over onto fours. Jin arched his back expectantly, but Jungkook slapped his ass hard and walked around to his front.

He took Jin’s face roughly in his hand before he slapped it, maintaining eye contact, then hit his face with his dick until Jin’s lips parted greedily, ass still in the air. Jungkook muttered to himself, shoved himself into Jin’s mouth, pulling his hair to keep his dick deep, deep in his throat. Jin came up gasping for air, and Jungkook smacked him in the face and put his cock back in Jin’s mouth, holding his throat this time, now that he was warmed up. Jin loved the sounds he made choking, loved how attentive Jungkook was fucking him like this, all eye contact and checking his condition. Making sure he wasn’t taking on more than he could handle. It made Jin feel a rush of affection as he gagged on him. He even suspected Jungkook had only choked him on his dick to get it a little more lubed up before he fucked Jin. “It’s sweet, really,” Jin thought as Jungkook pulled out of his throat.

“Ready, baby?” Jungkook asked, crouched down, holding Jin’s head in one of his hands. Jin nodded, and Jungkook took position behind him.

“Fuck,” Jin heard Jungkook say breathily before his tongue was back on his rim, and then, unable to see behind him, he felt Jungkook’s cock in his ass quite suddenly. He hissed, adjusting, loving it, loving the sharp feeling, knowing he’d be taken care of extra well after this: this was all exactly what he needed. Jungkook waited, making sure their safe word wasn’t used before thrusting deeper. The pain was intense but nowhere near unbearable–Jungkook had done a really good job of prepping him. Just a little sharper than usual, actually quite comfortable. He lowered his head to the heated floor, exhausted already at the thought of keeping his whole body up through the ache.

Jungkook’s hand pressed against Jin’s throat, and he gasped, forgetting how powerless he was when fucked from behind, unable to see what was happening, to offer input. The thought made him so horny he arched his back a little more, moaned, moved his own hips into Jungkook, and felt entirely at his mercy. Jungkook took the hand off his throat to slap his ass, pulled his hair with one hand, choked him with the other like they were his anchors to Jin’s body. He occasionally gave him a break to squeeze his waist a little too hard, to hit him on the ass, to remind Jin what it felt like to have a body, to enjoy being in a body. He whimpered as Jungkook’s thrusting picked up the pace, his whole body moving onto Jin’s, pushing Jin’s body flat onto his stomach, fully on the floor. He pulled Jin’s hair, buried his face in his neck and whispered things directly into his ear that Jin honestly couldn’t make out but that sent shivers down his spine regardless. He whimpered pathetically, helpless, helpless, and felt Jungkook cum inside him before he finally let himself go slack on the floor, the tension leaving his body. Jungkook pulled out–too fast–and had Jin crying out, but Jungkook’s tongue was on him then, cleaning him up, a little bit at least, with his own mouth before flipping Jin over and sucking him off, passionately, Jin’s hand in his pretty hair, eyes closing as he came.

He felt Jungkook on top of him, giving him soft kisses on the face, before he opened his eyes again and actually saw him, brows furrowed. Jungkook looked angry and Jin almost panicked before he realized it wasn’t anger, just the same face he made when he ate a really good meal, and he laughed, loud and deep.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asked, tickling him, unoffended and frankly used to Jin’s bullshit. Jin pulled him into a kiss.

“You were giving me the same look as you do after you eat my ramyeon,” he said, hands on Jungkook’s little waist, pulling him close to him, feeling his warm skin on his own. Jungkook giggled too.

“I ate well tonight, hyung, okay? Let me clean you up. Are you okay? That was pretty rough.” He touched Jin’s face where he’d smacked him, kissed the spot tenderly, kissed his neck, and Jin exposed himself wherever Jungkook wanted to kiss. This had been the right choice. He felt, for once, so loved by a partner.

“Can you run me a bath? I am a little sore,” Jin admitted. Jungkook nodded enthusiastically, happy to have been given a mission, guesswork out of the picture.

“Give me five minutes,” he said. Jin had never seen a man leap out of his arms so happily to dress after fucking him and found he couldn’t stifle his smile. Jungkook met it, smiling so wide his eyes turned into rounded little crescents. Quarter moons.

It almost weirded Jin out, how pampered he was, helped to a hot bathtub with candles lit and a cold bottle of water at the tub, Jungkook sitting next to him on the toilet even though Jin was sure he’d like to wash up, too. He had towels out, and Jin’s favorite pajamas, and even though Jin hadn’t really noticed him leaving the room, Jungkook was ready with a hot mug of tea when Jin met him in his bedroom, the sleeping mat unfortunately too small for the both of them. He crawled into bed, body aching like he’d completed a really good workout, sore but pleasurable, too. He pulled Jungkook to him, kissed the top of his head.

“You need love, too. It must be hard to fuck like that emotionally,” Jin said. Jungkook cuddled into Jin’s fuzzy pajamas, moving his head up and down like he was petting himself until Jin actually did pet him. Jungkook made a satisfied little cry that made Jin want to keep him there forever.

“It’s actually really great. I love to fuck you like that,” Jungkook said, honestly. “But afterward I did wonder if I went too far, so thank you. No one’s ever said that to me before.” He wrapped his arms around Jin’s waist, determined to sleep on top of him. Jin was more than happy with that arrangement, but adjusted him a little bit so he could breathe; Jungkook was still a hunk of muscle.

“Hyung?”

“Hm?” Jin was tired. The sex was tiring. The bath made him extra sleepy. But Jungkook seemed to be a ball of anxious energy. Jin frowned, rubbed calming circles into Jungkook’s back where he held him, waiting to hear that he’d fucked up, willing to stay awake just long enough to fix it.

“I love you,” Jungkook said, a little bouncier than he’d probably intended. Jin stopped breathing for a moment. He tried to figure out how long they’d actually been dating–“Definitely not long enough to tell him I love him,” Jin thought, panicked. His feelings were strange. He knew, really, that he did love Jungkook, in more ways than one–it was complex. He knew Jungkook was freaking out on his chest right now. He knew they’d been dating for like a week. Two weeks? But he also knew they’d shared some heavy moments, some–

“H-hyung? I’m sorry, I–”

“I’m not ready, Jungkook,” Jin said, quiet and low. Jin felt Jungkook stop breathing and grow tense on his chest and found it hard not to feel like a fucking monster. He wrapped his arms around him tighter, tried to pull him up to look him in the eyes, but Jungkook just stiffened more, not looking up.

“I’m sorry. I–”

“Sh, sh. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He kissed his head, tried to think of what the issue was, and when he found one that he suspected was at play he felt gross in a different way.

“I know you’re a bit younger than me,” Jin said gently. “And you probably want to go really fast. I remember feeling like that. But I don’t feel that way anymore. I feel really seriously about you, Kookie. I don’t want to rush things with someone I like so much.” Jungkook looked up at him at the sound of the new nickname, and Jin saw immediately that he was more embarrassed than hurt–even his tears looked embarrassed on his red face.

“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed,” Jin continued, desperate to soothe the gorgeous boy he was falling more in love with every day. “I think we both feel the same way. Do–do you feel seriously about me, too?” He surprised himself with the insecurity in his voice, always worried he was hallucinating the love around him, that he would wake up in some kind of horrible reality where he was all alone. Jungkook climbed up his body to nuzzle Jin’s neck, and Jin groaned when he hit some sensitive parts of his ribs but held him close regardless of his own inability to breathe. Some things were more important than breathing. Like this kid’s feelings.

“Jinnie. Of course I do. I meant it when I said forever.” Jungkook kissed his neck and Jin sighed with something like happiness.

“Are you hurt?” Jin asked quietly. Jungkook nodded into the crook of his neck.

“Do you understand?” Again, Jungkook nodded. He felt like a part of Jin’s body.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready.” Jungkook sounded so vulnerable. Jin pictured him playing the violin, the way he tended to rush impatiently through slow passages, the way he bounced during rests that lasted too long, and smiled sadly, not really believing him.

Chapter Text

Jin knew that he had given off weird vibes when he asked Conductor Lee to have an impromptu dinner after he’d dropped Namjoon and Yoongi off at home, but he was going to make up for it. The entire drive to Mr. Lee’s apartment, he planned what he’d say. Calmly, rationally, he would explain how he felt about their relationship, and then ask his conductor and old teacher to do the same. If he didn’t love him back, that would be okay–Jin would be okay with that. It couldn’t be worse than his own parents not loving him. He could make it through that. And if he did love him back? Fantastic. They would enjoy a really nice dinner together.

He parked and knocked on the door even though he had a key–it just felt polite when he was a guest. Mr. Lee opened the door in casual clothes with a wide smile, and Jin immediately fucking lost it, not even stepping into the apartment, just breaking into tears. Okay, so not according to plan, but we can recover, he thought as he threw his arms around Mr. Lee’s neck, surprised and relieved that a set of warm arms immediately enveloped him. He clung harder, let out a pained sound that Jin had previously thought was reserved for frightened rodents.

Mr. Lee led him gently into the apartment, not letting him go, moving a hand to his head. Jin cried on his sweatshirt–at least Mr. Lee’s clothes were all dark, so no one would see the tears. Namjoon was always buying things in “vintage off-white.” Jin wasn’t sure quite what that meant, but he knew it was a mistake.

“Jinnie, Jinnie. Sh, did something happen? What’s the matter?”

“Do you love me?” he blurted out, extremely not according to plan. He looked up at his teacher’s face experiencing about fifteen layers of shame and embarrassment, surprised to see a flash of hurt on his face, discomfort.

“Seokjinnie,” he said. “I know we’ve never really talked about it, but of course I love you. You have a key to my apartment. You’re the closest thing I’ll ever have to a son–Jin, you’re the beneficiary of my will.” Jin sniffled, relieved, then cried harder.

“Why do you have a will?” he practically shouted. Mr. Lee rubbed calm hands on his back, shushing him.

“I’m getting old. What’s the matter? Come here.” He led Jin to his leather sofa, wrapped him in a soft blanket and pulled him close again.

“I never really thanked you. For anything,” Jin hiccuped, leaning into him, still so desperate for physical contact even though he was still sore from Jungkook last night. Mr. Lee stared at him.

“Why would you thank me?” he asked, confused. “But also, you have definitely thanked me befo–”

“You held my puke bowl!” Jin shouted, sitting up. “Several times!” His teacher hushed him, pulled him back down.

“That’s just what you do,” he replied, obviously still confused.

“My dad said they’re coming to the concert, but they’re not. I–Can you help me find a new place to live? I’ve never tried. I don’t…” He lost it again, hating to leave his practice room behind, knowing he had to leave his practice room behind or he’d never grow as a person, never find his own happiness.

“I need to bring Joonie and Yoongi-yah. And I need to figure out how to get my money–I can probably keep using theirs but. I love you so mu–I wish we were family,” he finished. Disjointed? Check. Hysterical? Check. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t take your damn key, he thought. But Mr. Lee just nodded.

“I can help you find a place. I’ll show you what to look for. We are family, Jinnie. I just told you, you’re the bene–”

“Stop! You’re not allowed to die, and if you have to, you’re not allowed to talk about it.” He crawled into Mr. Lee’s lap, humiliated but needing someone to fucking care, and Mr. Lee held him, still wrapped in his blanket, like it wasn’t the most embarrassing thing he’d ever seen in his life, a grown man in his twenties platonically straddling his teacher.

“Before you–I’m dating Jungkook.” He took a deep breath. Jungkook deserved this, to be told about to someone Jin cared about. He’d given permission already–he wanted to be bragged about, someone Jin was proud of–and it was just on Jin to tell someone important to him. This isn’t how he’d usually do it, but. Well. No time like the present.

“I’m sorry. I’ve always liked boys. I never–” Again, he was shushed.

“I’m a musician, Jinnie; you’re not the first gay person I’ve met. It’s okay. I love you, too. Invite him for dinner.” Jin thought about that, inviting his boyfriend for dinner with the person who was more his father than his father, adding him to their little ritual. He liked it. He leaned onto Mr. Lee’s shoulder and tried to get it together.

***

“So uh. Yeah. I’m just going to go crazy if I don’t leave this place. I’m sorry. I know you were just getting settled in,” Jin said. Yoongi looked around, trying not to freak out. It was good while it lasted. He’d been able to save a whole paycheck. That wasn’t nothing by a long shot. He’d need the buffer when he put down a security deposit on a new place. He knew Namjoon would lose it if he did his side hustle again, so he’d have to be more frugal. Like, a lot more frugal. Fuck, he was fucked. If he had barely been able to survive working more hours and taking at least several dicks a week, what made him think he was going to survive working fewer hours with fewer dicks?

“Can I stay here until you leave? I’m sorry to be like a mooch or a sponge or–” he looked at Jin’s blank face and decided to get to the point. “It’s just going to take me a minute to find a new place, and Namjoon’s going to freak out and want to tour every place I’m thinking about and–” Jin held up a hand for him to stop and his mouth closed, instantly. Fuck, fuck Yoongi thought, terrified he offended his new friend–not just his new friend, his new friend who had let him stay in his fucking house after hanging out with him a few times. He was such an ungrateful bastard, Jesus–

“Yoongi-yah, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Jin put one hand on each of Yoongi’s shoulders–still too thin–and breathed deep, looking him in the eye, making Yoongi breathe with him, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t–

“Yoongi, I meant like–I mean you’re coming with me, obviously. Please breathe.” Yoongi just panicked harder.

“Do you not want to live with me?” Jin sounded hurt. Yoongi shook his head, realized that was ambiguous. He held himself close, short fingernails picking at his biceps where his hands squeezed himself. Well, time to humiliate himself.

“I can’t afford to live anywhere you live.” His voice came out hoarse. He rubbed a tear away on his knee, which is the only reason he noticed he’d gathered himself into a little ball.

“Yoongi, I have a trust fund and honestly my parents aren’t going to cut me off anyway, probably. I’m done with them but I’m not looking to burn bridges. Joonie’s probably going to get at least mostly cut off and I want to make sure I can take care of him until he gets his money too,” Jin said. Yoongi’s mind went blank.

“Joonie?” he asked. Jin blinked at him.

“Well, I’m not leaving him there. Things have been getting worse every week. He never used to have marks on his neck, or marks from things that aren’t a hand, or be shaking in the car like that on the way home. I know he’s worried about paying for school, but I’m putting my foot down. You’re with me, right?” Yoongi nodded, touched that his input really meant anything.

“We can get you separate bedrooms if you aren’t ready to share that much space. I’m sorry. I know it’s all really fast. But we all need to get the fuck out.” Jin rubbed his face, and Yoongi thought he looked a little less sad than usual but ten times as tired.

“Oh, and I’m paying you for your keyboard, I forgot to tell you. I’m trading you mine. It has too many features. I don’t use them, I only bang out accompaniments, and honestly it pisses me off how many buttons it has. Shit, Jungkook will be over soon to practice–”

“Wait.” Yoongi honestly felt a little disoriented, even in his own room. He was glad he hadn’t tried to make it his own now.

“Uh,” he continued, trying to figure out where to start. “You don’t have to pay me for a trade–I should actually pay you, right? Since yours is nicer? And I’m not going to just…not pay rent somewhere with you guys,” he finished lamely. He knew he sounded ridiculous because of how his hyung was looking at him, but he had no clue what he’d said.

“Yoongi. Trust funds. If you really want we can calculate a fair rent for you based on percentage, but Christ. Just work like one shift a week and save more money.” Before Yoongi could argue, Jin held up another hand. “Do you think Namjoon and I earned this money? We were set up for too much success. You weren’t set up for enough. We can help you there. It’s not a big deal. And shut up, I’m paying you for the piano.”

Yoongi shut up, unfolded himself, and they sat in silence for a few moments before Yoongi crawled to Jin on the bed and hugged him. To his insane relief, Jin hugged him back.

“Thanks, hyung.”

“I like having you around, Yoongi.”

***

“I hate Paganini! Why did I choose this song?” Jungkook groaned in the practice room, stressed and still tense from their conversation a few days prior.

“‘It’s impressive,’ remember? And shut up, you love Paganiniana. You get this dumb grin on your face when you play it.” Jungkook groaned again.

“Why aren’t you doing any contests this year?” Jungkook asked. “It’s not fair that you get to tear into me and I don’t even get to return the favor.” He tried to sit on the Japanese futon, but Jin tapped him to get up with his own violin bow. Bold of this brat to think he was done practicing.

“First of all, you’re the concertmaster and get to make me do the most awkward bowings, so quit with that. And Uncle told me I should stop.”

“You have an uncle?”

“Conductor-nim. We decided it was silly to keep being so formal after I wiped my nose on his shoulder.”

“You wiped your nose on–”

“Someone is trying to avoid playing with better dynamics,” Jin said. “Here, I think the phrasing will help. If you group the notes more like this, it’ll help the rising volume sound more naturally gradual. More like this.” He lifted his own violin, playing so well he could see Jungkook was annoyed by it, which obviously brought him a little bit of pleasure he would never admit.

“You’re using practice to avoid talking about your feelings,” Jungkook said, raising his violin.

“That’s what we’re all using practice for! You don’t play this well if you’re a normal person. Go on,” Jin encouraged. Jungkook played so well that he couldn’t help but smile. He hated to be so proud of him, but he was. He motioned for him to play it at full speed, and Jungkook was fucking good.

“You’re smiling,” Jungkook said, unsure, due to their weird relationship, whether that meant he’d played very well or very poorly. It could honestly be either.

“You’re going to beat out all those other child prodigies,” Jin said, kissing him on the cheek.

“That reminds me. I never added you to our shared calendar. I’ll do that. We have your contest–Joonie will be there too actually but he gets nervous when we show up to watch, then our first performance, then we have Jimin and Hobi’s dance recital, and Yoongi and Namjoon and I are going to be moving probably in the middle of that, and then Tae has like three or four different performances and I’m sorry but we’re not allowed to miss a single one or he’ll think we hate him.” Jungkook blinked at him.

“You’re moving?” he asked. Jin stared back.

“Did I forget to tell you that?”

“Are you fucking–am I serious to you or not?” Jungkook snapped. Jin was taken aback. He had to admit he was the asshole in this situation, but he’d honestly just been too busy to remember if he had or not. Okay, yeah. It didn’t sound good.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy looking for a place it just slipped–”

“It’s not just the fucking moving, Jin!” Jungkook was shouting. For real. Jin didn’t like that, didn’t like how he looked like he wanted to slam his violin on something, or the hurt in his eyes.

“Any time I ask you anything even vaguely personal, you make some weird joke or ignore me. You didn’t add me to the friend calendar that I didn’t know we had? You don’t tell me anything about how you’re feeling in any moment unless I’m to the point of bursting into tears. Then you act like I’m too young and immature to date you.” Jin stared at him, unable to argue, knowing well that he was right and that he probably wasn’t finished. The last time he’d felt this numb he was somewhere so dark he didn’t want to remember.

“And I know you’ve been through a lot. And I try to be there for you while you work through that. But I have my fucking limits, hyung. I had a hard time, too. I got bullied a lot. I worry all the time that I’m fucking up with you, and that you’re telling all my new friends about how you want to break things off with me.” He sniffled, wiped his face. It was the tears that broke Jin, and he cried too, the numbness giving way to sadness far too intense for him to handle. He hurt him. He hurt someone who was already hurt, and it felt so unforgivable. He put his violin in its case as calmly as he could, hands shaking, and slowly moved toward Jungkook, scared his hug would be denied, scared he had just broken the spell and their relationship was actually just over now, but Jungkook ran into his arms the moment he saw Jin moving toward him, violin and bow still in his big hands.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re right. The contests–” He closed his eyes, hands enveloping Jungkook, afraid he’d change his mind. Well, he had to start somewhere; the contests were as good a place as any. “I was getting really stressed out practicing for my second one of the year last year. I was alone a lot, and I guess Namjoon had gone to Uncle and said he was worried about me. I kept having panic attacks. I’d never really panicked before, unless something really awful had happened. Namjoon said I was shaking a lot even when I wasn’t practicing, and that I was being…well he was worried I’d hurt myself. So Uncle suggested I take at least a year off the contests. He said I try too hard to be perfect, and I should work on that before I come back to contests. Is that–I’m sorry. We were talking about you.” Why couldn’t he do anything right? He was either actively withholding information or making everything about himself, with no in-between. But Jungkook looked up at him again, with eyes so trusting Jin’s heart melted and he couldn’t help but lean closer to kiss his lips, gentle and chaste.

“How fucking hard was that? Is it me? Do you feel like you can’t tell me things? I can change if I’m doing something wrong.” Jungkook’s voice was strained like it was fighting back a hundred tiny sobs with every word. Jin kissed his forehead, kissed it again closer to his temple.

“You’re perfect. Don’t change a thing. I’m just used to being…I don’t know. I’m sorry. I get scared to tell people things like that. I’m worried it’ll scare them off and I’ll never see them again.” Honesty with anyone but Namjoon felt so strange to Jin–he wasn’t even so open with his uncle, maintaining that specific kind of distance you’d take with an especially beloved parent.

“I’m not going anywhere, so stop being an idiot. Please,” Jungkook added, soft and desperate.

“It’s a lot for the beginning of–”

“Stop telling me what is and isn’t normal and how I should feel. I fucking hate it.” He stayed in Jin’s arms, arms wrapped around Jin’s waist as tightly as they could be while still holding the violin and bow, which kept poking Jin in the lower back and ass, which Jin felt would be rude to point out right at this moment.

“Okay. Tell me how you feel,” Jin said. Jungkook took a deep breath, finally moved to put his instrument down and then pulled Jin onto that stupid mat. He handed Jin Koya, and Jin squeezed him.

“I feel like you make things worse for yourself by not letting yourself feel things. Eomma told me when I was little that it was okay to cry and it would make me feel better, and now when I feel tears coming I just let them come and go. But you don’t do that. You torture yourself and pretend you can’t feel anything until you can’t hold it in anymore and then you get so sad you can’t handle it and it scares me.” He leaned onto Jin, hinting for what he needed, and Jin gave it to him, wrapping his arm around him, showing him he wasn’t upset.

“You’ve been right a lot tonight. I don’t like it,” Jin half-joked, but Jungkook didn’t laugh.

“Did you hurt yourself before? Is that why Namjoonie hyung was worried last year?” Jungkook whispered, but he was close enough Jin heard well. He was about to look crazy to his boyfriend, and his heartbeat picked up. He squeezed Koya to him, Jungkook turning to look.

“Yeah. A few months after my brother died I tried to kill myself, too,” he said, unsure of how else to dress it up. He stroked Koya, a gift from his first outing with Namjoon after he got out of the hospital, a trip to the zoo to cheer him up. Namjoon had hung on him then, scared. Namjoon had been so so scared.

“I was like fourteen I guess,” Jin continued. “Then there were a few other times I didn’t try but…I stayed with Uncle as a freshman. Before I met everyone, I was so lonely.” A single tearless sob broke out, remembering how horrible it had been coming home to no one, going to practice alone, going home to no one, going to practice with Namjoon or get boba together if he was lucky. They’d been so busy they’d hardly even had time to hang out or talk, catching up with the older musicians. The days Namjoon couldn’t practice with him were the hardest, practically unbearable.

“And then last year. So no contests. For now,” he finished, feeling lame. He wasn’t ill, he felt, so it was pathetic to be breaking down so often. Namjoon didn’t deserve that, but he was at least used to it. In front of Jungkook it felt absolutely pitiful.

“I don’t want you to feel that lonely anymore. Not while I’m here. If you’re lonely like that you have to tell me. Okay?” Jungkook’s sweetness stabbed Jin in the stomach. Jin nodded.

“Can it be your turn now?” Jin asked, getting a small laugh out of Jungkook.

“It kind of already was, but okay.”

“I don’t know what those other guys said to you, but if you’re fucking up with me you’ll be the first to know. Not our friends. Also, they would definitely take your side if I complained about you. Okay?” Jin said. Jungkook nodded, looked away embarrassed. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jungkook was silent, thinking of how to tell Jin what he had felt.

“I only actually dated one guy. I know it probably seems dumb to you, since I was a teen–well I’m still a teenager.” Jin cringed.

“Don’t say that again or I’m going to have to burn myself at the stake,” Jin said. Jungkook giggled.

“Sorry, ahjussi. But I really liked him, and I gave him everything,” he said, like that explained everything. Jin guessed it did–he didn’t see Jungkook as being someone capable of giving less than everything to someone he loved, and felt protective over him. He’d be so easy for someone to take advantage of if they wanted to. Jungkook crawled half onto him, straddling Jin’s leg, and Jin pulled him the rest of the way, so he was cradled in his lap, solid and warm. He hoped he felt safe and secure there with him, but couldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

“And I found out he–he was talking about me to everyone. Really mean stuff. Like, what we did in bed, and how I liked–” Jin’s heart broke at the distressed cry Jungkook made, rocking him.

“Sh, it’s okay. How you liked what? You can tell me,” Jin said, determined to look completely unfazed even if it were something he hated, like piss.

“I like to feel pretty–just sometimes. So I–sometimes I’d wear girl’s clothes when we were alone. Not like a sex–like I just hung out in them. It’s stupid.” Jungkook’s voice was small, laced with shame and remnants of humiliation, and Jin watched him wipe his face. He tightened his arms, kissed his head.

“I bet you look really nice,” he said, meaning it, honestly just really relieved it wasn’t piss. “He shouldn’t have told anyone that. I’m sorry,” he said. Jungkook’s knuckles were white from squeezing Jin’s sweater so hard, a soft blue wool that might not survive the twisting.

“It was so bad. My parents had to homeschool me senior year. They all made fun of me about all the weird stuff I do too. Like how I–” Again, his voice broke, but Jin waited patiently for him to finish.

“You know. The weird stuff I do. Like sniff people, and fidget around a lot. Why do I do that?” Jin’s protectiveness kicked in again. He remembered freshman year, Taehyung being bullied for fidgeting, for not understanding sarcasm. For being sincere, a real person, greeting everyone like they were already friends. Jin could never be like that, so open, and admired them both greatly.

“I think that’s really cute. I like that you’re the way you are. I wouldn’t change anything about you, Kookie. Except maybe I’d age you up a year and make your preferred bowings for our group pieces better.” He tickled him, getting a real giggle. Everything about Jungkook was so real, and he made Jin want to be more authentic, too.

“I was afraid to tell you what I’ve been wanting to do with my hair,” Jungkook said, leftover giggles from the tickling. It was getting long, Jin had noticed.

“What do you want to do with it? Tell me,” he said, as casually as he could after such heavy topics. He wanted Jungkook to feel safe. Jungkook looked down demurely.

“I was going to get it a little longer, get a bob and a fluffy perm and some bangs,” he said, blushing. Jin kissed his cheek, picturing it perfectly. “But I don’t want you to be embarrassed to go out with someone who looks…”

“Hot? Perfect exactly the way he is?” Jin helped. Jin realized he’d actually noticed that, how sometimes Jungkook looked quite manly and even a little edgy, and other times softer and more feminine. He liked this duality, the way he followed his feelings every day. Jungkook giggled again, smoothing Jin’s crumpled sweater back down onto his chest, looking up at Jin from his lap, and god it was doing things to Jin.

“Kookie?” He continued, bringing a hand to Jungkook’s sharp jawline. “I’m sorry I’m an asshole. I’ll really try my best to be less of an asshole. I promise. I want you to have a chance to date someone who’s not an asshole.” Jungkook cried, let himself cry, not bothering to wipe his tears, letting Jin do it for him with a soft touch.

“You’re not an asshole. It’s just that no one taught you how to feel about how you feel. But my eomma is going to lecture you about the importance of emotional intelligence at dinner sometime, don’t worry.” Jin smiled, and their eyes met, smiling together. Jin leaned down, kissed him on the mouth, kept kissing him, and that night they didn’t fuck, just kissed until they both fell asleep, Jin’s body not even all the way on the futon, Jungkook sprawled on Jin instead of the extra space Jin had left him.

***

Planning the move into the new apartment had required a lot less effort than Jin thought. He’d just texted his parents, unsure of when he’d see them again:

Me: Think I want to move closer to campus. Driving cutting into practice time. Would be easier to bring Namjoon with since he just has the bike–can you help me get trust fund money set up/help with first few months rent until it’s in? Sorry for long text.

He thought back to the conversation with Namjoon about it, Namjoon shaking uncontrollably, knowing Jin was right, scared of what would happen if he talked about wanting to leave again. His father often threatened him with his tuition fees. Jin had emphasized the need to act casual about it, held his crying best friend, tried so hard to make it better for him. He would have done anything in that moment to ease some of his pain, felt horrible that he couldn’t. He wasn’t going to burn any bridges; Jin was determined more than ever to make sure Namjoon was taken care of and taken care of well if he got cut off. The text back had come sooner than any of the others, just a few hours.

Eomeoni: Can set it up for you but you should just put it in high-yield or CD and keep using our card until you graduate. We want to take care of you. Is Mr. Lee helping you with finding a good place? We’ll talk to the Kims. I don’t want you to live alone, would be better if Namjoonie was there with you. I’ll come home next week to walk you through the money. Love you.

So many things bothered him about that text–the fact that he basically had been living alone since he was a teenager chief among them. He hated that she knew that Uncle was the one helping him and so many things about that: that she knew he couldn’t do it on his own, that she knew who he’d ask, that she wasn’t bothered it wasn’t her. He was always bothered by his mother’s love more than his father’s indifference. She always said she loved him, that she worried about him, but he never actually felt loved.

He knocked on Yoongi’s room, sat on his unmade bed when he was given the okay to enter. Yoongi sat at his desk, like he usually was when he wasn’t practicing or sleeping, and took off his headphones, swinging the chair to face Jin. Jin was happy he finally looked a little comfier here now, wearing his shitty lounge clothes. He wore glasses now, thin rimless round frames, since Jin had insisted on dragging him to the optometrist. He helped him pick out the glasses, and thought it should be something delicate, that wouldn’t overwhelm his small pale face. Namjoon had loved them.

“My parents gave the okay. I’m actually going to have the trust and their money. They said they’d talk to Namjoonie’s parents. I think they’re going to frame it as me being too pathetic to live alone, even though I told them it was for transportation reasons,” he said. Yoongi blinked at him.

“But you already live alone,” he said, confused. Jin loved him even more.

“I know. They really piss me off sometimes. What are you working on?” he asked. Yoongi grinned, and his smile always made Jin laugh–it looked so kind and evil all at once–he mostly grinned like an axolotl when he was up to something.

“I’m so glad you asked. I was just finishing this up. It’s for you.” He unplugged his headphones and pushed play. It was the lofi track Jin had jokingly requested, with a simple piano behind a cello on the melody. Jin pictured the two of them giggling recording the song and felt warmth. Namjoon was going to be okay. They were all going to be okay. The song was fucking good–the perfect amount of “fi,” Jin thought. It even started off kind of energizing and then became calming after a few minutes–perfect for Jin to pretend he would work to before he fell asleep. Yoongi paused it.

“It goes on like that a long time–I just looped it to eight hours for your beauty sleep,” he said. Jin wordlessly stood and yanked Yoongi up from the chair–easy to do, he still didn’t eat enough–and hugged him tightly.

“I love it. Put it on YouTube and earn some ad revenue and I’ll use it for real. You two suck.” Yoongi grinned wider.

“Namjoon told me how long you usually study for so we could time it right,” he said. The energizing section had only been about three minutes. That little bitch, Jin thought extremely fondly.

“Well. He was wrong. It’s usually ten minutes before I call him to copy his homework.” He pulled himself from Yoongi, still facing him.

“I’m glad you’re coming with us. Come on, you need to eat,” he said. Yoongi shook his head.

“I should practice and get to bed,” he said. Jin was reminded of Jimin, who still randomly avoided meals together, though he was getting very obviously better about it, but something was different. He didn’t see Yoongi obsessively checking his face for puffiness, or looking at his hands and wrists, pinching anything like Jimin often did when he couldn’t fight the compulsions.

“Is there a reason you don’t like to eat?” Jin asked, deciding to just be direct. Yoongi could take direct. Yoongi shrugged with a stiffly faked casualness.

“I just got in the habit of not eating much. If you eat a lot, and then you don’t have anything, it makes it feel worse. Now I feel a little sick if I eat a normal amount. It’s not normal for me anymore,” he said. Yoongi tried to look unbothered, but Jin could see that thinking about those times was really painful for him.

“Okay, so you need to go to a nutritionist, too,” he said.

“Stop booking me appointments with doctors,” Yoongi whined.

“No. You deserve healthcare, idiot. And Namjoon is happy every time I make you go to one. I hope you’re looking forward to your teeth cleaning. I scheduled that just to get a hug from Namjoon,” Jin joked.

“Thanks, hyung,” Yoongi grumbled, blushing, and Jin felt pleased. He really loved being a good hyung.

***

Namjoon held Jimin’s hand as they walked down the hall of the dance building to grab Hoseok, cello case in his other hand. They were all going to meet up for boba. Part of why Jimin loved when they went for bubble tea instead of lunch so much–even though boba had about as many calories as a lunch–was how happy it made Tae Tae. He was usually so nervous when they went out anywhere, quiet and trying to look invisible, but something about how much he loved boba had him giggling and talkative the whole time they were out. He loved to see Tae smile. Jimin was lost in this thought when he saw Minho a little further down the hall, froze, staring at him. He hated to be this obviously hurt, knowing Minho would relish in his trauma when he saw him. Namjoon’s hand pulled his and met resistance, so he stopped to face him. Jimin couldn’t even look at Namjoon right now–he suspected Namjoon thought he had gotten what was coming to him, for being such a slut, and he hated the thought that Namjoon didn’t love him back. It was all too painful.

“Jiminie?” Namjoon’s brows furrowed with worry. His eyes followed Jimin’s, saw who they landed on.

“Sorry. Sorry I–can we go another way?” Jimin asked, strained and delicate. He couldn’t take Minho, couldn’t take Namjoon judging him, couldn’t take–but Namjoon put his cello case down on the floor calmly, met Jimin’s eyes one more time, and Jimin didn’t see judgment. He saw anger, and sad eyes full of love. Jimin’s eyes widened when Namjoon walked away from him and toward Minho, calmly. He wanted to run and stop him, but he still felt frozen in place–unable to move, the most frightening thing for a dancer to feel. He wasn’t in control of his body. He wasn’t in control of anything. He heard Namjoon, a few meters ahead of him.

“Hey, I was wondering if you had the time?” He said, and then when Minho looked down to pull his phone out of his pocket, Namjoon punched him in the face. Namjoon. Punching someone. Jimin couldn’t have stopped the yelp that he made if he tried. He watched Namjoon pummel that guy, the element of surprise on his side. He took a few hits, too, and Minho was strong, but he came back with one each time. Namjoon. Punching that asshole. For me. Jimin felt hot tears running down his face, the strain of sobs in his throat. The hallway was mostly empty, but the dance students were a lot more uninterested in the fight than Jimin would have expected, mostly bored and turning to find another way to class, a few people stopping to film and cheer.

“I’ve been wanting to do that to Minho all year,” he heard a ballerina mutter to her friend. They both stopped at Jimin on their detour, more interested in his crying than Minho getting his ass kicked by the nerdiest guy in the Music department.

“You okay, Jimin-ssi? He’s an asshole, don’t worry about him.” She rubbed his shoulder. She knew his name, even though they did different types of dance. Jimin felt strange–more loved than he’d felt before, and cried harder, but nodded. The girls looked unconvinced, and stayed with him until Namjoon came back, going through their purses desperate to offer him something that would help, finding only tissues and a few mints that Jimin took politely. He was surprised to find they really did ground him a little.

Namjoon returned to him with broken glasses and a bloody nose, Minho running, stumbling, away, past a sea of completely unconcerned ballet students. Namjoon’s entire body shook, like he couldn’t control it, though he was clearly trying to breathe steadily to help. The girls walked away, sensing that they needed to talk, but said encouraging things to Jimin before leaving, and forced them both to take some more tissues from their bags: Jimin for the tears, and Namjoon for the blood. Namjoon thanked them and held the wad to his nose.

“Do I know those girls? I’m sorry I can’t fucking see a thing. I only know it’s you because you haven’t moved,” Namjoon said, nervous.

“No, they were just nice. Joonie I thought–” Jimin’s tears came back harder. He finally moved, able to hug Namjoon with a violence that was maybe a little too strong considering he’d gotten kicked and punched at, and was shaking from it, but he couldn’t help it. Namjoon cared. He hurt himself for him. He felt Namjoon’s big hands patting his back.

“You thought what?” he asked. Jimin spoke softly, knowing what he was about to say would hurt Joon’s feelings, potentially a lot.

“I always thought you didn’t care. That you thought I deserved it,” he answered honestly. Namjoon’s arms grew tighter around him, hurting a little bit, but in a nice way. In a loved way.

“I never judged you, Jiminie. I just worried. I’m sorry. I…I just thought you’d have to be pretty hurt already to…seek out that kind of…sex. I didn’t want you to get more hurt. And then someone did hurt you more. I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry. It hurt me to see you so–I’m so sorry,” he said hoarsely. In Jimin’s arms, the shaking felt like a constant shivering, and he felt like he could make it stop if he stayed close, kept him warm.

Jimin didn’t really know how to react. People didn’t apologize to him very often, which hurt, made him feel like he wasn’t valued, that his emotions were less important than everyone else’s.

“Thank you,” Jimin replied, soft and singing. “It hurt me a lot because I love you so much. But I’m glad you cared.” He felt his voice catch but didn’t cry again, willed himself not to. He was done crying over this, grateful Hoseok had put up with the violent weeping every night for a week after it happened, sleeping with him in his twin bed so he wouldn’t feel alone.

“I lov–”

“Let’s get Hoseok. He can help us tape up your glasses. He can patch you up, too. He always handles my injuries for me. He’s better at it than me,” Jimin said, confidently, taking the two halves of Namjoon’s glasses from him. Namjoon picked up his cello and took Jimin’s hand more firmly this time, and Jimin squeezed it back.

“We’ll walk slowly. I know you’re really blind.”

Chapter Text

Boba was always Jin’s treat. It was difficult, to line up the schedules of seven music majors who all had lessons and ensembles and theory classes and fucking gen eds. Taehyung cherished their bubble tea dates, usually just a few times a semester before big events to try and destress together. Sometimes they sat outside, other times they went to Jin’s house or booked a practice room to goof around together. Today, they sat outside in one of the university’s green parks, a little dreary from the end of autumn, at a picnic table, Jimin in Hoseok’s lap–for space reasons, Tae was sure.

“I’m just surprised you did it,” Taehyung said to Namjoon. Namjoon shrugged, sipped his boba–matcha, 30% sweetness with red bean. Gross, Tae always thought when he ordered. Taehyung always just got a normal Thai tea with regular tapioca pearls–extra, if he was feeling it. Today, he was feeling it.

“Yeah yeah. Does anyone have any tape that’s not for feet?” Namjoon blushed, uncomfortable with the breach in image, with the reminders that, Taehyung noticed, gave him the shakes. Hoseok had had the idea of borrowing some toe tape from Hyunkin, that nice ballerino Jimin had fucked. It worked well, and was strong, but was thick and obvious with its flesh color.

Jimin leaned closer to Hoseok, who held him like he was precious–and Jimin was precious. He’d been the first person to help when Taehyung was getting bullied as a freshman. Out of all the people in the hall, the first person to help him being harassed by a big group was the delicate dancer. Taehyung knew from that very first impression that Jimin was tougher than he looked. He’d taught him that you can be strong and ask for love, need love.

“I’ll run to the corner store and get you some,” Yoongi said, standing. Jungkook pulled him down to the table again. The sun on Yoongi’s pale skin made him glow practically white. He still looked pretty ill–maybe even worse than before, even though Taehyung had heard them joking about how many doctor’s appointments he was going to.

“No, we want you here. Namjoon can look like a nerd for a minute,” he said. Namjoon sighed, took a bashful sip from a water bottle absolutely covered in ironically unfunny alpaca stickers.

“Can we change the subject?” Namjoon asked. Jimin nodded.

“I agree. It’s funny Namjoon kicked someone’s ass. I’m not denying that,” he said, getting a snort from Tae and Jungkook. “But it’s not very nice for me. I want to forget about it for now. Can we talk about something else?” That settled it. They loved to tease Namjoon when the opportunity presented itself, but no one wanted to hurt Jimin if they could avoid it. Tae felt his heart rate pick up, started picking at his hands until he heard his heartbeat in his head louder than in his chest. Jin took a hand, mouthing to him, “Pick at mine.” Taehyung’s chest tightened, the love overwhelming him. He stopped, unable to hurt Jin’s pretty hands.

“I actually have something I wanted to ask about,” Taehyung said, voice a little strained. Everyone looked at him kindly. Yoongi sat on his other side and held his other hand clandestinely under the table. They’d become faster friends than anyone had expected, both so devoted to music even when compared to the rest of them.

“Um. What about choir?” he asked. They looked a little blank.

“What about it, Taehyungie?” Hoseok asked, sweet and playful. He had a real talent for making others smile, for saying funny things without making fun of anyone. A breeze played at Hoseok’s bangs, and Jimin moved them back into place tenderly. Taehyung loved them, loved them together.

“Um. I thought–if you hate this it’s okay. But I thought…Conductor-nim said I can leave after this performance with one credit.” Silence, a heavy silence. Jimin looked down, sad. Taehyung remembered the conversation with the conductor, the surprised hug he got, and the offer to be a reference for any programs he wanted to apply to, and a good word to any of the other directors. He’d cried, and gotten a cup of tea from him, allowed to stay in his office until he was ready to go back into the real world.

“Sometimes giving something up that used to mean a lot to you is harder than sticking with it.” It was Yoongi who broke the silence, which still shocked Taehyung a little; even though he was more talkative now, he was still among the quieter members of the group, still insecure about overstepping.

“I think it was really brave of you to quit. And I’ll show up to whatever you do next,” Yoongi finished. Everyone murmured agreement, and Jimin looked at Yoongi teary. Tae wondered if he’d thought about quitting too, after he was hurt.

“Thank you. I felt really bad. But I thought choir might be something we could all do.”

“I can’t sing,” Yoongi and Namjoon said in unison while everyone else was still thinking about it. Taehyung wanted to scratch at his hands again, surprised to come back into the present moment, back into his body, and find both hands held by his friends. They both squeezed his hand at the exact same time, perfectly in sync, knowing him well.

“I thought–I thought we could join the one for non-majors. I’m tired of being–” He started to cry a little, took his left hand from Jin’s to wipe away the tears, which stopped flowing almost immediately. He was ready for this. He was ready to tell them how he felt, and all eyes were on him, mouths busied with bubble tea.

“I’ve been really stressed by how competitive and serious everything is here. It’s not just the competitions–those are even kind of fun. It’s the constant, 24/7 drive for perfection. I can’t do it anymore. I was thinking about what I want to do with you guys. I just want to have fun. I just want to have fun and make music with you,” he finished, voice stronger and more confident. Namjoon and Yoongi made eye contact.

“I’m in,” Namjoon said. Yoongi nodded.

“That actually sounds like a lot of fun. I haven’t gotten to sing since, like, middle school,” Hobi said, giggling.

“And he has a beautiful voice,” Jimin added. “I hear it in the shower.” They both laughed, and everyone laughed with them.

“I know this isn’t supposed to be competitive, but I’m going to destroy all of you in the non-major choir,” Jin said.

“No,” Jungkook said, standing up at the edge of the table, framed by the mostly bare branches of a tree clinging to a few last red leaves behind him. “I’m going to kick all your asses.” Everyone groaned.

“Let’s keep them out of this,” Jimin joked. Serious nods abounded. Tae squeezed Yoongi’s hand, heart full. They loved him. This was his proof, his proof that they still wanted to spend time with him. Yoongi squeezed his hand harder, and Taehyung faced him directly, surprised to see he looked nervous, was looking down now, too.

“Go ahead Yoongi. We’re listening,” Taehyung said, softly. Yoongi’s eyes met his, surprised someone had noticed that something was on his mind.

“I guess I wanted to share, too. I know this is stupid and that probably no one will be interested. You can just tell me that,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“We can’t decide if it’s stupid before you tell us,” Jin joked gently. Yoongi blushed.

“Right. I thought about starting a traditional ensemble. There was one the year before I started here, but it fizzled out when the seniors left. I’m sure mine will too. But I thought if it was a club, maybe I could find some people to help, and we could teach people to play our instruments, too. And then maybe there would be more interest, since not a lot of people get to try them or play them to a high level. But then maybe no one would join because it’s not for credit, and I know it would look–”

“What a fantastic idea, hyung!” Jungkook exclaimed, hopping up and down. Taehyung felt less alone when Jungkook was like that, fidgety and active.

“Yeah! My favorite jazz ensemble is non-credit. There’s so much interest we have to hold auditions these days,” Taehyung said.

“I actually really want to learn one of our Korean flutes,” Jimin blushed. “I feel like it’s something we can be really proud of.”

“I can help you set it up and organize it,” Hoseok said brightly. “I helped start my street dance club here so I know how to do all the stupid forms and stuff.” Taehyung smiled at Yoongi, wide and sincere, enjoying the cool breeze on his face. Home. He was home, for the first time.

“Oh Tae Tae,” Jimin said, reading his mind, getting off Hoseok’s lap to hug Taehyung from behind, nuzzling into his neck. Taehyung felt the warmth of his hands on his neck, his chest, felt cradled and held.

“I’m going to be sick,” Jin said.

“Oh stop it and let other people get some of the lov–” But Jimin couldn’t finish his teasing, Jin running to gag behind a tree. Namjoon shot up to check on him, but Jungkook shook his head.

“He’s fine. He’s just too old to order that boba,” he said, pointing to the completely empty, except light ice, extra large cup. “I keep telling him.” Taehyung winced, took the cup and read the label aloud.

“‘150% sugar super mango slushie with mango and strawberry popping bubbles, tapioca balls, and milk cap, light ice.’ This is disgusting.”

“Ahjussi,” Jungjook shouted toward the tree, hands cupped around his mouth. “You’re too old for that much milk and sugar. And you’re lactose intolerant.” Tae smiled when Jungkook ran over with a bottle of water and some napkins anyhow.

***

Yoongi straddled Namjoon’s lap, making out on his bed like they so often did, but today it felt different. Jin wasn’t home, for one, and Namjoon had been extra tense lately–from kicking some guy’s ass, from the competition, from the thought of moving–Yoongi wasn’t sure, but he could see it added a desperate edge to Namjoon’s love.

“So fucking hot,” Namjoon mumbled, gripping Yoongi’s waist harder. This was new. Yoongi’s heart picked up, a little moan escaping, and he felt himself harden. They’d gotten hard before, even jacked off next to each other a few times, kissing, but Namjoon had never been ready for more than that, and that was fine with Yoongi. He liked this speed. Namjoon slipped his hands under Yoongi’s shirt, then started pulling it off very slowly, pulling away to make eye contact, silently asking if this was okay. Yoongi held his arms up in response, tugged at Namjoon’s in a hint and Namjoon threw his off too. They’d definitely seen each other shirtless before; the hesitation just made Yoongi more sure of what Namjoon thought was about to happen. He held onto Namjoon’s strong shoulders, grinded his hips into Namjoon’s gently. Namjoon’s head rolled back softly with pleasure, and Yoongi kissed his exposed neck. When Namjoon met his eyes again, they were intense, scared and confident at the same time.

“I want you,” he said. Yoongi nodded, kissed him.

“I want you too,” he mumbled into his lips. He licked his own lips and let his hand travel down Namjoon’s chest to the waistband of his pants, leaving it there. He would let Namjoon set the pace. Yoongi felt a wave of uneasiness pass through him as Namjoon started to take off his own pants, a vulnerable anxiety he wished he weren’t feeling right now, not when Namjoon needed him to be an expert, to guide him. I’m more scared to have sex with my boyfriend than I was to get roughed up by some asshole, he thought. He could feel his breathing start to get shallow, which Namjoon–thankfully, he thought–took as horniness and ripped Yoongi’s pants off too. Yoongi’s eyes widened at Namjoon’s blue briefs, at the huge dent in them. He licked his lips again, less consciously than before. He got off the bed, beckoned Namjoon to sit at the edge, and pulled the underpants off slowly, making eye contact with Namjoon to check in. He looked a little nervous, too, but when his cock popped out, erect and large, Yoongi had to force himself to look back at Namjoon’s face, trying not to worry about getting that inside him when Yoongi was so tense tonight.

“Is this okay?” he asked, sweetly. One nice thing about Namjoon being a virgin was that he could do his absolute best to make sure his Namjoonie never ever had to do a single thing in bed he didn’t want to do. Namjoon nodded, gasped when Yoongi’s big, thin hand wrapped around his cock, gasped again when his lips touched it, kissing, gently tonguing. When Namjoon thrusted up instinctually, Yoongi knew he was ready, opened his mouth as wide as he could, and took in the tip of Namjoon. Namjoon’s head rolled back again, but Yoongi’s mouth felt stretched to the limit already. He tried to make it good anyhow, using his hand. When he managed to get at least most of it in, tip hitting his throat driving Namjoon wild, he didn’t feel accomplished like he’d imagined; he felt dirty, that he was able to do that, to just deep throat a guy that big without all that much warming up.

It was a strange feeling, being completely in control of the blowjob. Namjoon didn’t hold his head, or even touch his hair, both hands supporting his weight behind him on the bed. He didn’t thrust into his mouth. There was nothing to make Yoongi cry, so why did he want to? Still, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t enjoying himself. He loved having Namjoon’s dick inside him, even in his mouth, loved making the person he loved moan with pleasure, loved seeing his hands grip the bedding tightly when he did something good, and then sigh so deeply that his whole body relaxed before he tensed up again from sharp jolts of pleasure. He loved the feeling of his left hand gripping Namjoon’s solid thigh. When Yoongi pulled his head back up, he had to stretch his jaw out as he crawled back onto the bed. Namjoon was on top of him in an instant, kissing him with more passion and confidence than Yoongi had honestly thought he’d have his first time. His ears rang from where his body was sending his blood supply, and he felt a little faint, a little high off the feeling. He pulled himself away, just enough to get a clear bottle of lube from the nightstand.

“I can still warm myse–” he started, but Namjoon kissed him again.

“Shut up,” Namjoon murmured. “Where should I mov–I want to eat you out,” he said plainly, voice gravelly. Yoongi felt nervous--shit, why was he nervous? Yoongi blushed, heady, got on all fours and tried not to feel like a whore. Oh my god, that’s why you’re nervous, he realized. You can’t stop being a whore. He touched the bedding, took a deep breath, tried to ground himself in the present, and felt hesitant hands spread his ass, a slow tongue gently touching his rim, picking up a rhythm and pressure gradually. This had always been Yoongi’s least favorite part of sleeping with those guys, because he loved the way it felt and felt disgusting because he liked it so much. He felt this again in strange waves, shame and bliss, love and bliss, then the shame again. Every time he felt the pang of self-disgust, he reminded himself it was Namjoon and gave in to the warmth spreading in his stomach, a cycle of forgetting and remembering, panic and pleasure.

“Is this okay?” Namjoon asked after a moment, but Yoongi thought he must have known he loved it, maybe just wanting to double check since he couldn’t see his face. He moaned, pushing his ass back, genuinely wanting more.

“So good, Joonie,” he reassured him, and felt Namjoon get back to work with new energy, even more desperate, wanting. Yoongi loved feeling him grow more confident, and he moaned loudly, unable to stop the noises. Namjoon slapped his ass, hard, and it made Yoongi feel so good he whimpered shamelessly, but he heard panic in Namjoon’s voice.

“I’m sorry–was that okay? I should have asked, I just didn’t think–” But Yoongi turned around, lay on the bed with his legs spread open wide–whore: he tried to ignore the voice–pulled Namjoon close, kissing him, tasting himself but not caring. Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon. He couldn’t tell if he was thinking or mumbling, lost in the moment, wanting to stay lost there forever. Namjoon took the lube, squirted some onto his finger, and stuck it in Yoongi’s ass so quickly that he cried out, quietly, and winced even with all of the prep Namjoon had done.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Namjoon pulled it out so fast Yoongi winced again. He looked at Namjoon’s panicked face, laughed a little, not unkindly, pulled him back to his lips. Comfort. His baby needed comfort.

“Sh sh, it’s okay. Just slow down a little, okay? You’re making me feel so good,” he said honestly. Being eaten out by someone who loved you was a different experience, he realized. Namjoon nodded, tried again, almost too slowly this time, but Yoongi faked a pleasure moan for him, just to encourage him a little, and it eased the worry lines on Namjoon’s face. It wasn’t like it didn’t feel good, just that it was only one finger. Fuck, he was rationalizing all his conscious sex choices again. Stop it. Other people do that, too. It’s how you communicate. He tried to just lay back and enjoy, telling Namjoon when he was ready for a second finger, a third, and by then the moans were real, no thought behind them.

Namjoon crouched in front of him, between his legs, looking at his asshole so reverently that it kind of embarrassed Yoongi, but it was cute, too. Yoongi let him spend extra time there, both because Namjoon seemed to want to, for whatever reason, and because Yoongi was pretty sure he’d need the extra prep.

“I’m ready if you are,” Yoongi said, pulling Namjoon up to his lips again. Namjoon met his eyes, and they looked at each other like that for a moment, recognizing the love, the desire, the anxiety in each other’s eyes. Namjoon nodded, kissed his neck, motioned for Yoongi to get on his side according to plan, the plan Yoongi still found endearing. He obeyed, watching Namjoon lube up his big cock, watching as his big hand very barely closed around his dick. He tried to put the lube away but Yoongi’s arm reached out to stop him.

“We’ll need that again. I’ll hand it to you when I need more,” he said, again embarrassed by how direct he was being, even though each time he was too direct Namjoon seemed a little more at ease. He took position behind Yoongi, lifted his leg to help him get in. Yoongi felt a little too exposed, a little too bony and small next to Namjoon’s perfect body. He felt his anxiety rise, tried to fight it. Namjoon kissed his neck again, easing some worry, and Yoongi felt his sticky, warm dick pressed against him when–

“Fuck!” Yoongi cried out sharply, yelping, willed the tears to stop with no success. Namjoon’s first few inches had shot inside of him, too fast, too fast–Namjoon was out too quickly too, another yelp escaping Yoongi, unable to be controlled. Namjoon was on him in an instant, kissing his cheeks, apologizing, apologizing even though he’d done nothing wrong. Yoongi could only tell he was really crying when Namjoon wiped his tears, panicked.

“Hyung, are you okay? Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear.” He kissed his face, everywhere. Yoongi’s body was still holding on to some panic, and he gripped Namjoon closer instinctually, Namjoon was relieved that he wasn’t being pushed away, still upset at hurting him.

“I’m okay. Sorry–It’s my fault. I should have put a hand on you and led you in. I’m sorry,” he repeated. Namjoon looked at him like he was insane.

“I hurt you. Stop apologizing.” Namjoon kissed his lips. “Let’s stop. I’m sorry. My poor baby,” he said, with such pained sincerity that Yoongi’s heart felt like it was flying into his throat carried by the butterflies in his stomach. He was not going to let his sweet Namjoon’s first time end like this.

“Sh, it’s okay. I want to keep going. It was just a little too quick. I’ll help this time,” he said. He noticed Namjoon’s now mostly limp dick and blinked in confusion before he remembered that Namjoon was his boyfriend, not some creep who liked to see broke students cry.

“But I–”

“If you want to stop, we can.” Yoongi said, hand cupping Namjoon’s cheek, savoring Namjoon rubbing his face further into his palm, kissing his hand softly. “But sex is just like that sometimes. I scraped your dick with my teeth a little and you still liked the blowjob. It’s perfect because I’m with you,” he said, feeling his own heart a little more at ease with the comfort of his own words. It was perfect with Namjoon. Namjoon kissed him more deeply, started jerking himself off, moaning when he felt Yoongi’s hand replace his own. The handjob felt extra good from the warm lube, and he was hard again shortly, looking determined, which made Yoongi smile, getting into position again. Namjoon added more lube to his dick, rubbed some more on Yoongi’s ass and–Yoongi’s heart about burst–quickly warmed Yoongi up again, just to be sure. This time, Yoongi put a hand on Namjoon’s dick and leaned into it himself, slowly, feeling the stretch and burn of his dick inside him, making constant little noises he knew were absolutely pathetic as Namjoon gave him a hundred small kisses on his neck and jaw. He felt too full to breathe, unable to fully relax.

“Honey, would you be willing to hurt me for like five seconds so I can feel good for the rest of the time?” he asked, surprised by the strained breathiness of his own voice. Namjoon nodded into his neck.

“Put a finger inside me–leave your dick in–count to three even if I cry out, then take it out,” Yoongi instructed. Namjoon hesitated a moment, but Yoongi’s voice was clear and secure, so he obeyed. Pain shot through Yoongi and he cried out loudly, turning to hide his face in the pillow to muffle the sound, but when the finger was taken away, he was left with a bliss he was sure he’d never felt before, the cries turning into desperate whimpers, grinding on Namjoon until he started fucking into him, so deep and full. Namjoon’s breaths grew heavy on his neck, hotter and more intense, and his casual hold of Yoongi grew tighter. Yoongi tilted his head back in pleasure. A hand on Yoongi’s hips gripped him so hard it almost hurt, and his arm that reached under him was choking him now, and Yoongi wasn’t quite sure if it was on purpose, but he liked it, crying out and feeling helpless, small in Namjoon’s big arms. Protected. Safe. Namjoon grunted, loosened his headlock on Yoongi, who gasped for air still moaning.

“Shit, why didn’t you say anything?” Namjoon asked, still fucking him.

“I liked it,” Yoongi barely got out, then felt biting, sucking on his exposed neck, a hand on his cock. He was making the most embarrassing sounds and couldn’t stop.

“Joon–Joon stop or I’m going to–” But Namjoon didn’t stop, his thrusts getting deeper and faster and–Yoongi was fucking impressed once he came to enough to think about it–timed it so that they would come together, Yoongi crying out as he came and hot cum filled his ass.

Namjoon settled there a moment, breathing heavily into Yoongi’s hickied neck, kissing him softly before pulling out. His ass clenched against nothing and he felt his entire body relax all at once, which had never happened to him before, took him off guard, and he started to cry.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Namjoon said again, moving on top of him, and Yoongi wished he’d stop apologizing for things that weren’t his fault. Yoongi cradled Namjoon’s face in his hand again, and Namjoon looked confused.

“Happy tears, sorry. It’s never happened before,” he said. “You made me feel really good. Really really good. Don’t apologize. You were great.” He kissed him, still whimpering a little. Humiliating.

“I love you,” he said then. Namjoon kissed his cheeks, Yoongi guessed where tears had fallen.

“I love you too. You were incredible,” Namjoon replied, collapsing onto him now that he knew things were fine, exhausted by his first time.

“How do I take care of you? I never asked. I’m sor–” Yoongi kissed him again, stopping the word.

“Stay with me a minute, then help me to the bathroom,” he said. “And stay over tonight, if you can.” He knew Namjoon would be Googling other ways to take care of a boyfriend after fucking him and smiled. Sex with Namjoon was perfect, even if neither of them had quite gotten the hang of it yet, and he realized that the reason that he’d felt so anxious with Namjoon was that his arms were the first arms in which he felt truly safe–physically safe, safe to be vulnerable and to feel whatever he felt. He held him tighter, his boyfriend, solid and hot and a little sweaty. Perfect.

***

Jungkook’s sobs echoed through his beautiful house, his father and Jin desperately trying to comfort him.

“It’ll take weeks to fix. I’m so stupid.” He started hitting himself in the face, hard, Jin noted, and he grabbed his hands before his appa could even register what was happening with his son.

“You can play mine,” Jin offered. “It’ll be okay.” Jungkook’s eyes met his, widening with surprise, but then the tears started again.

“I’m not used to yours. I’ll play like shit. I only have three days,” he said. Jin had really never seen him this hysterical before, rocking and hiccuping and trying to slap his face or punch his thighs every chance he got. He just kept repeating that he was stupid.

“Just have it for three days then, Kookie. You can practice as much as you want. I can borrow Uncle’s for rehearsal. It’s not as important in the orchestra, and I know my parts well already.” He knew he shouldn’t, not in front of Jungkook’s appa, but he kissed Jungkook’s head on his temple, the only part of his face not covered in tears, and tried to wipe his wet face with his own sweatshirt sleeve, feeling useless. Appa Jeon didn’t even blink at the kiss, unbothered, so Jin did it again, and it seemed to calm him down. He sniffled, murmured stupid to himself, swayed back and forth in a way that seemed to soothe him, so Jin followed Appa’s lead and gave him a little space to do what he needed to do.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook finally asked after calming himself somewhat, knowing it was a huge ask, that Jin’s instrument was just as expensive as his own that he had just dropped down the stairs. But Jin nodded, desperate to fix this for Jungkook.

“It’s okay. I trust you. This was an accident, Kookie. You’re not stupid. Stop saying that. I know you’ll take good care of it,” he said. Jungkook’s father also looked a little unsure, but looked at Jin gratefully before pulling his son to him. Father and son both seemed to settle on the same few outfits they liked best–Appa Jeon in the same modern hanbok he’d worn before but in grey, Jungkook in his baggy jeans and zip-up sweatshirt he’d worn the day Jin met him.

“I’ve always been so stupid,” he cried into his father’s chest, breaking Jin’s fucking heart. He could tell he was on a shitty mental loop, that it was hard for him to break that loop, and he could see from his appa’s face that his heart broke too. This was clearly a feeling Jungkook had struggled with for a long, long time. Jin couldn’t do much with Jungkook in his appa’s arms instead of his own, and he fucking hated not being able to do much, so he walked to their kitchen, making himself fully at home to make Jungkook some hot chocolate, remembering him saying that his eomma made it when he was stressed to help him calm down. He looked in the fridge, and heated up some vanilla soy milk in a mug with a rainbow on it. There were like five different types of milk in the fridge, throwing Jin off, but what else could the vanilla be for? The mug was new, and Jin smiled a little to himself imagining Eomma buying it to show her support. He found the cocoa mix, homemade in a jar with a handwritten label, and scooped it in. What he was most surprised by was that the marshmallows were homemade, by Appa no doubt. Everything in this house pointed to one thing: Jungkook was the most loved kid on the planet. He brought back the cocoa, thick blocks of marshmallow melting inside decadently.

“I made you some cocoa, drink it, please, or I’ll just be awkwardly holding hot chocolate I can’t drink because I made it for you,” Jin said with a forced lightness. It got a smile out of Jungkook, though, and he took the mug with two hands, staying close to his appa. Jin’s stomach did somersaults watching him sip it, the way his nose and cheeks got a little red from the heat, the way he furrowed his brows before his eyes closed into crescent moons. Appa Jeon slipped away from him quietly.

“Thanks, hyung. Sorry.” He sipped, trying to focus on cocoa, and not the broken violin his father was currently trying to hide from his line of sight.

“Don’t be sorry. Everything is going to be just fine.” He had a lot to say to Jungkook. He wanted to ask why he thought he wasn’t smart, to tell him he had nothing to prove to anybody, but now wasn’t the time. He couldn’t risk him feeling so hurt all over again when he’d just started to calm down. He looked so young then, so vulnerable. His father walked back to them, and Jungkook looked down.

“I’m sorry, Appa,” he said with a soft, wavering voice, guilt eating him alive. His father ran a loving hand through his long bobbed hair, freshly cut with bangs, and took the empty mug from him. With this outfit, the new hair looked quite alternative and edgy, and with others, more soft and cute–perfect for Jungkook.

“They’ll be able to fix it, and we can very much afford the repairs, baby. Please don’t stress. I love you so much. It was an accident. Seokjinnie can stay here with you tonight. If you want to, Jin,” he added as he put the gay little mug in the sink.

“In my room?” Jungkook asked, sniffling. Jin blushed, feeling that their relationship must be awkward in some ways for Jungkook’s family and feeling guilty, despite the complete lack of evidence for that feeling in this moment.

“If you don’t tell Eomma,” he smiled, kissing his cheek and wrapping his arms around a giggling Jungkook like it was the most natural thing in the world, to love your son. A little pang of something Jin didn’t want to acknowledge right now hit him in the gut.

“I won’t,” he said. Eomma was finishing up a weekend girl’s trip to Jeju Island with her friends. Jin had tried, when he was told that, to think of whether or not his mother had friends, whether they did anything together. He didn’t know, beyond that she still at least spoke with Namjoon’s mother. Jungkook moved to Jin, wrapped his arms slowly and firmly around his neck, and held on like he might fall if he loosened his grip. Jin held him back, arms around his little waist, and rocked him, gently at first, then with huge steps to make Jungkook laugh. Jin almost flung Jungkook down, but they both hung on too tightly. When Jin looked up he saw Jungkook’s father snapping photos, or a video. He smiled bashfully.

“Guilty,” he said, before even being accused. “Your appa is old, Jungkookie. I need to get to bed soon. Will you two be okay?” Jin could tell that he would stay up all night to comfort his son if that’s what Jungkook needed, but he did look tired. Jungkook left Jin’s arms, his chest left cold without him, to give his father a goodnight hug and kiss.

“We’ll be okay. I’m sorry again. I know you probably wanted a son who–”

“I have exactly the son I wanted. None of that. Who puts things like that in your head?” He stroked Jungkook’s hair.

“So pretty,” he said about the new haircut, Jungkook really beaming. “Good night, baby. Sleep well. Don’t stress.” He walked, a little stiffly, down the warm dim hall to his room. Jungkook turned back to Jin.

“He misses Eomma a lot,” he said. Jin still wanted to protect him. He could tell he still wasn’t quite himself, and realized–somehow for the first time–that maybe Jungkook wasn’t quite as confident as he let on during their battles for violin supremacy.

“Do you?” he asked. Jungkook thought, nodded.

“I like when it’s just me and Appa too. We usually get ice cream and watch a movie Eomma would hate,” he said.

“I’m sorry I interrupted,” Jin said. He hated to feel like he was overstepping, burdening someone else’s family just because his own hadn’t wanted him. But Jungkook shook his head, hair flying with each movement, such a gentle curl.

“No, he told me to invite you. He likes to cook for people. I’m sorry I ruined the night.” His face grew dark again, teary, and Jin hugged him, picking him up and swinging him this time, anything to get him to crack a smile.

“Your appa is right. You need to stop with that. Nobody thinks you ruined anything.”

“I ruined the violin.”

“Oh please,” Jin said. “It’s got a crack and it split open. My last one split open from a humidity change. The luthier will be able to fix it up like it’s nothing. They just glued and clamped mine right back and told me it would take a few weeks to sound 100% again. She recovered just fine.” He pushed Jungkook’s hair back, not because it was in the way but because he wanted to touch it, and kissed him on the mouth, tender and slow.

“Why do you have to be so down on yourself?” he mumbled into Jungkook’s lips. “You’re good at everything. You’re hot. You’re sweet. I think you’re perfect.” It felt strange to admit it, especially without a joke attached. Jungkook’s cheeks grew hot under Jin’s hand, and Jin stroked it with his thumb, a happy little noise escaping Jungkook.

“I have to work really hard. I’m not actually good at anything. And I’m gaining weight dating you. You get me too much boba and I know it’s because you want boba and you’ve never gained a pound in your life.”

“I keep telling you guys,” Jin said, “that you can gain a little weight and be hot. But I haven’t noticed at all and I see you naked all the time. That’s what I’m talking about. You hold yourself to these standards–” Jungkook burst out into tears so suddenly Jin jumped before bringing his love to his chest.

“I’m going to fuck up the competition and I’ll never get a job and my parents will realize it was a waste of all their time and money to get me 15 years of violin lessons and pay for my college and–”

“Kookie, get a grip. Do you–do you think I’m going to be unemployed because I took a year off? Because I got fourth place last year?” Jin asked. Jungkook blinked at him like he was stupid.

“No? Why would I think that? Fourth place is really good. I bet you sounded great. Especially since you were so depressed–it’s incredible that you managed to beat out that many people.” He frowned and touched Jin’s cheek like Jin was the one who needed comforting, not understanding that he was proving a point. Jin accepted the love for what it was though: something precious, something to hold on to. The last thing he wanted to do was push it away just because he wasn’t explaining himself well.

“Thanks. I’ve actually never won. What place would you have to get to feel good? Come on, let’s start getting ready for bed.” He wasn’t tired. He just wanted to hold him closer, under the covers. Jungkook led him to his bedroom again, Jin thinking how beautiful it would be to live here.

“First,” he said immediately, and gave Jin a set of pajamas. Jin started to change, Jungkook gaping at him like he’d never seen him naked, even though they fucked more than anyone else they knew–Jimin and Hobi even seemed to be taking things pretty slow, which had kind of surprised Jin even after what had happened.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” Jin said with a smirk. Jungkook made a grossed out face and stuck out his tongue.

“Ugh, I forget you’re old and then you say something lame like that,” he said. Jin sighed, and Jungkook’s face immediately softened. “I’m sorry–I was just kidding.” Jin, freshly dressed in limited edition Maplestory pajamas with little mushrooms on them, kissed his cheek.

“I know, Kookie. But sometimes–sometimes it doesn’t feel good. I’m worried about you. You get that your standards for yourself are crazy, right?” he asked, trying to bring things back. Jungkook looked down, and Jin tugged at his shirt, trying to hint for him to change, too, but Jungkook’s mouth flew onto his, desperate for something Jin didn’t think he wanted to give him right now: avoidance.

“Mm, no sweetheart. Fucking to avoid facing our feelings is kind of my thing,” he said, trying as always to kindly set a boundary with a joke. He didn’t want Jungkook to feel bad. But Jin usually wasn’t really avoiding his feelings with sex–he was trying to undo them, to piece himself back together again, to add something new and positive to the complex mix of negative emotions. His boyfriend wanted to be in a world where those emotions didn’t exist. It felt less like comfort and more like–well, something worse. Jungkook started hopping in place, up and down and up and down, anxious.

“I’m just so lucky,” Jungkook said, finally willing to talk. He looked a little distant. “I’ve always had whatever I wanted. I have enough money. I’ve had all the classes and performance opportunities I could ask for. My parents are really great. I wasn’t even that scared to come out to them. The first time my dad caught me in a skirt he gave me a hug and told me he loved me. How many people could say that?” he asked. Jin had to admit it probably wasn’t very many. When Doyoung had come out–forced out, his privacy invaded–his father had backhanded him so hard he fell backwards onto his piano. And that was for a guy that was pretty obviously the top. God he missed Doyoung.

“You are lucky, Kookie, but you don’t have to torture yourself to make up for it. You can just…be lucky. We’re all lucky in some ways. I think maybe Yoongi didn’t have a place to live for a while, or food. I have a $13,000 violin with a $2000 bow, and my parents just got me the one I asked for. Things aren’t fair, but I think when we’re dealt a good hand, we should make the most of it and try to help other people, not feel bad,” Jin said. Jungkook twisted his hands.

“I don’t feel bad like that. Well I do a little. But I feel bad more like…” He looked up, eyes filling with tears, struggling to speak, and Jin placed a soft kiss on his cheek, trying to encourage him, not trying to get him into his pajamas again right now.

“I feel like I don’t deserve to be the one who’s so lucky. It should be someone else.” His voice cracked, the thought obviously painful to him. Jin took his chin in his hands and gently turned his head to meet his eyes.

“And what’s so wrong with you?” he asked.

“I’m stupid,” Jungkook whispered, looking devastated.

“You pick things up really fast. You’re great at filling in blanks, and remembering things I would forget. Why do you think you’re stupid, sweetheart?”

“My math–”

“You weren’t good at math in grade school? Who cares? The math you do making music is probably more than most people use once they graduate high school. You’re smart, Kookie. You can make mistakes without being a blithering idiot.”

“I don’t read books,” he replied softly, more unsure, unused to being questioned like this and having his self-perception challenged by anyone other than his parents, who he obviously felt had to say things like that.

“Me neither. I think it’s boring. I make Namjoon tell me about them, though. I like to learn. I just don’t like reading. You like to learn, too, more than me. You always want to turn off my romcoms and watch those boring science documentaries,” Jin said. Jungkook laughed, Jin’s delivery always perfect, the face he made as he said “boring” like a child rolling his eyes at a boring teacher.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be whiny.” Jungkook started to change into his pajamas, taking his shirt off and–actually, looking at Jungkook’s soft abs, his big shoulders, Jin thought maybe sex would be okay. Like a little bit–as a treat for not avoiding feelings. He stepped closer, touched Jungkook’s chest, and Jungkook smirked.

“Oh so now you want to fuck?” he said, enjoying the way Jin was enjoying his body he worked so hard for. Jin grabbed that waist, squeezed it, loved the way it fit so perfectly in his hands. He kissed Jungkook’s neck, whispered in his ear.

“You should watch it. I just wanted to blow you and go to bed, but if you don’t want a no-strings blowjob–”

“Wait!” Jungkook said, and Jin laughed, then Jungkook with him. They kissed, giggling together. Jin necked him, grinded on him, moved a hand down, getting him nice and horny before he slid down and unbuttoned Jungkook’s baggy jeans. When he looked up at Jungkook from his knees, he took a lot of pleasure in the way the image did things to Jungkook, the way his lips parted and his brows furrowed, even though Jin was in fuzzy Maplestory pajamas. He pulled down Jungkook’s briefs, kissed at his dick before rapidly taking it deeply, trying to earn a gasp. He moaned, too, always a little extra horny when he was in a subby mood.

Jungkook picked up on the sub vibes and fucked into Jin’s mouth without warning, gripping his hair tightly but not pushing, not until he was sure he’d read the room right and that Jin was into it tonight. Jin loved that about Jungkook, how he never assumed that just because he’d half swallowed his cock the night before that he’d be in the mood to do it the next day. He was always so attentive, so caring. Jin whimpered against his will, feeling a little pathetic, which just turned him on more. He squeezed Jungkook’s thighs, pulling his own face closer. Jungkook didn’t cut off more of his air, didn’t smack him even though he knew Jin liked that. He seemed to realize that right now, this was somehow more intimate, and he simply fucked into Jin’s face, pulling him up for air a few times, the decision entirely his, until he came, pulling back from Jin’s throat for him to taste on his tongue.

Jin pulled his mouth off of his boyfriend, swallowed and licked his swollen lips, and Jungkook pounced on him from his standing position, pushing Jin to the warm heated floor on his back, kissing him hard, pulling off his Mushmom pants.

“I said no-strings–” Jin started, but Jungkook licked his now-bare thigh.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t want to blow you after that? Fuck, hyung. You’re so fucking hot.” He sucked Jin off in return, between his legs, holding his hips down firmly onto the ground, still treating Jin like a sub even in that vulnerable position, cock in mouth. His blowjob was sloppy and rough, but always in control. He looked up at Jin, and his big, beautiful eyes–

“Fuck, fuck fuck–” Jin came, embarrassed as always by how quickly even though Jungkook never mentioned it or seemed to think it was strange at all. Jin wondered if it was normal, if it was because he was building up that whole time every time they fucked, or if Jungkook was just too nice to mention he only ever lasted like five minutes max once it was his turn. He blushed with a bit of shame regardless, and Jungkook crawled on top of him with a wide, toothy smile, kissing his red ear tips.

“You always get so embarrassed from the attention. It’s so cute,” he said, kissing his cheek next, settling into Jin’s arms, Jungkook totally naked but Jin still wearing the fucking Maplestory jammie top. It made Jin laugh to picture how they looked, and he pulled Jungkook into another kiss.

“I need you to remember something, okay?” Jin asked, looking at those beautiful round eyes, those round eyes that for some reason only saw Jin.

“Okay. What?” Jungkook asked playfully, but Jin’s tone got a little more serious.

“When you think you need to be perfect, when you think you don’t deserve things, I want you to remember that you’re perfect to me. You’re perfect for me,” he corrected. “If you weren’t exactly the way you were, I’d die alone, all old and moping and weepy and unaware of a single emotion I felt. You–” His voice cracked, his attempt to turn it into a joke not working. He took a deep breath, Jungkook waiting for him to finish without breathing at all.

“You really–it’s corny. I’m sorry. But you really saved me, I think. You’re so…” he couldn’t finish, but Jungkook understood, kissing him, kissing him for longer.

“You saved me too. You made me feel like I can be myself without getting laughed at. And you’re going to skip your gen eds to help me practice with your violin tomorrow, which is so nice of you,” Jungkook said, joking but definitely not joking. Jin kissed him again, never growing tired of it.

“Twist my arm,” he said. They smiled at each other.

“Can we put on pants and go to bed now? Ahjussi is too old to sleep half naked on the floor with a brick of muscle on top of me.” Jungkook sat up, looked down at Jin and saw, for seemingly the first time, the state of his attire, and fell over laughing.

Chapter Text

Jin did skip class, and when Jungkook made a big show of being grateful, he scowled.

“I’m literally always trying to skip class, but I have Namjoon nagging me to take him and go. He got an Uber this morning, don’t worry. Will your appa mind if we start right away? Or he’s probably at work, huh?” Jungkook shook his head and stretched in his pajamas, yawning.

“He’s here. He retired or quit or something. I don’t know, he said he wants to spend time with me before I totally leave the nest and Eomma is like, loaded loaded so it doesn’t matter. He was just a translator at the big company her side of the family owns. He speaks a bunch of languages. It’s fun to make him show off. I’ll show you sometime.” He hopped out of bed and started running in place, Jin still in bed exhausted. Wasn’t that twerp just yawning a second ago? Jin would never understand how Jungkook could live like that, up and jogging around the neighborhood before his own alarm, which he usually snoozed eight times, even went off. It was nice getting breakfast in bed when Jungkook slept over, though.

“Kookie, focus. Will he care?” Jin yawned big, moaned, and put a pillow on his head anyhow.

“No? He loves to hear me practice. I’m really good at the violin, Jin, remember? He might come in with snacks if he thinks we’ve been going too long.” Jin changed his mind, and hit him with the pillow. Cocky fuck, he thought very fondly before images of Jungkook last night flooded his mind. He wondered if it had been a show this whole time, compensation, or whether he really just swung back and forth between extreme confidence and absolute despair. He tried to push the third option from his mind: that Jungkook was mostly confident now, that mistakes like that triggered feelings he used to feel all the time, took him back to a darker place.

“Well, we should start. Well. You start. I’m going to listen from bed for the next hour,” Jin said, pulling the electric duvet up closer and wondering why he was so cold with a shiver. Jungkook nodded excitedly and turned the blanket back on for him, cranking up the heat. Now, Jin could see a lot of that excitement, that energy, was pure nerves.

“Relax, wunderkind. You’re going to sound beautiful on my baby. She’ll love you,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound too much like his own declaration of love. Jungkook smiled at Jin, crawling on top of him over the duvet to kiss him with unbrushed teeth. With anyone else, it would have had Jin gagging–even if only his own teeth were unclean–but with Jungkook, it felt sweet, intimate. Jin groaned under his weight, which only brightened Jungkook’s smile.

He nuzzled Jin’s nose and hopped back up in a way that distinctly reminded Jin of a bunny. Jungkook took Jin’s violin in his hands, a darker wood than his own, and touched it reverently before putting it on his shoulder, warming up with some scales.

“Jin…it feels weird.” He sounded panicked. Jin sighed. He would have to come to terms with the fact that Jungkook had one fatal flaw that he’d need to learn to deal with: Jin was never going to get to sleep in a day in his life while he was together with Jungkook. He stood up, walked stiffly to him, took Jungkook’s bow from its case, and switched them out.

“Try that, honey,” he said. Normally he’d have said “dumbie,” but he was going to try to cut out things like that, anything Jungkook could potentially overthink. Jungkook played the same scale with his own bow, looked a little relieved.

“Oh, right,” he said.

“Good. Now try again in a key and scale you actually like playing,” Jin suggested. Jungkook played a normal scale, face relaxing more, eyes widening in a surprise that made him look so innocent that Jin couldn’t help but smile softly.

“Oh!” he said happily. Jin hummed in approval.

“I have one last suggestion,” he said sweetly. Jungkook waited wide eyed.

“Would it kill you to call me hyung and use respectful language when you wake me up at the ass crack of dawn?” he rapped quickly, yelling a little to make Jungkook laugh, especially since it was already 9:00 am, not exactly the first light. It worked, Jungkook practically doubling over.

“Maybe I’d respect you more if you were dressed,” he giggled, motioning down to Mushmom on Jin’s–Wait, these are Jungkook’s, that little–pajamas. Jin carefully, slowly took the violin and placed it on the bed, and attacked Jungkook with tickles that made him screech happily.

***

Yoongi was, he had to admit, not doing well. He didn’t know why. He was living in a mansion and was about to move, rent free, into an apartment nicer than any he could ever have imagined. The kitchen was open to him and stocked, but he couldn’t make himself eat anything inside it. His moldy cough had gone away, but he still felt like he couldn’t breathe sometimes. Today, though, he couldn’t even get up to go to his desk to work on his tracks. He skipped his classes–not super unusual for him–but he thought he might skip orchestra today, too. He couldn’t work up the energy to reach for his phone to text Jin to make an excuse for him, and he drifted off to a dreamless rest, heavy and unsatisfying.

The next thing he knew, he was listening to Jin and Namjoon talking–about him, but he was still too tired to open his eyes, not fully awake but not fully asleep.

“He’s not eating. Like at all, even if I cook or if we go out, lately. He comes to sleep with me in the practice room sometimes and he yells in his sleep a lot. I don’t think he’s resting well. I’m really worried about him, Joonie.” Yoongi groaned, to show them he was awake, not wanting to eavesdrop or to hear anything else about himself.

“Hey, sweetheart. Are you feeling okay?” Fuck, Namjoon was so worried. He had to show them both they didn’t need to worry. He opened his heavy eyes, brought his arms up to rub at them, then gave up before they reached his face, letting them flop back onto the bed. It wasn’t worth it.

“I’m good,” he replied, voice still heavy and gravelly from sleep. Jin felt his head gently, checking for a fever.

“You feel okay. I’m going to warm up some rice porridge I started. It’ll be nice and easy to eat. I’ll add some egg and bits of cooked chicken for protein,” Jin said, and Yoongi wasn’t sure if he was telling him or Namjoon, but he left before he could ask. Namjoon turned on the light and Yoongi winced, and then he sat on the bed, rubbing Yoongi’s thigh.

“Have you gotten out of bed today, baby?” he asked. Yoongi didn’t see what the big deal was, why everyone was so worried, like none of them had ever had a lazy day. He shook his head.

“Have you eaten?” Again, he shook his head, and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling a little vulnerable. Namjoon opened his arms to him, and Yoongi summoned up his strength to crawl into them, knowing he must smell pretty bad, but Namjoon still kissed his hair, and he felt a lot warmer in his arms. In return Yoongi nuzzled him, then started crying, and tried to wipe the tears on Namjoon’s pretty cream hoodie.

“Any reason why?” Namjoon asked, patiently. Yoongi didn’t feel like lying to Namjoon. He wasn’t sure he could think of a lie, anyway.

“It scares me,” Yoongi whispered. Namjoon waited for him to continue, looking at him with his full attention. Namjoon asked why, finally, and Yoongi knew he’d have to reply soon then, but again Namjoon gave him time. Yoongi hung in his arms limply, energy depleted.

“I can’t get used to having things. It scares me. If everything is gone tomorrow, where will I be?” His head throbbed; he hadn’t had any water today, he realized. Namjoon took his hand, frowned at it.

“Honey, nothing will be gone tomorrow.”

“You don’t fucking know that,” Yoongi snapped, then started crying long, lazy sobs, too tired to control the volume. “My parents always told me that I’d always have a place with them. They loved me. And then all the sudden I had nowhere to go for three months. It–” He took a deep, wobbly breath, checked to see if Namjoon was going to let him finish, and found him listening intently, frowning deeply as he ran soft circles on Yoongi’s back.

“Three months doesn’t sound like that long, but it is. I can’t let it happen again. I can’t. I can’t. I need to be prepared.” He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Help, he thought, the word repeating in his mind like a shrill mantra. Namjoon squeezed his hand, took up his other hand and squeezed that one too, tried to make eye contact, which Yoongi skillfully avoided.

“Three months sounds like a really long time to me. Hyung, breathe, okay? Just breathe.” But Yoongi couldn’t breathe. He cried out–way too loudly–and moved out of Namjoon’s arms, folded himself into a small ball on the unmade bed, breaking down completely for the first time since–well, really the first time. He hadn’t had time to break down quite so completely as this before, always had to stop feeling sorry for himself and figure out his next move. He felt Namjoon’s hand in his hair, whimpered.

“What would help you feel secure? You have some money saved, right?” Yoongi nodded, head still hidden in the tight ball his body formed. It wasn’t enough, of course. He knew how fast a deposit, rent, bills, food would eat through what he had. At least it was something, and would keep growing. Last time he’d really had nothing, $50 borrowed from a kind friend as broke as he was. His boyfriend had ghosted him immediately, of course, which wasn’t really helping with his current situation. He tried to think of what would make him feel more secure, but he couldn’t focus on anything except the things that had been upsetting to him.

“Why did you offer to buy me new clothes yesterday? I fucking hated that,” he said, referring to Namjoon at practice yesterday offering a shopping date. He shook, glad he couldn’t see Namjoon, knowing he was hurting him, really hurting him, making him second guess himself in the way that Yoongi hated, but he was unable to stop. It was all he could think about–everything being taken.

“Um. I’m–I’m sorry,” Namjoon sounded so guilty, and it made Yoongi cry harder. “I just wanted you to feel good. You seemed embarrassed about your clothes when we went out last week and I thought you might like something new to wear.” His voice was so small, and the gesture was so sweet, but Yoongi’s body heaved with sobs.

“When you offered the day after we fucked it made me feel like a fucking whor–” The word caught in his throat, and now he really couldn’t breathe, unfurled and rushed to his desk trash bin in one jerky motion like a frightened cat, and started heaving into the bin, but absolutely nothing came out–how could it? He hadn’t eaten or drank anything all day, and barely yesterday, the situation having escalated day by day probably since he moved in with Jin, now that he was thinking about it. He’d been excited to eat with them all before, but it had slowly brought him more dread.

Yoongi felt Namjoon’s knees hit the ground right behind him, felt his back being stroked while he gagged, felt himself being caught from falling right into the trash, then gently turned around to face Namjoon, who was so upset that Yoongi’s sobs started up again, but Namjoon made shushing noises. His forever patient Joonie. How could he treat him like this?

“Honey, honey, honey,” he said softly. “We should talk about this more when you’re feeling better, okay? I don’t see you like that. I promise I don’t see you like that. You’re sick and exhausted and–” he hesitated. “I think pretty traumatized, baby.” Once Yoongi’s eyes met his, Namjoon took a deep breath, Yoongi following along with his stable, steady breaths until he could breathe again.

“I’m sorry.” He looked down again. He had treated Namjoon like fucking shit, and he didn’t deserve that. But Namjoon took his hands and kissed them.

“I didn’t realize–I knew you were feeling kind of anxious but I didn’t realize it was building up like this. I’m sorry, too.” Namjoon was too kind, too gentle for someone who could be as mean as Yoongi had just been. Yoongi’s eyes filled up again, and he cautiously moved toward Namjoon, afraid to be denied even though he’d understand, but Namjoon took his bony wrist and pulled him close quickly, squeezing him.

“I love you. I need you to eat tonight, okay? I’m serious.” Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut, unsure if he could, but nodded. Namjoon sent a text, Yoongi guessed to Jin because he came up with a bowl of rice porridge, lightly seasoned and with egg drop and the tiny flecks of soft chicken, and his cardigan pockets stuffed with water bottles. He sat down on the floor with them like that’s where it was natural for them all to be and opened a water bottle and handed it to Yoongi. He gulped it until Jin moved his hand down.

“Slow down, you’ll be sick. Have a bite of congee. I made it with love, so you better eat it,” he joked. Yoongi looked at the bowl Jin had set before him like an offering and made a tearless sobbing sound. Namjoon looked at Jin panicked, but Jin was calm, just picked up the bowl again himself.

“I’ve been too sick to eat before, too,” he said so gently. Jin scooped a small spoon and held it to Yoongi’s mouth like it was nothing to hand feed someone, and Yoongi took the bite, manners having taken over. He felt the warmth travel down his throat and into him, savoring the feeling and fearing it. At least he didn’t really have to chew. He didn’t think he could take it if he had to chew.

“What you have to do is eat food for sick people, and just as much as you can manage. I’d like if you ate a full bowl, but I’d be happy with half,” Jin said. The bowl he brought wasn’t that large a serving. Maybe Yoongi could do that. He scooped him another spoon that Yoongi then ate.

“Then,” Jin continued, “the little bits of food make you stronger and stronger, and soon you can eat food that isn’t mush and you can eat more, and you get even stronger. And soon you’ll be okay.” After the third bite, something in Yoongi’s body kicked in, and he was able to take the bowl and finish it, quickly–almost too quickly, but they didn’t say anything. Jin handed him the water again, and he sipped some more, remembering to slow down this time. The fullness was strange. It had been too long, but he closed his eyes and tried to enjoy it, sniffling.

“I have to take care of my panicking boyfriend now,” Jin said with a smile, kissing Yoongi’s head. “You did a really good job. I’m proud of you. I hope you come with us tomorrow.” Yoongi managed a smile.

“Even though Namjoon doesn’t like his loved ones to watch?” he teased, gently, still not in a joking mood, and it showed in a flatness to his voice. Namjoon blushed.

“I–I think maybe it’s time for me to grow as a person, too, since everyone else has had to. You guys can come watch,” he said. Yoongi smiled, a real smile that brought out Namjoon’s dimples, and a soft blush. It was hard to imagine his Joonie kicking some guy’s ass a few days ago. Jin kissed his head, too.

“I can’t wait, Joonie. Thank you. Take good care of him. Text if you need anything.” He rubbed Namjoon’s shoulder and smiled at Yoongi with a gratefulness he didn’t feel like he deserved before he went to comfort poor Jungkook, leaving two more water bottles behind.

“I’m really sorry. Right before the contest, too,” Yoongi said. Namjoon took one of Yoongi’s feet, which always looked sore, pulled it out from under him, straightening his leg, and started to rub. Yoongi moaned softly, starting to relax again.

“I think sometimes you don’t understand how much you mean to me, and that hurts my feelings fucking bad,” Namjoon said honestly, and Yoongi felt guilt but also pride, that he was able to tell him that without apologizing or stuttering. Even after that fucking shameful display, Namjoon still felt safe around him.

“It’s hard for me,” Yoongi said, matching his honesty. “I know you love me, too. But it’s hard for me,” he repeated. He wasn’t sure what else to say, hoping Joon understood. Namjoon brought his foot to his lips and kissed it, sending embarrassed butterflies fluttering in Yoongi’s stomach.

“I know it is. I know all of this is hard for you. I respect you so fucking much, hyung. I don’t think I would have been able to get through what you did. You’re really strong. I know it won’t be easy, but when you think that I’m thinking nasty thoughts about you, try to remember that I don’t look down on you for any of it. Please,” He took Yoongi’s other foot, kissed that one before rubbing it, too, while Yoongi was still processing.

“I will never think of you like that. Please don’t say that about me again,” he finished. Yoongi understood why that was the thing that upset him the most. He’d been trying to do something nice for him, but still–

“You aren’t embarrassed to go out with me, are you? With the clothes I have?” Yoongi’s entire face flushed with humiliation having to ask, needing to know. He moaned into a deep rub at the arch of his foot, tension melting.

“Of course I’m not, but you are. You don’t even hide it. I never thought…” He trailed off, but Yoongi nodded. Namjoon was the type of person who would wear a hoodie–admittedly a nice one–to a black tie formal if he thought he could get away with it. He didn’t care what anyone thought of his appearance, or what his friends looked like. This was Yoongi projecting. It was nothing more.

“I’d love a shopping trip,” Yoongi said, small and vulnerable, looking down and pretty sure Namjoon wouldn’t really want to anymore after accusing him like that not twenty minutes ago, but Namjoon’s face lit up a small amount.

“Really?”

“I just–I don’t know what to look for. I always got my hyung’s clothes. Can you help?” He blushed, but Namjoon smiled.

“I can pick out cute outfits for you to try on. You can figure out what you like. It’ll be so fun.” He stopped rubbing to kiss Yoongi’s face, everything forgiven.

“I want to clear something up, though,” he said more seriously. “When I offer–it’s not like a weird power play. I want to authorize you on my cards after we move in together. I want you to feel like we’re a team, and like what’s mine is yours. And I hope if I ever like, needed producing software or an instrument or something you would let me use yours. Or if I want to borrow a hoodie that smells like you,” he grinned, getting a real laugh out of Yoongi.

“It would be so tight. A hoodie that showed off those guns,” he giggled, squeezing them, trying to neither be too moved nor freak out about that news right now. Now was not the time to experience more strong emotions. He needed to relax.

“You get your hoodies so oversized, they would just fit,” Namjoon smiled into a kiss, then sat up again suddenly feeling around for his phone.

“I’m going to order some books about trauma to see how I can support you better,” he said, typing into the phone. Yoongi’s heart couldn’t take it, Namjoon there in his cuffed pants, barefoot on the floor, the way that what he took from Yoongi being shitty to him was that he needed to support Yoongi more.

“Can I read them, too? I want to support you, too. We can have a little therapy book club,” is what he said instead of, You are the most special person I’ve ever met and I hope I can be good for you. Namjoon beamed.

***

Jungkook hadn’t stopped practicing all day, skipping every one of his classes and practice sessions except orchestra, which he would have skipped if he weren’t the concertmaster. Jin was exhausted just watching him prepare. There was something pathological about it, about the way he’d repeat every part he messed up even slightly about fifty times without even thinking about it. They’d moved to Jin’s so they could all leave together the next morning, but Jin was honestly grateful that Appa Jeon got a break from hearing this, no matter the quality of Jungkook’s playing. He’d started checking in a lot yesterday, and Jin had asked if he was annoyed with them.

“I’m just a little worried,” he’d said. “I’m always afraid that the harder he practices the worse he’ll take it if he doesn’t get first. Did he tell you about his last high school competition?” Jin had shaken his head no. Jungkook’s father had looked unsure about invading his son’s privacy telling Jin this, but had ultimately decided he should. He’d started hesitantly.

“He barely slept. He got it in his head–I really don’t know where–that we’d be disappointed if he didn’t win. You know how he is by now,” he’d smiled, a little uneasy. “Once something gets in his head it’s hard to get it out. He won first, but only by three points, and once he got home he was…upset. Exhausted. He couldn’t practice anything for two weeks, and he’s happiest when he’s practicing, so he was so down on himself. He hurt himself a lot–hitting himself like you saw before. I’m sorry. I just felt like you should know.” Jin had been grateful, and he was trying to assess the situation, and at 8:00 pm after practicing since about 6:00 in the morning, he decided enough was enough.

“Jagi,” Jin said, specifically using the term of endearment that meant “self,” wanting to subtly impart to Jungkook that he fucking felt what he was going through. Jungkook looked up, waiting for a correction, always thrilled to receive one from Jin.

“That’s enough,” he said gently. Jungkook shook his head.

“It’s tomorrow Jin.”

“Hyung.” Jin couldn’t tell if he actually cared or not if Jungkook called him hyung at this point. Was he a stickler for honorifics? Was it a joke? Who could say–definitely not Jin himself. He motioned for Jungkook to wait, left the practice room, and came back with Namjoon holding his commonplace book. Namjoon was wearing, Jin was extremely pleased to see, the pajamas he’d gotten him for Christmas last year: orange bottoms with alpaca print, and a fluffy white pullover top with a big alpaca face in the middle. He’d gotten him slippers, too, but Namjoon preferred to be barefoot. It was more about owning the set. His hair was getting long; Jin pushed it behind his ear with love, noting an almost-faded bruise from his fight with that asshole. His Joonie, so brave for anyone he loved.

“Why am I here?” Namjoon asked. “I was cuddling with my boyfriend.”

“First of all,” Jin said, “that’s really gross. We don’t do that, do we Jungkook?” Jungkook played along, making a face and shaking his head.

“I would never. That’s gay,” he said. Namjoon tried to sigh, but cracked a smile that made them both feel proud.

“Really, Joonie, I wanted you to bring your book and tell Kookie-yah the thing you’re always saying about rest being more important than cramming or something and maybe also say something smart about his hands going stiff,” he said hopefully. Namjoon blinked at him.

“Hyung, I wrote that like…ten notebooks ago minimum. It’s not in this one. But Jungkookie, research does support that sleep is more important than studying so close to the contest. Many studies show that adequate sleep improves memory recall by between 20% and 40%, so you’re much less likely to make mistakes. I keep saying this to hyung when he makes fun of me for going to bed at 10:00 pm. A recent MIT study actually found that the more hours students slept, the better they performed academically. Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Namjoon said, pushing up his new glasses, identical to the old pair. Jin and Jungkook met each other’s eyes, and Jin was at least relieved to see he wasn’t the only one who had no idea what he was supposed to be thinking. Namjoon waited a moment.

“That it might not correlate to a more physical task like violin performance. Well, memory is still the main player in that, we just think of muscle memory as something separate and more bodily, but it’s not, really–the mind is as bodily as anything else, but we think of consciousness as this separate sense of self, but I guess that’s off topic. And they–the MIT researchers I mean, sorry–actually found that sleep strengthens and enhances your synaptic connections, so you’ll probably play better tomorrow than you did today if you get some sleep.” Namjoon finished, and looked at Jin to see if his job was done and he could go back into Yoongi’s arms. Jin nodded, regretting his choices and feeling a little guilty about his own insane sleep schedule. Namjoon turned to leave, but turned around again at the door.

“Jungkook-ssi, if you’re interested I can probably find the MIT study and send you a link. It was open access.” Namjoon sounded so hopeful. Jungkook smiled weakly, unable to hide the fact that his eyes were completely glazed over but not wanting to hurt Namjoon’s feelings.

“Yeah, Joonie-hyung. That sounds great, thanks,” he said. Oh, so Namjoon is hyung, Jin thought, scowling even in his mind, and then wondered again why the fuck he would care. Namjoon smiled and left.

“That was so boring, babe,” Jungkook whined. Jin whacked him lightly. Even though he didn’t disagree, nobody could talk about Namjoon like that. Suddenly, Jungkook giggled.

“What? What’s so funny?” Jin asked. He could use a laugh after that, and didn’t want Jungkook to hold out on him.

“Can’t you just picture Joonie-hyung yapping like that about something really random, and Yoongi-hyung sitting there nodding all googly eyed?”

Jin wanted to whack him again, to tell him to show some respect to those two dweebs, but the thing was, he could picture it, and it was funny, even as it was sweet. He laughed too, hitting him in the arm anyhow.

***

Taehyung sat alone in his single dorm room. He’d gotten his own room after his old roommate had complained about his incessant crying and yelling, the pacing, the fidgeting, the strange hours and tendency to play the trumpet and sing, his hatred of anything being moved or changing. He knew he wasn’t a good roommate. He was still lonely. He paced around the little room, filled with his own art and funny little things he’d thrifted when he was buying his clothes, and photos with his friends. The pacing wasn’t helping; he called Jimin.

“Hey Tae Tae. You okay?” Jimin answered. Taehyung shook his head.

“Tae?” Jimin’s voice got higher. Oops.

“No. I keep thinking about Halmeoni’s house,” he sniffled, tears exhausted from the earlier “incessant crying.”

“Oh, Tae. She would have wanted this for you. You were never going to stay down south. At least now someone will live in it and enjoy the house, and you get to follow your dreams. She always supported your dreams,” Jimin said. Okay, so maybe the tears weren’t dried up.

“Baby, come over. Hoseok and I love you. You can ride with us to the contest tomorrow. Okay? Just come over. Bring your clothes for tomorrow,” Jimin said after only tears had reached him for a few long minutes.

“Okay,” Tae said. “I’ll be there soon.” He hung up, chose an outfit for tomorrow: brown wool pants and a darker brown sweatshirt from some Japanese jazz club, with a cream T-shirt underneath, all thrifted. Comfort was key at those contests when you weren’t playing; they dragged on all damn day. He brought his sketchbook and a variety of fidgets, too, that he usually left at home: a silicone bubble wrap popper keychain, a plush cat keychain that was so so soft, and a worry stone his halmeoni had given him when she’d realized the anxiety was there to stay. It was made of rose quartz. “So you remember I love you,” she’d said.

He took his bag and left his dorm room, then the building, and walked five minutes to the one they tended to house the dancers in, a newer brick building that even had air conditioning. He badged in with his student ID, and took the elevator to their fourth floor dorm room, left open. Jimin had drawn a bunch of hearts on their door’s whiteboard for him, and he bit his lip and sniffled again. He walked in, immediately surrounded by life and warmth.

“Thanks,” he said to the two of them sitting on Jimin’s made bed. Jimin shot up to hug him, and Taehyung cried in his arms for the ten thousandth time, feeling like a huge pain in the ass.

“Taehyung-ah, your hands,” Hobi said, running to one of their cabinets for the first aid kit. Jimin pulled away to take his hands in his own and frowned at them. He hadn’t realized it, but they were definitely worse than usual, basically torn up, with multiple strips of nail scratches currently oozing something like blood but thinner. He looked at them with furrowed brows, wondering how he hadn’t noticed himself tearing his own flesh off, probably in public.

“Everything is okay. We’re all going to have a nice time tomorrow. Namjoonie is even going to let us listen to him this year. Jin hyung texted,” Jimin said, leading him to their little sink at Hoseok’s request, a hand wave meant to be discreet. Taehyung felt anxious looking at the sink, shook his head more violently than he meant to. Why can’t I control what my body is doing? He felt so far away from himself, from the frightened little sound he made.

“I know, I know,” Hoseok said, trying hard to soothe. “It’ll hurt for a sec, but then I’ll put something on it right away to help the pain, okay?” Taehyung shook his head again, yelled out instead of crying. Jimin rubbed his back, and Hoseok made comforting noises.

“We’ve got to keep your hands on your arms so you can keep playing your music for us,” Hobi said playfully. Taehyung hesitated, looked at his hands again, at the places he’d obviously dug into open wounds, and saw they were already red, already prone to infection. He held his hands out stiffly to Hoseok, closing his eyes tightly but not stopping a few stray tears.

“Will you do it for me? I’m sorry,” he added after realizing how gross his hands were. “I know it’s gross. I know. I know.” He started to scratch at one again but Jimin took it–he could tell it was Jimin’s hand, so soft and small.

“Hyung will do it for you. It’s not gross. It’s taking care of my Taehyungie,” Hoseok sing-songed. “I’ve done worse to our Jiminie’s feet, and those really do get gross.” Hoseok emitted calm, all love and friendly giggles. Taehyung still couldn’t see, but he felt Jimin’s arms around him as Hoseok washed his hands–thoroughly, taking too long, much too long–in almost-hot running water, with a gentle soap. He couldn’t smell it, so he guessed it was someone’s face wash. He cried out when the pain shot up his whole arm–it stung. It stung bad. Jimin rubbed his back and was talking to him, but Taehyung felt too pained and tired and out of it to listen. The water turned off and his hands were gently patted dry, and he opened his eyes. Hoseok took out an anti-bacterial spray.

“This will sting for one sec, and then it has stuff to make the pain better.” He sprayed it, and it did sting, and then felt pleasantly cool. He applied Aquaphor over his hands, then looked around.

“Shit. We only have bandaids,” Hoseok said, blinking at Jimin.

“Clean socks perform double duty hiding his nails?” Jimin offered. Hoseok nodded and Jimin dug around in his dresser before throwing Hoseok a balled up pair of socks. Hoseok put them on Taehyung. They were longer, and had little ducklings on the top elastic that made Taehyung giggle a little. Hobi kissed each of his hands and then his cheek.

“Tae, every color of the rainbow. Go,” Jimin said. He must have noticed how he was having trouble focusing his eyes, felt not here.

He went through the list as usual: Hoseok’s red beanie. An orange orange on the table, a yellow flower in a bouquet on Hoseok’s nightstand–aw, did Jimin get Hobi flowers? Cute. No more flowers though. That’s cheating. Green book. Blue sweatshirt on Hoseok. Purple sweatshirt on Jimin–well lavender, but close enough. He looked back into Jimin’s eyes.

“I don’t think I’m very good at being a person,” he said sadly. Jimin smiled, took Tae’s cheeks in his hands, and Taehyung didn’t know why but he had to smile back. Looking at Jimin was like looking into a mirror, and he started to absorb some of his and Hoseok’s calm energy.

“If you don’t feel like you can be good at being a person, maybe you can feel like you’re good at being an alien pretending to be a person. What do you think?” Jimin asked. Taehyung thought about it. That was kind of how he felt–like someone going through the motions of what it meant to be human, unsure of what it all meant. Except for music, his one real tie to humanity, to his friends. He still worried–without music, would they speak to him? Tonight, he felt like they would.

“Can you grab my bag?” he asked. Hoseok gave it to him, and he took the sketchbook out with his still-socked hands. He took them off then–“I promise I’ll put them back on.” He drew an alien, with antennae and a lonely face, with a nosebleed. The alien was on the moon, with long arms stretched out to his sides longer than he was tall, taking a trumpet being handed to him by a cutesy Jimin on one side, and a sax by Hoseok on the other. He smiled at his drawing, at the way he had drawn both Jimin’s face and Hoseok’s smiling mouth as little heart shapes. He wasn’t great at art, but he felt like he got his point across whenever he drew or painted.

Jimin smiled at it, rubbed his shoulders while Taehyung put the socks back on his hands. He leaned on Jimin and reminded himself that his friends all cared about him, that their love wasn’t a joke, or based on pity. Jimin loved him. Hoseok loved him. They all loved him.

“Can we have that one, Tae?” Hoseok asked. Tae wasn’t sure why they’d want it–he hung up his own art, but it was his. That was different. Plus, he’d gotten a little grease stain on it from the Aquaphor. He shrugged and nodded, and Hoseok carefully tore it out.

“We should sleep. It’s 2:00 am. You two are awful about your sleep schedules,” Hoseok scolded gently. “Let’s push the beds together and all sleep together.” Taehyung stared at them with surprise.

“Do you two not usually sleep together?” he asked. They both burst into laughter, which Taehyung didn’t really get.

“We sleep together, but we usually just pick a bed,” Jimin explained, Tae still not getting the joke they seemed to share. Jimin and Hoseok pushed the beds together and turned out the lights, giggling with Taehyung in the middle of the still not very large bed, and it really felt like a sleepover, something fun. Not pity because Taehyung had called them crying. They both held him, and he held onto the places where they touched him.

Chapter Text

Contests seemed to frazzle Jungkook’s nerves, and Jin obviously understood–he had had a fucking breakdown about them just last year, so he wasn’t really in a position to judge. Namjoon was pale and quiet. He looked thoughtful; Jin knew from experience that he was going through everything in his head again, practicing without his cello somehow.

“Hyung?” Jungkook’s panicked voice called. Jin looked at the others, since they had been the only ones addressed as hyung for a while now, before he realized it was for him. Oh my god. He was just comfortable with me this whole time. The others looked at Jin like he was hopeless as he finally turned to Jungkook, his still unadmitted love, his baby.

“What’s up, Kookie?” he asked sweetly, rubbing his back. They were away from the performance stage right now, in a random practice room they’d found unlocked–also not where they were supposed to be, but they were a large enough group that it looked like something official, and no one said anything to them. Nobody really cared at this level, anyhow.

“I’m going to throw up,” he whispered, not wanting everyone to hear, not wanting to run to the bathroom alone. Jin’s chest tightened seeing him so vulnerable. He took his hand.

“Jungkookie and I are going out for a sec,” he called to everyone. They nodded sympathetically, all having done this many times before themselves. Jin got a bottle of water from a vending machine they passed, holding Jungkook’s hand the whole time, and looked around for someone who worked there.

“Excuse me,” he called out to the first person he found. “Do you have any single stall bathrooms?” The woman saw Jungkook and grimaced. She pointed.

“Go down that hall, up those stairs to the third floor, and down the hall on your right. You’ll see it.” He bowed to her and led Jungkook up the stairs. The moment Jin opened the door to the bathroom–which was really nice, probably the secret bathroom every space has–Jungkook burst in, hit the floor, and started gagging over the porcelain. Jin locked the door, put the water bottle on the counter, and kneeled beside Jungkook, holding his long hair back just in time for some puke so violent that–Jin really, really hated to say it–some splashed back and hit him from all the way back there. Jungkook cried, but Jin was pretty sure they were just the automatic tears from throwing up, not more freaking.

“Oh, poor baby,” Jin said so gently that Jungkook looked at him like he was waiting for the punchline of a joke, which honestly made Jin feel kind of shitty. He liked to joke, to make people feel more comfortable with humor, but he didn’t like that his own boyfriend didn’t expect sincerity from him when he was crying and covered in puke on the bathroom floor. Jin stood, and Jungkook stayed on his knees on the floor, moving his head back to where his body was facing, back toward the toilet. Jin took some paper towels and wet them, waiting for the water to warm up first, and knelt back by Jungkook.

“Turn around, yeobo,” he said, keeping his voice soft. Jungkook did, and Jin tried not to cringe. He wasn’t looking good, but of course the judges would have seen sicker. He carefully cleaned the splattered puke off Jungkook’s face and suit jacket, and checked his hair thoroughly. He stood and helped him up.

“Rinse your mouth out,” he said, handing him the water bottle. He dug around in his tote bag for some gum and handed it to him after he rinsed a few times, then fixed up his hair, combing it with his hands. He put cold water on a paper towel, then, and dabbed at Jungkook’s eyes. Jungkook blinked, feeling some relief.

“Thanks, hyung,” he said, and hugged Jin’s waist, rubbing his face into Jin’s chest and undoing Jin’s work on his hair, but Jin hugged him back, tightly.

“Nothing is as important as you being okay. You know that, right? This is important to you now, but in a year it’ll just be another medal. I’m sure you have a million of them and can barely remember them all.” He kissed his head, happy for the privacy, that he could be there for Jungkook like he’d been there for Jin so many times now. Jungkook didn’t answer him, just stayed where he was against Jin, which Jin was fine with, really. He knew that he was thinking about what he’d said even if he was too stubborn to admit it.

“I should go out,” Jungkook said. Jin reached behind him for the water bottle and handed it to him.

“Drink a little more or you’ll be shaky,” he ordered, and Jungkook nodded and listened. Jin felt like a hyung again, a little more at ease with their relationship. Jungkook stared up at him from the water bottle with a strange, determined look Jin couldn’t quite place until Jungkook stopped drinking, set the water bottle down, and took Jin’s face in his hands roughly, shocking him with a long kiss deep in Jin’s mouth. Jungkook’s lips were hard against his and his hands held Jin firmly, but it didn’t feel like passion, like he just needed some tension lifted and was using their bodies to do it. It felt like something else, and that made Jin feel a little uneasy even though he wasn’t sure what that something else was.

“What’s happening?” Jin managed to get out even as he kissed him back, almost reluctantly. Jungkook reached under Jin’s shirt in response, both hands trailing up his back. Jin fucking hated himself for getting horny basically right away after seeing his boyfriend in a heap on the floor, felt both physically and emotionally disgusting. Having a half chub right now was fucking shameful. He grunted lightly, tried to gently push Jungkook away, and had to try twice before he got the hint. Jungkook looked at him intensely, like he’s hoping I’ll change my mind, Jin thought.

“Honey, I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t figure out why saying no this time upset him so much, but he really did feel upset with himself. It was basically his only job right now to calm Jungkook down, and he wasn’t fucking doing the one thing he’d asked of him. Every time he’d asked Jin for sex to calm himself down, Jin had rejected him even though he did the same type of thing all the time. He was selfish and he knew it and it hurt. And then not even being sure that’s what he was being used for on top of that–this was too much. Jungkook’s eyes widened and he seemed to come back to reality.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just really don’t want to go out right now and I saw you and…” Jungkook trailed off, like he knew what he was saying didn’t sound great. They stared at each other.

“Were you really going to try to fuck me in a bathroom just to delay waiting to play?” Jin asked. He wasn’t quite sure he’d heard right. Jungkook’s voice came out small.

“A little,” he said. Jin nodded, slowly.

“So if you didn’t do as well as you wanted, it would be my fault?” Jin clarified. “You weren’t like. So nervous you were horny? You didn’t care about what you were doing at all?” Jungkook cringed, and Jin hated to be like this, to start shit when he was already so nervous, but how could he not?

“...A little,” Jungkook admitted. Jin nodded again, and he couldn’t help the hurt tears welling up in his eyes, or the shame he felt looking at Jungkook’s widening, panicked eyes. He’d just given him more to worry about. Jin checked the time on his phone. Well. He has a few minutes, he thought, regretting bringing it up but unable to drop it.

“So you were going to turn me on without regard for how I’d feel if I knew you didn’t actually want to fuck me, because apparently I’m an idiot in the palm of your hand, and then what? You’d fuck me bent over the sink and I’d make you late? Because I’m such a horny little pain in your ass? What were you planning on using, liquid hand soap?” he asked. Jungkook didn’t pick up on the sarcasm.

“Um, that cute tiny jar of your pink tinted Vaseline,” he said. Jin stared at him again.

“I’m not a thing. You can’t do something like that so you can blame me later–honestly Koo, what the fuck? Is the feeling that you could maybe prevent feeling like you’re just not perfect–on the off chance you don’t do well really–worth our relationship?” He wiped his face with a paper towel, not wanting to get his nice clothes messed up before he watched his friends play, and felt so disgusted with himself. When he looked at Jungkook again, Jin felt more shame for bringing it up now because he could tell Jungkook was really grappling with what he said, which Jin knew he didn’t need when he already had a bad case of nerves. After a silence, Jungkook faced him, took both of Jin’s hands in each of his own, and looked him in the eye.

“That was really, really fucked up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said, voice quivering. “You took care of me when I was a puking mess and I–” He cringed. Jin didn’t make him finish. He’d seen enough. He squeezed the hands that held his own.

“I should have waited to talk about it,” he said and Jungkook looked upset with him.

“Stop apologizing to me for telling me how you feel. I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.” They stared at each other in another stalemate until Jin closed the space between them, kissing his lips softly and chastely, still uncomfortable with himself.

“Are we good?” he asked. Jungkook tilted his head.

“Are we?” he asked back. Jin nodded.

“You apologized. And you were just throwing up on the floor, so I’m willing to concede you probably aren’t in the best headspace right now,” he tried to joke. Jungkook bit his lip, and he didn’t joke back. That’s what Jin wanted: a joke back, a laugh, for Jungkook to go wait with the others, to kill it on the stage.

“You’re the most precious thing to me, and I’m mad at myself for treating you like a means to a stupid end and not like a person. I want–” His voice cracked. “I want to be the best and for everyone to tell me I’m the best but I didn’t realize how, like, pathological it was until now. It’s not worth us.” His voice was small, unconfident.

“Now you can use me starting a fight in the bathroom as an excuse if you don’t like how you play,” Jin half-joked. Okay, so he was still a little bitter. Jungkook kissed him, for real this time, and Jin felt tension melt out of his own body, not realizing just how fucking insecure this had made him feel.

“No. I’m feeling…a lot better now, actually,” Jungkook said, surprise evident in his voice, an amount of confidence returned to his demeanor. He even stood straighter. “I have someone I want to play well for. I’m going to go out and play as well as I can for you. And if the judges don’t like it, I hope you still will. I’ve never had that. My parents love me so much but they don’t know anything about music. I think maybe it would be okay if I just make you proud,” he said. He touched Jin’s hair, brushed it out of his face just to touch it.

“I know you said we’re okay, but don’t forgive me yet. I want to make it up to you after tomorrow,” he said, referring to their first orchestral performance of the semester; they were busy for a few more days yet, too busy for dates. Jin nodded.

“Okay. I don’t forgive you, you little shit.” He kissed his head. “Go sit with the other nervous people in the back, and then find us so we can find the cellists.” Jungkook smiled at him as he ran out the door. Jin looked at his face in the mirror once he was alone, and for some reason, it made him incredibly sad. He took his tinted Vaseline out of his tote bag and put some on his lips, stared at the little jar he always found so cute, and threw it in the trash. He put his head in his hands at the sink and tried to stop a few private tears. He’d have to go out soon. Taehyung would need him in a place with this many people.

***

Jin’s last contest with his brother by his side had a different feeling than the others. Jin was thirteen years old, his brother eighteen, and it was just a few months before Doyoung hanged himself in his closet. Doyoung had brought a “friend,” his boyfriend Kangmin, a sweet track runner with a slight build and strong legs who didn’t know anything about music and who was impressed with whatever he heard them play.

“I’m so excited to finally get to hear you on a real stage, bud,” Kangmin said with a smile, casting a worried glance at Doyoung as he did. He’d just had a fight with their abeoji, who was at this point still home about four nights a week, getting in late, and had been crying a lot, seemingly randomly, and he started right then, out of nowhere. Kangmin was endlessly patient, tried to comfort him without looking suspicious.

“Hyung?” Jin asked, scared. He’d never seen him quite so sad before, not in public, and the bruise on his face was still obvious. Doyoung took a deep breath, willed himself to stop crying. Jin felt guilty now, knowing he was hiding how he felt because of him, so he wouldn’t be nervous performing.

“I’m sorry, Jinnie. I’m fine, don’t worry.” He gave him a tight hug, and by the end he was smiling, even kissed his cheek, like hugging his little brother gave him strength.

“You’re going to kill it. Namjoonie will be watching, too. I’ll make sure to get him in time.” Even at the age of twelve, Namjoon would be upset if he knew his friends were watching him play at a contest, able to be confident only when alone. Jin didn’t get it. He was the opposite, and gained courage from seeing his brother and Namjoon and his favorite teacher in the audience. Jin looked away, thinking, and ended up feeling so sad himself that he wanted to walk out the doors.

“Hey, hey. What’s up?” Doyoung asked, back in his hyung mode. He wiggled Jin’s shoulders. Doyoung had already gotten up at six in the morning to drive Jin and Namjoon, bought them breakfast and would buy them both lunch, never complaining about why Jin’s performances were his responsibility.

“Does anyone even care if I do well or not?” Jin asked, feeling so empty inside. “What’s the point in working so hard if no one cares or listens? Nothing we do really matters.” Doyoung frowned, and Kangmin looked horrified. Jin was sure now that he thought their family was pretty fucked up and toxic. Which. Well.

“I saw Lee Seonsaengnim earlier going into Joonie’s room. I know he came to see you both. And I care a lot how you do, okay? I love to hear you play. So does Joonie. Don’t say dumb shit like that,” he said sweetly.

“And I like to hear you play, too. I know it means less because I don’t know a lot like you guys, but I think you sound beautiful,” Kangmin said. “Lots of people care about you and what you love,” he finished, and Jin got the impression he was talking to both of them. Namjoon ran out of the room, beaming. It was before the teenage growth spurt that made him so big, and he was still just small enough that Doyoung could pick him up and spun him after he’d put his cello case down, giggling.

“Hyung, I did really well! And Lee Seonsaengnim saw! Maybe he’ll tell Kim Seonsaengnim,” he said proudly, referring to his cello instructor, a tough teacher but a beautiful cellist. Doyoung kissed his cheek, and set him down for Jin to hug tightly. He’d have done anything for his little brother even then.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jin said sincerely. He never mentioned that Namjoon always did well.

“You better get in the back now, Jinnie. Go get ‘em, champ,” Doyoung said, checking his watch. Namjoon smiled at him brightly, dimples on his still chubby cheeks.

“I can’t wait to see your turn, hyung. Nobody else stands a chance,” he said. Jin smiled, shyly. He felt a lot more confident, and he got third that day. Doyoung had taken them for lunch, and Jin had only noticed the deep sadness coming back into his eyes a few times. Each time, Kangmin noticed too, and put a hand on his back. At the time, Jin thought it was crazy that he was able to tell when Doyoung was sad, but he understood now.

***

They all sat waiting for Jungkook to play, except for Namjoon, who was stuck waiting his own turn; their times were pretty close together today, and they’d have to hurry. Jimin held Hoseok’s hand and Hoseok smiled at him, which melted Jin’s heart even as he wanted to whack them and tell them to use more discretion in a place like this, where there was no way to know who was safe or who you might meet again. Jin sat next to Jungkook’s eomma, his appa on her other side. It felt a little too much like sitting with family, the way she touched him casually like he was her own son. He tried not to get too attached to the feeling, just in case things went badly with Jungkook and they ended up hating his guts. What the fuck? He wondered why he’d think something like that. They all clapped excitedly when it was Jungkook’s turn, with not too many other people in the audience–normal with these kinds of contests.

“I’ll be playing Paganiniana,” Jungkook said, eyes huge and frightened as the judges nodded silently. Jin tried to calm his nerves telepathically, imagined it did something and wasn’t a completely useless gesture. He pictured Jungkook running up to him after the show with a huge hug. “Hyungie,” he’d say. “I was so scared, but then I heard you in my head singing a stupid little song and I felt so much better.” Okay. Maybe Jin was nervous, too.

But Jungkook took a deep breath, positioned his violin, and looked directly at Jin in a way that had his ears going red and their friends turning to grin at him. He played, on Jin’s own violin, and he played fucking beautifully. Jin watched him carefully, watched for the places he usually messed up: the dynamics, the places where he tensed his left hand too much, that part that he always rushed through when he got bored. Jin found himself blushing when Jungkook, staring right at him, used the fingering he’d suggested, and he sighed in relief each time he hit everything he was supposed to. He did rush that section, but much less than usual: improvement. They clapped loudly as he bowed and the judges thanked him, and met him at the stage exit.

His parents hugged him before Jin could get to him, and he wiggled happily in their arms, unable to contain his energy, both nervous and relieved. He bounced out of their arms and into Jin’s.

“How did I do?” he asked, eyes full of trust. Jin wiggled him until he giggled.

“You were fantastic,” he said, honestly. Jungkook smiled widely with his teeth showing, so perfect, everything about him–

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, but I love you is what he thought, guiltily. He still didn’t feel like he’d earned that particular phrase, yet, even in his own mind. Jimin and Hoseok awed while Tae smiled cutely, looking shyly over at the Jeons to see what they thought, but they were beaming even harder.

“Did I mess up?” Jungkook asked.

“No!” his mother quickly insisted, making everyone laugh.

“You still rushed that section, but it was better,” Jin answered honestly, wiggling him again, preparing for a meltdown. His parents looked a little nervous, but Jungkook’s smile didn’t break.

“And you liked it anyhow?” he asked.

“I liked it even more,” he said, full of sincerity that Jungkook never seemed to expect. “Because I could tell how hard you thought about it and tried, and I love to see you improve.” Jungkook’s eyes grew wet, but he kept his smile and hugged Jin tightly.

“Thank you,” he said. Jin stroked his hair, felt emotional, felt not good enough for Jungkook. Appa and Eomma looked at each other, smiled, and then faced Jin in unison like he was the second coming of Christ, and it made him embarrassed.

“We should hurry to Namjoonie,” he said. “You two are welcome to join us if you want,” he addressed the Jeons, bowing deeply. They rolled their eyes at him.

“Of course we’re coming,” they said.

“It’s on stage D,” Hoseok said, still holding Jimin’s hand. He rummaged through his bag and handed Taehyung a sketchbook and pencil.

“Tae Tae wanted to draw Joonie,” Jimin explained.

“Why didn’t you want to draw me?” Jungkook teased as they walked toward Namjoon’s stage. Taehyung blushed.

“You play too fast,” he said. They all giggled, and though Taehyung didn’t look like he quite understood why, he smiled.

***

Namjoon’s stage was a fucking disaster. His string broke toward the end of his piece, so close to the end. The piece had been going great, and he’d jumped and started trembling when it snapped. The judges had dismissed him–with more sympathy than usual in their voices, but still not a good position to be in. Jin was in shock at how close he was to making it to the end, and it was a Bach suite, one of Namjoon’s specialties. Yoongi cringed, tried to rush to him, but Jin put a hand on his shoulder, shook his head and pointed to the couple walking to the stage.

“We should wait. His parents came, so he’s about to get an earful. If we come in to try to help, he’s going to get more than that later,” he said grimly. After Jungkook’s stage, he had expected Namjoon’s to go even better. He hardly even got nerves performing, the absolute asshole–Jin would kill for that. That put him at an immediate advantage over everyone else every year, the way he became one with the instrument even with the stakes so high, relatively speaking. He always scored so well, to the point that Jin couldn’t even remember him ever being disappointed.

“What do you mean, more than that?” Appa asked. Yoongi paled, looked down. Jin sighed. It wasn’t his place to tell, but he didn’t want anyone going over and making it worse for him, and everyone else here already knew.

“He hits him,” he said quietly. Jungkook’s father’s brows furrowed just like his son’s did, and like he couldn’t even imagine hurting his son, he pulled Jungkook closer. He heard him whispering with his wife, but only caught her saying, “check on him later.” Jin heard a small cry and looked toward the door to the backstage, face pale. His stomach turned. Mr. Kim wouldn’t hit him here, would he?

“Stay here,” he told everyone, but looking pointedly at Yoongi, and ran toward the stage, trying to look as casual as he could. He heard steps behind him and was about to tell Yoongi he should wait when he saw it was Appa Jeon behind him. He nodded. It was dark in that hall to the back, and Jin’s brain turned off when he saw Namjoon there, completely overridden by his heart. Namjoon was pushed against the wall, and his abeoji, a slightly smaller, much greyer version of Namjoon, was fucking pummeling him against the wall in a way Jin had never seen before while Namjoon tried not to make any noise.

“Stop, stop!” Jin couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t breathe. Jin ran to Namjoon, tried to pull him away while Appa pulled Mr. Kim off of him roughly. Namjoon fell into Jin’s arms shakier than Jin had ever felt him, crying, clinging, gasping like he couldn’t breathe.

“You can’t touch him like that. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Jeon hissed at him, not wanting to draw more attention their way. Mrs. Kim stood in a corner, doing nothing. She didn’t go to Namjoon to comfort him. She hadn’t done that since he was really small.

“Don’t tell me how to raise–”

“He’s already raised. Leave.” Mr. Jeon sounded scary.

“He’s raised? Is he going to pay for his own college? His own instrument repairs? His own rent and food?” To prove a point, he tried to lunge at Namjoon, who whimpered into Jin, but Appa held him back. Jin felt a strange clearness.

“We’re going to move in two days anyway,” he said, voice surprisingly even as he held Namjoon closer to him. “He has one year after this one you’ve already paid for. You don’t want to tell everyone your son dropped out of conservatory after dropping that much cash. Just pay for it,” he suggested, boldly.

“I’ll handle his living expenses, if you want,” he added after a moment of silence. Mr. Kim was so surprised by this that he calmed down, stared at the young man he’d known since he was so small, at his son in Jin’s arms. He blinked.

“...Visit your mother sometimes, like your sister,” he said, confusion still in his voice. He walked away, Appa Jeon finally letting him go when he’d calmed himself down. Mrs. Kim followed after him, hesitated, and moved to Namjoon. She kissed the back of his head and followed her husband, and Namjoon didn’t turn from Jin. They stood there like that, Mr. Jeon staring at them both, until the next person left the stage and was congratulated by the people around them, all of them pretending they didn’t exist. Appa led them back out to the others then, and it was then that Jin noticed that Namjoon’s nose was bleeding, because they were both covered in blood, and Appa had some on him, too.

“Joonie!” Yoongi practically screamed, looking between them. Hoseok and Eomma both dug through their bags frantically, but Hoseok won, holding some tissues to Namjoon’s nose. Jimin stroked his hair, trying to calm his quivering, and Yoongi took his hand, firmly, unsure what else to do. Jungkook stared.

“What–”

“Later,” Appa told him firmly. “We should take you home and get you cleaned up and looked at, baby,” he said to Namjoon, who started sobbing at the sweet name.

“But the results–”

“Hyung, who cares about the results?” Jungkook asked.

“Please,” Namjoon said simply, and when he breathed in through his nose Jin could hear a gurgling sound. He cringed.

“Okay, even though I think the rest of us can agree it doesn’t matter, can someone stay here and send the results to the group chat so we can take care of Joonie without making his life any worse?” Jin asked, hoping the levity carried across. They all looked at each other, none of them wanting to stay.

“Don’t make me assign someone,” Jin begged. Jimin sighed.

“Hoseok and I will stay. Take Taehyungie with you, please,” he said, the dormers having come together.

“Don’t volunteer me,” Hoseok whispered.

“I’m not staying alone,” Jimin whispered back. Hoseok sighed.

“We’ll stay, but this is–”

“We know,” Yoongi snapped quietly. “It’s important to him, okay?” His hand was firmly wrapped in Namjoon’s; Jin was pretty sure if Yoongi let go for any reason, Namjoon would lose it.

“My poor sweetheart,” Eomma said, rubbing Namjoon’s back. “Come on, baby. You all stay the night with us,” she said. “You two should come over too, when you’re done,” she said to Jimin and Hoseok, who nodded. I hate this, Jin thought as they left. It wasn’t even his fault. It could have happened to anyone. And on a day that was usually one of pride for him. Maybe it really was bad luck for Namjoon’s friends to watch him play.

***

Jungkook’s parents fussed over Namjoon in a way Yoongi could see Namjoon wasn’t used to, the affection making him uncomfortable, waiting for the trick. Mrs. Jeon cleaned him up and checked where he’d been hit while Mr. Jeon made him some cocoa, got him clean clothes to change into before they decided, in that quiet way with mostly eye contact that people who loved each other for a long time had, that they’d be taking him to the doctor. He had too many bruises near his stomach and ribs, and it made them both nervous.

“We can’t take everyone,” Mrs. Jeon apologized. “Would one of you like to come?” Yoongi felt Jin’s eyes on him, and then everyone else’s eyes on the both of them, tension in the air. Yoongi knew it was selfish, knew that Jin hyung was probably more comforting for Namjoon to have by his side, but he wanted to go. The sight of Namjoon like this had been fucking hard on him, and he’d already settled for just holding his hand earlier. He wanted to go, god damn it. Am I ever going to be the most important person–

“Yoongi should go,” Jin said, interrupting his thoughts. And then, to his surprise, hyung hugged him tightly. “Can I chat with Yoongi-yah for one sec before you go?” Mrs. Jeon nodded, stroking Namjoon’s hair, and Namjoon nodded too, and Yoongi thought he looked a little scared, unsure if it was from Mrs. Jeon’s touch or the chat Yoongi was about to have. Jin looked at Jungkook, who nodded, and Jin took him to what he assumed was Jungkook’s bedroom, which was exactly like Yoongi pictured it would be: dark and cozy and comforting and a little OCD, in the sincere clinical sense: no room needed four air purifiers. They’re already talking with their eyes, he thought briefly before Jin closed the door.

“I’m really sorry, Yoongi,” Jin said, tears bursting from his eyes as he bowed to him. Yoongi felt his eyes widen. He shook his head, motioned that it was okay, and felt like a prick for his thoughts earlier.

“No, no. It’s okay, hyung,” he said, stepping forward cautiously, a hand on his shoulder. It was usually hyung comforting him. He wasn’t sure what to do, what Jin would like.

“No. I–I overstepped. I’m used to being the only one–I’m used to us only having each other. That’s not true now. I’m sorry. I only didn’t let you come when I ran off because I know how that asshole operates, and I didn’t want him to hurt him later. But after, I really hogged him. I was in panic mode. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I’m still–”

“Hyung,” Yoongi interrupted him. “It’s okay. I was a little hurt, but I understand. He’s–I shouldn’t say this. But he’s like that with you, too. He told me it was really hard for him to let Jungkook take care of you,” he admitted. Namjoon was jealous in general. Sometimes he started looking a little anxious if he started talking too much to even their other friends. “Jimin and I are both bottoms, Namjoon-ah. What do you think is going to happen? Be very specific,” he’d said at least three times when he started getting close with Jimin before Namjoon had finally dropped it.

Jin hugged him, and Yoongi hugged him back. His only hyung. He desperately wanted Jin to love him as much as he loved the others. He loved to be taken care of by someone like only someone older really could. To his shock, Jin kissed his forehead like he did with the others on their worst days, no joke in it.

“Go take care of him for me,” he said. “I love you Yoongi, really. You’re good for him. I’m not jealous. I’m just…adjusting. Don’t be scared to live with me together, please.” Yoongi wiped his eyes, wondering if hyung would love him if he knew everything he’d done.

“I love you, too. And I’m not scared at all.” They smiled sadly at each other, and then Yoongi went with Mrs. Jeon to the clinic with Namjoon, holding his hand on his way out.

***

Jimin stared at the score sheet, huffing. He couldn’t believe he was doing this when Namjoon had been gushing blood. He should be there for him right now, but he guessed if this is what Namjoon needed, for some fucking reason, he could be the one to do this.

“Hyung, you’re not going to believe this,” he said to Hoseok, motioning for him to look at the cello board. Hoseok got up, stretched in a way Jimin found so cute even under these shitty circumstances, and walked to him, a hand on the small of Jimin’s back as he squinted at the board. He laughed, bitterly at first and then sincerely.

“You’re fucking kidding,” he said. “These fucking bastards. I’ve never gotten more than like 20th place with the clarinet.”

“My highest is 23rd,” Jimin said flatly. “I’m really happy for him, but Jesus Christ. None of this was worth it. Do you think we have to check Jungkook’s, too?”

“He’ll lose it if we don’t. We should pick up their comment packets, too,” Hoseok said. “I’ll get Kookie’s if you get Joonie’s.”

“Deal,” Jimin nodded. “Then let’s get out of here.” He snapped a picture and sent it to the KakaoTalk group chat, and then did the same for Jungkook.

Third: Kim Namjoon, 89 points
First: Jeon Jungkook, 94 points (tie)

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you can play?” Conductor Lee looked over Namjoon, worried. Namjoon nodded.

“Who else would play?” he asked. Mr. Lee looked at Namjoon like he was insane.

“Your health is more important than the performance, Namjoonie,” he scolded gently, having known Namjoon for about the same amount of time he’d known Jin. Jin watched Uncle touch his best friend’s face, the way Namjoon got teary every time he’d been shown any love in the past 24 hours, even from Jin and Yoongi. It fucking killed him how badly this had fucked Namjoon up on an emotional level. Jin wasn’t sure he could ever make up for what had happened to Namjoon.

“Will it help you to play?” Uncle asked him softly. Namjoon nodded with a sniffle but no tears, and the conductor hugged him, rubbed his back.

“Then play. If he comes I won’t let him backstage.” Namjoon nodded again, hugged him back. Namjoon went back to Yoongi in the hall, and Jin was left alone with Uncle.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I thought you knew,” Jin said, remembering a time when he thought all the adults knew everything that had been happening and just didn’t care or thought it was normal. Uncle sighed.

“To be honest, I knew he probably got yelled at or something, but I didn’t think he was being hurt until last semester. I see why you wanted to move so quickly. Just make it through tonight. We’ll get you in the new place tomorrow,” he said. He looked tired, older than usual, and Jin couldn’t help but hug him, clinging hard, hating himself for how fucking clingy he was but unable to stop. But Uncle didn’t say anything, just hugged him back like he knew he needed it. Jin had been touched, really, at the care he’d spent finding him an apartment, going through exactly what to look for: moisture levels, utilities, cross streets, bus and subway lines nearby, insurance, crime rates, landlord reviews, everything. Jin had had no idea, and had left each of their apartment tours feeling like a better adult.

“Are you okay?” Jin asked so softly. Uncle pulled away from their hug and touched Jin’s cheek with a small smile.

“I’m just fine. When you’re old, you get tired more easily. Go have lunch with your friends and relax before tonight. Make sure Namjoonie and Taehyung-ssi eat well,” he said, then frowned. “Jimin-ssi, too.” Jin nodded. Jimin had been losing weight again recently, after he’d been doing so well eating more. He’d treat them all to lunch–their last as a full group together before a performance, though he knew he absolutely couldn’t say anything like that to Taehyung or he’d lose it.

***

Yoongi felt strongly, for some reason, that his job right now was to never let go of Namjoon’s hand. They’d been reading together, a copy of The Body Keeps the Score that they passed back and forth each chapter, underlining and writing notes for each other, things like, “This reminded me of you–thoughts?” and “This is really hard for me,” and “I wonder if this is part of why music helps–physicality?” He still had no idea what to do, how to be there for Namjoon. So he decided to do just that: be there. He wouldn’t make him talk, or fuss too much. He’d try to be more of a rock, and when Joonie was ready to be loved, he’d be ready to love him.

“Hyung?” Namjoon asked. They were in the library, just killing time while everyone else practiced last minute or decompressed alone.

“Yeah, hon?” He looked at Namjoon with undivided attention. Namjoon blushed but looked at him for the first time in a few hours, and apparently liked what he saw enough to kiss Yoongi’s cheek, not even looking around to make sure there was no one around.

“This will sound crazy–will you shave my head?” he asked. Yoongi thought, blinked.

“Like, now?” he asked. Namjoon nodded.

“I’m not sure where we can get clippers. Why?” he asked, squeezing Namjoon’s hand. He wanted to kiss it, but he wasn’t as brave as Namjoon.

“I want a fresh start,” he said, combing the hand that wasn’t held in Yoongi’s through his long black curtain bangs. Yoongi thought.

“We aren’t far from the dorms. Taehyungie’s probably still there if he went right back after lunch. He uses one for his face. I’d be worried Jimin’s was for–” Namjoon laughed, pushing him playfully to stop him from finishing that sentence. Taehyung hated the way the cold razor felt on his skin.

“Let’s go. We only have like an hour before we should head to the hall,” Namjoon said. Yoongi nodded, stood, and they walked to Taehyung’s dorm.

***

Jin smiled when he saw Namjoon’s fuzzy head, laughed and ran to him like it was just a rehearsal, like they weren’t backstage for their biggest performance of the semester.

“Do I get to be the first person to rub it?” he asked. Taehyung popped up out of nowhere, holding his trumpet. He seemed lighter already with the knowledge that this was his last performance with the orchestra.

“That was me, sorry,” he said, and rubbed a grinning Namjoon’s head again. He seemed lighter, too.

“Hmph. Well, if it wasn’t me, I’m glad it was you.” He rubbed it too, and Namjoon laughed with his dimples on full display. Yoongi stood holding his oboe, looking at the music on his phone without much expression, just like he always did before he went onstage.

“Do you like it, Yoongi?”

“Hm? Oh, the hair? Yeah, I think it’s cute. Look at how much it brings out his cheeks,” Yoongi said. He held a hand to his heart and scrunched up his eyes in fond dramatics.

“Jin?” Jungkook called from behind him. Jin waved bye and made his way to Jungkook, and they took their places on stage. It didn’t feel like a performance to him, not really. It felt more like a thing that had to happen before he could move. He was finally ready to go, and now it couldn’t come fast enough. He sat next to Jungkook, and they spoke with low voices even though this stage had a curtain blocking some of their sound, and he could hear a large audience chatting.

“You wanted something, Kookie?” Jungkook shifted in his chair, always happy for Jin to use his nickname.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t want to use your own violin,” he said. Jin shook his head.

“You’re used to that one for now. Best not to switch it.” Conductor Lee motioned that they were going to begin, and Jungkook ran back to the backstage area as others rushed to their seats. The curtains were raised, and the crowd went silent, then loud, clapping when Conductor Lee walked to the center. He bowed politely and said a few words about the program, then turned back to the orchestra.

“You’re all going to do great tonight. Yoongi-ssi, please,” he said simply. Yoongi nodded, played his C for everyone to tune, and then Jungkook walked on stage with a bow, to more applause. Jin thought, as he tuned to Jungkook’s violin as well, that it was more embarrassing than he’d expected for everyone to know that he wasn’t the concertmaster, wasn’t the one walking onto the stage and wasn’t the one sitting in that first chair. Now, of course, he felt guilty about that jealousy, and had to settle himself before the program started. He had to play well, had to play his absolute best. A wave of warmth filled Jin as they began to play together on stage, absolute magic still after all these years.

As usual, it almost didn’t feel real to Jin. Everything he had practiced for for two months, and here it was. His only chance to nail it. By this point, everything was muscle memory, and he was almost surprised by the music that came out, by the way the entire orchestra’s sound ebbed and flowed around him, by the way Jungkook looked next to him, beautiful and focused, his skin glowing under the stage lights. He didn’t need to focus. He just needed to play, and play the best he ever had, not just for himself but for Taehyung, too. He wanted Taehyung to have beautiful memories of his last performance with the rest of them, if nothing else.

When it was over, he didn’t believe it as much as he didn’t believe it while he was playing. He stared at the music stand, as if there should be something else there, something more, but that was it. Months of practice, over in ninety minutes. As they all took their quick bows, Conductor Lee took a surprised Taehyung’s hand, led him to the front of the stage and motioned for him to bow and for the orchestra to clap along with the audience. Jin clapped loudly, and their friends followed suit, and then the rest of the orchestra. The audience–possibly impressed by the trumpeting, which had featured well, but possibly confused, all stood in a standing ovation. Taehyung burst into a big, sudden smile, and bowed low before they all bowed again and walked backstage. He was laughing in the back, never one to be nervous in front of a crowd, even though he was nervous practically everywhere else. Jin suspected that being on stage was a way for him to be separated from others in a socially acceptable way, though they’d never spoken about it.

Jimin was the first to hug Taehyung, but Jin shoved him off, and after that the seal was broken, and everyone took turns shoving their friends off of a giggling Taehyung for their own turn at a hug.

“Choir in the spring,” Jimin said softly.

“And saxophone lessons starting ASAP, please,” Namjoon said.

“And traditional instruments in the spring, too,” Jungkook added.

“And also boba. You’re not getting out of boba,” Jin said.

“You all really mean it?” Taehyung asked. They all nodded.

“We love you,” Jin said. Parents started coming backstage: Jimin’s dad, both of Hoseok’s folks, the Jeons, but none of the Kims or Mins. Eomma was the first to hug Jungkook, and she handed him a bouquet of red roses, full and fresh and beautiful.

“My baby,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “I’m so proud of you.” He wasn’t embarrassed at all like some of the players who shoved off their parents; he leaned into the kiss and smelled the flowers. Jin was surprised Appa hugged him next and not Jungkook, and handed Jin his own bouquet of pink roses. He blinked at them and looked up with wide eyes.

“Our Jungkookie said pink is your favorite color. I hope that’s okay. You played beautifully,” he said. They switched boys to hug, and Jin started to cry, but for once it felt nice, and he didn’t try to stop it or hide the tears.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful,” he said. All three of them beamed at him. A man in overalls walked backstage.

“Kim Taehyung? Kim Namjoon?” he called out. Jin grinned at their confused faces walking to him, but as the delivery man handed them the bouquets Jin had ordered–comically large, as was his preferred style–the smile softened. Taehyung stared at them and looked up to the dim lights like they were the night sky, crying. Namjoon read the card and held it to his chest, put it in his pocket.

Jin saw Yoongi looking awkward, alone, and frowned, but just as he wondered if the florist had messed up, the delivery man called Yoongi’s name too. Jin guessed the bouquets were comically large enough to be a pain to bring in all at once. Yoongi looked even more surprised, a little stiff when he got his–Jin had taken care to match each to their personalities, being quite hands-on with the florist, and Yoongi’s was full of deep reds and the softest, biggest blooms. Taehyung’s and Namjoon’s were different but both a little more natural looking, Namjoon’s with more greenery inside, and Taehyung’s full of brighter colors. Yoongi’s was romantic and delicate and deep and strong. He read the card and tears flowed freely, and he ran to Jin and attacked him with a hug, their bouquets hitting together with a rustle. Jin laughed kindly, finding the behavior so young and innocent coming from Yoongi. Jin hoped, as he hugged him back, that Yoongi would feel safe acting as young as he was with him, that he knew he didn’t have to be so serious all the time anymore.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said simply.

“None for me?” Jungkook joked. Jin knew he was a little jealous and motioned to his parents, teasing.

“Do prodigies usually get more than one?” he teased, and his parents laughed and ruffled Jungkook’s hair, knowing how he could be, and he grinned back at Jin, though Appa Jeon looked a little worriedly at Jungkook. Jin had thought about it, of course, but wrote him a letter instead, deciding that the bouquets should be for the people who didn’t get one. He slipped Jungkook the letter with a grin, and Jungkook’s smile widened, becoming more real. He tucked it in his mother’s purse to read later.

“Thanks, hyung,” he said, meaningfully with his parents smiling at him. Conductor Lee joined them, hugging Jin and bowing to Jungkook’s parents.

“You were both wonderful,” he said, and his smile was so joyous. He’d always taken so much pleasure in seeing his students succeed. “Do you want a picture of all of you for your last orchestra performance all together?” he asked. Jin nodded, motioned for everyone to gather. They held their bouquets and wrapped free arms around each other. Jimin leaned on Namjoon, and Namjoon wrapped his free arm around Jimin and his bouquet arm around Yoongi, so that both their bouquets knocked together and almost blocked his face, which had gotten especially grumpy. Everyone laughed, and the pictures came out so happy despite a few stray tears.

Jimin and Hoseok hurried out before anyone could really say goodbye, with Jimin’s dad and Hobi’s parents; Jin suspected they had business to attend to, and hoped it went well for them.

“Thank you for making this so special,” Taehyung said.

Taehyungie, I’ve listened to so much Chet Baker since your private concert. I couldn’t live without you now if I tried, so don’t get any ideas about disappearing on us. Meeting you was one of the best things to happen to me. I love you. –Jin

“We had to. We’ll miss you. You’re the best trumpeter I’ve played with, even if you don’t feel that way,” Jin said. Jungkook nodded, looked at Tae like he missed him already.

“Can I still spend the night with you?” Namjoon asked.

Joonie, You’re my forever home. You’ve been so brave, but it’s time to let hyung take care of you. You’re more loved than you could ever know. –Jinnie hyung

“No, you have to sleep in front of our new apartment. Of course you can. Yoongi will be sad if you don’t, anyhow, and you know I can’t deny my favorite dongsaeng.” He wrapped his arm around Yoongi again, and Namjoon took his free hand.

“Favorite?” Jungkook said, and absolutely everyone down to their teacher rolled their eyes.

“Thanks for–thanks,” Yoongi said again.

“Hush.”

Yoongi-yah, Welcome to our family. Thank you for being a part of it. Hyungie loves you. Don’t forget it, please.

***

Jimin was glad the first conversation was over, but now he had to have another one, alone, before his appa drove home. He’d kept him so long, and it made him anxious to think of him driving all the way back to Busan this late after he’d already driven all day. He looked tired, and Jimin felt guilty.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk about,” Jimin said, softly. Hoseok and his parents had gone out to talk more at their hotel; they always stayed the night. Appa sat on the bed, patting the spot next to him with a kind smile and immediately wrapping a warm arm around Jimin when he sat.

“I know it’s hard with Soobin but–I really want you and Eomma to come to my dance recital together.” He couldn’t help it. He started sobbing, deep, miserable tears that seemed to break his father’s heart even as they confused him after such a wonderful performance, such a good coming-out conversation filled with so much love. Appa tried to wipe the tears for him with his sweater sleeves, then got up to find a box of tissues, bringing it and dabbing at Jimin’s face with it.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how much it–we try very hard, and we always miss you when it’s not our turn. You know that, right?” he asked his son. Jimin nodded. He was so sad his chest hurt, his stomach hurt, everything fucking hurt.

“I know. I appreciate it. I feel very loved. It’s not that,” he said. He held himself, and his father pulled him closer to him. Jimin hugged him tightly.

“Something really really bad happened to me this semester,” he cried harder. “I just really want you both there. Please. Hoseokie helped me with a dance. He made it–he didn’t say this, but he made it just for me. It’s extra important to me. I’ve worked so hard.” He hated to feel like he was begging for affection, but not as much as his father hated to hear him have to. He felt a bunch of kisses hit his head like heavy rain drops and felt comforted.

“I’ll ask your aunties to help with your brother,” he said. “We’ll do what we have to to both be there. Don’t cry. My poor baby. What happened? You look like you haven’t been eating well? Were you sick?” Appa stroked his hair so tenderly that Jimin could only cry in his arms. He didn’t feel worthy of so much love and concern. Still holding Jimin, Appa called Eomma, and he heard him softly tell her that he thought he should stay the night. Jimin heard his mother’s concern at the crying in the background, and repeated, “I’m okay, Eomma,” until his father was done on the phone. It was nice to sleep with his appa that night. Falling asleep crying in his arms, waking up in his arms, he really felt beloved.

***

“Hyung?” Namjoon said, in the dim light of Yoongi’s room. Jinnie hyung had gone to bed after a quick chat. Yoongi hummed for him to continue.

“Is it bad that I want you right now? Are you in the mood?” Namjoon’s voice sounded so genuinely conflicted that Yoongi held back his laughter. “It feels wrong when we were both so emotional earlier.” Joonie worried about this sort of thing in a way that Yoongi simply didn’t, but that didn’t mean that Namjoon’s thoughts weren’t worthy of consideration, so he thought about it.

“I think sometimes when we get really emotional is when we want people the most,” Yoongi said after a moment of thought. “I think that sounds nice.”

“Does it bother you that I–” Namjoon sighed. “I know our friends don’t really talk about when they’re going to have sex. Did it kill the mood that I asked for it? That’s what felt natural to me, and then I said it and cringed.” Yoongi shrugged. They hadn’t had sex since their first time. He suspected Namjoon had been giving him time to recover, to try and eat and sleep well.

“I don’t think everything needs to be that spontaneous,” he said. And then, honestly, he added, “It definitely doesn’t like. Turn me on when you ask like that, to be honest. But it’s nice in its own way. I get to consider if I want to. When things are spontaneous, it can hurt peoples’ feelings if you reject them when they’re in the middle of kissing you or something, even if it has nothing to do with them. I want you to do what you’re comfortable with. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something. I promise.” He kissed Namjoon, his heart full of love. The bouquets were a lot for both of them, emotions high. Yoongi hadn’t gotten one since his parents had kicked him out, and it had always been so sad to see others’ parents backstage with hugs and flowers after a concert. He could use some love, and was sure Namjoon felt the same.

Namjoon kissed him back, the kisses growing deeper. It surprised Yoongi a little how much just kissing, light touching seemed to turn Namjoon on, how he seemed to really find Yoongi attractive. He didn’t think his last boyfriend even thought he was that cute, though they had enjoyed their sex together and shared other things. Yoongi slipped his hands under Namjoon’s shirt and moaned at the heat, at the kisses traveling to his neck. Namjoon suddenly stopped, looked for Yoongi’s eyes with his own anxious ones.

“Should we try a new position?” he asked. Yoongi shrugged, really not that invested and a lot more focused on getting Namjoon to keep kissing him. He missed the warmth of him, tried to pull him back.

“Whatever you want, yeobo,” he mumbled in that drawling way Namjoon found so cute. Namjoon kissed him again for a while, stopped again.

“Maybe we could try missionary,” he suggested. Yoongi couldn’t help but grin.

“Groundbreaking. Never been done,” he teased, pulling Namjoon closer again. Truthfully, it was a little hard to keep the mood up when he kept doing this, even with the heightened emotion, but it also didn’t bother Yoongi at all. This was just how Namjoon was sometimes. Maybe he’d get more confident with experience–he’d already seemed so confident that first time–maybe he was just always a little lost in thought. Yoongi knew he was really smart, always thinking about something, sometimes several somethings at once. He thought he’d be fine with things either way. Namjoon smiled at him, blushing.

“I want to look at you while I fuck you,” he said, voice deep and low despite his pink cheeks. Okay, so he still had some of that confidence, or whatever it was. Yoongi blushed, immediately took off his own shirt and tugged at Namjoon’s until he did, too, and that was enough to put Namjoon back on him, mouths together. Yoongi pawed at the front of Namjoon’s pants, and Namjoon stood, took them off, then tore off Yoongi’s too, immediately spreading his legs and kissing his inner thighs. Yoongi gasped, never sure what to expect with Namjoon. This time, Namjoon didn’t turn him over to eat him out, rimming him and looking up at Yoongi’s face while Yoongi melted into the feelings of gentle bliss.

He was a little embarrassed he couldn’t control his hip movements, but Namjoon held them firmly, and every time he worried he was wiggling too much Namjoon moaned in pleasure.

“Lube?” he asked. Yoongi passed it to him, and Namjoon lubed up his fingers, making eye contact as he inserted the first digit into Yoongi. Fuck, why would he do that? Yoongi was so fucking embarrassed to be watched while he moaned and squirmed, and that embarrassment turned him on even more, which embarrassed him more–a cycle. Namjoon put the second one in without needing to be told, just watching Yoongi’s face like he was studying it. At the third finger, Yoongi whimpered and fucked into it himself, humiliation at being so eager washing over him in a way that felt both pleasant and unpleasant. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling, except as needing to be taken care of; he didn’t want to make his own decisions.

Namjoon looked at Yoongi’s blissed out face and rubbed lube on his own hard dick, spread Yoongi’s legs and held them up, and pushed into him, much more slowly than last time, able to see what he was doing better. Yoongi practically screamed crying out when it entered him, reaching for Namjoon but, unable to reach while he was still holding his legs, held his own legs open for Namjoon. The sight of that made Namjoon groan and stare, and Yoongi saw him struggle to stay slow for him. He pushed in so slowly, but it didn’t matter: it hurt. Yoongi realized he was going to have to get used to that, or buy some toys and try to secretly train himself without Namjoon figuring it out–which would be rough if they were living together. God, maybe I’m a dweeb, too, he thought absently until Namjoon added a finger to his ass and threw his other hand on Yoongi’s mouth to muffle the loud welp in pain. When he removed the finger, Yoongi gasped, pleasure from Namjoon’s dick suddenly rippling through him alongside the remaining pain. Finally, he was able to throw his arms around Namjoon, and he squeezed his back hard as Namjoon fucked into him, slowly at first and then harder.

Namjoon stared at him, kissing him sometimes, sometimes just looking, and Yoongi squirmed in embarrassment. He was a whimpering, teary mess when he met Namjoon’s eyes.

“Do you like that?” Namjoon asked low, near Yoongi’s face. He bent to kiss his jaw. Yoongi moaned in response.

“I want you to say it, baby,” Namjoon said. Yoongi felt heat rise to his face, a little lightheaded.

“I like it. It feels good,” Yoongi answered, surprised at how small and vulnerable his own voice sounded. Answering like that felt like another horny humiliation, and he moaned again, lips parted until Namjoon’s mouth slammed into his. He moved his hips, grinding them up and down with Joon. Finally, he moved Namjoon’s hand gently to his throat, not wanting to push if Namjoon wasn’t into it.

Namjoon looked unsure, and Yoongi was about to tell him it was okay when he pressed down and Yoongi’s whole body shook from being cut off from air. Namjoon didn’t leave his hand there for long, probably unsure of what to do and wanting to be safe; Yoongi knew that he was always safe with Namjoon, even if Namjoon had no idea what he was doing. The shaking was too much for Namjoon. His pace quickened, mumbling under his breath that Yoongi was perfect. He choked him again, and when Yoongi shook this time Namjoon came deep inside his ass, then collapsed onto him, kissing his face and neck. Yoongi wrapped his legs around Namjoon’s hips, honestly terrified of how it would feel coming out since they hadn’t even added more lube.

“I love you,” Namjoon said, kissing his lips and pulling out slowly. Yoongi whimpered, begging himself in his mind not to cry, but a few stray tears escaped as Namjoon’s thick tip finally pulled out of him and left him feeling that used up feeling that filled him with so many contradictory emotions. Namjoon lowered his head to Yoongi’s cock and sucked it, and Yoongi squirmed more, the sight of his dick buried in Namjoon’s mouth enough to make him come with a gasp.

Namjoon turned on the nightstand lamp and made a frightened noise.

“Hyung, you’re bleeding. Did I hurt you? Why didn’t you say anything? Fuck,” Namjoon said, looking down at his ass in a way Yoongi found embarrassing in a way that was definitively not hot.

“It’s okay,” he tried to reassure. “It’s probably just some tears.” Namjoon looked at him like he was insane.

“Hyung, I made you bleed, he repeated. Yoongi’s eyes closed. Too much had happened today for him to care about a little tearing.

“I’ll get some toys and practice when you aren’t home, jagi,” he said. Namjoon looked confused.

“You need practice?” he asked. Yoongi felt more awake then, couldn’t help but glare, hurt. Namjoon’s eyes widened.

“I just meant–I don’t know what you need practice for. I thought if you had some experience you’d be fine? Not like–like I mean just after the first few times,” he tried again. Yoongi felt like shit. He sighed, looked up at the ceiling instead of at Namjoon.

“Your dick is fucking huge, Joonie,” he said, wishing he could be less crass but not really knowing how else to get his point across. “I guess even with all my experience I’m not used to getting–” He forced himself to stop, take a deep breath. He tried to remember what Namjoon had said to him: “I will never see you like that.” He’d asked him to remember that, so he tried, breathing in deeply again while Namjoon waited, biting his lip.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said. “That hurt my feelings but I know you didn’t mean it that way. Come here.” He opened his arms, and Namjoon crawled back into them, sneaking another concerned look at Yoongi’s ass before he settled in, like he wasn’t sure they should be cuddling when Yoongi was bleeding. Yoongi stroked his fuzzy head and gave it a kiss, trying to impart that he’d done nothing wrong, and Namjoon did seem to settle.

“You are big, though, sweetheart. It’s a lot for me. If you’re with someone really big, sometimes if you don’t get used to it from sex, you have to play with some toys and leave them in a while to get used to stretching out. That’s all,” he explained more patiently. Namjoon looked at him with even more concern.

“It stretches you out? Like permanently?” he asked. Yoongi felt like an asshole. He should have explained this earlier. It was inconsiderate of him to assume Namjoon knew all this.

“Yes and no. It closes up again. It’s not like it’s stuck open,” he reassured calmly, hoping he had made the correct assumption and that Namjoon wasn’t wondering why the fuck he was telling him that.

“But it gets you more relaxed. You relax more easily because you’re used to relaxing around that size. And it does make you a little looser, I guess, but people don’t like to talk about that as much. It’s not usually enough to cause any problems or anything,” he finished. Namjoon frowned, looking at him thoughtfully.

“Do you want to do all that?” he asked, sounding so much more vulnerable than he had ten minutes ago fucking him. Yoongi furrowed his brow back at him.

“It’s not…It’s not like something I’m looking forward to a lot, but it’s okay. It’ll help us have sex without you needing to worry, and I do want that,” he said, trying to continue being as honest as he could be with him, to ease some of the anxiety in his heart. The last thing he wanted was for Namjoon to have to wonder what was truthful and what wasn’t. Namjoon stroked Yoongi’s chest, then his shoulder, then his hair behind his ear. His touch sent shivers down Yoongi’s spine, while Namjoon thought.

“Do you really want to have sex? We don’t have to,” Namjoon said, sounding unsure. Yoongi tensed up, feeling a little like he was being broken up with.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, and then: “Do you not want to?” Namjoon blushed.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you’re doing something that’s hurting you. I like having sex with you. You feel great, and I love watching you,” he reassured, sounding very tender at the thought of watching Yoongi squirming around beneath him. “But I just want you to know–I don’t expect it from you. You–” He breathed in deep, not wanting to offend Yoongi again.

“If you ever want to take a break, or take a break where we just use our hands and mouths or like. A smaller toy? That’s okay with me. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to–”

“Thank you, Joonie,” Yoongi said softly, not wanting him to apologize for being nice, for being too good for him yet again. “That’s really sweet, and I’ll remember that. I’ve been a little unsure about what you expect. Thank you for telling me.” He kissed Namjoon’s forehead, cool after the sweat had evaporated. Namjoon pushed himself up just a little and kissed Yoongi’s lips. His touch felt hesitant, and Yoongi was disappointed in himself for scaring him again. He liked to see Namjoon when his instincts took over for his brain, when he was experiencing too much pleasure to be anxious.

“I should run you a bath. You must be sore,” he said, still a little worried about the blood. Yoongi shook his head.

“We have a long day tomorrow and it’s already late. I’ll just take a quick rinse in the shower,” he said. Namjoon frowned, stiffened a little like he’d been rejected. Yoongi sighed.

“We’re not doing well, are we?” he asked quietly, heart pounding. Namjoon looked at him like he’d just been punched in the face for the second time this week. He was still bruised, and it made Yoongi’s chest hurt to think about it.

“I-I thought we were okay,” he said, voice quivering. Yoongi kissed him quickly, hoping to clear things up with pure emotion, since their words didn’t seem to be working. It helped; Joonie immediately relaxed a little bit into the kiss, reassured.

“I think that’s what I mean. I take a lot of what you say as an insult even when you mean it nicely, and you assume I’m ready to throw you away when I’m just trying to talk about things,” he said. He felt so anxious he could puke. He knew it was his fault this wasn’t going well, that he was too reactive. He hated to make Namjoon feel worse than he did. Each of the two times they’d fucked and on several other occassions, he’d made Namjoon feel worse. He got out of bed suddenly, and pain shot through him. God fucking damn it, not now, he begged his body.

“Hyung?” Namjoon sounded scared, but Yoongi shook his head.

“Bathroom,” he said simply, and ran out. He fucking hated when he got this anxious. It was humiliating to be hugging the toilet barfing over a talk with his boyfriend–not even a fight, just a talk, but it was so physical he couldn’t stop it. Halfway through he felt a gentle hand on his back and realized he’d run through Jin’s house completely naked and started crying. He gasped, breathed normally to make sure there wasn’t more to throw up, and flushed the toilet. He turned to Namjoon.

“Sorry,” he said, voice small. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m really trying.” He tried to hide his naked body; Joon had thrown his pajamas on. Namjoon’s brows furrowed.

“It looks like you’re trying to me. It’s been–it’s only been a few days since we talked about it, and you’ve already been stopping to think about how I really feel about you and I see you trying to ground yourself more, and you’re eating even though I can tell it’s really hard for you still,” he said, and Yoongi looked up at him with wet, red eyes. Even he hadn’t realized how hard he’d been trying until Namjoon said that.

“Hyung, I was being polite before. You’re like, really fucking traumatized. You need to give yourself more than a few days to handle that. What have you been thinking while we’re reading this book? It takes all the case studies in there like months to improve at all. You’re already doing really well.” He enveloped Yoongi then, and he felt less naked even though he was definitely still naked.

“I just want to be better for you because you deserve better,” Yoongi said softly. Namjoon kissed his temple.

“I’m also fucked up. We’re on this journey together, and I’d rather go on mine with you. Do you want me on yours?” Namjoon asked. Yoongi nodded.

“Then there’s no reason to feel bad. We’re both going to be waking up screaming and needing love for a while, and not being all the way present sometimes, and taking things in the worst way or being triggered by random things. It’s normal–it’s in the book,” he insisted, and Yoongi smiled. He’d have to look over Namjoon’s notes on the chapters they’d read again.

“You’re doing really well, too,” Yoongi said, taking his hand. “I really admire–you were hurt so much, and you’re still the kindest person I know.” Namjoon looked down, closed his eyes, and breathed, trying to just take the compliment, to not argue.

“Thanks, hyung,” he said, sounding much younger suddenly. “Let’s get you cleaned up and go to bed or we’ll be useless tomorrow. And I am telling Jinnie hyung I’m the kindest person you know, sorry.” They both giggled on the cold bathroom floor, and Yoongi let Namjoon run a bath for him, on the condition that he stayed with him.

***

Taehyung rocked alone in his dorm. He looked at his flowers, at the sketches of his flowers he’d made, desperate attempts to preserve the feeling they gave him, the feeling that he was loved. But it was so fucking hard to come back to this dorm room, to remember that his parents hadn’t come, that they had never wanted him, specifically. He had younger siblings, and he’d been the only one sent to live with Halmeoni, never invited back. And now she was dead, and he had no one.

He forced himself to look at the flowers again. He was loved. Jin loved him. He kept reminding himself. Jin loved him. But for how long? No, he loved him. He wiped his face and thought again about how he was so annoying that he had a single room. He looked at the time. 4:12 am. He cringed, but he called Jin, unable to stop himself, still rocking. The phone rang six times, and then clicked, Jin’s extremely sleepy voice on the other end.

“Is everything okay?” Jin asked immediately. Taehyung was silent for a minute, not sure what to say.

“Tae?” Jin’s voice was anxious now, high pitched. He had to speak. He always wanted to talk on the phone, but never knew quite how to.

“I’m–I’m just lonely. I keep looking at the bouquet to remember someone loves me. Thank you,” he said, and felt stupid. Hyung was going to be furious he got woken up to get thanked for some flowers. But Jin didn’t yell at him in a rap like he expected. He heard the sheets rustle like he was sitting up.

“Have you been up this whole time? Did you have a nightmare?” Taehyung stared again at his drawings. He wished he were better at drawing–even his drawings always came out weird.

“I’ve been up.”

“What have you been thinking about?” Jin asked. Taehyung stopped rocking, scooted to the back of the wall from his position on the floor, and tried to become a little ball.

“I’ve been wondering why my parents didn’t want just me,” he said into his arm, but Jin apparently heard anyway.

“You should ask them,” Jin said. “I think it will help you to know, even if what they say ends up sucking. Maybe it’ll help you move on.” Taehyung thought. It didn’t sound like a bad idea, actually.

“Should I call them?” he asked, feeling a little more hopeful.

“Not right now,” Jin said so extremely gently.

“Oh,” said Tae. “Right.”

“Get some sleep, Taehyungie. I want you to get into your best pajamas, get in bed, put on some white noise on your bluetooth speaker, and picture us all getting boba. Imagine how it will be to get boba. And don’t set an alarm. You’re off the hook helping us unpack,” Jin yawned. He’d hired movers, so the worst part would be someone else’s job, anyway.

“I will. I love you.” He gripped the phone tighter as he said it, always worried this would be the final straw, the thing he did that was so annoying he didn’t get an “I love you” back.

“Really try it. The jammies are important. They have to be your best. I love you, too. So, so, much. So don’t hurt yourself, okay? I’ll be sad if I see you’ve hurt yourself.” Jin still sounded worried.

“I already did a little,” Taehyung admitted. “But I’ll try to stop for the rest of the night.” He changed into his softest, warmest pajamas, the chill in the dorms strong. As instructed, he tucked himself in, put on some white noise, and he pictured boba. By the time he fell asleep, he was smiling.

Chapter Text

The move wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t really personal yet, but everything was basically put away already, and Jin felt extremely satisfied. Jungkook had been a huge help, never seeming to run out of energy. Jin had hated to see him leave, but he had lessons to get to, and promised to stay over the weekend. Namjoon and Yoongi had decided to share a room, so after Jin’s bedroom and their practice room/studio hybrid there was an extra bedroom available. He called a house meeting in their living room, with sleek minimalist furniture Uncle had helped them pick out and build, insisting on nothing too cheap and nothing too pricey, since they’d likely move again at some point. Namjoon had bought a beautiful wooden coffee table that looked like a slab of a whole tree even though it was a little too nice, and Jin and put some candles on it along with one of Namjoon’s books. Their home was getting there.

“I’m sure you’re both wondering why I called you here today,” Jin said, clapping once for extra drama.

“Because you’re kicking us out,” Namjoon said.

“You decided you’re leaving the country,” Yoongi added. Jin smiled.

“No. I want your real thoughts on this, though. Don’t be afraid to shoot me down. Since you two dweebs decided to room together, we have an extra room. I know Joonie was wanting a study, but what if we moved Taehyungie in?” Namjoon blinked, thinking. Yoongi shrugged.

“If he wants to, I don’t see why not. I think he gets pretty lonely in the dorms,” Yoongi said. Jin nodded.

“I thought so, too. And that it might be nice…this semester is paid for obviously, but next semester onward he could save a lot of money on housing. I know he worries about running out,” Jin said. Namjoon looked less sure.

“Go ahead, Namjoonie. It’s not a done deal. I haven’t talked to him,” Jin said encouragingly. Namjoon still hesitated, and Jin could tell he felt guilty as hell for what he was about to say.

“Didn’t he get that single room for being…loud? I know we’re still working on sound proofing in here for practice, but I have to study and I like some quiet,” he admitted, looking down. Jin nodded and touched his shoulder.

“I thought about that, actually,” Jin said, hoping to reassure poor Joon that his concerns weren’t mean spirited. “I really think he’ll feel a lot less lonely living with us and he’ll be less loud. I think living with someone who hated his guts probably made it worse. But if he’s still loud even after some love and us talking to him a few times, I think I could get my eomeoni to sound proof both your rooms if I lie a little and say it’s our rooms and it’s for practice.” Jin knew his mother liked Namjoon and was friends with his eomeoni, having never had any real loyalty to Namjoon’s father like his own did.

“I think hyung is right, though,” Yoongi said quietly. “I really think he’ll be a lot less loud when he’s with people who care about him. And if he is, it should be easier for us to soothe him or hide his sax.” Namjoon nodded.

“Okay. I’m in,” he said. “But if he’s loud, you’re buying me the best noise canceling headphones and earplugs on the market.” Jin nodded and held out a hand for them to shake.

“Deal.”

***

Jin decided not to make the same mistakes he’d made in the past, against all the odds. He’d asked Jungkook to meet up at school somewhere private. They were all fucking tired. The contest, the friend emergencies, the concert, the moving–but Jungkook still made time to meet with him in the shittiest practice room, which Jin was grateful for.

Jungkook joined him in the cramped little room with the broken stand and smiled nervously. He’d brought his violin, too–well, Jin’s violin. Of course he did, Jin thought. We’re here. But still, he pointed and grinned.

“Do you want to play together a little while we’re here?” he asked. Jungkook blushed like playing with Jin in this awful room was the most romantic thing he could think of.

“I’d really like that if you aren’t joking,” he said. “But we should talk first. What’s up?” Jin opened his arms with a grin and Jungkook sat in his lap, giggling. He kissed Jin’s cheek and nuzzled him. He was in the pink version of the modern hanbok set that he and his father both seemed to love, with a purple sweater underneath, and he looked so soft and cute that Jin wanted to bite his cheek. Focus, Jin, he reminded himself.

“I just wanted to let you know we’re going to ask Taehyung to move in since Joonie and Yoongi-yah decided to room together,” he said, stroking his back. “I just didn’t want to leave you out of the loop again.” Jungkook looked up at him with a smile, but he looked pretty insecure.

“Thanks for telling me,” he said, and kissed Jin’s jaw so softly Jin sighed happily, which brought a real smile to Jungkook’s eyes.

“You look like you have thoughts,” Jin said. “I haven’t asked him, yet. I just got the okay from Joonie and Yoongi. I want to hear what you think,” he reassured. Jungkook hummed.

“I guess–I’m a little jealous,” he admitted. Jin tilted his head.

“I want you to really think about it, yeobo. Do you really think I’d cheat on you? Or hit on Taehyungie?” he asked, a little hurt Jungkook would think so little of his loyalty, but Jungkook’s eyes widened to big circles and he shook his head and made “no” motions with his arms.

“No no no! Hyung, I trust you so much–I should have explained. I meant that you asked him, and not me,” Jungkook admitted. Jin thought about it, but the more he thought about it, the crazier it sounded, if he was being honest.

“Honey, I think you’re great. I really do. But I’ve known you for like, less than three months. I feel like I’m breaking the law for feeling the way I do about you, and that I’m going to be locked up in prison for moving too fast. I can’t move in with you, yet.” Jin tried to keep it light, but he had to be honest. Jungkook’s reply was quiet.

“You’ve only really known Yoongi that long,” he said. Jin nodded.

“I think you should talk to Yoongi about how he was living. When he gives you lessons, he insists on doing them at school, right?” Jungkook nodded.

“If you were in the same living situation, I’d cave and move you in, too. I’m not heartless,” Jin continued. “But you have two loving parents who would actually be pretty sad if you moved out, I think. But I’m going to have to insist you stay over every weekend unless my roommates yell at me.” Jungkook smiled at that, and Jin’s heart felt a little lighter.

“You really want me over?” he asked, smiling so softly, so innocently, that Jin couldn’t help it. He leaned down and kissed his head, his nose–getting a giggle–and then his mouth, gently, lovingly.

“Of course I want you over. I want to spend so much time with you that it scares me,” he said. “Did I tell you how pretty you look today? I love how comfy and sweet you look.” He kissed him again, and Jungkook made a happy noise. When he pulled from the kiss, Jin was relieved to see he was smiling with his teeth, and it reached his eyes. He pushed some hair behind his ear. Jungkook shifted so he was straddling Jin, and Jin felt himself start to get hard on Jungkook, who noticed and immediately started making it worse. Jin laughed.

“In the shitty practice room?” he asked. Jungkook looked guilty but not at all sorry, and giggled with him.

“Sorry, sorry. No more no-lube sex for you for a while.” He kissed him again but got off Jin’s lap, and Jin missed the warm solidness of him. He was down so bad for Jungkook and he knew it.

“Let’s play together instead. Next best thing,” Jin said. Jungkook really laughed at that.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to keep borrowing your violin, by the way?” Jungkook asked once he’d quieted down. “I know you probably want to practice the new pieces on your own.” Jin shrugged.

“It’s for the holiday concert. We all know the pieces. Just be patient with me when I make the switch, Concertmaster-nim,” he teased. “Uncle doesn’t mind. He hardly plays anything but his piano and cello anymore, and sometimes clarinet if he’s really in the mood.” Jungkook blinked.

“He knows all those? What did he start with?” Jungkook asked, curious.

“Piano. He didn’t start until he was ten or I think he would have tried to do that instead. That reminds me. How is Yoongi doing? You don’t have to tell me, but I’m nosey,” Jin said, getting out his uncle’s violin and warming up a little. He didn’t like the sound as much as his own, much warmer violin, but he liked the darkness of the wood, and it felt special to play the instrument of someone he loved so much.

“He’s doing really great. Like I’m really good–stop laughing, I am really good!” Jungkook yelled playfully when Jin cracked up.

“Of course, my little prodigy.” He kissed his head again. He felt like he was being a little too affectionate today, but he couldn’t help it, and at least Jungkook seemed to be eating it up.

“Anyhow,” Jungkook said with a playful smack. “Like I was saying, I’m really good and I honestly feel like he’s catching up to me really fast. He was already pretty good. A few bad habits from self teaching, but he fixed them right away. I think he practiced a lot.” Jin nodded and Jungkook warmed up, too. To be honest, Jin liked to see him play on his violin. It made them feel closer somehow; it felt intimate.

“That’s why I was curious. I’m not that good. I stopped taking lessons when my brother died. Not really serious lessons, just the usual second instrument lessons. But Yoongi is always talking about playing shitty, and I always think he sounds pretty good.” Jungkook shrugged.

“I guess not everyone can have way too much confidence like we do. What are we playing, hyung?”

“Wait wait wait wait,” Jin said, in fast English that made Jungkook giggle again. “Why did you stop calling me hyung and why did you start again? That was driving me insane,” he said. Jungkook burst out into a full laugh.

“I liked the way you rapped at me when you scolded me. I started again when you stopped yelling at me about it,” he admitted. Jin pointed his bow at him.

“You little shit,” he said, unserious. “I thought you stopped respecting me because I’m a bottom.” Jungkook laughed harder, so hard he had to lower the violin and double over.

“I respect bottoms, Jin, even really submissive ones like yo–”

“Okay okay okay,” Jin said, ears tomato red. “I actually got us some sheet music for when we practice together for the rest of the year,” he said, too embarrassed to pick up on how much Jungkook beamed hearing that, how much it meant to him.

“Let’s try sight reading this and then we can work through it,” Jin continued, face still flushed as he handed Jungkook Wieniawski’s Etude Caprices for Two Violins, Op. 18. Jungkook looked at the music with a smile, then at Jin.

“Thanks, hyung,” he said, so many words so obviously unsaid, but Jin knew what they were. Jin put his violin into position, stared at the music on the shitty broken stand. He gave Jungkook the unbroken stand, like a good hyung.

“Yeah, yeah. Just play.” He smiled at him though, and Jungkook scrunched his nose before they played, doing such a good job sight reading together that Jin couldn’t help feeling a little smug about their combined skill and the way they always just seemed to fit.

***

“Move in?” Taehyung said, disbelief in his voice. “Are you sure? I’m notoriously too annoying to live with,” he said, and Jin felt bitter for him. His parents were dickheads. He put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sure. Yoongi and Namjoon are excited for you to move in. I thought it would help you save some money, too. I know you worry. You wouldn’t have to pay rent. Hyung’s got it. I put most the utilities in Yoongi’s name, but we can put something in yours, too, so you can get some credit history,” Jin said. Taehyung sniffled.

“Thanks, hyung. It cost me like $8,000 last year. I got really scared,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. Jin tried to wiggle him back to the present. Taehyung was a lot like Jungkook in that way, responding well to being wiggled, tickled, picked up, a surprise sloppy smooch, any kind of physical affection that felt fun and real. Tae looked back up at Jin.

“If you guys start to hate me, can you let me know? I don’t want you to hate me.” Jin frowned.

“Absolutely no one is going to hate you,” Jin said firmly.

“And is Namjoon okay with it? Sometimes he looks at me like I’m trying to steal his man,” he grinned, but there was real concern in his eyes, too. Jin rolled his eyes.

“Namjoon is jealous of Jimin. Taehyungie, look me in the eye and tell me what Jimin and Yoongi would possibly do if they tried to fuck,” Jin complained, to Taehyung’s great delight. He laughed.

“Exactly,” Jin continued. “No, he’s fine with it. He actually went out and bought a saxophone and thought it would be a good time to start getting lessons. Then he was anxious his research sucked and that he should have taken you on his shopping trip, and he asks me if he should return it every five minutes, and then I tell him that I don’t think it matters at the stage where he doesn’t know how to play a single god damn note.” Taehyung was touched.

“He remembered? And still wants to? He bought it? Wow…” he said, full of wonder. “Okay. How soon can I move in?” Jin looked around.

“Well. If you bring a bag of things you need for sure, I think we can get that and one or two boxes moved in tonight, if you want.” Taehyung threw his arms around Jin, and Jin hugged him tightly.

***

It took Taehyung three nights before he randomly practiced the trumpet, and Namjoon stormed out of the bed he shared with Yoongi and directly into Jin’s bedroom. Jin was just sitting up sleepily, and peeked at the clock: 2:00 am. “Taehyung, please,” Jin silently begged. He looked up at Namjoon and groaned, tried to lie back down and hide under his duvet, but Namjoon ripped the warm, comforting darkness off of him.

“I have class in six hours. Deal with this, please. You promised,” Namjoon said. He demanded so fucking little of Jin, and Jin wished that he asked for a little bit more so that he could deny him now, but he didn’t. He was perfect, so he couldn’t deny him. He sat up, blinked, and stood.

“Go back to bed, hyung will handle it. And to be honest I already ordered several ear plugs just in case, they just aren’t here yet,” he said, completely dead to the world. Jin slept at pretty random times, but once he was out he was out. And this time, he’d only been out for about an hour. He dragged his feet to Taehyung’s room and knocked politely but slowly. The trumpet stopped, and Taehyung opened the door and smiled at him like he had no idea what time it was. Does Taehyung even own a clock? Jin wondered before he remembered the existence of iPhones.

“Tae Tae,” he said, trying to figure out how to say this kindly. He went into Taehyung’s room and closed the door for some privacy. Taehyung looked at him expectantly.

“It’s two in the morning, baby,” he said, adding the baby to soften the rest of the message. Taehyung blinked.

“Is everyone else asleep?” he asked. Jin stared at him. He loved him, loved him deeply, but he was tired and ready to kill him.

“Yes. Well. They were,” he said, motioning to the trumpet. He couldn’t help it any more, let out a fake whine while his hand smacked his forehead, squinting his eyes in frustration.

“Why would you play that right now?” he asked with anger that was only half fake. Taehyung looked down at his trumpet and looked sad enough that Jin could muster enough wakefulness to feel bad.

“I was lonely,” he said simply. Jin sighed, took the trumpet, and placed it on Taehyung’s still made bed gently before putting his hands on his shoulders.

“If you’re lonely, come sleep with hyung,” he said. “Namjoon has stayed with me for a while before, so I know from experience that he’s going to kill you if he doesn’t get enough sleep. And poor Yoongi hasn’t slept well in years. Let’s let him sleep now, yeah?” He tried to keep his voice light, not wanting Taehyung to feel bad for being lonely, just wanting the trumpet to stop.

“Sorry,” Taehyung said, voice small.

“It’s okay. Just please come sleep with me next time. No trumpet past–I don’t know. We’ll talk to Joon and Yoongi tomorrow. Bed for now, come on. Get your jammies on and come to my room,” he said, and dragged his feet back to his room, falling onto the bed with a groan. He was starting to doze like that when he felt Taehyung trying to get in, and he moved over for him.

“Can we hold each other?” he asked. Jin nodded and opened an arm for Taehyung to settle into, and felt him wrap around him as he fell right back to sleep. The last thing he thought about was how much he didn’t want to drive Namjoon to their morning class that he and Yoongi absolutely would have skipped if Namjoon didn’t need the ride.

***

Jimin practiced Hoseok’s choreo constantly, and Hoseok was a tough critic. More passion here, more fluidity there, a more drastic jerk on the reach. But Jimin was a director’s dream, taking each note and integrating it into the whole with thoughtfulness. He made several changes with the backup dancers that Hoseok seemed to really appreciate. But they’d left an hour ago, and only the two perfectionists, different though they were, remained.

“We should stop and eat, Jiminie. It’s late,” Hoseok said, yawning and stretching. Jimin knew he had his street dancing club later. Even Jimin thought he was a little crazy for dancing all day and then going to dance optionally at night three times a week. Membership only required one, but as the president he liked to be present for each meeting unless there was a true scheduling conflict. He looked in the mirror. He still didn’t like what he saw, but he nodded.

“Let me just…rinse. I’ll take a full shower later when you’re practicing.” He kissed his cheek casually, even though the door was open–with the backup dancers there until an hour ago, the sweat smell was even worse than usual today. Jimin rinsed in the shitty shared showers and thought about that kiss, their first where anyone could really see as far as he could think. They’d decided they weren’t hiding from anyone, both on the same page. That’s why they’d come out to their parents so soon. Jimin still felt bad about how much more accepting his were, but Hobi’s were coming around–they were more scared for him than anything, not really disgusted. Jimin’s parents were getting closer to Hoseok’s chatting about things, too, so that was nice.

His shower only lasted a few minutes, and he changed into black skinny jeans and a big sweater with a neck just a little too stretched out, showing off his collarbones. It was an outfit that made him feel cute and small, hidden. He liked it, felt safe eating a good dinner in it, and joined Hobi again with a smile. Hoseok’s face was always so easy to read, and he smiled so widely whenever Jimin smiled.

They walked down the hall to leave, holding hands, when Hyunkin chased them down, calling Jimin’s name. He had a few other dancers with him–more work friends than friends, Jimin knew from their chats. Hyunkin had actually turned out to be a pretty good friend, and he’d been relieved to see Hoseok wasn’t jealous. He stopped and waved with a smile, still holding Hoseok’s hand while the ballerinos caught up to the couple.

“Hey! I got those tickets you asked for. I just wanted to get them to you before I forgot,” Hyunkin said, handing a beaming Jimin an envelope. Jimin dropped Hoseok’s hand to give him a hug that was returned, Jimin standing on his tip toes.

“Thank you! I know it was a pain. I owe you one,” Jimin said.

“I bet you do,” one of the other dancers said, and the two of them snickered, Hyunkin not included, Jimin was relieved to see.

“We heard you were dating. I hope you like sharing, Hoseok,” one of them–Jimin would never be great with names–said, and he felt shame rise throughout his body from his feet, like it came to him from the earth itself. He saw Hoseok open his mouth, but Hyunkin beat him to it, and he sounded pissed.

“Man, leave him the fuck alone,” he said, more like he thought they were pathetic than anything.

“But–”

“Munjin, you fuck like five girls a week,” Hyunkin said, dropping polite speech. “I fuck around a lot. A lot of people fuck around and settle down later. We’re young. Why is it only a problem if you’re the one taking it? Like, Christ, dude. Would it kill you to just like, be chill?” Jimin tried not to laugh at being called out as a bottom in an argument. The guys–he’d literally just said one of their names, and it was already gone–mumbled.

“Like seriously. Go away. I want to chat with Jimin-ssi a sec,” Hyunkin continued. The guys stood there, and he folded his arms and waited, patiently. Real top energy, Jimin noted. They lost out, leaving with a, “Yeah man, this is lame anyhow” that absolutely no one including the men saying it really believed.

“Thanks, Hyunkin,” Jimin said. Hoseok nodded, and it was only looking over at him that he noticed the hand gripping his waist, and strangely, he only felt it after he saw it. He really needed to get in touch with his body beyond dance again.

“I’m sorry my friends were so disrespectful,” he replied, taking more credit for their behavior than he should have. “Like. Way to be a bitchy ballerina. Anyhow, I really hope you guys have fun. You’ve been a great friend. I really want to get to know you, too, Hoseok-ssi.” He bowed slightly, respectfully but not over the top. Hoseok smiled at him, and it wasn’t forced at all. He really trusted Jimin, which Jimin really couldn’t take for granted after all the times he’d stumbled into their dorm room after being fucked by men he’d never see again.

“We’re about to get dinner. Have you eaten?” Hoseok asked. Hyunkin smiled so cutely, like he wasn’t expecting the invite and was really flattered, but shook his head no in answer.

“We should get together soon, but I promised my sister I’d buy her a pizza tonight for the favor. I’ll be at the recital, though. I can’t believe you talked the department into letting your club perform, man. That took guts,” Hyunkin said and patted Hoseok’s back. “See you two soon!” He went, waving. Hoseok turned to Jimin.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Jimin nodded, smiling.

“Yeah. I felt pretty bad, but it ended up being sweet. Hyunkin is a darling. A lovable jock disguised as a ballerino,” he said. Hoseok laughed.

“That’s exactly right,” he said, and continued their walk out of there to food, hand still on Jimin’s waist. “But what were the tickets for? He acted like I knew.” Jimin blushed in the way Hobi always said made him look like a pretty china doll.

“Hyunkin’s sister’s best friend is part of the company for the Korean National Ballet. They’re doing Swan Lake next weekend and you said you hadn’t seen it in a while…I wanted to take you on a really nice date, with dinner first, but tickets are really expensive so I called in a favor. I hope that’s okay.” Jimin felt suddenly insecure about it. First of all, did it look cheap of him to ask for the tickets? He wanted to cover dinner and knew it would cost an arm and a leg, and his parents weren’t loaded. He’d been saving for a few weeks now just for the dinner. But also, he realized they’d never been on a “nice” date, just more student dates: the movies, dinner at a campus restaurant, seeing one of their friends give some kind of performance. Maybe fancy wasn’t Hoseok’s vibe.

But Hoseok wiped at his eyes with his sweatshirt sleeve as they walked outside into the evening, twilit even though it wasn’t too late, and Jimin stopped and took his hands. Hoseok looked so beautiful now, teary eyed and trying to hide his crying eyes even as Jimin faced him, a gentle breeze blowing the hair around Hoseok’s face that looked purple like the sky. Hoseok was ethereal, a pretty elf, and Jimin wished he were smiling so he wouldn’t feel guilty about wanting to remember the way he looked tonight forever.

“I’m sorry. I just–”

“No. No,” Hoseok said, interrupting. “I’ve just never…I guess no one has ever made me feel so special like that. I got emotional. I’m sorry. I’m excited.” Jimin smiled sadly, kissed his cheek lovingly but with a hint of playfulness, knowing it would make Hoseok smile, pleased when it did. Hoseok always felt him on an intuitive level.

“You are special.” He smiled, hoping Hobi believed it. “Tops need love, too,” Jimin teased, and Hobi laughed like it was the funniest joke he’d heard since whatever the last joke Jimin had told him.

“It really means a lot. And it was really thoughtful, too. Thank you. Next weekend?” he asked. Jimin nodded.

“We’re going to dress nice, and I booked us somewhere where you need a reservation for dinner, and I thought we could walk home along the river. Or walk along the river to the bus if it’s too cold,” he grinned. He was making him a present, too. Joonie was helping him with it. But that was a surprise–maybe a lame one, but a surprise nonetheless. He watched Hoseok’s face grow touched again–Hoseok was always unable to control his face too much–and he smiled again, planting a kiss right on his lips.

“Now for tonight, I’m starving and I want Korean food,” Jimin said. He took Hobi’s hand and swung it as he led him to the dark little basement campus joint they both loved, for the taste and the price, letting Hoseok sit with his feelings for the duration of the walk. He’d have to try to make him feel special more often. He hadn’t known that he’d never felt special before, assumed that he always had. How could he not?

***

“Okay, so don’t kill me. But. Uh.” Jin didn’t know why he was bothering to explain. It was pretty obvious what he was going to say. He was holding a tiny, fluffy dog to his chest, barely too big to be held in one hand alone, and he had the angriest eyebrows Jin had ever seen on a dog. They’d made him laugh. That’s why he picked that one from the box of puppies.

“I’m waiting for the part where I don’t kill you,” Namjoon said, but Jin knew he was a softie, and sure enough he took the puppy from Jin and cooed at him, kissing his little head tenderly.

“Poor thing,” Namjoon said. “Being brought to a loud apartment by a maniac.”

“I don’t really like dogs,” Yoongi said, without much complaint, more like a statement of fact, something he wanted on the record. Bull-fucking-shit, Jin thought fondly, knowing immediately that Yoongi would be willing to die for this puppy within the week.

“Still waiting,” Namjoon said, more softly now that he had the puppy. Good. Soften him up.

“So I saw them on the side of the road in a sad box, and it’s so cold out. And I thought it might be nice for Taehyungie to have a dog. You know how he gets lonely, and how lost he seems on days he doesn’t have a routine. But but but!” he said, interrupting Namjoon about to come for him.

“I thought if he didn’t want the responsibility, it would be nice for us all to have one. And, of course…you know. I figured if no one wanted him here, I could take him to a shelter, and he’d at least be warm there and not outside in a cold, lonely box…” Namjoon and Yoongi both gasped, falling directly into Jin’s plan. When you’re a shitty roommate and bring pets into the apartment without asking, you have to have a plan. Yoongi took the puppy, and Jin fucking died seeing him wrap him into his cardigan with him. Yeah, Yoongi clearly hates dogs.

“No one is taking him to the pound. Christ. I mean. We should ask Tae. I think Jin’s right and it would be good for him. But if he doesn’t want him for his own, I think he’s unfortunately our responsibility now,” Yoongi said. Jin hummed like he was considering it. So unfortunate. Namjoon leaned over to Yoongi’s chest to kiss the puppy more, and the little thing licked his face. He scrunched it up.

“I know that’s gross but it still smells like puppy breath, so I’m pretty conflicted,” he said. “He looks barely old enough to be separated from his mother…Pomeranian?” he asked. Yeah, Joon was in, too.

“That’s what it said on the box, anyhow,” he said. “Look at his eyebrows. Aren’t they funny?” He laughed. Namjoon stared at him without amusement.

“That’s why you picked this one up, isn’t it?” he asked flatly.

“Mm. Guilty,” Jin said. Yoongi was rocking his body gently to comfort the dog who, to be honest, didn’t seem to need much comforting. He was pretty chill with this whole arrangement. Maybe this would be good for Yoongi’s self-worth, too. Two birds with one stone. Nice one, Jin, he congratulated himself. It was good to recognize your accomplishments.

“Did you bother to get him food, and a leash and dog bags? And a food and water bowl?” Yoongi asked. Jin opened his mouth to defend himself, but Namjoon spoke first.

“And it’s so cold. He needs a tiny sweater,” he said, concerned.

“He’s a ball of fluff, Joonie. I literally found them on my way to my car. I didn’t want to take him to the pet store and stock up before I talked to you.”

“Yeah, you clearly value our opinions so much. That’s why you just brought him,” Yoongi said teasingly. He couldn’t believe he’d thought Yoongi lived in a low-level of constant anger for the first two years they’d known each other. He was funny as hell, he just didn’t crack up at all of his own jokes like Jin did.

“Anyhow, I’ll head out to get the stuff now and pick up Taehyung. Keep him safe, bye!” Jin ran out the door. Mission complete. He high fived himself, then looked back at the open door, an unamused Namjoon holding the car keys he’d dropped in the bowl on his way in. He sheepishly came back to take them, mentally taking that high five away.

***

Taehyung cried with the biggest smile any of his friends had ever seen on his face when he saw the dog, taking him from Namjoon and immediately kissing the puppy on the mouth and getting kissed back with enthusiasm, tail wagging.

“His eyebrows. Oh my god,” Tae said. He hadn’t felt this genuinely happy, just purely joyful, in way too long. He couldn’t remember when. Even just looking at this little thing was better than boba, better than jazz. He was practically an angry furball. He put him on the floor and everyone, even Jin, gasped, like the dog was too precious to put on the ground. But Taehyung saw he had a lot of energy, and wanted to play. He took one of the tiny tugging rope toys Jin had picked up from the store.

“Listen. I know there’s a lot of dog stuff in this car right now, but there’s actually a very good reason for that,” Jin had said.

“What is it?” Taehyung had wondered, quite reasonably he thought. It was a lot of dog stuff.

“The reason is I got you a puppy,” Jin had said with a long, deep sigh. Taehyung hadn’t been sure if it was a joke and thought it best not to ask, and he’d sat in the car in silence, wondering if it was true.

He wiggled the rope around gently, and the little thing who barely had teeth tried to take it from him, and barked a shrill sound. If a full grown Pomeranian had a bark like a squeaky note of a flute, the puppy had a bark like the shrillest note of a piccolo, and it made Taehyung laugh and Namjoon groan and glare at Jin.

“I love him,” Taehyung said. “Thank you, guys.”

“It wasn’t–”

“You’re welcome, Tae Tae,” Jin finished, cutting Yoongi off. “What’s his name?”

“Tannie,” Taehyung said confidently, then looked at him for another moment, like he was really gauging the dog’s personality playing tug.

“Yeontan. Because he’s the color of wood and coal. He must be hungry. Poor baby. Is he even old enough to leave his eomma?” Taehyung started opening the packages and setting up the food mat and dishes, responsibility kicking in immediately. He watched Yoongi pick up Yeontan, cradle him again.

“If he pees on any of my–”

“I’ll housetrain him right away. Hyung bought pee mats. We’ll put them by the door for accidents until he gets it. It has to be by the door so he understands, so be careful in the morning.” He read the instructions on the food, mixing the food with water he made sure was pleasantly warm before adding it in and mushing it so that it was only mostly pasty, hoping to get him used to digesting regular puppy food.

“Yeontan! Come here, aegi!” Taehyung crouched with the food and called. The dog went crazy in Yoongi’s cardigan until he put him down, and ran to Taehyung with his feet clicking on the floor.

“I think you’re supposed to make them sit before you feed them,” Namjoon said, “to show him you’re in charge.” Taehyung put the food bowl back down, ignoring him completely and praising the dog for eating, petting him as he ate.

“I’m not going to make him work for food, Namjoon. That’s messed up.” He smiled at Namjoon and delighted in his face softening. His friends liked to see him happy, he knew. And he was so, so happy right now, imagining training his puppy to enjoy the sound of the trumpet.

Chapter Text

“What the fuck do you mean Tae sleeps with you sometimes?” Jungkook hissed. Jin cringed.

“I mean we’re not sleeping together. He just sleeps in here–listen. If you want him to stop coming in here sometimes, you talk to Namjoon and tell him that,” Jin said, overwhelmed. He’d never meant anything by letting Taehyung sleep in his bed–he’d shared beds with his friends all his life, never thought he’d have to stop because he had a boyfriend now. He didn’t want to stop. He was fine with touching his friends. He’d only wanted Tae to feel less lonely. But Jungkook stomped his foot in a way Jin hated to find cute, and when he saw Jin looking at him like he was cute he got frustrated and opened a drawer of Jin’s dresser to slam it, hard, so the decorations he’d put on top–Mario figures, a few photos of him and Doyoung–shook. That made Jin jump, heart racing. Even though he had to admit he thought it was a little funny that Jungkook had to open something to slam, seeing his photos of his brother almost fall made him anxious, unable to laugh about it even to himself.

“You can not be serious right now. He probably gets to sleep with you more than I do.” Jungkook had stopped whisper shouting gradually and was now arguing at a normal volume, but it felt so loud and harsh after the whispering. Why did Namjoon have to send that cute photo of him and Taehyung in the group chat? Nobody else had found anything inappropriate about it–even Hoseok didn’t crack a joke about it.

“And you can not be slamming things in my apartment,” Jin argued. “Stop acting like a brat. He brings the puppy in–the puppy peed in the bed two days ago. And I don’t have any feelings for Taehyung and you know it. ” Jin rubbed his face, fucking tired of this conversation.

“Do I know that? You’re on top of him more than you are with me. You’re always touching him.” Jin stared at Jungkook, and he could tell by the way Jungkook’s face softened, the way he looked down, that he knew he had fucked up, that Jin had been willing to go along with this for a time but that he’d just exhausted what patience Jin had for this.

“Don’t come to dinner tonight,” Jin said, quiet and a little cold. Jungkook started crying, wiped at his face more to hide it.

“Hyung–”

“No. I mean it. Are you going to get jealous if I kiss Joonie on the cheek? Can I not rub Yoongi’s shoulder? Where does it end? I’m not doing this. I’m going to dinner. Stay or go, I don’t care, but don’t come. I want to have a nice night and I’m not going to fight with you about this, and I don’t want to see you right now.” Jin felt too old for this, didn’t know how Yoongi managed with Namjoon being the jealous type.

“You said you wanted me over,” Jungkook said, voice strained by crying, by holding back more tears.

“I did want you over. I looked forward to spending the weekend with you all fucking week, and then you came and immediately acted like I treat you like shit and don’t care about you. Do you even see why I’m upset? I wanted to take you to the thing that’s just for me, that I’ve never taken even Namjoon to, and you almost knocked my photos down because you were so jealous over what? Someone crawling into my bed with a dog to feel less alone when I’m already asleep? His grandma died a year ago this month. It’s a hard time. Grow up.” Angry tears welled up behind Jin’s eyes, but he didn’t cry. He didn’t really want to.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook’s voice came out so small and scared that Jin softened, weak when it came to him, but he didn’t want to forgive him just yet, didn’t really feel it and didn’t want to lie and say that he had. “I trust you so much.” That’s what Jungkook had said. Jin couldn’t tell which version was true.

“Why don’t you stay here when I go?” Jin asked. He still didn’t want him to come to dinner, didn’t want to be angry with Jungkook his first time with his own little family tradition. Jin texted Uncle right then to let him know he’d be coming alone, just in case he was prepping any food.

“What?” Jungkook was confused.

“We can talk later then and we can figure out what the fuck this is about, because–and I feel like we’ve both said this to each other before–I don’t think it’s actually about Tae.” Poor Taehyung. It was always him in the middle, when he’d done nothing wrong. Not preventing, not protecting him from this–that was Jin’s fault, he knew. Jungkook paused, thought what looked like anxious thoughts, nodded.

“Don’t leave,” he begged softly despite his nod. Jin sighed. He looked at one of the pictures of Doyoung. Jin was ten, on his smiling brother’s shoulders while they both held up trophies for their music at Jin’s first contest–a little late these days, it seemed like, but he was glad he’d waited. It felt like a milestone, and one he was just old enough to appreciate. Doyoung had played with him so much that day, spinning him around while Jin laughed hysterically. He hoped his brother had been truly happy that day.

“I’m going to dinner. I’d cancel to talk, but–I don’t know. I feel like Uncle’s sick. I want to see him,” Jin said, biting his lip, knowing Jungkook had noticed him staring at the photo he’d brought from his practice room. He’d had a bad feeling lately looking at Uncle, at the way his usually prominent dark circles seemed extra dark, at the weight he’d seemed to lose. He had the feeling that it might soon be time for him to return the favor and be there for him, now. He looked at Jungkook anxiously, hoping he understood, and Jungkook nodded–stiffly, but nodding nonetheless.

“Okay. It’s probably good for you two to talk, then,” he said. Jin was so relieved that another fight wasn’t starting that it made him soften just a little bit more, and he stood in front of Jungkook, put his hands on his boyfriend’s wide shoulders and squeezed them.

“You know I’m crazy about you,” he said, trying to reach Jungkook’s downcast eyes with his own. He wasn’t crying anymore, but when he looked up, his eyes were so round, so wet. He looked so young.

“I know.” Before Jin left, he popped his head into Namjoon’s and Yoongi’s bedroom, and saw them reading together, Yoongi starting to doze. He smiled. Yoongi was gaining some weight, sleeping more, and he looked much healthier.

“Will you two check in on Kookie? I’m going to head out,” he asked. Yoongi yawned and stretched before he nodded, like a lazy housecat.

“I’ll make him some cocoa,” he said thoughtfully, like taking care of Jungkook was serious business. Jin knew Jungkook was in good hands for a few hours.

***

“You worry too much, Seokjinnie,” Uncle reassured him. “I’m more worried about why Jungkook isn’t here.” Seokjin’s ears turned red as he chopped the kimchi, wearing plastic gloves. They were having stew tonight, with homemade broth Uncle had already prepared.

“Don’t change the subject,” he grumbled. He felt the soft smile directed toward him without looking.

“Well. You’re still young. Not every relationship has to last forever,” Uncle said, looking away back to the pork belly he was chopping. Jin’s knife stopped moving. He was young. Jungkook was even younger. The thought of being a stepping stone for Jungkook, of not being in his life in a year–he sniffled.

“Why would you say that?” Jin asked with fake anger to hide his very real sense of doom. He tried to wipe his eyes on his arm without rubbing kimchi brine directly into his eye or splashing his gloves onto his clothes. His teacher washed his hands and brought over a napkin, dabbing Jin’s eyes with it in a way that embarrassed him more than if he’d just pretended he hadn’t been crying.

“I wanted you to admit you were upset,” Mr. Lee said, voice full of love. Jin grunted in acquiescence when he realized that was the kind of move he himself would pull on Yoongi or Jimin, wondering if this is where he learned it from. Why them? he asked himself, knowing the answer to that would illuminate what about him made Uncle correctly think that would work. Fuck, he thought. It’s a move for people who are afraid to hope.

“He slammed shit around today because he’s jealous of Taehyung. Or he’s saying that’s the reason,” he said, turning back to the kimchi. He felt a hand on his shoulder and had never been so grateful for the touch of another human. His uncle rubbed, soothing, as he finished cutting.

“Are you going to talk to him?”

“What else can I do?” Jin asked. He turned on the stove to heat up the pot, waited a moment and dumped in the brine, the kimchi. His teacher added the pork belly and shooed him away from the stove to stir for him, motioning when he needed the next ingredient, Jin passing it along. They had a system. Jin couldn’t stop thinking something was wrong when he looked at the man he owed everything to. As if sensing that it was giving Jin more anxiety to not know, Mr. Lee spoke, staring at the pot still.

“I’ve just been really tired lately,” he said. “I’m not sleeping well. You don’t need to worry.” Jin stared at him a moment, tried to compare the image to one in his memories.

“You’re in pain,” he said, like it was a fact and not a question. “Have you gone to the doctor?” Mr. Lee covered the pot and stretched, and Jin realized, for the first time, that he was rather small, and felt stupid for never having noticed before. Uncle didn’t deny it, or tell him more.

“I have an appointment. I don’t want to think about it until after that. I’ll tell you whatever the doctor tells me then. I promise. Okay? Tell me more about what happened with your boyfriend.” Jin felt his heart drop, but the request was reasonable. Uncle just wanted a nice night with someone he loved–that’s all Jin wanted, too.

“He’s so cute when he’s angry. It pisses me off.” Mr. Lee laughed as the room started to smell like a hot winter meal.

***

Yoongi brought Jungkook cocoa first. Jin had told him that Jungkook’s parents seemed to make their own hot cocoa mix and had homemade marshmallows stocked, and he felt a little guilty about the Swiss Miss and soy milk with regular mini-marshmallows from the grocery store floating in the mug. He’d make some more for Namjoon before he went back to their room. Maybe I should have made Jungkook a snack since he’s not going to dinner… Yoongi thought, chastising himself for being so thoughtless as he knocked on Jin’s bedroom door. Too late now, but he always could later.

Jungkook let him in, walking away from the door and sitting back on Jin’s bed before Yoongi had even stepped forward or said hello, and Yoongi immediately saw that the kid was having a rough one. Poor thing. His eyes and nose were red, but it looked like he’d stopped crying at least.

Yoongi sat next to him on the bed, keeping a small distance between them, and passed the cup to him.

“You made me cocoa?” Jungkook asked, touched.

“Mm,” Yoongi hummed. “Want to talk about it?” Jungkook stared at the cocoa, sipped it and moaned a little, and Yoongi was just happy he wasn’t upset it was Swiss Miss.

“Thanks, hyung…I just keep messing up with Jin. It’s nothing new. He’s going to get sick of me soon.” At “sick,” Jungkook’s voice cracked, and Yoongi pulled him to him. He was struck by the ease with which Jungkook fell onto him to be comforted, not hesitating or fighting his need to be loved at all. Yoongi rubbed his back, made the same comforting noises he broke out when Namjoon had nightmares.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Hyung is absolutely nuts about you. You both worry too much,” Yoongi said. He didn’t get it. Neither of them ever had eyes for anyone but each other. Jin was so attentive to Jungkook, like he wanted to protect him from the world, and you couldn’t pay Jungkook to look away from Jin while he talked, even if it was absolute nonsense–and it often was. But they both seemed completely convinced the other didn’t take them seriously.

“No. I really messed up. I slammed his drawer.” Jungkook pointed at the photo on the dresser, unable to explain the other part of why that had upset Jin without getting upset, but Yoongi understood when he saw.

“We definitely shouldn’t slam things when we’re upset, or do something that might hurt someone badly,” Yoongi said. “But if you apologize and try to make things right, I think hyung will, too.”

“I make him miserable,” Jungkook whispered. He took a sip of his hot chocolate and closed his eyes.

“That’s not what I see,” Yoongi said gently. “You know, I keep fucking up with Namjoonie, too.” Jungkook looked offended on his behalf, which made him smile ever so slightly.

“But you two look so happy,” Jungkook said. Yoongi nodded.

“We are,” he said, realizing it himself. He and Namjoon were both a little fucked up, and Yoongi knew he was still too reactionary, but both of them tried hard, and both of them were extraordinarily patient with the other. When he thought of Jin and Jungkook, “patient” was not the word that came to mind, he had to admit. But they had passion. Jungkook looked at him quizzically, tilting his head in a way that reminded Yoongi of Yeontan.

“Kookie, being loved by someone is really special. I’m sure hyung upsets you sometimes, too, right?” Yoongi knew that Jin upset him because Jin used to tell him about how badly he’d fucked up over dinner at the old mansion, how he knew Jungkook would leave. He still did, sometimes, and Yoongi was proud Jin saw him as someone he could vent to. Jungkook hesitated.

“Yeah. But.” Jungkook didn’t even try to finish, and Yoongi shook his head.

“And you try to work things out with him right? Being loved is a difficult thing,” Yoongi sighed. “It’s a lot harder than loving, I think. How to receive something so precious…” If only he could figure it out, if only he could give his sweet dongsaeng some advice.

“Thank you, hyung,” Jungkook said, voice full. His eyes were so big. Yoongi knew how Jin felt–he wanted to protect Jungkook from everything, too. Yoongi was about to leave, but he sensed Jungkook wanted to ask him something and waited, patient and natural in the silence.

“Do you ever get jealous?” he finally asked, looking a little scared. His initial thought was a definite no, but he thought about it.

“I think in a different way than you probably mean. Namjoon is the jealous one. It scares me a little sometimes, to be honest. But I think…I think I get jealous when I see how you guys all understand each other because you all…Don’t be upset. But you all–not you all, but a lot of you–you grew up rich, and went to the same programs, and did the same contests. I feel left out a lot and I wonder if Namjoon wouldn’t rather be with someone he related to more,” Yoongi replied, feeling a little too vulnerable but feeling like he owed Jungkook the truth. Jungkook frowned thoughtfully, and Yoongi could tell he hadn’t considered this before, and wondered what he thought of it. Of him.

“That sounds hard,” Jungkook said. “Harder than what I mean.”

“It doesn’t matter what’s harder. I think the solution is the same. You have to look at things rationally. Does Namjoon act like he wishes I were more like him? No, not really. I bet if you look at things from hyung’s point of view, you’ll understand why he does things that make you jealous. And if not and you have a good reason to feel the way you do, I’ll kick his ass for you, Jungkookie,” Yoongi smiled. Jungkook giggled, nuzzled Yoongi’s shoulder in a way that made him feel so loved. He just hoped Jungkook felt loved, too.

***

Jin rubbed his face, exhausted.

“Stop pressuring me to say it, Koo. I’m not ready. I don’t know how else to–”

“You say it to everyone else,” Jungkook said, lip wobbling. Jin’s bedroom was dark except for some candles he’d gotten to make Jungkook more comfortable, knowing he didn’t like the lights on bright. The flames flickered on his face, and Jin could see it twitching while he tried not to cry, breaking his hear.

“Just try to imagine how that makes me feel,” he begged. Jin could imagine, and he hated it. He hugged Jungkook tenderly, rubbed his face in his hair. He heard Jungkook sniff him, breathing him in, probably still smelling like kimchi jjigae.

“I know,” Jin said. “I don’t want you to feel like that, honey, but it’s different when it’s someone you’re romantic with. I feel really strongly about you–I don’t want to rush and I don’t want to fuck things up, and I already feel like I’m failing at both.”

“You’re not,” Jungkook said quietly, but Jin ignored him.

“I think the real issue–I don’t think it’s that I’m not saying it. I think it’s that I’m not doing a good enough job of making you feel it. How can I do a better job of making you feel loved?” Jin asked. Jungkook thought for a moment, smelling Jin again, calming himself like he thought this was a trap, which Jin fucking hated.

“I miss practicing with you,” he finally said, his voice cracking. “We used to play music together almost every day, and now I only see you outside school on the weekends. I feel–” He choked on the words, and Jin swayed him gently.

“I miss practicing with you, too. I’m sorry. I should have said so.” If I’d just fucking said something, he would have agreed, and we could have worked something out, but I didn’t, and now I made him fucking cry, Jin thought, hating himself. He thought.

“I can’t have you over to practice every day. It’s not fair to the other three people who need to practice here. But we can go to your house, or I can book us a practice room every day, and we can play together more at school. I’d like that a lot. I miss–I miss it a lot,” Jin admitted. It was the one thing he really missed about his house: that practice room.

“I’d like that. We can make a schedule,” Jungkook said. And then, like he was feeling braver after one success:

“Can you be more affectionate with me in front of our friends?” Jungkook’s voice was so, so small. Jin frowned deeply, pulled Jungkook away from him to look him seriously in the eye.

“Am I not?” he asked, genuinely confused. Jungkook’s eyes filled up with tears, and he tried to choke them down, to show he was mature. Jin stroked his cheekbone and made a soothing sound, and he let the tears fall then. Jin was glad–if there was one thing he didn’t want Jungkook picking up from him, it was his fucking emotional repression.

“You are, but less than everyone else, and I usually have to initiate…” Jungkook said. Jin closed his eyes, took a deep breath to calm down, thought hard about how he touched Jungkook in public, and realized he was right.

“I’m so sorry, Kookie. That has nothing to do with you. I think–I think it’s because we’re dating. I’ve still got some leftover gay shame. I’m sorry. I’ll do better for you. Please remind me or keep initiating–whatever you’re–I want to touch you,” he finally settled on. Jungkook hugged him again, nuzzling his chest.

“Thank you, hyung. It means a lot.” Jin held him in the candlelight, and wished he weren’t such a fuckup.

***

Pick up. Please pick up. Yoongi’s mind was a mess. He knew it was 3:30 am, and that he was blowing up Namjoon’s phone, that he’d think it was an emergency. Was it? It wasn’t. It couldn’t be an emergency, but it felt like one, and that was enough to give Yoongi trouble breathing, to only want one thing, one person.

“Hyung? Hyung what’s wrong?” Namjoon’s voice rang tired but urgent, and that’s when Yoongi lost it, when the tears started flowing, the sobs, the choking sounds. Stop, you’ll worry him.

“Hyung?” Namjoon was panicked. He had to calm Namjoon down but he couldn’t breathe. He shouldn’t have called, it only scared him.

“Please come stay with me tonight until my shift is over. Please. Please, please.” Yoongi hated that he was practically yelling, that he was pleading as though for his life despite his intellectual knowledge that this wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t.

“I’ll be right there, baby. It’s okay. Give me ten. Can you hang on for ten minutes?” Yoongi nodded into the phone, dampening the old cracked screen with tears that quickly grew cold.

“Okay. Yeah,” he said, sounding distant to himself. Fifteen minutes later Jin and Namjoon rushed in, still in pajamas with coats thrown over them. Namjoon threw his arms around Yoongi, kissing his cheeks even though they were on camera.

“I’m sorry. I had to get hyung up,” Namjoon explained, Jin looking around worried for him, like he would find a threat and eliminate it for him.

“What happened, yeobo?” Namjoon asked, quite reasonably. Yoongi took a deep breath.

“That guy I told you about, who came into my old apartment. He came in. He left but I’m scared he’s still here.” His voice was shaky, but he was okay. He was okay.

“Is this an ex? Or for a debt?” his only hyung asked, also quite reasonably. Namjoon nodded yes to “ex” to cover for Yoongi, but Yoongi was sick of lying to Jin. His hyung. He loved him, he owed him so much. Jinnie hyung deserved the truth about him.

“I whored myself out for years,” the words wobbled. “He was a guy I should have dropped but he paid–I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know Namjoonie deserves better and I know you didn’t sign up to live with a stupid whore–” Yoongi’s words became hysterical, the tears flowing freely again, and he felt himself interrupted by being pressed to someone’s chest. Hyung’s. It was hyung’s, skinnier than Namjoon’s more muscular chest, the soap smell different. He hugged him back, sobbing into Jin’s flannel plaid pajama top through his open coat, squeezing his little waist. Yoongi didn’t even want to think of what Namjoon was doing, how he was looking at him.

“I’m very happy with who our Joonie ended up with. You deserve each other,” Jin said, squeezing Yoongi even more tightly, more closely to him. “And nobody deserves Namjoonie, so you’re extra special.” He rocked him, and Yoongi wished he could know what he was thinking, if he really believed that. Jin pulled away, reluctantly, and Yoongi was surprised to see there were tears in his eyes, that some of them were falling down his pretty, exhausted face.

“What does he look like, sweetheart?” Jin asked firmly to bring him back. Yoongi took his phone off the table with shaking hands, texted them both a photo he’d managed to snap. Middle aged, black hoodie, square face, average weight with a skinny-fat build. Completely unremarkable. Jin stared at it, then looked around the gas station, gently pushing Yoongi to Namjoon, who held him tightly, took his hand for Yoongi to squeeze.

“Both of you stay here or I’m going to be pissed. Namjoonie, take care of him,” Jin said. He took a metal pole out from where it was being used to stop a window, hit his hand twice to get a feel for the instrument. To Yoongi, the thought of his hyung in pajamas trying to beat some prick with a metal rod was panic inducing.

There was the vague sound of yelling outside, a sound of Jin making threats, and Namjoon held Yoongi closer, no doubt as scared for his hyung as Yoongi was. It was all his fault. Nothing would ever be the same now, would ever be right–

Namjoon’s lips caressed his temple.

“It’s okay. Hyung’s got it,” he whispered. A customer came in for some cigarettes, disturbed by the display of affection and by the shouting outside but ultimately choosing to buy his smokes and mind his own business, and a few minutes later a car drove away, and Jin came inside.

“He’s gone,” Jin said, keeping the rod. He went behind the counter and set up the second chair, dusted it off with his coat not unlike Yoongi had done on his first date, but with a coat that cost hundreds of dollars and needed to be dry cleaned. Jin motioned for them both to sit, and he stood in front of them with the rod. Yoongi could see in his eyes he was on alert.

“You’re quitting this fucking job right now,” Namjoon said.

“How the fuck am I going to afford anything without you, then? It’s controlling–” Yoongi was interrupted by Jin’s firm voice, the serious hyung voice he saved for when he meant business.

“You’re absolutely quitting this job right now. If he knows where you work, other creeps will, too. And honestly–Yoongi, I love you, but this is fucking stupid. You should be playing more music and dealing with this kind of thing less. You have Jungkook’s haegeum–”

“He won’t need them for that much longer. He’s really good–”

“We’re starting up the traditional club. You can charge fees for less–”

“The whole point was to be accessible,” Yoongi argued. Jin frowned.

“I need to play the haegeum. Teach me.” Yoongi and Namjoon looked at each other before they both stared at Jin like he was baffling.

“You had no interest in playing before. Don’t learn an entire instrument just so you can give me money. It pisses me off,” Yoongi said, about to enter hysterics again when Jin started rapping at him angrily.

“Not everything is about you! I didn’t think Jungkook would stick with it, but he did, and I want to be better than him at it faster.” Jin’s anger sounded so sincere that Yoongi could only laugh through his anxiety.

“Hyung, you really mean it, don’t you?” Namjoon asked, incredulous.

“Of course I do,” Jin preened, like a vain bird. Yoongi smiled, and felt his heart rate steady enough that he could process the world without filtering the sound of it out consciously.

“We can’t all play the haegeum, or even all strings,” he pointed out, teasing, feeling himself calm, slowly. He’d humiliated himself, but Jin didn’t seem to mind.

“Okay then, what others do you play? To a good level. I don’t want any beginner shit,” Jin said. Namjoon shook his head, exhausted more by Jin than anything.

“Piri–that’s a double reed like an oboe, and a bunch of the flutes. Not the pan flute, though. My old friend can play the horns. She could show you–”

“Well. I guess I can play the haegeum to one-up my boyfriend, and also the biggest flute. I want my flute to be bigger than Jimin’s.” Yoongi snorted, and Namjoon groaned, holding Yoongi’s hand tighter.

They both stayed with him until the end of his shift, at 7:00, and waited politely in the car as Yoongi quit his job, the only place that had taken a chance on him three years ago. It was kind of a sad moment for him, if he was being honest. The owner gave him a hug, said he never thought he’d last that long, and said to come back if he ever needed a job. He was grateful, truly, but he hoped he’d never need to take him up on it.

***

Tonight, Jimin had three performances: his own solo for his advanced contemporary class, Hoseok’s choreography project that he’d initially helped with and through a series of hints given by Hoseok, had become the lead dancer for, as well as a group piece with two women from his class. He was proud of how the women loved when he did the lifts, how they were never afraid of looking shaky or unstable when he held them. It made him feel strong. And today, he needed to feel strong. To tell the truth, he felt fucking weak, in more ways than one.

“You look so beautiful,” Hoseok said to him, admiring Jimin’s makeup and costuming. The makeup girls always hated doing Jimin’s makeup because he insisted on doing the eyes himself, but he felt so fucking insecure every time someone else did it. They always made his eyes look too small, or just weird. He was good at making them bigger, ethereal or sexy or both. Today it was both, a smokey eye done in blues to match his costume, with glitter the color of moonlight. Hoseok touched his cheek, frowned, Jimin blushing because he knew what Hoseok was thinking.

“Did you eat today?” Hoseok asked, as Jimin thought he might. Jimin wasn’t a very good liar, and was even worse at lying to Hoseok, so he didn’t bother, didn’t want to insult the man he loved like that.

“No. I can’t before a performance.” He didn’t tell him the full truth, that it had been several days, with only a single hard boiled egg and a single banana on the previous two and nothing at all today.

“Please don’t scold me,” he added. “I’m already nervous about tonight. Are you? You look cute.” Jimin smiled in a way he truly meant at Hoseok’s outfit. It was so baggy. Whenever Jimin stopped by Hoseok’s street dance club to watch them dance, they were all in baggy clothes. He guessed it gave them a lot of freedom of movement, and it did create an interesting look. Hoseok blushed.

“I’m a little nervous. If we do poorly, they might not let us dance at a recital again,” he laughed. Hoseok was in the newest hip-hop major concentration, with most of his electives being in choreography and history of dance. While they all had to have a well-rounded set of courses outside of their concentration, the stakes were a little higher for Hoseok.

Jimin knew that was part of why this choreography was his submission to the recital this semester instead of a performance: he’d taken some contemporary, and wanted to prove the hip-hop dancers were just as versatile and well-educated as the other dancers. It made Jimin extra determined to do well, too. He knew Hoseok was one of the very best dancers in the school, and he wanted to make his composition soar, to show everyone that he could do whatever he put his mind to. He lowered his voice.

“You’re going to do great. And it’ll be a great setup for the hip-hop dancers,” he added thoughtfully. “It’ll highlight how street and hip-hop overlap but are different to the crowd.” He was glad the Ballet Department wasn’t involved in this. He didn’t think he could stand to see Minho with his nerves. He took a deep breath looking at Hoseok. Hana, one of the women Jimin was dancing with and one of his favorite dance partners, approached them smiling.

“You two look ridiculous together,” she said giggling. “Want some pictures?” They laughed and posed for her, Hoseok looking straight from the streets and Jimin like a moon god. They sneaked in some selfies with their friend before they began. Hoseok was up first, and Jimin watched from backstage eagerly, smiling widely when he was still plugging the club and encouraging students to join even if they had no experience.

But when they danced, Jimin’s heart practically stopped. The other six were good dancers, but his Hobi shined like no one else, so fluid but controlled, tight movements of minor muscles looking absolutely effortless. When he came backstage after he finished, Jimin kissed his cheek in front of everyone, beaming, so proud. Hoseok laughed, picked Jimin up and twirled him happily. They had to retreat further backstage to avoid their giggles being heard when the hip-hop dancers were being introduced.

“I’ve never been more proud to watch you dance,” Jimin said, beaming. Hoseok’s smile was huge, reached his eyes, and Jimin wished he could stay like that forever, so unworried, so happy.

“Really? Ah, it felt so good!” He danced more while Jimin giggled.

“Really. You were so cool.” More dancers came to congratulate Hoseok and his club, and he greeted them all with enthusiasm. Jimin stood away while he spoke with others. He was feeling lightheaded, a little anti-social. Hoseok was one thing, but everyone else was another.

Soon it was the contemporary dancers’ turn. Jimin’s class solo opened, and as he was being introduced by the department head he looked at the audience. Everyone he loved was there, except for his brother Soobin. His parents had both come like they’d promised, and all of their friends were there. Jungkook was on the edge of his seat while he was being introduced, which made Jimin smile.

He gave it his all, and it was like it always was at a performance: hours and hours of rehearsal and a natural tuning in to the rhythm of the music took over for him, and he didn’t have to remember a thing, just let his body take over and make something beautiful. Jimin didn’t have to act. He felt this dance inside him, in his body and in his soul, and he didn’t even fully realize he’d finished the dance until the applause started. He let himself breathe deeply, a slight pant as he looked out at everyone, at his proud parents, at Jin whistling. He smiled, bowed, and felt dizzy coming back up, tried to look steady walking backstage.

“Jimin you were–hey, hey,” Hoseok said, putting his shoulder under Jimin’s armpit. “You should get some sugar–” Jimin shook his head.

“You worry too much. I’m fine. How did I do?” Hoseok frowned, took his hand and squeezed it without moving from his supportive position. Truthfully, Jimin was grateful. He needed to sit, or someone to lean on.

“You were stunningly beautiful,” he said sincerely. Other dancers started to approach Jimin to congratulate him, but kept it briefer than they had with Hoseok, sensing he needed some space, but it only made Jimin feel bad: had he not done a good job? He felt so lost, but he knew he couldn’t cry before his next two dances. He had one dance he could rest during before he was up again.

The next was his group piece, and he could tell Hana was worried about him, or rather worried about the lifts. He knew he had to give a very strong performance, because Hana and Hani were depending on him. And he did, dancing even more powerfully than his first, acting like a pillar for his dance friends. But he couldn’t pretend afterward that he didn’t need to rest, and curled up on the floor, relieved to have about fifteen minutes to recuperate before he finished the entire show with Hoseok’s piece, the piece that tied the modern dancers together, unifying their department. He had to do it perfectly, or it would reflect poorly on the person he loved the most.

“Jimin oppa…” Hana said, and he felt a hand on his knee. He looked up, a little hazy. She had a small box of apple juice and a deep frown. Hoseok was standing behind her, staring at Jimin with a deep unhappiness he had to look away from or he’d start crying. This had been a condition of Hoseok dating him. What if he leaves me tonight? Jimin thought, starting to panic. He waved away the apple juice.

“It’s okay. It’ll be better if I don’t change anything now. My parents will want to take me to dinner right after this,” he said, sounding alarmed even though he knew no one else knew why he was anxious.

“Rest then. I’ll tap you when you need to move,” she said, squeezing his knee before standing to talk to Hoseok in a low voice. Jimin hoped she was telling him not to worry, that he hadn’t trembled at all holding her in the air.

When the time came she did tap him, and he waited backstage while the piece was explained, feeling more and more ill. The backup dancers began the dance, and he moved in swiftly at exactly the right time, his body taking over for him again. This was a powerful dance, with jerks and flips giving way to smooth, delicate motions, despair and hope, grasping and failing, failing. At the end, he flipped backward, landed perfectly on the floor, jerked down and reached again, grasping what he sought finally, and pulling it to his heart suddenly as the backup dancers closed in on him. As they moved away, Jimin stood, reaching up like he’d released his heart up into the sky. He panted looking up at a stage light as bright as a star and felt the enthusiasm of his friends again, the whistling of Jin, Namjoon’s nerdy “bravo!”

Jimin stood there panting as the audience stood, row by row, and applauded him. Applauded Hoseok’s beautiful concept, their execution. He let a few tears fall, bowed for the third time that night, and left the stage. Instantly, he was surrounded by his dance friends, held by Hoseok in front of all of them wishing him well at the same time, the individual messages being lost but their congratulations nonetheless conveyed.

“You were perfect,” Hoseok said. Jimin touched his face.

“Your choreo was perfect. You’re so good,” he said. “At everything.” He kissed his cheek. Only a few wrinkled their noses and turned away, most the dance students being more accepting than the average student. He wiped off his makeup and felt disgusted by how he looked without it, took Hoseok’s hand, and met his parents backstage. Only a little longer before he could rest in the car and eat something.

“Darling, you were so beautiful,” Eomma said. He didn’t feel beautiful. He felt dizzy, and tired, and suddenly so overwhelmed by the sight of his parents, by how taxing that dancing was, that he broke into tears and almost instantly fell in exhaustion, as though those tears were the final straw, the last thing his body could do. Thankfully, Hoseok was prepared for something like this, caught him, held him while Jimin leaned on him sobbing, grasping his shirt so weakly. He glanced at his parents standing there absolutely horrified and tried to stand up on his own, strong.

“I’m sorry. I’m–”

“He hasn’t eaten all day,” Hoseok snitched. “Can you get some food in him, please?” He bowed at Jimin’s parents, trying to be respectful with his request. The Parks looked at each other with concern.

“Why hasn’t he eaten? Where should we eat?” his mother asked, scooping Jimin out of Hoseok’s arms and into her own. He could feel her feeling him, trying to gauge how fat or skinny he was, which made Jimin feel wretched, like livestock.

“Hoseok-ssi, please join us,” his father said. Hoseok nodded, bowed again. As they were leaving, Hana ran up and bowed to Jimin’s parents. Jimin looked at her with confusion, wondering if she was going to snitch on him, too, something he’d forgotten about maybe.

“Ah, I’m sorry to interrupt. But I hope you’re so proud of Jimin oppa. He’s a good friend. He buys us food when we need it even when he doesn’t have a lot of money, and he stays behind to help anyone who needs it to learn hard choreography. He’ll even help the freshmen who aren’t in the same groups he’s in, just because he wants them to do well. He’s so good to us girls. We all love to be paired with Jimin.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and he leaned into the hug with one arm, the other around his mother.

“I hope you take care of yourself. Eat some food. You danced so well tonight,” she said, pleading, before she bowed again and left them before they could invite her to dinner and while Jimin was trying to shout his thanks to her. He’d have to bring her a boba next time they were dancing together.

“We are proud of our Jimin,” Appa said to him, taking his hand as they went to the car. As they passed their friends, Jimin started to cry again, and he saw Hoseok mouth, “later” and motion texting. He hoped no one worried about him. He usually stopped to say a quick hello before his parents whisked him away.

***

Back at their dorm, after a tearful dinner where Jimin didn’t say or eat very much, his stomach aching too much to eat well from the days without food, his parents looked at him for an explanation.

“I’ll go–” Hoseok started, but Jimin took his hand.

“Please stay.” His eyes begged, and Hoseok nodded, unsure about what was happening. Jimin took a deep breath.

“It’s been a really hard semester for me. That’s why I wanted you both here.” He cried silently, and he knew his father’s heart was breaking, but he couldn’t stop.

“Baby, what happened?” his father asked so sweetly, Jimin knew he’d do absolutely anything to make him feel better, and that upset him even more.

“It’s just hard to eat when–it makes you heavy when you dance–I was raped this semester. It made me feel so disgusting,” he finally got out, beginning to sob again. Hoseok’s eyes widened as he held Jimin, who could tell that Hoseok was surprised he’d told them at all let alone so directly. He felt like he’d done something bad by telling them, felt guilt in his stomach instead of a full meal. A dark silence filled the room.

“Did you tell the school, sweetheart? Who hurt you?” Appa asked. How could Jimin make him understand? He couldn’t keep the shame out of his voice, tried to avoid looking at his pale, upset mother.

“Appa,” he said, desperate for him to see that there was nothing to be done. “I’m a queer–I’m a faggot,” he decided on plainly. He continued.

“I’m a faggot who was hurt by someone I already–I’d slept with him before, and I have a reputation at school for being–” He cried harder. Hoseok tried to hush him, to stop him from embarrassing himself, but he kept going, needed them to understand. “For being a slut. No one would have cared even if I’d said something. Don’t you get it? Namjoon beat him up. So there’s that.” He leaned on Hoseok, so tired. He hated the silence from his parents, understood it, knew he’d said too much. His mother’s hand stroked his hair and he breathed in deeply. Even with his eyes closed, he’d recognize that hand anywhere.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Eomma said. She was being strong for him, but Jimin could feel from the tension in her hand, in her voice, that she was so upset for him, and hated that she probably understood how he felt, that he sensed that from her at all.

“I wish you would have told us,” Appa said. Jimin was once again pulled out of Hoseok’s arms, moving this time into his father’s. Appa kissed his head, so full of love, never thinking any less of Jimin no matter what shameful thing he told him.

“Hoseok’s taken good care of me. Better than I deserve. I broke my end of the deal,” he said. He was disgusting. Hoseok asked nothing of him but to be well, and he couldn’t even do that.

“It’s been three days since I ate. That’s why I couldn’t eat much tonight. I just had an egg and a banana the last two days,” Jimin said, coming clean.

“Yeobo, that’s not what I meant. We’ll take more later,” Hoseok said, a comforting hand taking his. Hoseok kissed his hand.

“You’re coming home for winter break,” Appa said. He was using his firm voice; Jimin knew he was coming home for winter break whether he wanted to or not.

“I want to stay with Hoseok,” he said, knowing he was whining, that he should be grateful his parents still loved him at all.

“If Hoseok-ssi isn’t going home, he’s welcome to stay with us, too,” Eomma said, looking at Hoseok. “You two are very serious, right? So he should come meet your brother.” Jimin moved from his appa’s warm arms to give his mother a kiss, loving and so, so grateful.

“I need to see my family for at least one long weekend, but I can stay with you the rest of the time if I won’t be any trouble. Thank you so much,” Hoseok said, bowing a full ninety degrees.

“Then it’s settled. You’re both coming home right from the holiday concert,” Appa said.

“I would bring you back now if I didn’t think failing your classes right at the end of the semester would make things worse. You’re calling us every day until then. Hoseok-ssi, I’m sorry, but can you make sure he eats at least a real meal every day? And tell his other hyungs,” Eomma said, far too understanding. Hoseok nodded, and so did Jimin. He was so dizzy. He would miss his hyungs, but he was glad Hoseok would get to meet Soobin, and that he wouldn’t be apart from him for long. Things could be a lot worse.

Chapter Text

“What did you mean by what you said?” Hoseok asked. Jimin knew what he was talking about. “I broke my end of the deal.” He’d tried hard in the last few days to not stare at himself in the mirror, not pinch his fat, not weigh himself or count his calories, but it was like doing all these things for the past few days–in some respects, really the last few weeks–had flipped a switch that he couldn’t turn off now, couldn’t return to what he’d recently established as his new, healthier baseline. All that work, gone.

“You told me before we started dating that you didn’t want to deal with any of this,” Jimin said quietly. “I’m scared you’ll leave. I would understand. You were clear.” Hoseok took his waist in his hands and pulled him close so their faces almost touched.

“Not clear enough I guess. I don’t expect you to be perfect, honey. You’ve had–well. A horrible semester.” Hoseok closed the gap between them, touching their noses together, and Jimin closed his eyes, breathing in his Hobi’s sweet, clean smell, the light fruity smell of his lip balm so close.

“I want to see you trying. I’ll admit that. But performance time is always hard, and it was even harder this time. I understand that things happen. And I see you trying so, so hard right now. I’m never going to break up with you because you aren’t feeling well. Ever.” He kissed Jimin, and he felt butterflies fill his stomach, but they weren’t happy. They were still so, so anxious, so afraid of being tossed aside, of losing his best friend and of returning to how he used to live.

“What about the sex?” he asked, tears falling. He’d cried so much this semester, and Hoseok had been there for him through all of it. He wanted to do something even nicer for him than their upcoming date, but wasn’t sure yet what it could be. Jimin needed Hoseok to know how appreciated he was. Jimin was sure he wasn’t getting it across in their daily lives.

“What about it?” Hoseok asked sweetly, but with a hint of playfulness that Jimin was surprised to find didn’t sound forced, briefly causing him to lose focus, feel a little confused, like they weren’t having the same conversation.

“That I can’t give you–I hear you jacking off sometimes,” he admitted. To his surprise, Hoseok laughed, lightly, and wiggled Jimin by his waist until he smiled, too. He felt so, so precious. God I want to make it up to him, he thought.

“Does it bother you?” Hoseok asked. Jimin shook his head in response.

“Well,” Hobi continued, “It doesn’t bother me either. Jacking off is fun. I’d do it even if we were fucking every night.” They giggled and kissed, Jimin feeling his heart at ease. Hoseok softened, played with Jimin’s hair, and Jimin adjusted so intuitively, so instantly to the tone shift, making loving eye contact.

“Besides,” Hoseok said. “It’s not like us not being able to have sex now means we’ll never be able to. I don’t want you to feel like this is forever. You’ll heal over time. We’ll probably get to fuck. And if we don’t, I love to kiss you, and my hand does a pretty good job.” Jimin playfully whacked his arm, then put his arms around his neck and leaned his face into Hoseok’s pretty neck, kissing the soft skin there gently.

“I love you, hyung.”

“I love you, Jiminie.”

***

Taehyung finally did it, called his mother, who he knew loved him slightly more than his father, who had asked him directly to stop calling him years ago. He almost wasn’t expecting her to answer, but he called so infrequently that it must have seemed important, because she did.

“Hey sweetie. Everything okay?” His mother’s voice sounded disinterested, checked out, but on the other hand he thought that if he really needed something, she would try to take care of him. Everything felt so complicated. He tried to talk normally on the phone with her, to answer quickly.

“Hi. I just wanted to ask you something,” he said, feeling a very physical dread spreading from his bones to the rest of his body. He started rocking on his bed, trying to soothe himself, but it wasn’t working as well as usual.

“What is it? I’m on my way to your uncle’s,” she said. He could hear that she wasn’t.

“Why did you get rid of me?” he asked, then quickly, “I mean–how come only I had to stay with grandma?” He was met with silence, then a sigh.

“Taehyung. You had a happy childhood there. Could you just–”

“I’m not blaming you, Eomma,” he said softly. “I just want to know. It really bothers me that I don’t know and I really–I think I’d feel a lot better if I knew the truth. Because when I fill in the blanks–” On a rock forward, he started crying, couldn’t finish. He was met with more silence, and then his mother’s voice was softer than he’d heard it before, kinder.

“I’m sorry, Taehyungie. I–don’t tell your father I’m telling you this, okay? Promise first,” she said. He wondered when she thought he could possibly rat her out to the man who barely looked at him the last time he had to stay with his parents, but a strange sense of excitement filled him, too. He’d finally know what he wondered all his life.

“I promise,” he said.

“You were always…a little off, a little extra work. It was really hard when you were a toddler. You were behind on most your milestones, and your father stopped helping me. You probably don’t remember this, but he was so cruel to you back then.” Her voice broke, crying as she remembered.

“Your halmeoni and I took you to several doctors when you were around five, and they all agreed you were likely autistic. I thought maybe it would help for us to know, but it just upset your father more and he started hurting you. I got pregnant with Sehee and it was really unexpected. Taking care of you and your baby brother and being pregnant with your sister, and trying to protect you from him was so hard, and it was really affecting our marriage. My mother agreed to take you in, and it seemed like the best option at the time.”

Taehyung tried to take all of this in, rocking harder, but he was upset and he wasn’t sure what the worst part was. Yeontan hopped onto the bed and tried to comfort him, licking his always gross hands, and for some reason that’s what made Taehyung start crying again.

“Why didn’t you tell me I’m…autistic?” he asked, deciding to start there. He felt almost disgusted saying the word, like he wasn’t quite sure it was a label that belonged to him.

“We all thought it would be better not to tell you. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t–I was a bad Eomma to you, and I know that and I wish I could take it back, but I can’t.”

“No. I guess you can’t,” he said. They sat in silence like that.

“Did Halmeoni really love me?” he asked quietly after a full minute of silence. Eomma answered immediately.

“She loved you so much, from the beginning. She always tried to tell us to just take you as you were. When you were a toddler she came over just to see you all the time. I have pictures I can send you,” she added.

“I’d like that. Do you love me? You can be honest,” he said. She was quiet, and Taehyung was sure she’d ignore his plea for honesty, say of course, darling, and was genuinely grateful for the frankness he received.

“I don’t know,” she said, and broke into tears. “I don’t really know you now. I’ve never known you. When I think back on our life together, it was so unhappy. I resented you. But I was always so happy to visit you and so upset to leave you, and I want to take care of you. I would do anything to take care of you. Is that love?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung said. “But I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry.” That all the things people called me were true the whole time. That I’m broken. That I’m not enough. That I was born unable to be loved.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You deserve better. I need to get off the phone. I love you, sweetheart. I do,” she spoke more surely. He hung up without answering, pet his increasingly stressed little dog without looking at him, and cried for a long while, picking at his hands until he was tearing strips of scab and skin off and had to move up to picking his wrists. Both hands were bleeding onto his clothes, Yeontan fur sticking, but he didn’t care. The thought hit him, then: it would never get better. He was born like this, and nothing would ever, ever change. It wasn’t like he could take a pill that would help. That’s not how it worked, right? He kissed his dog, cupping his head into a heart he made with his hands, then went into the bathroom with the pill cabinet, and stared at his face in the mirror for a moment before he opened it. He barely saw himself. It wasn’t him.

Yoongi and Namjoon had a lot of prescriptions between them, and he apologized to them both silently before he pulled them all out: antidepressants and sleep aids ranging from Z-Quil to Ambien, a small amount of emergency benzos for severe panic. He started emptying them onto the countertop and opened the Z-Quil to swallow it with. Yeontan started barking at him, shrill and loud, at the opening of the bathroom door.

“Sh, sh. It’s okay,” he comforted the little dog. Namjoon walked in and Taehyung jumped, unaware that anyone was home. Namjoon usually hit the library or booked a practice room when he didn’t have class. They both stared at each other like that: Taehyung afraid he’d been caught, Namjoon taking the scene in. It didn’t look good; Taehyung’s hands were bloody and holding a bunch of loose pills that didn’t belong to him.

“Come here,” Namjoon said slowly, strangely, opening his arms. Taehyung looked at the pills in his hand, unsure what to do with them, made a distressed noise.

“Put the pills down on the counter. We can deal with that later. Come here,” he said again, slow and clear but with something very frantic and frightened hiding just below the calm surface of his baritone. Taehyung opened his palm and emptied the handful onto the counter, and put the cap back on the Z-Quil before he walked stiffly to Namjoon.

As soon as Taehyung was within grabbing distance, Namjoon snatched him and pulled him close so fast that Taehyung felt a brief moment of genuine fear. He felt Namjoon’s heart through the hug, beating hard and extremely fast, and felt his head being covered in kisses, a strong hand on the back of his head. Namjoon was shaking, seemed to be having a hard time breathing now that Taehyung was here with him.

“Don’t you ever even fucking think about that ever fucking again,” he said, his voice shaky and strained. Taehyung didn’t think he’d ever heard Namjoon swear so much. Namjoon took Taehyung out of the bathroom, slamming the door closed like he was mad it the room for housing the pills, and walked them both to his bedroom, making sure to let Yeontan in. His grip on Taehyung was strong even while they were moving, and right when Taehyung was starting to wonder what was about to happen, he was pulled onto the bed and held in Namjoon’s arms, both of them sitting up. He put his hand on Namjoon’s heart and frowned; it was beating so quickly that he was kind of scared for him. Namjoon kept a close, comforting hold on him with one arm. With the other he pulled his phone out of his sweatpant pockets, almost dropping it, and then again as he dialed Jin. Taehyung could see that; he made no attempt to hide his screen.

“Hyung? Come home right now. I don’t know what to do, please come home. No–I mean everyone is fine but it’s not okay. Yeah. Now. Yeah, bring hyung. I love you, too.” His voice cracked, and he hung up, tossed the phone onto the bed, and hugged Taehyung with both arms now. Yeontan hopped onto the bed and tried to get between them, to get in on the hug. Both of them shifted just enough to let him get between them. Taehyung knew he needed comfort, too.

“Hyung, I’m getting my gross hands all over your sweatshirt.” That nice creamy ivory sweatshirt probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. It seemed like such a bad idea to buy so many white-adjacent shirts, but Namjoon just kept doing it. Namjoon looked at him like he’d said something truly offensive.

“I don’t care about the sweatshirt, Tae.” Taehyung didn’t say anything else, and neither did Namjoon, but Namjoon’s grip on him was strong as they waited for the others.

***

“I just didn’t know what to do,” Namjoon finished, crying only at the end. Jin had felt his entire body shut down, stared at Taehyung, imagined never, ever seeing him again, and screamed, then screamed again, unable to stop it no matter how hard he tried. Taehyung jumped, but Namjoon kept his hold on him. Jin tried to breathe through the sobs he couldn’t stop, couldn’t. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. What if he had found Taehyung like he found Doyoung? What if Namjoon had found him half-dead like he’d found Jin?

“We’re taking you to the hospital. I’m not losing another brother,” Jin said, knowing he sounded hysterical.

“No, hyung–”

“We’re taking you to the fucking hospital!” Taehyung cried from the loud noise as much as anything, and Jin tried to stay in the present, tried hard not to scare him more.

“Hyung, imagine me in there. Please. I’d be so…” Fuck. Jin knew he was right. That wasn’t the place for someone like Taehyung, someone who had a lot of specific needs, someone who was lonely even in an apartment with three of his best friends. Jin remembered how horrible he’d felt after getting out of the hospital, how it hadn’t helped at all, how he’d never felt more alone in his life when his parents didn’t visit.

“Hold on,” he choked. He turned, noted Yoongi’s pale, pale face, and called Uncle.

“Jinnie?”

“I don’t know what to do. Please help. Please–” Against his will, like it was his body and not his mind that couldn’t handle what was happening, he let out another truly animal scream. He felt bad for deafening his poor uncle, but he didn’t get scolded, and a gentle but firm, worried voice met his own.

“It’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you at home? I’m getting in the car,” Uncle said, voice consciously held calm, level. Jin sobbed.

“Tae tried–Tae–” he sobbed, felt Yoongi’s hand on his arm and felt a little more stable.

“Taehyung was going to try to kill himself,” he finally got out, and had to take a break from talking to cry, to lean on Yoongi, squeezing his arm. “I don’t think the hospital will help him but I don’t know what to do,” he finished.

“Is he hurt?” Jin turned from the phone, looked at Taehyung, pictured him gone forever, covering his mouth this time.

“Did you take anything? Anything at all?” he asked, sounding so frantic but already so exhausted. Taehyung shook his head, looking guilty.

“He’s okay,” Jin said into the phone, trying to convince himself.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Everything’s okay, sweetheart. Just stay with him. I’ll be there soon. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jin choked.

They hung up, and Jin sat on the bed too, kissing Taehyung’s temple. Tae’s hands were a wreck, and Jin kicked himself for not doing anything even though he’d vaguely registered that Tae’s skin picking had escalated badly. He was such a horrible hyung. With that thought, he looked over at Yoongi, waved him over to get in on the hug, but there was a knock at the door, and Yoongi motioned for them all to stay put while he answered it.

He and Uncle rushed back into the room a moment later, and Uncle bent down in front of Taehyung, touched his face in a way that made Taehyung cry into it. Uncle looked him over carefully, like he wasn’t quite sure he believed Jin, then frowned at Taehyung’s hands and wrists, took them carefully into his own while Taehyung winced. When he spoke, he leaned so he was eye level with Taehyung, and spoke softly. Jin wondered what he was thinking. He knew that Doyoung was the first student he’d lost but that he’d lost another, too, and Jin had his attempt. Knowing music students, the pressure and isolation they all faced, there were probably a few more he didn’t know about.

“Taehyungie, we really need to get you to the doctor for your hands,” he said gently. Taehyung shook his head and started sobbing.

“They won’t let me leave,” he pleaded. Jin kissed his head again, desperate to comfort him, knowing how he felt.

“I’ll make sure they let you come home. We don’t have to tell them everything, just about the hands. This is going to get infected, and I’m worried some of these need stitches,” Uncle said, shock evident in his voice, like he couldn’t believe Taehyung had hurt himself so badly with just his short fingernails. Taehyung cried harder, nodded, trusting this man with something so important mostly because Jin did, and the sight of him crying broke Jin.

“Come here,” Uncle said, taking Taehyung’s arm, hugging him tightly once they were upright. Jin was a little surprised to see Taehyung hug him back–he was affectionate generally, but only with people he was very close to. Uncle looked at the three of them apologetically.

“I think it would be best if we went alone. I don’t want them to have any reason to think they should keep him,” he said, stroking Taehyung’s back. Jin screamed again, taking himself by surprise, leaning forward to yell into his hands, and felt Namjoon’s arm around him, leaned into it. Uncle looked like he wasn’t sure who to comfort.

“Jinnie, trust me, okay? I’ll take care of him. We’ll all talk together about what to do when we get back. Yoongi-ssi, can I speak to you for a moment?” Jin couldn’t hear what he said so softly to Yoongi, knew Taehyung could, but Yoongi nodded, still so pale, and Uncle took Taehyung to the hospital for his hands.

***

Taehyung sat in his former conductor’s car, feeling like a burden. Today he’d learned that’s all he had ever been, to anyone, and he cried for himself.

“Do you have any family we should call?” Mr. Lee asked softly. Taehyung sobbed, shaking his head no.

“I know you said before they aren’t involved,” Mr. Lee said cautiously. “But you really don’t think they should know? Or your siblings?” Taehyung shook his head again.

“Okay,” Mr. Lee said. Taehyung was a little surprised that he didn’t push harder, that he trusted him to be honest, but he appreciated it, appreciated the way he was assumed to know his own situation. It calmed him down a little.

***

Hyung had worn himself out crying, and Yoongi had encouraged him to rest, Namjoon in agreement, and soon he was in what looked like an unsatisfying sleep in the bed Yoongi shared with Namjoon. Yoongi covered Jin with the blanket, pulling it up close so his hyung would stay warm. He remembered all the nights he’d crawled onto Jin’s small futon, and Jin had never complained, always wrapped an easy arm around him and covered him. He’d even scooted over onto the floor so Yoongi would be comfy and warm. I’ve known him for a few months, and he’s already sacrificed so much for me, he thought as he stroked his hair briefly. It didn’t take long after Jin was safely asleep for Namjoon to text the group chat, the real sobbing beginning only then, only when he had to explain what had happened after the danger had passed.

Yoongi sat next to him on the bed, rubbed his back, and when he spoke it was softly, to avoid waking Jin hyung.

“Do you want to talk?” he whispered. Namjoon looked at Jin, knocked out by his own trauma, and the tears fell harder. He leaned on Yoongi, and Yoongi was glad he was asking, albeit nonverbally, for what he needed. He hugged him close, kissed Namjoon’s head when he nuzzled him for comfort.

“I shouldn’t tell you,” Namjoon whispered. “It’s not just my story. But I want to.”

“It’s part of your story,” Yoongi said, assuming this was about Jin’s brother. “You can tell me. I’ll use discretion.” He would never do anything to hurt Jin, adored him so much, was horrified by how fucked up he’d been by Taehyung. Namjoon took a steadying breath, but was still trembling when he spoke.

“I found hyung,” Namjoon whispered, nails digging into Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi frowned, rubbed his back.

“What do you mean, hon?” he asked. Namjoon frowned, seemed to realize that provided no real context.

“Jinnie hyung was–he took a lot of pills. I’m the one who found him. His parents weren’t home. I called the ambulance. He was covered in vomit. When I saw Taehyung in the bathroom holding those pills–” He covered his face with his hands, tried to quiet the sounds of deep grief that came from him. Yoongi paled. He hadn’t thought about it, about how Jin might have felt after that. His poor Namjoon. He pulled him closer, rocking him.

“He was–I mean he wasn’t great at the funeral. But he stayed with Mr. Lee after, and he was okay. But when he moved back home, he started getting–I should have seen it with Taehyung.” Namjoon’s voice broke, and Yoongi could feel the guilt tearing apart Namjoon’s insides. He hushed him.

“Tae’s been having a rough time for a while, but he didn’t seem too much worse than usual lately. And since he lives here, I think–well I think we all thought there was less reason to worry, right? And it seems like he’s usually good about calling someone on the phone or asking them directly if he needs help. I don’t think you have any reason at all to feel bad, sweetheart. And you found him and called us, even though you must have been thinking about the past the whole time. You were so brave, and you handled it well.” Namjoon knew he was intelligent–it would be ridiculous if he didn’t–but it drove Yoongi crazy how he never thought of himself as competent when he was able to stay calm even in awful situations like this until everyone was safe.

“Thanks, hyung,” Namjoon said in a voice that felt too small even whispering. “Can I tell you more about it?” Yoongi wished he hadn’t asked, hadn’t sounded so cautious and just told him confidently, but at the same time he understood: Namjoon didn’t want to upset him or add more to an already horrible day. He kissed his head, then again and again, letting his lips linger in the fuzz of his hair.

“Please. I’m always here to listen,” he said. Namjoon looked up, their eyes meeting, and Yoongi wiped away some tears so, so gently.

“I’ve never been so scared in my entire life,” Namjoon said, and Yoongi knew that Namjoon’s life had been full of frightening things.

“They tried to make me feel better after. They said I saved his life, and that if he’d been left until his parents got home, he’d probably be dead. But it didn’t make me feel better. It made me even more scared. What if I’m not there for him one day? What then? I thought that today. If I hadn’t stayed home today when I usually go to the library, what if Taehyung were–” his voice cracked, and he hid his face in Yoongi’s chest to hide the sound of the sob he made. Yoongi held him close, surprised again by how small Namjoon could be.

“That’s not your fault or your responsibility,” he said firmly. “You did the right thing, but you don’t need to be there all the time.” He wanted to say more, but he heard the front door, and soon Taehyung came in with his hands wrapped, Mr. Lee’s hand on his waist. Namjoon shot up and tried to wipe his eyes, but Taehyung shook his head.

“It’s okay, hyung,” he said. “I’m sorry.” While they talked, Yoongi’s eyes traveled to Mr. Lee going to Jin’s bedside, stroking his hair, trying to wake him as gently as possible.

“Shouldn’t he sleep?” Yoongi asked. Mr. Lee shook his head.

“He’ll be upset. He texted me to wake him when Taehyung was back if he fell asleep,” he said. Yoongi hadn’t even noticed, didn’t really think that mattered when he needed sleep, but knew that Jin would be angry, that he didn’t need that right now, and nodded. Jin stirred.

“Appa?” he asked groggily. Mr. Lee didn’t correct him, and Yoongi couldn’t honestly tell if Mr. Lee wanted Jin to live in a fantasy where his father was there and loved him, or whether he himself wanted to live in a fantasy where he was Jin’s father.

“Taehyung’s here, Jinnie. He’s okay, just bandaged up.” Jin’s eyes opened, met his teacher’s for a moment before traveling to Taehyung anxiously, then Namjoon and Yoongi. He blinked.

“What are we going to do to help him?” he asked, already teary. Taehyung looked guilty, and Yoongi reached to take his hand, paused at the bandage, then just hugged him from behind. Taehyung seemed to like that, leaned into Yoongi with a sleepy wiggle and lay his hands on Yoongi’s, and Yoongi finally felt useful. He thought about how right away, he’d been able to sense Taehyung as someone really special, someone all types of music just flowed into and out of, someone who really bodily understood what music meant. He couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck was wrong with his parents that they didn’t see that, didn’t like their son to the point that no one was even calling them about this.

“I thought I could either stay here for a few days, or Taehyung-ssi could stay at my apartment. But if I stay here, I thought I could cook you all meals and do the cleaning, since you’re all upset,” Mr. Lee said.

“But then I have to work, and I think it would be better if he was with someone all the time. And I’ll make sure you get into therapy, Taehyung, and with a psychiatrist if they recommend it. Maybe an intensive program would be best. That way you’ll have lots of support and both kinds of help,” he finished. Jin looked upset, and Yoongi wanted to go to him. He could see plainly that nobody was sure who to comfort, and it made the room feel tense.

“Why can’t you take off work for Tae?” Jin asked angrily. “You’ve taken off before.” Yoongi could see Jin was deeply upset, maybe even offended on behalf of Taehyung but wasn’t honestly sure why. Everything seonsaengnim had said seemed reasonable to his ear.

“Hyung, it’s–” Taehyung started, but Jin cut him off.

“No, why can’t you take off a few days to spend with Taehyung?” Jin pressed. He sounded scared, Yoongi realized. Mr. Lee sighed, looked at the three of them apologetically, faced Jin again and took his hand in both of his.

“I was going to talk to you tomorrow at dinner,” he said. “I have a surgery coming up. It’s just a hernia, don’t worry. But I need to save my time off.” His voice was calm, but Jin lost it, too much bad news piled up on top of other bad news.

“Hyung, a hernia is–he’ll be fine. Everyone is fine,” Yoongi said.

“The success rate is really good–like unprecedented crazy good, better than eyelid surgery even I think. I looked it up when my uncle got surgery,” Namjoon said sweetly. Yoongi could kiss him.

“And Taehyung is okay. Two stitches just to be on the safe side,” Mr. Lee said. Jin didn’t stop crying though.

“Who will stay with him? I’m scared.” Jin sounded so vulnerable. Yoongi let go of Taehyung, passing him to Namjoon before completely severing contact, and crawled into bed with Jin, held him. The way he half yelled, so childlike, had fucking killed him. Yoongi’s eyes widened, jerking between Mr. Lee and Jin as Mr. Lee took Jin’s phone off the nightstand, pressed Jin’s thumb to it, and made a call. Jin barely reacted. Yoongi would kill someone for that, but he seemed used to it.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, leaving the room for a moment. Yoongi heard him say Jungkook’s name.

“Taehyung, come here right now,” Jin ordered. Taehyung did, and Jin hugged him like it was the last time he ever would, kissed his head. Yoongi could tell from the look on Taehyung’s face that he hadn’t considered this, everyone’s grief, maybe had and thought they wouldn’t care. Namjoon crawled further onto the bed to cling to Yoongi, who kept him near, all of them tangled on their double bed, everyone wanting to be touching everyone else in at least some small way.

Mr. Lee came back into the room, handed Jin his phone back and kissed his head.

“Jungkook-ssi’s appa is going to take care of Taehyung,” he said. “We thought it would be best if he stayed there, so he can have a friend with him but be away from everything for a little bit. Mr. Jeon can drive you to therapy and make sure you’re well-fed,” he said, brushing some hair from Taehyung’s face so near to Jin’s.

“I’m sorry,” Jin said. Everyone was filled with so much shame today.

“You were just worried. There’s nothing to forgive,” Mr. Lee said. Yoongi was pretty sure Taehyung was never going to do anything like this again after watching Jinnie hyung crumble. To be honest, he was more worried about hyung and Namjoon than Taehyung at the moment, and that made him feel his own sense of shame.

***

Jin didn’t want to answer, but he knew Jungkook would be worried, wanted to show him that there was no reason to: Taehyung was unhurt, Yoongi and Namjoon were handling things, and Jin was together. Unfortunately, the second he heard Jungkook’s voice greeting him on the other line, he felt the tears coming.

“I’m sorry. You spend too much time comforting me,” Jin said, sobbing.

“You spend too much time experiencing shitty things for sure,” Jungkook said from the other end of the phone, too distant for Jin, “but that’s not really your fault, is it?” Jin could tell he’d been crying, too, and tried to get himself together for Jungkook, to be the hyung he needed.

“Taehyung is okay. Please don’t worry. He said he talked to his Eomeoni and it upset him a lot. He didn’t say what she said but I have some guesses,” he said bitterly. Jungkook made an affirmative sound.

“I’m not worried. Appa will take really good care of him, and Taehyung and I will play lots of music together when I’m not at school. So you shouldn’t worry either, okay?”

“Okay,” Jin whispered, still worried. He moved the phone and screamed into a pillow, to show how not worried I am, he thought with self-hatred. He couldn’t help it; every time he thought about Taehyung in a casket, Taehyung in the cold, dark ground, Taehyung gone forever–it was too much.

“Do you want me to come over?” Jungkook asked, though Jin could swear it sounded like he was in the car already and had been when he called. “Are you thinking about your brother?”

“It’s okay. I’m going to sleep with Taehyung, and Uncle is going to sleep in the room on the floor.” Jin felt fucking terrible about his beloved Uncle, already in pain, sleeping on the floor, but he didn’t know what else to do.

“And yeah. I keep picturing–I keep thinking about the funeral. But Taehyung is there,” he said.

“Tell me about it. I’m here.”

“I ripped open the casket and screamed at the funeral. My abeoji wanted to kill me too, I swear. He was so embarrassed. I made a mess of everything,” Jin said, still guilty, understanding his father’s point of view now that he was grown. “I keep thinking about Taehyung in there looking like that. I rip open the casket, and Taehyung is in there looking so–” He couldn’t keep it together, but this was Jungkook, and if Jungkook had taught him one thing, it was to let himself cry freely, so he did, and it felt just a little less terrible when he didn’t try to bury it like it had never existed.

“I wouldn’t leave his grave. Eomeoni was so sad she was barely alive, I think, so she just watched. I think she was there with me in a way, you know? But Abeoji was angry. He grabbed my arm, which he never did, and Uncle ran up and offered to take me off my parents’ hands. He’d never left the funeral, and he acted like it was for them. After they left, he kneeled with me on the cold ground and held me while I cried until I was ready to go. It was hours. He wrapped me in his coat and scarf. It was so cold and all I could think was that my brother would be so cold forever, no one to wrap a scarf around him, and that I’d never see him again. Even now when I think about never again–Kookie I can’t do it again. I won’t make it. I need everyone to be okay.”

“Everyone is okay,” Jungkook reassured him softly. “Honey, that’s horrible. I think maybe you need to talk to someone about that. It sounds like it was pretty vivid for you just now.”

“I had therapy for so long. It was so…They never want to talk about the things I want to talk about. Kookie, I want you here. I’m sorry. I know it’s selfish and Taehyung needs quiet but I–”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I can leave tonight too, if he wants, or sleep on the couch. Whatever you both want. I’m already driving. I was on my way before you said it was okay. Sorry. I couldn’t help it. Tell me about therapy,” he said.

“They always want to talk about how I feel about it now,” he said. Jungkook paused.

“And that’s bad to you?” he asked, incredulous. Jin blinked.

“Yeah? How is that helpful?” Jungkook ignored the question.

“What do you want to talk about, then?”

“I want to talk about my brother. I’m scared one day I’ll forget he existed. I’m older than he ever was now and it’s so weird how distant I am from him. Like I can’t grow up if he’s going to stay my hyung. That isn’t scary to you?” He felt almost offended.

“No, honey. That sounds really scary to me. Did you think about that with Taehyung?” Jungkook asked. Jin cried again, louder.

“His siblings and parents don’t even know him. What if he was gone and I forgot, or something happened to me? He’s so precious, but it doesn’t matter. Someone precious can be taken just like they were nothing. It’s not fair–”

Jin was cut off by arms around him, cried into them. Jungkook was still wearing his coat. He’d run right to Jin.

“Why do people treat people who are so precious like that? People who should love them. It’s not fair,” he sobbed, unable to stop now. Jungkook stroked his hair, kissed his head.

“I know,” Jungkook said simply, and let Jin cry, to get it all out before he had to face Taehyung again.

“Kookie?” Jin asked. Jungkook hummed.

“Do you think we should break up?” he asked immediately before his tears became hysterical, unable to control them at all. He couldn’t see Jungkook at all through them, wasn’t even sure why he’d said that just then, besides just realizing he was a pain in the ass and wanted better for Jungkook. Over the years, he’d become so shamefully disconnected from his emotions and the way they related to his thoughts. He felt his face being kissed, couldn’t see it was Jungkook’s face in front of his and called for him, over and over and over again, humiliated that he couldn’t stop.

“Sh, hyung, hyung. I’m here. We’re not breaking up,” he said firmly. “It’s okay. Everyone is okay and right here, and we’re not breaking up. This isn’t too much for me, so don’t be an idiot. I’m upset, too. I understand.” Jin couldn’t believe Jungkook just knew why he’d said something so stupid.

“They’re not. They’re not–” Gently, so gently, Jungkook walked him to the living room, where Jin was humiliated to see four people who’d probably heard all of that. He held himself.

“See? Everyone is here. Everyone is safe,” Jungkook said. Jin felt so exhausted again, stumbled over to Namjoon and kissed his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hoping Namjoon understood what he meant: I’m sorry I did this to you all those years ago. Namjoon tried to comfort him, too, and he didn’t understand why everyone was comforting him, when Taehyung was standing right there. He wondered why Taehyung looked so worried about him. He pulled him into a hug, squeezing him to feel how alive he felt.

***

Namjoon had another nightmare. Yoongi had researched the best ways to handle them, and he and Namjoon had tried different things, discussed what worked and what didn’t at length. So Yoongi felt confident, although he was woken suddenly by Namjoon’s moans and whimpers, when he leaned over and stroked Namjoon’s shaved head, kissed his cheek softly and whispered in his ear.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re dreaming. Hyung is here.” Usually, this would eventually calm Namjoon down. If it didn’t, only then would Yoongi wake him. But today, Namjoon opened his eyes sleepily from just that.

“He hurt me,” Namjoon said, slurred and only half-awake. Yoongi frowned, rubbed gently at Namjoon’s forehead in little circles until he made a sound like a happy purr.

“He’s not here,” Yoongi said, quietly. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe.” Namjoon’s eyes fluttered back closed, and he threw an arm heavy with sleep over Yoongi, snuggled into his chest. Yoongi held him back, stroked his back lightly.

“You’ll hurt me, too,” he said sadly. Yoongi hummed, shaking his head.

“I will never, ever hurt you,” he said.

“It’s because I’m nothing,” Namjoon said, voice heavy with anxious sleep. Yoongi couldn’t tell how awake he was, but he was horrified that to his ear, Namjoon sounded more conscious, not less. Yoongi kissed the very top of his head, nuzzled his face into the soft fuzz. Namjoon loved to have his head touched, as long as it was him or Jin touching it.

“You’re so special,” Yoongi said. “Never say that about someone I love.”

“Love you, too,” Namjoon said, and then he was asleep again. Yoongi kept his hold on him. It was important to him that Namjoon woke up feeling beautiful and precious in his arms. It was one thing to be held all night, but it was another to feel held.

Chapter Text

Yoongi helped in the kitchen as much as he could, fearing it wasn’t enough. He knew Taehyung was in good hands–Namjoon’s, to be precise–but he was worried about Jin, and relieved some of his worry by peeling chicken off the bones and putting the bones in the pot of soup, for extra protein.

“Thank you for taking care of Jin and Namjoon while we were gone,” Conductor-nim said, having driven Taehyung to his first intensive therapy session, staying with him for that first day. Yoongi hummed, knowing it was nothing, that he’d just given a few hugs, made a few mugs of tea. Mr. Lee waited for a minute or so before he spoke again.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Yoongi blinked at him in surprise.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just worried about everyone.” He was cautious, unsure if Conductor-nim knew what Joonie had told him, although he assumed he did. Conductor-nim nodded.

“Did Namjoonie hold up okay?” He seemed worried: he definitely knew. Yoongi nodded.

“He was upset, but he talked to me. I’m more worried about hyung,” he said honestly. Then, knowing he was pushing his luck, he decided to pry, just a little.

“You love him a lot, right?” Conductor-nim didn’t look surprised by his question, which actually surprised Yoongi, but not as much as when he actually spoke, a distant look on his face.

“I should have tried to keep him,” he said so quietly Yoongi almost didn’t catch it. “Sorry. I forgot myself,” he said then, adding potatoes he chopped to the pot. He stirred some sizzling onions, carrots, and celery, added those, too, and motioned for the chicken, which Yoongi gave him. It was starting to smell so much like home. Home in the winter, Eomma cooking soup to keep everyone warm and healthy, the smell of reducing vegetables somehow making him feel safe.

“Perfect. Thank you for doing such a thorough job,” he said as he added Yoongi’s work, and Yoongi blushed a little, no longer used to any praise from an older man, which embarrassed him.

“Yoongi-ssi, how many private lessons do you do a week?” his teacher asked suddenly, seeming to need to think about something else. Yoongi understood.

“Um. One,” he said, guilty. Conductor-nim tried not to look shocked, failed. “I need to work,” he added hastily.

“You give lessons?” he asked, as everyone did. How many people did everyone think wanted oboe lessons? Rich people were out of their fucking minds. He shook his head.

“I worked in a gas station until last week,” he said. Mr. Lee thought for a moment.

“Do you think you could afford to work a summer job, and take more lessons during the school year? What contest pieces are you working on this year?” he asked. Yoongi blushed again.

“I’ve never gotten one of those music jobs even if I get an interview…No contests. I haven’t done one since high school,” Yoongi said, not telling him they cost too much money now that a program wasn’t paying for them, not wanting to embarrass himself just so neither of them had to think about what a mess their loved ones were.

“Yoongi-ssi, why are you in your third year, and you’ve never come to me with this? You’ve never come to my office even once. No one can help you if you don’t say you need help. Please remember that,” he said, kindly enough that Yoongi couldn’t be upset by the boldness even though he wanted to be.

“Sorry,” he said, softly. He had felt, for a time, that people were willing to help him, but that time was long past. After he’d gotten kicked out, he’d seen how the world worked very quickly. He remembered the very first time he’d ever sucked someone off for money. A man in a suit had seen him on the floor of the bathroom and handed him ten dollars. Yoongi had been so grateful, so moved by the generosity–like a fucking idiot, he thought now. When the man had unzipped his trousers, he’d had to decide very quickly what was worth a meal.

“Don’t be sorry. Let’s just get you signed up for more. I’ll send a few emails. I think Dr. Jeong can help you find and perfect the right pieces for you. I want you to have the chance to do what you love,” he said. He put the lid on the pot and washed his hands. Yoongi shifted uncomfortably.

“Do I owe you anything? For the help?” he asked cautiously, rubbing his arm in a way that made him look as vulnerable as he felt. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t get his hopes up just to have them come crashing down, over and over. Conductor-nim frowned and spoke gently.

“Yoongi-ssi, I take a lot of pride and pleasure in seeing my students succeed and knowing I played a small part in that. I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I promise there are many people who will help you without expecting anything in return. I bet you can think of some right now.” He sounded encouraging, and Yoongi started crying thinking of all the people in his old school program that he knew now were hardly getting paid at all, present because they wanted to help young people like he’d been. He nodded, hugged himself, moving his hands over his arms.

Conductor-nim took a cautious step toward him and–Yoongi wouldn’t be able to look him in the fucking eye their next practice–Yoongi threw himself on him, desperate for comfort from someone older, someone stable. He was both relieved and horrified to hear gentle comforting sounds, feel arms around him, too.

“I’m sorry–” Yoongi said, but he was interrupted.

“People don’t understand how stressful it can be playing music at this level. Yoongi-ssi, you aren’t the first student to cry and need a hug even this semester, and you’ve had a bad few days. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“For work–” Yoongi started. He felt insecure all the sudden, changing his mind.

“You have an idea of what you’d like to do?” Conductor-nim coaxed. Yoongi felt foolish, idealistic, but nodded.

“I–I’m here because of a program for lower income kids,” he blushed, but his teacher didn’t look surprised or judgmental, so he continued. “I think I want to work for one of those. Some of them taught me Korean instruments off the clock on their own time, too. That’s why I want to start the club…”

“Those jobs pay a lot less than other lessons,” Conductor-nim explained. “Which means they’re less competitive, so your lack of experience would be less of an issue. It’s a great way to gain experience if you don’t mind the lack of money involved. It’s very important work. I think you’d be a good fit. You’re very patient.” Yoongi felt embarrassed, not seeing himself as patient or worthy of praise in any way, honestly, but he nodded.

“I can definitely help you find something that will fit you well. I’ll get in contact with Dr. Jeong soon, too. Now go rest or practice. I can take it from here. Thank you again for your help.” He rubbed Yoongi’s back as he pulled away, and Yoongi realized that he would chat with him all night if that’s what Yoongi wanted, that he thought Yoongi would need some space to think and to feel. And he was right. Yoongi wanted to retreat to someplace safe.

So he nodded, unsure what to do. He settled on doing what he always did when he needed to relax: he went to his computer in their little makeshift practice room, put on his headphones, and tried to make a lofi track that would really put him to sleep, to create something that would make him feel, finally, calm. He never succeeded, of course, but he’d made some pretty nice lofi beats, some things that made him feel satisfied and relaxed, and that got traction on YouTube from other anxious souls.

When Namjoon came in, silently sitting next to him with his notebook, journaling or writing poetry, Yoongi felt like everything was perfect. The two of them were always happiest like that, sitting there for hours and then talking about what they worked on afterward. Yoongi worked harder knowing Namjoon would be wearing his headphones and listening to his track, and he knew Namjoon wrote even more carefully when he knew he’d be passing his beloved notebook over to Yoongi. He tried to make it extra soothing. Maybe it would help Namjoon relax, too.

***

The dorm room desk wasn’t honestly a place Jimin spent a lot of time–except during midterm and final exam seasons. He’d always been pretty good at studying, needing to work hard but getting good results, but lately he’d really grown to dislike it. He wanted to be making music, moving to music, and the desk just made his body feel so stiff, and studying was unimaginably difficult when he wasn’t eating enough. He constantly lost his train of thought, his ability to direct his attention or to prevent from wandering off, and felt like something was really wrong with him.

Hoseok interrupted him occasionally while he studied, which Jimin welcomed very much. Hoseok always came to rub his neck, sore and stiff from staring down at his textbooks or laptop, or to bring him a small snack. He brought him things to nibble on often, like he knew it was the only way he could trick Jimin into eating a normal amount of food, and Jimin was surprised to find that the trick kind of worked.

While Jimin was looking over his math textbook–and thank god this was the last required math class–Hobi brought him some tuna on crackers and started to rub his neck and shoulders, frowning as things popped and cracked under his hands. Jimin sat up straighter, immediately abandoning his math to lean into his boyfriend’s touch. The smell of food made him feel a little sick these days, and canned tuna definitely wasn’t a neutral scent, but he knew it was high protein and low calorie, so he ate it gratefully, happy for the burst of flavor, too.

“I can’t believe how much I have to do. Then practice on top of it. How the fuck are you managing?” Jimin asked, moving his neck for Hoseok to rub a knot out, wincing from the kind of pain that felt so good.

“I’m not studying. C’s get degrees,” Hobi said cheerfully. “I’d rather focus on winding down before break. You should too, hon. I know you don’t need to practice that holiday music. It’s the same fucking shit every year.” He kissed Jimin’s neck, and it sent shivers down his spine.

“I know…I’m worried about everyone,” he admitted. “And I know it’s a pain if we visit too much. I need something to do. So I’m going to play the stupid Christmas music.” Hoseok nodded and left some silence before he spoke.

“We have our date coming up this weekend,” he said shyly, like he was worried Jimin had forgotten, even though it was one of the only things keeping him hanging on right now.

“I want us to have a nice time and forget about everything for just a little bit,” Hoseok admitted. Jimin smiled, held his hand to Hoseok’s on the crook of his neck, felt his warmth in his palm, on his neck, in his heart.

“I want that, too. And–” he blushed, unsure how to bring this up. “I really want to try making love then,” he said, looking down red-faced like a virgin and not someone who had lost track of his body count years ago. He wondered again how he could freak out when Hoseok touched him but not–

Hoseok interrupted his thoughts with a tender kiss, always using his tongue so tentatively in a way that made Jimin want more, more, more.

“I don’t want you to pressure yourself. We’re going to stop if you don’t seem like you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, but Jimin shook his head.

“I’m going to need to be a little uncomfortable,” he said, getting up from his chair and into Hoseok’s lap to cuddle into him. They were holding each other within moments.

“I need you to trust me,” Jimin continued. “I’ll know when it’s time to stop and when it’s time to push through. I know you’ll stop the second I need you to, so I can push myself a little. Okay?” Hoseok nodded, unsure but trusting, and they kissed once more–with tuna breath, Jimin realized too late–before Jimin got back to work. Hobi didn’t look like he cared about his breath at all, just gave him a final squeeze before he lay down for a nap. His naps always looked so restful.

***

Jin was totally normal one moment, then scaring poor Yeontan with how panicked he was in the next. Sometimes he just thought about it–mortality, the general concept of it–and started yelling, hyperventilating, shaking like Namjoon after a beating. He couldn’t even play the violin–he was shaking too hard, first of all, and nobody liked a shaky bow–but then what was the point even if he could? Who cared how well he played the violin? None of it mattered. He stayed in bed, hugging Taehyung to him at night, crying into his pillow in the daytime. This wasn’t how anything was supposed to be.

He turned around on his bed–he switched to his own in the daytime when Taehyung was at therapy–and felt Namjoon lying beside him. He looked worried. Had he been there long? Spoken to Jin? He didn’t know.

“Hyung, everything is okay.” He kissed right between Jin’s eyebrows. Yeontan stood in the door, watching with an anxiously wagging tail, like he was protecting Jin from himself. Jin shook his head.

“Everything is going so fucking bad and it’s my fault,” he choked out. He clung to Namjoon like he clung to everyone he loved the most, but the difference was he never, ever felt that familiar wave of humiliation hugging Namjoon like that. He’d done the same for Namjoon many times.

“Absolutely none of this is your fault. Except Tannie, he’s definitely your fault.”

“I should have been there for him more,” Jin said, ignoring him. “And you, and I’ve basically ignored poor Yoongi through this. I’ve been an awful boyfriend. Hoseok looks so sad, and Jimin’s not eating. Uncle’s going to surgery and didn’t tell me. Everyone is–”

“Everyone is finally safe enough to deal with some rough things that they couldn’t before, and you helped make that happen. I’m not going to hear another word of that,” Namjoon said. He held him close, and Jin snuggled into him, instantly calming from an almost-panic attack at his familiar smell.

“I want Jungkook,” he said quietly. Namjoon frowned.

“He’d be here if you called him,” he said. Jin nodded.

“I know.” His room was dark with the blinds pulled down, but he wished he had a picture of just Jungkook up. All they had was their group picture from the concert, Jin having taken the opportunity to frame it for his wall basically immediately.

“I hate how you still think of yourself as a pain in the ass,” Namjoon said, rocking him as much as he could from their horizontal position. “You’re someone I love so much. But hyung…you really need to go in for help, too. It’s helped me and–”

“I just want a nap, Joonie,” Jin begged. Namjoon sighed, but he didn’t move from Jin’s side.

***

Taehyung wasn’t quite sure what to make of Jungkook’s Appa the first day he moved, temporarily of course, to Jungkook’s house. He flinched when he came too near–that’s what he felt like he should do when a dad tried to touch him, even if it wasn’t his own. But Mr. Jeon just frowned when he got jumpy, looked sad. He brought Taehyung cocoa all the time, and wrapped him in a blanket when he cried. He was so nice–Taehyung didn’t really get it, get why he would be so kind to someone like him, someone he barely even knew.

“Tae? You know my Appa would never hurt you, right?” Jungkook asked that first night, after Taehyung had been in therapy all day. It was tiring–first there was psychoeducation, and then groups, and an individual check-in meeting, and it left him so tired afterward that he couldn’t keep up acting like a normal person, couldn’t hide his accidental rudeness like the jumping, or keep his voice as friendly as he was supposed to. He leaned on Jungkook on the sofa. The living room was so nice. Jungkook was a better artist than he was, that was for sure. He wondered if his parents would have hung up his art like this if he could paint that well.

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t know him at all.” Jungkook frowned.

“He calls me his little star cookie. He’s never even jokingly spanked me. He won’t hurt you Tae, I promise,” Jungkook said. Taehyung shifted uncomfortably, tried to pick at his hands and failed. The scabs were still healing, though they looked much better, so the bandages were still on.

“He’s probably thinking things, though. Like that I’m annoying, or really weird, or a burden he has to bear for you–he might love you, but he doesn’t love me. And once you think things, it’s not such a big leap to touch someone or try to scare them,” Taehyung said, catching Jungkook so off guard that his mouth hung open.

“He doesn’t think that at all–I told him you were one of my best friends months ago. He knows you as the one who’s the most like me, and the only other one of our friends who really likes jazz and stays to practice late with me and help me sing. I…” Jungkook trailed off before he began again, fidgety, and Taehyung thought maybe Jungkook wasn’t sure it was the time to talk about this, was weighing his options.

“My friends haven’t always been great,” he settled on. “My parents really really love and appreciate my good friends. And they have a lot of love. They always wanted more kids.” Taehyung cocked his head, nosy and unable to stop himself, too tired to remember the exhausting work of knowing his place.

“Why didn’t they, then?” he asked directly. Jungkook didn’t seem to care, never minded his directness, frequently matched it in a lot of ways.

“They couldn’t have kids for ages. They tried for years before they had me. I feel guilty sometimes that I’m the one they ended up with.” Jungkook sighed. “But really, Tae. Appa’s a sweetheart. He’s really glad to take care of you.” Mr. Jeon knocked gently at the doorframe, polite even though there wasn’t a door, and Jungkook told him he could come in, sweetly.

Taehyung tensed and froze, feeling like a frightened prey animal. He’d only started trusting Mr. Lee fully very recently, and now that familiarity was gone.

“I just wanted to see if stew was good for dinner,” Mr. Jeon asked softly. Jungkook looked at Taehyung, but he was frozen, couldn’t move.

“Tae? Stew?” Jungkook asked. Taehyung started to rock, too tired to make a decision or to speak. Everyone was expecting so much of him. Jungkook never looked too worried about his rocking, or when he was stressed and kept standing and sitting, over and over in a way that tended to drive even their very patient friends crazy. Jungkook got it, how physical emotions could feel.

Mr. Jeon crouched even though Taehyung could see there was something a little off with a leg or a hip, maybe–he was stiff, off balance when he walked. Just a little. He was level with the boys on the couch, which stressed Taehyung out even more. He cried, motioned picking his skin.

“Taehyung-ssi, do you maybe want a nap?” he suggested gently. Wait. He did want a nap. Even just to sit in the dark. He nodded, and Mr. Jeon and Jungkook communicated something with their eyes. Taehyung couldn’t imagine doing that with anyone.

Jungkook put a hand around his waist and led him to his bedroom, stiff and arduous to move, but he eventually cooperated moving along with him. Taehyung liked Jungkook’s room: the electric duvet, the hum of the air purifiers. He crawled into bed and was fast asleep before Jungkook had even turned on the duvet for him.

***

Taehyung had started getting used to his new routine, feeling guilty that he hadn’t really fully warmed up to Taehyung’s parents. It made him feel bad when Mr. Jeon spent all day driving him around and babysitting him, when he probably had a million better things to do. Today had been an intensive therapy day, and this was only the second therapy day where he hadn’t had a meltdown in the car.

Mr. Jeon reached to turn the knob that controlled his carseat’s heat and Taehyung jumped so hard that he hit the car door, stiff and scared. He hadn’t always been like this. He didn’t understand what had changed. It wasn’t like he’d been super trustful of parental figures before, but he never remembered feeling so terrified.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Jeon said, not making a big deal out of it. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable at our home, Taehyung-ssi?”

“It’s been a week,” Taehyung said, blank. Mr. Jeon sighed.

“I should have asked earlier, but you seemed overwhelmed–”

“No, I mean. I’m going to leave soon,” Taehyung explained, wondering what was wrong with this guy. Mr. Jeon frowned.

“Your program lasts another two weeks. If there’s–”

“You don’t want me in your house for two more weeks. Why are you being so nice? It scares me.” He felt so on edge, not knowing why.

“I like having you over. It’s nice to have someone else to cook for. And you’re one of my son’s best friends. You’re welcome over any time you feel like you need to be taken care of a little, even after your program ends,” Mr. Jeon said. They parked but Taehyung didn’t get out of the car, and Mr. Jeon waited patiently.

“Why don’t you work?” he asked. He didn’t mean to sound suspicious, but he realized he probably did. But Mr. Jeon just laughed.

“I got so depressed being away from our Jungkookie knowing he would be leaving the nest eventually,” he said with a fond smile. Taehyung didn’t get why he was smiling when what he’d said was kind of sad.

“Do you ever want to hit me?” he found himself asking quietly. “You can be honest. Jungkookie says you wouldn’t.” That wiped the smile off his face, which made Taehyung feel guilty. He had a nice, genuine smile, and his eyes creased like Jungkook’s when he did.

“The thought of anyone wanting to hit you upsets me a lot,” he answered. “No. I don’t. Have you been afraid I want to hit you, Taehyung-ssi? Even though you knew I wouldn’t?” He was in no hurry to leave the car, faced him, and Taehyung felt himself wiping his eyes. He was wearing wool mittens now, no longer needing the bandages but needing something to stop him from picking his hands again. Mrs. Jeon had bought him all types of fidget toys to try instead, but so far none of them were quite as satisfying as the picking, even if he really liked some of them, like the bubble popper, and the two magnets he slid together. He rocked lightly, just enough to comfort himself, though he was still stiff, and constrained by the car.

“I don’t see why anyone would like me,” Taehyung said quietly. “Even my friends.” He looked down at the mittens, a symbol of his failure.

“I don’t know you that well,” Mr. Jeon said. “But I think you’re a very sweet and genuine person, don’t you? You love people a lot. Not everyone can say that, and it makes you so loveable in turn. I haven’t heard, but you always make Jungkook giggle, so I assume you’re funny,” he grinned, and Taehyung couldn’t help but smile, too.

“I know you’re kind and accepting, and that I don’t need to worry about my son when he’s with you. Seokjinnie talks about you, too. He just adores you. I think all your friends do,” he finished. Taehyung didn’t answer, but still didn’t leave the car, so Mr. Jeon sat, too, endlessly patient.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, feeling childish for the question. Mr. Jeon nodded. The sky was just starting to turn from the overwhelming brightness of sunset to the comforting dullness of twilight. Taehyung shifted uncomfortably, knowing this question was a lot.

“Do you think you would still love Jungkook if there was something really wrong with him? That no one could fix?” He wiped his eyes, embarrassed to be crying, and stared straight ahead so he didn’t have to see the expression on Mr. Jeon’s face.

“It’s a parent’s job to love their child, no matter what. I can’t imagine a world where I don’t love my son. And to be honest, I feel a lot of…well. I don’t understand people who don’t feel the same way.” Taehyung was surprised by how quickly and confidently he spoke. He nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt, and Mr. Jeon followed suit. When they walked into the house together, Taehyung leaned on his friend’s father, who in turn wrapped an easy arm around Taehyung. And when Taehyung cried inside, his friend’s Appa comforted him until he was really done crying and felt a little lighter.

***

“He’s finally warmed up to Appa. He’s doing a lot better already,” Jungkook said, stroking Jin’s hair. Jungkook sat on his bed, and Jin lay his head in his lap, still in his pajamas, unshowered for–well. Jin didn’t really want to think of how long it had been.

“Have you played together?” Jin asked. He closed his eyes, tried to just enjoy being touched, being held. He’d missed Jungkook so much–just thinking about it sent the tears flowing again.

“We’ve played a few times, but he’s been pretty tired after spending all day at the hospital. I played piano and he brought out the trumpet and we played some jazz standards. I think the trumpet cheered him up a lot, and Eomma really loved it,” Jungkook said, frowning at Jin instead of smiling like he should have.

“Honey? I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but are you okay?” Jungkook asked, cautiously.

“I’m fine. I just–” He choked, couldn’t get it out. I missed you so much. I missed you and I was afraid to call you. I missed you, I missed you.

“Is your Uncle coming over any time soon?” he asked. Every word was so, so careful, so even.

“After work tonight. Is that okay?” Jin looked up at him, and felt so vulnerable, like a child again. He’d been stopping in as often as he could to help out.

“Yeah. I think that’s great, honey,” Jungkook said. He motioned for Jin to sit up, which took him a full minute and a few moans, but he got there. Jungkook rubbed at his neck, cringing at how stiff everything was. Jin couldn’t believe a massage could ever feel so good, and his head lolled around wherever Jungkook moved it, gently.

“I’ll be fine for the concert. Don’t worry,” Jin said. Jungkook stopped rubbing his shoulders briefly, then continued before a lone sob left Jin.

***

Jimin held Namjoon in the dorm room, rubbing his back soothingly, choosing–graciously, he thought–not to point out that Namjoon would be upset if Yoongi were the one he was holding instead. He kissed Namjoon’s head, and the way that Namjoon looked up at him, so childlike despite his size, his intellect–it pained Jimin to see him like that.

“It hurts so much to see him like this. I can’t take it anymore. I really can’t.” He sobbed so quietly, and Jimin knew it was a practiced skill, wondered what Namjoon was afraid would happen if he made a sound when he cried.

“I know…I know. He’s going to be okay, though. He’s been through so much. He can get thro–”

“Don’t you understand?” Namjoon asked, so desperate to be really heard. “I’m scared. What if he can’t take it anymore? What if this was the final–” Namjoon’s deep breath sounded desperate, and his body shook like it had at that contest.

“Breathe with me,” Jimin said, exuding an air of effortless calm, the one he used on his brother during hard moments. But really, Namjoon had a point. Everyone had a breaking point, even hyung. Still, he modeled breathing for Namjoon, soft noises of approval when he started breathing well.

“None of us are going to let anything happen to Jinnie hyung. I promise, Namjoonie. Yoongi and Conductor-nim are feeding him. You’re staying with him a lot. Jungkookie is still staying over for the weekend. He’s going to be okay. He’s not alone anymore.” Namjoon looked down at his hands, took one of Jimin’s much smaller–and he hated to notice this, but much rounder–hands in his, kissed it so tenderly that anyone else would have thought it was a romantic gesture.

But Jimin knew it for what it was–gratefulness, love–and squeezed the hand encouragingly.

“I just want him to be happy–let himself be happy for a while.”

“I know, Joonie. We all do.” Namjoon lay his head on Jimin’s lap, still crouched on the floor, and let Jimin pet his head while his breath steadied, his shaking died down. Jimin wished he could transfer some sort of energy to Namjoon that would ease his mind, do anything to help him rest for even an hour, let his guard down completely for once. Joonie was so, so anxious, and it bothered Jimin how to know how hurt he was inside all the time.

“Joonie? Come to the art museum with me. The contemporary one.” Namjoon frowned, thinking.

“The National Museum of Modern and Contemporary? Or–”

“Yes, that one,” Jimin said. He didn’t really know what other museums were in Seoul, to be honest, and he didn’t really care. But contemporary art sounded perfect–he’d just wanted a peaceful place for Namjoon to feel safe, but something to keep his mind busy and full of questions was even better. Namjoon nodded, looking at Jimin in another way he hated–like he didn’t think Jimin liked him enough to hang out alone, even though they occasionally did. He helped pull Namjoon up, helped him into his coat, noticing for the first time a llama patch sewn into the lining, and called the taxi to the museum.

He hated to feel surprised by the fact that he had fun, but Jimin had never seen himself as someone capable of understanding contemporary art. They were both new to this, but Namjoon was a real brain–it was obvious to Jimin that he’d pick it up. So yes: he was surprised, over and over, to be standing in front of an ink painting, some with almost no form, and some with realistic depictions of a dream, chatting about how it made him feel, Namjoon looking at him with keen interest, nodding away.

“Sorry. I don’t know anything. I shouldn’t talk,” Jimin said, embarrassed. He looked down at the floor.

“No, I loved that. I see it now. I don’t know anything either, but–what you said about the silence,” Namjoon said, trying to bring his attention back to a paper that was a mush of grey, no real shape and yet so much depth to the ink. Jimin’s eyes could get lost in it.

“The plaque says this was painted right after a rebellion. I bet silence felt really strange, don’t you think? After everything: silence,” Namjoon continued, staring with watery eyes. Jimin leaned on him, hoping it was okay, that they didn’t look too coupley to others, but Namjoon didn’t seem too worried and leaned back into him too, their heads forming a lopsided heart.

As they left the museum and the last sunlight hit Namjoon’s face, Jimin was glad to see that although he still looked exhausted, he looked much less anxious, less stiff. As predicted, Namjoon’s mind was occupied with everything he’d seen. Namjoon’s someone whose brain needs to be booked and busy, Jimin thought with a smile.

“Do you think maybe this could be our thing?” Namjoon said, starting to look nervous again. “We could go to exhibitions. If you don’t want us to have a thing, that’s–”

“I had a really nice time, too,” Jimin said with a smile. “Let’s do it again really soon. Before spring semester for sure.” Namjoon’s dimples peeked out alongside the lingering sunset over the horizon. To Jimin, both were lovely.

***

Jin knew he wasn’t himself the second he caught Uncle’s face, the way he made eye contact with Jungkook wrapped around behind him.

“I couldn’t say it,” Jin said by way of introduction, tears falling again. Uncle rushed to the bed, touched Jin’s face, looked into his eyes carefully in a way that alarmed Jungkook, his arms tightening around Jin, like something might be wrong.

“Jinnie, did you take anything?” he asked, urgently. Jungkook squeezed him, looking scared. Jin shook his head, and Uncle looked relieved. Yeah, I must be pretty fucked up looking, he concluded.

“Jungkookie is going to run you a bath while I cook some dinner and change your sheets. Let’s get up. I booked you for therapy tomorrow morning. I told them it was urgent,” Uncle said plainly. It pissed Jin off.

“I don’t need–”

“Hyung, don’t be stupid. We’re all really worried about you,” Jungkook said.

“I know I’m stupid,” Jin snapped. “Be worried about Taehyung.”

“Don’t–” Jungkook started, but he stopped when Uncle shook his head, told them to knock it off like they were children. I guess to him we are.

“Jungkook-ssi, will you please start the bath?” Uncle asked. Jungkook got the hint; his face fell, and he nodded before he left the room. Uncle sat on the bed next to Jin, stroked his disgusting hair, so greasy it didn’t fall back into place after it was touched. He was genuinely shocked that both of them kept touching it. He even felt disgusting.

“Jinnie, listen to me carefully. I don’t want to guilt you. But the way you feel about–think of how I feel, please. I didn’t do a good enough job caring for you before. That was my fault. I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes and see you hurt.” Jin’s eyes widened to see tears on his Uncle’s face.

“I…” Jin began, unsure of where he was going with the sentence. He had been thinking about it, about what he would do if someone wasn’t okay. He’d been thinking about it, over and over. And Uncle was right. It was the same plan he’d had last time, more or less, the last time someone really wasn’t okay.

“I know I don’t have the right,” Uncle continued, somewhat frantically, less together than Jin had seen him even at their worst moments together. “But to me–you’re the only family I have. And Namjoonie, Jinnie. Taehyung. All your friends. We’d be lost. If anything happened to you–” The sob shocked Jin into something like his old self, and he moved quickly, if stiffly, to hug him. He knew how Taehyung had felt, being held so closely by someone who was so terrified to lose him.

“I’ll go. I’ll go. I’m sorry,” Jin said. Even after they’d spoken, decided on a vague familial relationship, he hadn’t realized how much he’d meant to him, still kind of assumed it was one-sided, although of course he knew in his mind, somewhere, that it couldn’t be. How bad could therapy be? Even if it didn’t end up helping, if it stopped this, it would be worth it.

A gentle knock on the door. Uncle kissed him on the head, the way Jin had always imagined both his parents kissing him tucking him into bed like they did in family sitcoms. Then he got up and let Jungkook in. Jin saw his eyes widen, too.

“The bath is ready, hyung.” Jungkook went through Jin’s dresser like he lived there and took great care in picking out pajamas, underwear, and soft socks before helping him up to the bath. Jin stripped, disgusted that he could smell himself once his clothes were removed.

“Sorry I’ve been so gross,” he said as he climbed into the tub. Fuck, he thought. Everyone was right. The hot water seeped straight into his bones, into his heart and mind and he felt instantly a little bit better, an effect that seemed to multiply with each moment he was in the tub, until he felt a lot better. Warm. Safe.

“You’ve been sick,” Jungkook said sweetly. He kneeled by the tub and lay his head in his arms on the side, closer to Jin in a way he was honestly grateful for.

“Are you going to go?” he asked. Jin nodded, closed his eyes and breathed in the lavender bath salts Jungkook had added to the water, the vanilla candle he’d lit.

“I’m sorry I was stubborn. I’ll go. If everyone else has to, I guess I will,” Jin said. Jungkook smiled, so relieved.

“What couldn’t you say?” he asked then.

“What?” Jin said, pretending he didn’t know what he was talking about. He sank further into the tub, so the water warmed his neck, moaning lightly. It was only after moaning that he started to feel a little insecure–he was naked in the tub, and Jungkook was staring right at him, acting normally. He didn’t have a hard on or anything. Do I look that unfuckably shitty? he wondered, feeling, for really the first time in his life, truly unattractive.

“When Conductor-nim came in, you said you–”

“I missed you,” Jin said, fresh hot tears rolling down his face, like the words had opened up a path for tears that had been desperate to escape the whole time. In the hot bath tub, they felt redundant, uncomfortable, more humid and sticky than cathartic against the calming steam of the water he lay in. Jungkook frowned at him, touched his cheek.

“Why couldn’t you say that?” he asked, clearly upset, brows furrowed with hurt.

“I’m tired of being a pain in everyone’s ass.” Jin let himself cry, reminded himself he was always safe to cry with his boyfriend. “I hate it, Kookie. It’s horrible when you ask people for things that they feel like they have to give you. You–”

“I told you months ago that I always want to hear if you’re that lonely again. I meant it, hyung.”

“No. You don’t understand what I’m saying,” Jin choked out, frustrated. “I missed you.” He looked at him desperately, hoping he understood. Jungkook touched his filthy hair, and now that Jin was in the tub and remembered what feeling clean was like, he was truly embarrassed. How could he have let someone he wanted to be into him sexually long-term see him like this?

“I missed you, too,” Jungkook said simply, easily. Jin thought that he really did understand, that it just wasn’t difficult for Jungkook the way it was for him, and there was something so strange about that, so alienating and frustrating and yet so soothing, assuring.

Jungkook looked at Jin with his eyebrows pushed together in thought. “Let me wash your hair.”

“It’s really gross,” Jin said, upset. “I can–”

“Let me help, hyung. It’ll be hard to wash it yourself in the tub.” Jin had never been taken care of quite like this before, and, unfortunately for Jungkook, he thought, the care he received released so much built up fear and tension in his body, by now decades old. Jungkook scrubbed his scalp carefully, conditioned his hair and left the treatment in for a bit, checking the water temperature before he rinsed that out, too, with the shower wand. And when Jin got out of the tub, body still steaming hot, Jungkook lotioned his body for him, stopping to quickly but mindfully rub out a few knotted muscles. He helped Jin dress into the pajamas he’d so carefully picked out for him, so so soft, made him touch the fabric for a few moments to ground him. He blow dried Jin’s hair, careful to avoid burning his scalp or blowing air in his face. And then Jungkook hugged Jin from behind again, kissing his cheek.

“I’m s–”

“You’re not a pain in the ass,” Jungkook interrupted. Jin took a deep breath, smelling clean, smelling Jungkook smelling clean. He tried to think of what he meant when he was apologizing. It took him a minute to get there, but when he found the words, he knew they were right.

“Thank you,” Jin said, leaning into his boyfriend, taking the arm that held him across his chest and pulling it closer to him. Jungkook nuzzled him.

“I’ve had shaky bow. Will you play something for me?” Jin asked. Jungkook kissed his cheek, lingering. Jin had never felt like less like an object of sexual desire, even though he knew–he knew--that he shouldn’t be worried about that now, that there was no reason to feel guilty for not being sexy every second of his life.

“Anything. What do you want to hear?” Jungkook asked sweetly. His boyfriend loved him. Jin stroked Jungkook’s arm, kissed it. He thought back to what had comforted him so much the last time, what had gotten him through his toughest moments.

“Don’t laugh–Sibelius,” he said, a touch defensive. Jungkook seemed genuinely confused.

“What’s there to laugh about? Sibelius is great. Do you think your uncle can play the orchestral part so it sounds right?” he asked. Jin took a deep breath. Things were going to work out.

Chapter Text

Yoongi jumped when the door opened, tensing too tight around the toy so that he cried out, pulling the covers back over himself. Fuck fuck fuck! he thought, frustrated with himself for not checking his texts and seeing Joonie was coming home early. Joonie always texted before he changed things up. Namjoon closed the door quickly, frowned for a moment, then saw Yoongi’s naked shoulders and got curious, stepping toward him.

“What are you up to, baby?” he asked, a touch playfully. Namjoon peeled off the blanket, Yoongi not fighting it, and immediately moaned: Yoongi’s naked body, a thick realistic dildo inside him. Yoongi felt a wave of shame, opened up around a toy with a nearly (but thankfully not quite) two-inch diameter, and tears spilled out before he could stop them. Once he noticed he was getting hard again, the tears came more fervently. Namjoon got onto the bed, straddling Yoongi fully clothed, and kissed his face sweetly, though Yoongi could see through teary eyes that Namjoon was hard.

“Sh, honey. What’s the matter?” he asked. Yoongi turned his head.

“It’s embarrassing. I didn’t want you to know–” Namjoon’s mouth pressed against his own.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s hot. Is that what I look like inside you?” he asked, his voice a sensual whisper. Yoongi tried to swallow his embarrassment, failed, only got harder. Fuck! he thought again.

“It’s wider. I wanted taking you to feel easy,” Yoongi mumbled, eyelids fluttering down with embarrassment. Namjoon kissed him again with a moan, stayed over him, and even though they weren’t touching, he felt a little more covered with him on top. That was nice.

“That’s so fucking hot. Can I help?” Namjoon asked. Yoongi nodded, nervously. It would be easy for Namjoon to hurt him with that thing–it weighed like two pounds.

“Spread your legs. So good for me,” he said. Yoongi wondered where he learned to say things like that, or if it was how he’d always wanted to be and had just been too anxious. Regardless, when Namjoon told him to do something, Yoongi wanted to do it, and he spread his legs as wide open for Joonie as he could, feeling like a whore but hating it less than usual.

Namjoon stared at his ass and licked his lips in a way that made Yoongi shiver, and then he took the toy and so, so slowly, so carefully, fucked Yoongi with it while he whimpered pathetically, the occasional tears still falling down his face. He should have known Namjoon wouldn’t be reckless with the toy.

He fucked him like that a while, then pushed the dildo deeper into Yoongi as he straddled him again, meeting their faces while Yoongi threw his head back with an overwhelmed cry. Namjoon kissed him, and Yoongi wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s neck, kissing back deeply, feeling humiliation and want, want, want. Namjoon’s lips brushed against his ear.

“Let me fuck you,” he said, and Yoongi nodded, breathless.

“Keep the toy inside you and get on all fours. I want to see you fuck yourself with it,” Namjoon ordered, standing to undress. Yoongi did as he was told eagerly, sharp pain running through him very briefly while he shifted into the new position. He hated himself for his submissiveness while at the same time feeling so aroused at the thought of being good for Namjoon, at how good Namjoon would feel if he was good for him. He could barely move the heavy toy from the new angle, and soon he felt Namjoon’s hand on the toy, and he brought his arm down to support himself, relieved.

“Arch your back and hold your ass open,” Namjoon said. He sounded so assured, so confident. Yoongi wondered what the fuck had changed, but held open his ass and cried loudly into the mattress as he felt the toy removed, his ass trying to clench suddenly around nothing. He heard a phone’s camera shutter sound and turned bright red. Jesus christ I hope it’s only my face that’s red, he thought as he squirmed from how turned on he felt.

“Joonie I–”

“It was your phone, honey, don’t worry,” he soothed, then held Yoongi’s ass open himself, groaning. Yoongi’s hands fell to the bed, limp; he’d just stay arched like this, since Namjoon liked it so much. He felt Namjoon’s tongue on his rim and with a sense of horror realized that it felt like he was open so wide Namjoon’s whole tongue could go inside him without his ass clenching around it all the way.

Yoongi heard the sound of lube, Namjoon rubbing it on himself, then adding more to his ass. When he entered him, slowly, Yoongi arched his back more instinctually, a lightning pleasure burning through all of him, through the deepest tissues of his body. He moaned loudly, too blissful to care, throwing his head back. Whore, he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate himself, not when it finally felt so, so good.

Namjoon couldn’t take it anymore–Yoongi could tell by the way his fingers dug into his hips–much fleshier now–so tightly that it hurt, trying to control himself, but speeding up quickly anyhow, unable to reign himself in. He didn’t loosen his grip on Yoongi’s hips when he started really pounding into him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Yoongi said, knowing he sounded ridiculous talking during sex at all, unable to stop, but it seemed to drive Namjoon wild–every time he said it, he moaned, or squeezed him harder. Finally he bit into Yoongi’s shoulder so hard he yelped, pushing his hips back into Namjoon.

“Tell me what you want,” Namjoon practically growled right into Yoongi’s ear.

“Choke me. Cum in me,” Yoongi said, needy. Namjoon kissed his neck again, and pressed a hand on Yoongi’s neck, briefly, just long enough to send him shuddering, an absolute mess, crying out, babbling. He felt Namjoon’s cum fill him deep, wished it were even deeper, and let himself collapse back into the mattress, dizzy but keeping his ass raised for Namjoon, still inside of him. He heard Namjoon’s heavy breathing behind him, safe and familiar.

“Hold your ass open again,” Namjoon said, panting softly. Yoongi reached his tired arms behind him, spreading his ass with that shame that turned him on. He heard Namjoon grunt and the sound of the shutter again as he felt the cum spill out of his ass, down his thighs.

More gently than Yoongi would have expected, Namjoon flipped him onto his back and immediately wrapped his lips around Yoongi’s cock, stuffing two fingers into him, fucking the cum back into him. It felt so fucking good, Yoongi couldn’t help babbling again, crying, squirming, until he finally came in Namjoon’s mouth. His eyes were closed, but he knew Namjoon swallowed it before he pulled out his fingers with a hiss from Yoongi. Namjoon crawled on top of him, kissed his face, his neck, his lips, everywhere he could reach, sweet and sloppy with exhaustion.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he said. Yoongi blinked up at him, pulling him closer.

“When did you get to be like that?” he teased seriously, flat and drawling. He kissed Namjoon back, stroked his fuzzy hair that was already growing longer. Namjoon blushed.

“Was it okay?” he asked, so much less insecure than usual. Yoongi realized it must have helped Namjoon to see how into it he was, how not in pain.

“It was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life,” Yoongi said honestly. “You were so good. It really felt like you.” He kissed his forehead tenderly. Namjoon smiled, blushing, dimples out. Now that’s duality, Yoongi thought.

“Seeing you stuffed full like that really overrode a lot of the anxious parts of my brain,” he said. “So fucking hot. Your ass…” He reached below both of them and squeezed Yoongi’s ass, looking into his eyes like it was romantic. Yoongi was at a much healthier weight than he had been, and a lot of it had gone straight to his ass. He guessed it probably was sexier to fuck someone who looked healthy instead of, well. Sick.

Namjoon didn’t move his hands, just kept squeezing and kneading Yoongi’s ass with a casual intimacy they’d gained after moving in together, even if they hadn’t gotten many chances to fuck. Something about seeing each other change every day, intimate hygiene tasks like brushing teeth and putting on deodorant–it just made them closer like that.

“Want to see the pictures?” Namjoon asked. Yoongi felt the blood drain from his face and his mouth part in horror while Namjoon smiled at him fondly.

***

When Taehyung heard the pounding on the door, the first thing he felt was fear, and he whimpered. He’d recognize the knock anywhere. It was his fault he was here. Jungkook was practicing in his room–obsessively, to Taehyung’s ear–while Tae sat on the sofa with Eomma Jeon.

“It’s my abeoji,” Taehyung said, curling up into a ball instinctively. More pounding. He put his hands over his ears, and Jungkook came bolting down the steps.

“I’ve got it!” he called out, running to the door.

“Sweeth–” Eomma was trying to do too much at once, didn’t catch him quite in time, but they both heard Jungkook yelp out and then a man, larger than Taehyung, stormed into the house with his shoes still muddy on his feet. She stood up, moved in front of Taehyung.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, charging me for some stupid mental shit and then ignoring my calls?” He shouted. Taehyung didn’t look up. If he didn’t look up, he could pretend it wasn’t happening.

“Don’t talk to him that way,” Eomma snapped.

“You have an inheritance,” Mr. Kim said, completely ignoring her. “She gave you all that damn money and you sold the fucking house and you can’t handle your own bills? You’re staying in a nice place like this but you need me to foot your fucking bill?”

“Mr. Kim. He’s barely nineteen.” she said harshly, the first time Taehyung had ever heard her use that tone. She stayed in front of him, sensing, correctly, that his temper could get physical. But Taehyung didn’t want her protecting him, didn’t want her to get hurt when he was the one who should be hurt.

“Next time, just fucking do it right or pay for it yourself. ‘Suicidal,’” his father said, reading from the bill mockingly. Taehyung couldn’t help it. He cried, felt Jungkook on the couch next to him, holding him. He curled up into him.

“Yeah, get your attention you little re–”

“Look here you bastard,” Eomma Jeon spat. Taehyung looked up, shocked, and was even more shocked that it seemed to take his father by surprise, too, because his ranting had stopped.

“He’s finishing his program. If the insurance won’t cover it, you can forward the bills to me and I’ll take care of things. There’s no need for any of that. Your own son.”

“If you can afford to do that, you can afford to keep him along with your faggot son,” he spat, disgusted. Jungkook flinched at the slur, and Eomma Jeon ripped the paper from his hands.

“Taehyung is a beautiful child and you’re a nasty man. Get out of my house. You have the address. Send any bills here, and don’t come back,” she said, resolute. Taehyung was emotional, could tell she really saw him as a beautiful child, something small and sweet and not ruined.

Mr. Kim reached out a hand and smacked Eomma Jeon, hard, and Jungkook bounced up to get a punch in. His mother blocked him, was hit again with a punch this time, meant for her son, but she resolutely kept pushing Jungkook back, away. All Taehyung could do was cry out, loudly yelling like he had as a kid, screaming for his father to stop.

Appa Jeon ran over the moment he walked through the front door, pulled Taehyung’s father off his wife, and punched him in the face harder and faster than Taehyung knew he could move, especially having no idea what was going on. He stumbled backward, and before Appa Jeon could finish telling Jungkook to call the police, he walked toward the door.

“No more money! You don’t share my mother’s money, I don’t pay your fucking bills!” He left, slamming the door. Eomma breathed heavily, wiggled out of her husband’s worried hands to face the boys.

“No, the kids–” she said to her worried husband as she turned, quickly making sure they were both okay. She hugged Taehyung tightly, a single broken sob from her throat. Jungkook clung to his father.

“It’s my fault, Appa. I’m sorry,” he said, crying. His father blinked at him, confused.

“How could–”

“He hit her and I went to punch him in the face but Eomma–”

“Sh, sh. Everyone is okay. Let’s wait a minute before we talk about it to calm down,” Appa said. Eomma hugged Taehyung tightly, sobbing now in a way that was so mournful, kissing Taehyung’s head. She turned to her husband, still wound up, anxious.

“Don’t let him touch him. Please don’t–” He put his hands on her bruised cheeks softly, making soothing sounds. Taehyung barely caught him wincing, adjusting his leg a little bit before he leaned in to kiss her head.

“Nothing is going to happen to any of you. My brave wife,” he said, full of the saddest admiration Taehyung had ever heard. Taehyung took Jungkook’s hand, conscious of how guilty Jungkook felt, how frightening it was to see his mother in that position.

“I can’t have children any more,” she blurted out to him, while Appa looked at the boys nervously, shushing her to talk privately later, but she was too upset to stop. Taehyung could see this weighed heavily on her heart.

“I knew I couldn’t but it still felt–now that there’s no chance–it’s not fair,” she sobbed. Appa pulled her to his chest.

“Jungk–”

“It’s not fair. There are people so cruel to their own children and I can’t. He’s such a sweet boy,” He rocked her, so gentle, giving up on trying to move her away from Jungkook when she stopped talking. Taehyung knew that nothing could drag her out of the room with her kid right now.

“I’m sorry, Eomma,” Jungkook said. Taehyung looked up at his face and just couldn’t understand why he looked so ashamed. It wasn’t the smartest move to go in for a fight, but it was understandable–it was his mother after all. She turned to him, seemingly genuinely offended.

“Don’t,” she warned. “I wouldn’t trade you for the world. I love you so much.” Something about Jungkook’s guilt seemed to wake her out of the grief that had suddenly erupted as if it had been released by the sudden onset of physical pain. She took some deep breaths, and Taehyung was surprised that, again, he was the one she pulled to him, embracing.

“I don’t want to leave the kids right now,” she said to Appa Jeon. He nodded, stroked her hair so close to Taehyung that he realized that it wasn’t actually soap that he smelled like, but a soapy perfume, maybe Japanese.

“You three get cozy on the sofa. I’ll…make cocoa,” he said, a little frazzled. All three of them looked at him like he was a dweeb.

“You’ll get cozy with us,” she said, eyebrows furrowed just like Jungkook’s. They were a strange pile on that couch, because she wanted to hold both of the boys, so they all three lay more or less on top of poor Appa. But he seemed okay with the arrangement, stroking hair and kissing heads. As Taehyung started to drift off, still crying and completely exhausted–not to mention humiliated–he saw Jungkook’s father frown at his wife’s bruises, caressing them as she slept, tears falling down his own eyes. The last thought he had before closing his eyes more heavily was what exactly had been the cause of the tears.

***

“Is–is this okay?” Jungkook asked as he let Jin into the house, nervous. He was in a long, soft looking skirt, a big sweater that came down over his hands, showed a lot of his collarbone, both the same shade of pitch black. Jin stared at him, holding Yeontan until he was wagging his tail so hard he had to set him down to greet Jungkook excitedly. Honestly, it made him a little sad that Taehyung had probably been the first to see Jungkook in his “girl clothes,” and realized with a pang that he was getting a taste of the jealousy that he made Jungkook feel all the time.

“Of course it’s okay. Why would you ask that?” He spoke gently.

Jungkook shifted, awkwardly, even ignoring Yeontan’s pleas for attention, and Jin could see how much this had scared him to do, how much he still expected any support to be a joke. He took Jungkook by the waist and pulled him closer. He kissed Jungkook’s blushing cheek.

“I…I want to be with you exactly as you really are, okay? I don’t want you to ever change for me. You’re perfect the way you are.” Jungkook slammed his body into Jin’s, already close and still all dense muscle despite the softness of his current look, and Jin let out a grunt as he held him, rubbing his back. Jungkook squeezed the chest of Jin’s sweater in a little fist.

“You’re a good boyfriend,” Jungkook said. Jin wanted to argue, to tell him that what he was saying was honestly bare minimum, but Appa called for them, and Jungkook grinned, taking Jin’s hand, Yeontan’s leash in the other.

“They’re waiting,” Jungkook said. Jin smiled back, a real smile.

***

Jin and Jungkook played their violins, smiling, giggling while Taehyung improvised a rather jazzy piano accompaniment to the second Mendelssohn violin concerto. Yeontan didn’t leave Taehyung’s side, and Tae stopped to lift the dog to his lap, giving him a kiss on his head before he continued playing. Yeontan had obviously missed him. Jin noticed he’d been less active, lying in Taehyung’s room looking mournful.

“Tae,” Jin whined. “Your jazzy bullshit is giving Kookie an advantage since he sucks at counting!” Jungkook laughed.

“Jin’s just not as creative a player as we are, Tae Tae,” he said. Taehyung laughed too, played even jazzier. His mittens were off, and Jin hadn’t seen him so happy in a long time. He was always happier with music and his little dog. Eomma and Appa sat on the couch, leaning onto each other as they beamed at the boys playing.

“Jungkook, you take over on piano. Play something that swings,” Taehyung said, standing up and walking to the Jeons. Jin scowled.

“And what am I supposed to do with music that swings? Some of us are stodgy,” he said, despite the fact that he immediately adapted his playing to what Jungkook was doing on piano, having a blast with the fun beat, so grateful he was able to play again, at least sometimes. For now. Jungkook rolled his eyes at him.

Taehyung bowed to Eomma, extending a hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asked. She giggled, genuinely bashful and so delighted. She took his hand and stood, and Jin grinned, catching her husband filming.

“I don’t know how,” she said, getting into a dancing position nonetheless. Taehyung grinned his old wide grin, a boxy smile that truly reached his eyes, his whole manner of being. Ugh. Jin could cry, he was so happy to see it.

“That’s why I’m leading, madam,” he said. Jin was honestly astonished by what a natural teacher Taehyung was. He led with his body, and soon Eomma went from not knowing how to dance at all to really swinging. When Taehyung rolled her out and pulled her back in, dress twirling, she threw her head back laughing. Tae had fun with it too, making faces like he’d seen in old movies, a joking old school cool that looked natural with his wide trousers and billowy, tucked-in shirt. Everything about him was warm, and Jin got the impression of him as a sepia photograph, old fashioned and timeless.

At the end of the song, Eomma pulled Taehyung into a hug, kissed the top of his head like she did to her own son.

“I love you, baby,” she said, so easy. Jin looked at Taehyung a little nervously, and he did look scared for a moment. But he didn’t reach for his hand. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let himself be held in her arms.

“I love you too, Eomma,” he said. She rocked him cutely, delighted.

“What about me?” Jin whined, upping the aegyo in his voice. He’d had a glass of wine with the family at dinner and was feeling extra playful. Eomma smiled at him, went to him and grabbed both his cheeks–too big a hold to really be called a pinch–and laughed at the face he made.

“Of course we love our Jinnie, too.”

“Get together, boys. Appa’s going to take some pictures. Don’t groan,” Appa said, smiling. He stood, and Jin could tell his leg was bothering him a lot more than usual today. When he’d first met Jungkook’s parents, he’d barely registered his leg at all, thought he was maybe just a tad stiff. Today, though, he seemed to be dragging it around.

“Kookie in the middle,” Jin insisted, yelling a little.

“Why me?” he whined, a little self-conscious of his outfit.

“You’re our little maknae,” Taehyung said, fixing Jungkook’s hair.

“I want that picture of just Kookie that I definitely saw you take when he was playing violin. Don’t lie about it,” Jin wagged his finger at Appa, caught in the act. “I was so mad the other day that there were no pictures of just Koo in my room.” Jungkook blushed hard, which made Jin smile. He put a hand around his waist and kissed his cheek, Taehyung’s arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, so casual and loving. They posed for several photos before Appa sent them to the group chat they’d made to keep their little support network aware of how everyone was doing.

“Wait! One more with Tannie,” Taehyung said. They all obliged him, taking the photo so Yeontan faced Appa, and the rest of them admired the dog, making kissy faces. Tannie loved the attention, wagging his tail.

Jin smiled at the photos, but he could feel sadness starting to pull at him as he looked at the pictures, saw them all so full of joy. His smile became forced, then slowly, painfully slowly, fell.

“Taehyungie and Kookie really look like they could be brothers. Don’t you think?” he asked.

“They do look related,” Eomma said. “I’m not quite sure why. Something in the nose maybe. Or because they both have such big, pretty eyes.” She stroked her son’s hair, playing with it lovingly. Jin had been able to tell immediately that Jungkook’s parents were both relieved to see him walking into the living room holding hands with Jungkook. He was glad they accepted him for who he was, made him feel pretty when he wanted to feel pretty.

Jin stole Jungkook from his mother dramatically, picked him up at the waist, twirled him, tried to focus on the moments of happiness he was feeling, on the way Jungkook screamed giggling while his skirt flowed around him. He heard Appa’s camera sound.

“I know Jin’s not supposed to stay in my room with me,” Jungkook said, batting his eyes. “But what if we’re all sleeping together?” Taehyung beamed, hugged Jungkook from behind.

“Yeah, can we have a real sleepover? Yeontan can chaperone those two,” Taehyung added excitedly.

“Of course you can have a sleepover,” Appa said, standing unsteadily with a wince. Jin moved over to support him while he steadied himself.

“How come your leg is bad?” Taehyung asked, quite innocently. Jungkook’s face fell.

“Taehyungie, that’s not very polite,” Jin said, kindly. Tae started to apologize, but Appa waved him off.

“I don’t like to talk about it,” he said. “It’s from when I was young. Don’t worry, it’s okay. Everything just hurts more when you get old.” He grinned, but he looked sad, and Jin leaned on him, upping the aegyo again.

“You’re not even old,” he said. “Since I’m the hyung, we’re practically same-age friends.” Jin laughed as Appa tickled him, his sadness cast aside.

“Getting cocky,” he said, lovingly. “All right, boys. Come for a kiss and get to bed.” Both parents kissed each of them, and then each other. It was still strange for Jin, to see two people who had been together for so long still love each other so much. He hoped, not for the first time, that he and Jungkook would follow that path.

***

Hoseok giggled at the restaurant, both of them in their suits, tailored for free exclusively thanks to Hana’s high school theatre costuming background. Jimin could kiss her for what the suit did to Hoseok, his gorgeous frame and perfect posture.

“It feels so fancy,” he whispered, beaming. “I’m a little afraid of fucking up.” Jimin giggled back, scrunching his nose.

“Me too. At least we’re not drinking,” he said. He’d been upfront about not being able to afford the alcohol, so they’d pregamed a few mugs of boxed wine at home, which they thought was hilarious. Hoseok’s face was still red–Jimin had had to cut him off. He was such a lightweight. Jimin thought it was cute, but he didn’t want Hoseok to be embarrassed about making a drunk face in their selfies tonight. And boy, were they both taking selfies.

They ate wagyu steak, trying to look serious and erupting into giggle fits. It was the first time Jimin had been able to relax in–well. Realistically months, but definitely since poor Taehyung had almost hurt himself. He felt guilty going out and having fun, but the two of them had agreed that there was nothing wrong with taking just one night for themselves.

“The asparagus–oh my god,” Hoseok said. He fed Jimin, who took the food, melting dramatically while Hoseok looked madly in love.

“It’s perfect. I didn’t realize that we’ve been eating like peasants,” Jimin said. He fed Hoseok a bite of brussels sprouts and watched his eyes close with pleasure.

“Can we afford dessert?” Hoseok grinned. Jimin laughed.

“Of course we can–Actually? Can we split it?” he asked after looking at the dessert menu prices. Hoseok tried not to spit out his sparkling water laughing. They split a creme brulee, which tasted so rich and heavenly that Jimin genuinely thought all other food might be ruined for him. He felt a real sense of pride paying for the whole dinner when the waiter brought over the check–and it really wasn’t cheap. He was glad he’d overplanned rather than under.

Walking to the theatre, Jimin fake shivered, theatrically.

“Gosh, it is so frightfully cold,” he said woodenly, delighted that Hoseok was already laughing even though he made no effort to hide the fact that he didn’t get the joke yet. He loved how funny Hoseok made him feel.

“Hoseok-ssi, are you cold?” he asked him, nodding to give him a hint as to his answer. He knew he was, anyhow. Everytime he breathed Jimin could see his breath in the yellow streetlight lit night, and he was hopping in that cute way he did.

“Why yes, Jimin-ssi. I am so frightfully cold. However did you know?” Hoseok asked, trying to match his wooden tone but being a bit too giggly. Jimin took a scarf out of his bag, bright, neon green, and wrapped it around Hoseok, and then put a matching hat on his head. Hoseok’s eyes started to water, his face falling instantly, and Jimin’s cheeks grew hot, ashamed, assuming it was the quality, or the color.

“I’m sorry. I tried to choose a color you’d like. Namjoonie showed me how to knit them. He helped a lot but they’re both still kind of lumpy because of me…” Hoseok enveloped him in a hug that felt all-encompassing.

“Jiminie, you made these? They’re beautiful. I love them,” Hoseok said, sniffling. Jimin sniffled too. Why did he have to cry every time Hoseok did?

“Then why do you look upset?” he asked. Hoseok cried harder when he heard Jimin’s tears.

“I’m not upset. I’ve never gotten a gift from a boyfriend. Like even at Christmas or my birthday. I wasn’t expecting it,” he sniffled. Jimin’s brows furrowed.

“That’s horrible,” Jimin said, pulling them apart to take Hoseok’s face in his hands. “I’ll have to get you lots of presents from now on.”

“I’m happy my first is from you, and that it’s perfect. And you made it. You’re so cool,” Hobi said. They kissed, out there in public, and to Jimin it felt so right, like this was the life he was meant to live. He took Hoseok’s hand and kissed it, then kissed it again, before he dropped it and swung their locked hands together.

“Come on, honey. We don’t want to be late.” They walked to the theatre like that, hands never dropping. The tightness of Hoseok’s grip made him feel, resolutely, that he had to be so, so good for his Hobi.

Swan Lake was exactly what Jimin needed, and he suspected Hoseok, too. A stunning dance about love, about the self, and with some really lighthearted scenes, too. Every time Jimin looked over at Hoseok, he was watching the stage wide-eyed. Their seats were pretty good–not too close to the front, not too far back, and facing the center-stage. Hyunkin had really done him a solid.

The ballet was cozy to Jimin, so familiar. He’d danced in the company in high school, common for the contemporary dancers in the intensive program, since they had ballet experience, too. He had honestly been so excited that Hoseok wanted to see it, that he was such a ballet fanatic as an audience member. He always said it was inspiring, the ways he could see dance used as a means of storytelling. He wanted to tell stories, too, in his own way.

Jimin leaned on him the whole time, hoping he loved his favorite ballet now, fully grown up, as much as he did. Hoseok’s favorite ballet memory was always going to be Firebird in New York, though, Jimin was sure.

After leaving the warmth of the theatre, back in the cold, Hoseok looked thoughtful, like there was something weighing heavily on his mind, so Jimin didn’t ask him what he thought of the production, or crack a joke, or say how pretty the set was. He waited. And soon, Hoseok spoke.

“The way you dance reminds me of the ballerinas. The girls. But you do something so different. You loosen it up. When I think of your dancing, I think of Odile. But of course your personality is Odette all the way.” He didn’t seem quite done, and Jimin didn’t really know where he was going with this, so he waited for Hoseok to continue, which took a little more time. That was okay. Jimin was patient.

“I think what I mean–I’m sorry I encouraged you to quit. I was just so worried about you.” Hoseok sniffled, and Jimin honestly wasn’t sure if it was the bitter cold or the memories, since the moonlight didn’t reflect any tears on Hoseok’s face.

“I understand–”

“No, I mean–I mean I see now. That dancing gives you a…for me, dancing is the most fun I ever have. It’s when I’m really happy. So I looked at you and I thought, ‘This isn’t making my Jiminie happy.’ But that’s not what it is for you, is it? It’s not about being happy. It’s about expressing things you can’t express as Jimin. It’s a whole different side of you,” Hoseok finished, walking straight ahead.

Jimin was overcome with emotion, feeling understood, finally. He nodded, realized Hoseok couldn’t see, and wrapped his arm around Hoseok’s waist, leaned his head heavily on his shoulder as they walked.

“That’s exactly right. Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say, but he meant that thank you with his entire heart. Hoseok put his arm around Jimin’s waist too, and they walked like that for a while, in silence.

“I still want you to try to make it healthier for yourself. More sustainable,” Hoseok said. Jimin nodded, knowing Hobi felt it.

“I want that, too.”

Inside their apartment, Jimin took Hoseok’s rosy face in his hands, both of them still wrapped up in their winter layers, and kissed him passionately, tried to impart all of his love into Hoseok’s mouth, was delighted by the way Hobi completely melted into him, so vulnerable. They threw their coats off to the floor as they kissed, and Jimin’s heart about burst at the way Hobi carefully hung up his new scarf and hat after he’d tossed his coat to the ground. They kissed more, picking up speed.

“Make love to me,” Jimin said softly into his neck. He didn’t have to ask Hobi twice. They moved to the bed, and Hoseok threw off his shirt, then undressed Jimin carefully, slowly. Jimin felt a little anxious, but closed his eyes. That was a mistake. Open them. Open them, he told himself. When he did, relief washed over him. It’s Hobi. It’s Hobi.

Hoseok moved on top of him and Jimin stiffened, but stayed relatively calm. Don’t move. Don’t move. It’s okay, he reassured himself. But when Hoseok leaned further into him to kiss his neck, Jimin started flailing, called out.

“No, no. Please–” Hoseok was off of him in a moment, Jimin pulled up and into his arms. He felt kisses on the crown of his head.

“I’m sorry. Let’s try again,” Jimin said, desperate for Hoseok not to give up. He wanted tonight to be perfect, damn it. Why did he always have to ruin everything? Hoseok looked at him like he was sizing something up, and Jimin tried to beg him with his eyes not to give up right now, to tell him he wouldn’t be able to take the rejection.

“No. I think that’s the problem,” Hobi said. Jimin, honestly, didn’t know what the hell he meant, only that he felt rejected.

“Please. I really do want you,” he begged, feeling so fucking pathetic. Hobi frowned at him, kissed him passionately, then lay on his own back on the bed, pulling Jimin on top of him.

“I want you too. What about this?” he asked. “Is this better? I hate for you to prep yourself, but maybe it would be better this time.” Jimin was confused for a moment–there’s no way in hell I can top, he initially thought–but then he got it, rolled his hips on Hoseok’s and got hard again from the moan. Okay. He could work with this.

Cautiously, Jimin leaned down to kiss Hoseok, and the way Hoseok immediately looked so lost, so soft and vulnerable and almost helpless stirred something in Jimin. He didn’t feel anxious right now, none of that pressure on his chest that gave way to terror. All he felt was the desire to make Hobi feel good. Hoseok’s hands touched Jimin’s waist, cautiously, shyly, and Jimin continued to grind, shifting so Hoseok touched his ass.

“Hand me the lube?” Jimin asked, necking him. Truthfully, he could have reached it himself more easily, but he wanted Hoseok to feel at least a little involved. Hoseok’s arm reached blindly, his eyes so clouded with a dreamy lust, eyes only for Jimin. Finally, he grasped it and handed it to Jimin, who smiled at him sweetly.

“Thank you, yeobo,” he said, the urge to praise him for everything–for just existing–overwhelming his chest in a much nicer way than when Hobi was pressed on top of him.

“Do you want to watch?” Jimin asked, gently teasing, knowing the answer before Hoseok’s lips parted and he nodded in awe. Jimin turned around, still straddling Hoseok but with his ass facing him now instead, and stuck his lubed finger inside himself, grinding mostly so Hoseok got more of a show. He arched his back, whimpered from his second finger pushing in to himself. Hoseok’s breathing was loud, breathy, like he was forgetting to breathe. Jimin felt how hard he was, knew how much he wanted him.

“Can I touch you?” Hoseok asked, a whisper. This isn’t how Jimin had expected him to be, especially from their attempts at fooling around. He thought it would be more giggly, more joyful, but something about this version of his Hobi felt so special, like something only Jimin could witness. Maybe he was the only person who had.

Jimin wasn’t sure he was ready for someone else’s body inside of him like that, in a way where they were in control and not him, but he wanted Hoseok’s touch badly, too. He arched his back more, moved his ass in a way he knew was hot, like he wished he were grinding a dick right now.

“Will you hold my ass open for me, baby?” Jimin asked. Hoseok moaned, deep and gravelly in a way that raised Jimin’s eyebrows and made him grin in satisfaction, hidden from Hoseok’s gaze, as Hoseok’s hands spread him. Hobi whimpered when Jimin stuck a third finger in himself.

Jimin knew he was ready, but he played with himself a while longer. Hoseok liked the show, and Jimin did want to be careful to make sure nothing hurt tonight. A yelp of pain would traumatize them both–Hobi moreso, he suspected.

Finally, he turned around and took Hoseok’s cock in his hand, watched his head roll back and his eyes close. Jimin was afraid to blow him, afraid to not be able to breathe again, so he didn’t. Hoseok would understand when he explained why he wasn’t attentive enough to him, he knew.

Jimin leaned down, their cocks touching, warm and pleasurable. He kissed Hoseok deeply, his tongue exploring his mouth, trying to reach something so much deeper inside of him, to tell him how loved he was. Hoseok kissed him back the same way, so slow and soft but deep and probing.

“Are you ready? You were so good helping me,” Jimin cooed, breathing hot on Hoseok’s cheek, kissing him randomly, softly in a way that made Hoseok shiver. Hobi’s hands moved to his waist, cautiously again. It wasn’t Jimin’s favorite part of himself, but he had to admit it felt good to be held there. It was a strange experience, to have a part of himself he hated so desperately be so obviously adored by someone he loved.

“I didn’t do anything,” Hoseok whispered again as he nodded, eyes open now, wet and vulnerable. Jimin kissed him again and smiled reassuringly.

“Of course you did. You did everything I asked and made me feel so pretty,” Jimin said, lowering his own volume to a sing-song barely above a whisper. Hoseok smiled and nodded again.

Jimin lubed Hoseok’s cock, spending time there, giving him a short, firm handjob, just enough to remind him how excited he was, and then Jimin sat tall and guided Hoseok’s dick inside of him. It’s okay, he thought, staring carefully at Hoseok’s concerned brow as he lowered himself on, slowly, taking his time. It’s Hobi. It’s Hobi. I’m making my Hobi feel good.

Hoseok moaned as he entered Jimin, then more as Jimin began to slowly ride him. It was Hoseok. Everything was okay. He was able to pick up speed, to throw his own head back in pleasure, to whimper with abandon. Hoseok’s hands found their way to Jimin’s hips, holding on to ground him in the present, and Jimin lowered himself to Hoseok’s chest, grinding instead of thrusting.

He bit Hoseok’s ear, playfully, then whispered in it, knowing that was a sensitive area for Hoseok, squirming under him with pleasure:

“You’re making me feel so good. So good for me,” Jimin told him. Hoseok’s eyes met his, and Jimin was surprised again by how lost he looked, how much he needed the praise.

“I’m doing good?” Hoseok asked, unsure but clearly experiencing pleasure. Jimin kissed him on the lips, his mouth fully leading them both now.

“So good, yeobo. I’m going to make you feel good too now, okay?” he said. Hobi furrowed his brow.

“I already feel so good,” he whispered. Jimin smiled, nibbling his ear again.

“Even better, then.” He sat up again, began to ride, picking up the pace and lowering it again when Hoseok got too close. He wanted to show him how much he loved this, how long he wanted to be here with Hoseok. Finally, though, he again lowered himself to Hobi’s chest, grinding. Hobi needed to feel like he was doing more.

“Fuck me, baby. Cum in me,” he said–confident, not begging, in a way that took him by surprise when he heard his own words. Hoseok groaned, dug his hands into Jimin’s hips, holding him close. Jimin felt a brief flash of some anxious fire in his stomach that was put out when he kissed Hoseok’s neck and heard his moan, smelled and tasted his sweat that was so very Hoseok. Safe. I’m safe.

Hoseok fucked into him quickly, desperately but not really rough, until Jimin felt a throb, felt hot cum inside of him. He fully lowered himself onto Hobi, kissing his neck, feeling very much like he was the one who had just cum.

Hoseok kissed his hair, over and over, and Jimin finally looked up at him, saw a few tears on his face that he was pretty sure were just from overwhelming pleasure. He could read Hobi so easily, which was always reassuring, but especially right now. He kissed his lips.

“Can I make you cum?” Hoseok asked, sounding a little insecure. Jimin hesitated, thought about it, could see the time between the question and the answer was hurting Hoseok.

“I’m not ready,” he said, honestly. “Will you watch me?” It seemed, again, like a good compromise, a way to involve Hoseok in his pleasure without pushing himself too far. Hoseok nodded and kissed him again, then smiled, blushing with a little giggle. He was coming back, slowly.

“I don’t want to pull out. I feel like I belong here,” he said, joking but with a hint of that earlier vulnerability. Jimin smiled, taking care to make it kind, not a grin at a joke but a shared happiness.

“I don’t want to either, but we can’t live our lives like this forever. We can’t go to class like this,” he said. They both giggled and Jimin pulled off of him, wincing. He really did miss the feeling of Hobi inside him, and Jimin really was glad he was a dancer, because his thighs were already killing him after that workout. He lay on his back, stretched them discreetly, moving his knees in and out for a moment.

Hoseok stared at him with wet parted lips, red from the flushing and all their hard kisses–his whole face got red during and after sex, Jimin noticed. That was cute.

“You can touch me anywhere but here,” he said, motioning toward where his hand found his own dick. “Be gentle, please.” Hoseok chose to stay lying next to him, shifting so he could kiss Jimin’s cheek and watch him jack off at the same time, caressing his pecks, teasing his nipples lightly.

Jimin writhed, enjoying being watched, appreciated, enjoying the soft little touches that came as a surprise in the form of a small jolt of pleasure, like an electrocution so light that it tickled.

“So good, so good,” he found himself repeating when he got close. He strained his neck to lean his mouth closer to Hoseok’s, hoping desperately that he would get the hint. The moment their lips met, he came all over his hand, panting. He pulled away and looked into Hoseok’s eyes, and they stayed like that for a while, staring at each other in loving silence, in admiration.

“Can I lick it?” Hoseok said by means of breaking the spell, blushing hard, embarrassed by his own desire. Jimin tried to feel his body and his mind, tried to read how they connected–to read himself. He was tired out, the tension of arousal gone from his body, and things were less scary now. He nodded.

“Clean my hand, too,” he said with a tone he hoped was just teasing enough. Hoseok blushed harder but nodded, his eyes clouding over with that something from earlier that Jimin couldn’t quite place, the one emotion of Hoseok’s he seemed to have trouble reading.

Reverently, Hoseok cleaned the cum off Jimin’s groin with his tongue out–“Stick it out farther so I can see,” Jimin instructed. When his dick was clean, Hoseok shyly took his hand by the wrist and licked his palm and hand, looking down. Jimin was honestly a little embarrassed to have requested this, but he wanted to give his baby what he wanted, and it was fun to watch, sexy and somehow empowering at the same time.

“Can you look at me, honey?” Jimin asked. He was, he guessed, kind of testing him. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he always felt like it was better to trust your gut in these intimate situations, so he did. Hoseok looked up as he took a finger in his mouth, sucking the cum off with his lips. He moved to the next one, looking up at Jimin again, and did that until his hand was clean. It heated Jimin’s stomach again, made his cock twitch. He grinned and pulled Hoseok to him, still lying flat.

“Now kiss me,” he said, smiling sweetly. They kissed a long, long time, no care for the hour or any need to shower. It was the first time Hoseok had been on top of him even jokingly in months, and Jimin didn’t even notice that he wasn’t panicked about it, didn’t feel any fear at all. Instead, it felt like home, like Hoseok was meant to be resting in his arms.

Chapter Text

Jin laughed at the funny sound he’d downloaded to his digital piano–Yoongi’s, really. He’d given Yoongi’s old one he’d traded for to Taehyung, unused in his bedroom while he stayed with the Jeons. Jin only ever played it when he was accompanying someone in their shared apartment practice room, anyway.

Jin had never loved the piano like Doyoung had or like his Uncle still did, that shared bond those two had shared that had made Jin a little jealous when he was younger. But he did love that he could download frog sounds, so that each key he pressed was a pitched croak. He played Für Elise, cracking himself up while Namjoon stared at him like he was absolutely hopeless.

It just made him smile more. He knew that this was part of their fun together, that Namjoon found it just as funny as he did, that it wouldn’t be half as funny without Namjoon’s straight man act in their dumb little comedy duo.

“Please Joonie, can we play it once through with the frogs? Pretty pretty pretty please?” Jin begged, stomping his feet. He knew that Namjoon would indulge him as much as he wanted–hell, that he was thrilled to indulge him. Jin was only accompanying him because his hands were still, occasionally, too shaky to play the violin, which scared him, filled him with so much anxiety that he’d started panicking again like he had last year, which fed into the shaky bow, which in turn fed right back into the anxiety. Today was one of those days, but he wanted to make some kind of music, and Namjoon happened to be working on a piece Jin was capable of playing. Namjoon would be happy to see him happy, and that meant something to Jin.

“Fine, Jin. Fine. We’ll play Brahms on frog if that’s what will make you happy. If that’s what you like, then fine,” Namjoon said, mouth straight. Jin grinned, waiting, and sure enough Namjoon couldn’t keep up the act, the straight line getting tighter until one dimple showed, then two, and then he was grinning and laughing that sweet bashful laugh of his, so quiet.

They played Brahms’ Violin Concerto No. 2, Op. 100 arranged for the cello, the frogs croaking those light, dignified chords over Joonie’s serious strings. Jin’s playing was, he’d be the first to admit, piss poor. He was anxious, and honestly not that good at the piano. They’d at least played parts of this one together, but for some reason Namjoon had wanted to really work on it.

Jin never understood that about Namjoon. Jin played violin for fun outside of practicing for auditions and contests and concerts and recitals, of course. The violin was a great source of joy and peace for him, which made its current absence hurt all the more. But Namjoon liked to pick a piece seemingly at random and really perfect it, studying it like it was for a contest, when it was only supposed to be for fun. “It’s such an intimate way to engage with a piece,” he’d explained once, years ago.

Jin thought about the intimacy of the piece now as he played croaking frogs alongside Namjoon’s studious playing. It didn’t matter that Joonie’s dimples were on full display–one of Jin’s favorite sights in the world. He approached his part with a seriousness Jin couldn’t fathom for a jam session, mere social practice.

They played it all the way through even though Jin got bored with it quickly, frogs notwithstanding. He powered through with relatively few mistakes for Joonie and for Joonie only. When he did mess up, it was at least difficult to tell, on account of the croaking tonality.

“Thanks, hyung. That helped. I have to play extra well when you play like…that,” Namjoon said, standing with a long stretch afterward, moving side to side. Jin heard something in his back crack, frowned.

“Sit back down. Let hyung rub your back,” he said. Namjoon obeyed, and he rubbed, could tell Namjoon was fucking stressed by how tight his neck and back both were, by the knots in it. He didn’t say anything about it though, just tried to relieve some of that tension. Namjoon leaned into it, wincing and moaning and stretching recently rubbed muscles out like he was trying on a new, floppier lifestyle. Jin hoped that one day, Namjoon would be as floppy as he was.

“Joonie? I miss playing with you.” Jin felt that rush of sadness again, channeled it into his massage. Namjoon didn’t need to worry about him right now.

“I miss playing with you, too. I miss you in general. Sometimes I look at you and I see a sunset, and it scares me,” Namjoon said, quiet. Jin frowned, still behind Namjoon, kneading. He had no idea what that meant, so he just kept rubbing silently. Namjoon sighed.

“Sorry. I think we should play together more. Well–” The back of Joonie’s head perked back up in his planning mode, not quite out of his feelings but back into the world.

“Actually I think we should all practice together–I think we should play with Taehyung, too. Even with choir and traditional music next semester. But I want to play with just you, too. Sometimes I want you to myself. And I know that sucks of me, but–”

“But I feel the same way,” Jin admitted. Namjoon nodded, drawing attention to his stiff neck. Jin moved his hands to it, frowned again at Namjoon’s wincing. His neck was always sore: hunched over his phone, hunched over a book, hunched over a cello. Probably hunched over to kiss his little boyfriend.

“All I want to do is make music with the people I love. I don’t want to think about anything else.” Namjoon said it, but Jin could have sworn it was him thinking it first.

“What if I can’t play anymore?” he asked, nervous, knowing Namjoon would never lie to him. But he turned his head to face him, mouth parted, eyes thoughtful and wise as ever.

“You will. You’ll play better than ever.”

***

Jimin loved hanging out with Jungkook–rare, because their maknae was always busy. Practicing, in his jazz clubs or lessons, in the gym, up at the crack of dawn to jog and up late with Jin. It was hard to get ahold of him or to get him to lock in on their plans, which usually involved long conversations about their feelings sitting cross legged on Jimin’s bed.

“So I’m not really sure about singing the backup for Tae,” Jungkook was saying, eating the little cookies Jimin had bought for him, kicking himself for being unable to really bake in their stupid dorm kitchenette that he knew he was lucky to have. The older dorms didn’t even have those.

“But you said you’re not playing the piano. Are you not doing anything at the holiday showcase? You practiced so hard all semester…” Jimin asked. He sipped some water, stared at the cookies on the duvet. Jin hyung would yell at them not to eat in bed.

“I don’t know…I feel like I started too late. I don’t want to make them look bad,” Jungkook replied. Jimin couldn’t help it. He laughed, reached over to ruffle Jungkook’s long, soft hair. Such a cutie pie, he thought. Jungkook got up and paced in front of the two beds a few times before plopping back down in the same spot. He always had so much energy.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. I think you should sing with Taehyung,” Jimin said. “You two must sound so nice together–yours is a bit higher, right? Both like honey. How’s living with him?” Jimin shivered, reached for the throw he kept at the foot of his bed.

“Are you cold?” Jimin asked. “I can get you a blanket.” Jungkook shook his head.

“I’m fine. I like living with hyung. It’s really easy. He’s really understanding, and lately he’s been feeling better so we can play together more. We practice jazz like every night now. It’s really great,” Jungkook said, but Jimin couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t look or sound particularly happy.

“What’s the matter then?” Jimin asked, trying to sound casual, unconcerned. Jungkook was a lot like Jin, uncomfortable when people worried. Jimin could never complain about this to most of their other friends, but having two doting parents came with its own challenges. Jimin thought Jungkook had probably picked up a deep desire to avoid disappointing them. Jungkook hesitated, ate another cookie and chewed it anxiously, got up and paced again.

“It’s going to sound really stupid,” he warned, plopping back down. Jimin shrugged.

“That’s okay.” Jungkook looked at him for a moment, as if to make sure it really was okay.

“I think my parents like him more,” he said. Jimin had to work hard to keep it in. Yes, it was obviously not true, but it was bothering his poor maknae. That was enough to make it serious.

“What makes you think that?” Jimin asked. He sipped his water again, hunger starting to claw at his stomach. Jungkook always looked so sweet with his eyebrows pushed together.

“He dances with Eomma and makes her laugh and Appa just loves him and he listens to all the trumpet music Tae recommends to him. Sometimes I think they like Jin hyung more too, but at least he doesn’t live there. You know?” He sighed, drank some Sprite from a can.

“Talk to your parents, Kookie. They’ll tell you how they feel. Don’t you think?” Jimin asked. He thought for a moment.

“Personally, I think he’s probably just around more and they’re happy to have him there. I think they’re obsessed with you. Maybe you can make some time just for them, like Jin’s dinners with Conductor-nim. Relationships take work. Especially when you’re apart more now that you’re older,” Jimin suggested. Jungkook thought about it, frowned deeply, then smiled. Jimin was horrified to see him then look at the nutrition label on the Sprite and immediately frown again. Jimin took a cookie and ate it.

“Mm! These are pretty good for store bought,” he said before they changed the subject.

***

“Hyung?” Jungkook got into bed with Jin, crushing his organs in a way Jin hoped he’d never stop doing. Jin was trying to be less horizontal lately, really, but with the concert tonight he’d known he’d need a nap if he was going to get through it, so he slept fully dressed in his concert suit. The suit wasn’t exactly pajama levels of comfortable, but he managed.

Jin wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s warm, warm body on top of him and kissed him easily, wondering for the five thousandth time if they’d ever have sex again after how he’d looked. It had been–not long, but for them, a while.

“Is it time to go already?” he asked, yawning. Jungkook shook his head, scrunching up his nose with a smile. The room was dark but there was a desk lamp Jin used as a night light turned on low and warm, and Jungkook’s face looked so soft in its light.

“Not quite. I just wanted to spend some time with you,” Jungkook said, lowering himself onto the bed next to Jin, facing him with a bright smile. Jin caressed the small of Jungkook’s back, gently, frowning. That sadness had kept hitting him today. Slowly, he moved his hand up to Jungkook’s face, tucked some hair blocking his eyes behind his ear, and held his head. Jungkook’s smile felt good in his hand, warm and shy.

“Kookie, I want to tell you something,” Jin found himself saying. What was he saying? He had no idea what he wanted to say to Jungkook. But it was true. There was something he wanted to say, something eating at him to come out. The only problem was he didn’t know what it was.

Jungkook’s eyes were wet but not teary, so big and round as he looked at Jin with anticipation.

“Yes? What is it, hyung?” he asked, voice quieter than before. Jin stared at him, tried to figure out what it was that he wanted to say. A familiar feeling of dread entered his chest. He focused on breathing. Yoongi said it was anxiety, but it felt like a bad omen.

“I’m sorry I shit on the viola. I want to hear you play. It’s really rich and warm sounding,” Jin blurted out lamely. Why was his body trying to tell him that his brain wanted to say something if his stupid brain wouldn’t even supply the information? Jungkook blinked at him.

“That’s what you wanted to say? Are you making fun of me?” he asked, head tilted in confusion. Jin knew he’d be upset if he lied about his feelings again, and that there was no way that’s what he wanted to say, so lying about lying was out of the question.

“No. I have no idea what I want to say. Just that I want to say something But I have felt guilty about that for a while,” he admitted. Jungkook, to his relief, laughed, cute and twinkling.

“Hyung, you’re an idiot sometimes,” he said fondly, kissing Jin’s nose and making him scrunch it up.

“It’s honestly really annoying, though. I like the viola a lot even though it’s not my main instrument. I’ll play it for you and you’ll see,” Jungkook added confidently, like it meant the world for him to change Jin’s mind.

Caught by a sudden urge, Jin kissed his lips, kept kissing when it was received well, and moved his body on top of Jungkook’s, pressed flat against each other on Jin’s bed in his dim room. Jungkook’s hands gripped Jin’s waist, but not as hard as they should have. Jin grinded into him, and Jungkook moaned, pulling apart. The separation brought that dread back again, like a punch straight to the chest.

Jungkook’s eyebrows pressed together and he stroked Jin’s face, which confused him. Why would he need comforting right now?

“It’s okay, honey. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jungkook said to Jin, who was growing steadily more baffled by his boyfriend’s reaction. “It’s just that we have to leave soon.”

“O-oh. Right. Sorry,” Jin said, rolling off Jungkook. He rolled around so he was facing the edge of the bed. The thought of being seen right now freaked him out–why did it feel like if someone couldn’t see your face, they couldn’t see you? How easy was it to trick the human brain?

“I’m sorry, I–”

“No, no. You didn’t do anything, either. Will you spoon me?” Jin asked, feeling ridiculous asking but honestly craving the feeling of his boyfriend pressed against him, and knowing, besides, that it would put Jungkook’s heart at ease. Jungkook did spoon him, and Jin scooted into him, feeling a little better almost instantly.

“I really hate the holiday concerts,” Jin complained, his voice sounding sadder and less bitchy than he intended. There was nothing sad about the holiday concert, except for mid music.

“Jin, I can tell that you haven’t realized this yet. But. Uh. You’re crying.”

“Can you spend some of Christmas with me?” Jin asked. He was going to pretend he hadn’t heard that, because he still didn’t really notice, and that he couldn’t even tell when he was crying anymore freaked him out, and he didn’t want to freak out right now.

“Oh! Yeah. My parents said anyone not going home should come over. They said your Uncle should come, too, if he’s feeling up to it by then. All my relatives are in Busan, so it’s just us, really lowkey.”

“That’s really nice. Are they going to freak out if they see me shower you with presents?” Jin rubbed the back of his head on Jungkook. He wanted to spoil the hell out of him. Jungkook giggled bashfully.

“No, they’ll gush about it. But Christmas at my house is really lowkey. It’s mostly just an excuse for Appa to cook. We’re Buddhist. Am I supposed to shower you with gifts, too?” He tickled Jin, who resolutely stiffened, unsquirming, in control. Serious.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” When Jungkook wasn’t expecting it, when it seemed like he’d say more, Jin suddenly turned toward Jungkook, straddled him, and tickled under his armpits where he knew he was most sensitive. Jungkook writhed under him, laughing loudly and trying to hit Jin as a reflex.

He pushed Jin off to his side, but Jin stood his ground, moving to tickle his stomach. Jungkook could hardly breathe laughing.

“Do you surrender?” Jin asked, serious as ever. “This is what you get for trying to tickle the tickle king–” Before he finished his lame joke, Jungkook’s foot met his nose, and a sharp jolt of pain hit him as Jungkook’s face–very comically Jin thought–fell in horror while his giggle fit was still dying down, Jungkook’s laughter lingering into the slow motion frown.

“Hyung! I’m so sorry. Oh my god.” Jungkook took a bunch of tissues Jin conveniently had next to his bed for his fun random crying fits and dabbed at his face, which is when Jin first saw the blood. He couldn’t take it anymore: he started to laugh.

“Hyung?” Jungkook sounded worried. Poor kid.

“Sweetheart, I love you,” Jin said easily,thoughtlessly, replacing Jungkook’s hand to hold the tissues to his own damn bloody nose. Jungkook’s eyes widened larger than Jin had ever seen them, which was an impressive feat, and he looked at him with confusion while his own giggles died down.

“Did you mean to say that?” Jungkook asked cautiously. Jin blinked. Holy shit, he thought. He had said it. His face fell.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted to tell you. I wanted it to be special,” Jin said, voice muffled by too much tissue. The paper was getting caught on his lip and falling apart, getting stuck to his mouth in a kind of saliva and Kleenex papier mâché.

“No, hyung I mean–did you mean it, though?” Jungkook pressed. Jin’s mind went blank and he realized: Well, duh. Of course I meant it. He nodded, slowly, looking not unlike a frightened hamster whose little house had been lifted off of him by an overenthusiastic child.

“I–Yeah. I love you.” He sniffled blood back up his nose, the sound like a small river of snot. Jungkook’s eyes got watery, and then he was crying, and Jin just knew he’d fucked up by not making it special, was thinking of a way to explain. But Jungkook catapulted himself onto Jin’s chest, and he received him with a grunt, holding him, trying not to bleed onto his pretty face.

“I love you, too,” Jungkook cried into Jin’s chest. Namjoon walked into Jin’s room without knocking–a brave choice, Jin thought, unless everyone knew he was unfuckable now–and stared at them.

“You guys know we have to leave in like five–hyung, what the fuck?” Namjoon asked, mouth hanging open. Yoongi followed him in, wondering what the fuss was about.

“You guys,” Jungkook said before Jin could explain. Jungkook turned to them, beaming, still clinging to Jin.

“Jinnie hyung loves me!” he declared. Namjoon and Yoongi looked at each other as if wondering whether they should ask or save it until later.

“We know,” Yoongi said. Namjoon nodded.

“We literally all know. Hyung is the only one who was slow on the uptake,” he said.

“But we’re very happy for you,” Yoongi said. “Except for whatever happened to hyungie,” he added dismissively.

Jin removed the tissue, the bleeding seeming to have stopped or at least slowed.

“I was tickling–”

“Oh shit. We really have to go. Come on, hyung. Grab a face wipe on your way out.” Namjoon rushed to the door, and Yoongi followed. Jin sighed. He was glad he’d pre-dressed, or he’d be screwed.

“What if I were being battered?” he yelled to the apartment dramatically.

“Shut up, hyung,” Yoongi yelled back, lovingly. Jungkook smiled at Jin, shyly. Jin kissed his forehead and got a little blood on it. He laughed, and Jungkook did too, eyes crinkling, even though he couldn’t see.

***

Conductor-nim’s face fell the moment he saw Jin, and he rushed to him, inspecting him from head to toe in a way Yoongi found endearing but Jin was “aish”ing about dramatically. Jin was lucky–even during their happiest years together, that would have really pissed off Yoongi’s parents.

“I’m fine. Jungkook kicked me,” he said, waving his hand. Jungkook beamed.

“He loves me!” he said, too loudly. Yoongi looked around nervously, saw a few disgusted faces, nudged Koo lightly. Conductor-nim stared at the four of them, understandably unsure what to make of any of this.

“Jinnie, talk to me after the concert, please. Why didn’t you wipe your face?”

“I did,” Jin whined. Conductor-nim walked off, coming back with a damp cloth he rubbed on Jin’s face none too gently. Yoongi laughed to himself as Namjoon sneaked a few pictures of the event in.

“Uncle! I’m fine,” he insisted. Conductor-nim tsked.

“If you were fine I wouldn’t have immediately noticed, right? There. Much better,” he said. Jin looked at Jungkook, blaming, but Kookie just giggled, feet kicking, absolutely whipped. Yoongi smiled. He deserved to finally know. They both did. Much more than they deserved to play an orchestral arrangement of Jingle Bells with an under-rehearsed choir. Why was the choir never prepared? It was the same fucking songs every year. This is why no one celebrated the holiday concert. They’d all just been waiting to get it the hell over with. Yoongi thought about how he was above playing Silent Night now that he was a junior in a prestigious university–how they were all above this, even Yumi and Heeyeong who Yoongi fucking hated. That’s what helped him power through. Fighting.

***

“Okay hyung. There are a few things I need you to keep in mind,” Jimin said to Hoseok in the dorm room, Jimin’s Appa waiting outside to collect them. He’d been jittery about this through the whole stupid concert. Hobi nodded patiently.

“Don’t say anything fucked up about my brother. Please. Especially not in front of him. He doesn’t talk–I mean he signs but–anyhow he hears you just fine,” Jimin said, a little too intensely. He saw Hoseok frown, bit his lip, couldn’t stop.

“And don’t say anything about how great me or my parents are. That really pisses me off. My brother is always there for me, too. And if he starts melting down, don’t get involved. We know what we’re doing. It’s not a big deal. He probably will with all the change, to be honest.” He struggled to zip up his suitcase, feeling shaky more from anxiety than hunger this time. Hobi helped him, pressing down so Jimin could zip with two hands. Jimin was glad to have him closer.

“Have your friends been mean about him before?” Hoseok asked, curious but not pushy. Jimin hesitated, then nodded.

“I lost a lot of friends in school. People who I really trusted…Soobin and I are really close. When my parents–” He hesitated. “One day he’ll probably live with me. So I’m really worried about whether you two will like each other,” he admitted. Hoseok stepped closer, took one of Jimin’s little hands in two of his own.

“If I hurt you or anyone in your family, please talk to me. I never want to hurt any of you. Okay?” He smiled at the end, looking Jimin in the eye. Jimin was cautious after years of hurt, but he trusted Hobi, more than he’d ever trusted anyone, and squeezed his hand.

***

“Joonie?” Yoongi was scared shitless and it showed in his voice. Namjoon looked up from his desk, immediately attentive even though he took his extra vacation study time seriously. That was his personal study time, where he read about the things that he wasn’t taking classes on, watched lectures, followed his interests.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, closing his book. Yoongi shifted. He’d started to feel ridiculous lately–he was gaining too much weight, he knew, and he was sure Namjoon wanted to mention it every time he saw him. He blushed, feeling unworthy of being his baby, then feeling ridiculous for that, too.

“I–I wrote–Can you come to the piano?” He felt inexplicably shaky, teary, like he’d never played something he’d written for Joonie before. Namjoon frowned at him, got up out of his chair to put his hand on Yoongi’s back, rubbing wide, lazy circles into it.

“You wrote a song? I’d love to hear,” Namjoon said, confused as they walked to the practice room. Yoongi sat at the piano, caressed the keys nervously.

“I wrote you a song,” he said, nerves eating him alive. Namjoon smiled widely, blushing so cutely as it reached his eyes. Yoongi wanted to squeeze his cheeks, boyishly round and beautiful.

“Are we going to record some lofi?” Namjoon asked playfully. Yoongi shook his head.

“I pretended like I was writing a movie score, and that I had to make a theme for the character Namjoon,” he admitted. Namjoon didn’t laugh like he was afraid he would.

“What’s my character like?” he asked. Yoongi took a deep breath, grounded himself into the bench, and played. He’d listened to so many Joe Hisaishi recordings, so much Arvo Pärt, Ryuichi Sakamoto. None of it was quite right, but he knew Namjoon’s music needed the hidden silences of Pärt, the tender nostalgia of Hisaishi, the hidden melancholy of all of their work and above all the honesty in their compositions. These were men who knew how to love the imperfect and incomplete, especially Hisaishi.

He played something sad and solid on his left hand, with intellectualizing high notes on the left, twinkling in the way Yoongi saw Namjoon’s eyes twinkle when he sat in his reading chair deep in thought. He tried to get across the sadness held by his dimples when he smiled, and the way he turned book pages like he was impatient to know what the next sentence held. He tried to get the stillness of his body in Yoongi’s arms at night, the way even his sleeps weren’t happy, and he tried to show how much their small moments of shared happiness over a poem or a song meant. Yoongi tried so hard, the first piece he’d written as music and not a means to an end–something to compete with or for class, something to study or relax to. This was just Joonie. His Joonie.

Yoongi’s fingers lifted from the final notes of the song and then fell heavy at his sides, and he stared at the keys, empty without the music to safeguard him. Before he could even turn to ask Namjoon what he thought, he felt Namjoon, warm and heavy, wrapped around his back, hunched over to reach Yoongi on the bench. Wet tears fell onto Yoongi’s neck, hot but quickly cooled.

“I love it so much hyung. Thank you,” Namjoon said, nuzzling his neck, rubbing his tears into Yoongi’s clean skin.

“I love you, Joonie,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say. He held Namjoon’s hands, wrapped over his chest, in both of his own, pressed them closer to his heart.

“I love you, too.” Yoongi knew then that they wouldn’t ever go their separate ways. They really did understand each other.

***

Jimin was fucking tired after that drive, and driving with Hobi and Appa had been kind of awkward. He was glad Hoseok and Appa were pleasant people, because he got sleepy and grumpy traveling in the car too long, especially without music. Eomma did, too, but she was with Soobin. Jimin napped most of the way there, uncomfortable but content with Hoseok’s bony shoulder as a pillow. Now that they were walking into his house, his nerves were acting up.

“Sweetheart! Welcome back.” His mother hugged him tenderly, and then shifted to kiss Hoseok’s cheek without breaking physical contact with her son, and his mind felt a little more at peace. He took Hoseok’s arm for extra comfort.

Hobi bowed deeply and held out a large box of strawberries with two hands. Jimin had been so touched he’d bought it–it had been expensive, and Hoseok wasn’t exactly loaded, either. He would have had to save weeks for it, but he’d insisted even after Jimin said he didn’t have to, and that just made Jimin like him even more.

Eomma beamed, accepting and fussing as the boys walked in. Jimin took Hobi’s hand once it was free, smiling. Soobin ran in, making excited sounds. Jimin beamed. He used to be embarrassed by the loud noises, but he was old enough now to know who and what mattered.

“I missed you so much, Soobinie,” he said sincerely. He at least saw his parents at concerts and recitals. It was hard to be away from his brother, only video chatting occasionally, where Soobin had a hard time focusing to sign and it ended up just being Jimin talking, unsure if he was being listened to or how closely. Soobin looked much like Jimin if Jimin didn’t dance five hours a day. There were differences, of course–Soobin took after their father a bit more, Jimin their mother–but Jimin liked how alike they all looked, really like a family.

Soobin signed for him to hug, and Jimin’s heart ached. His dongsaeng usually didn’t like hugs much. Jimin moved in and hugged him deeply, cradling his neck and closing his eyes into Soobin’s hug, always much too tight but always welcome.

“This is Hoseok, my boyfriend I told you about. I love him so much, and he’s really good to me, so don’t give him a hard time,” he teased. When he’d told Hobi his brother had always had his back, he’d meant it. Jimin only half pulled away to look at Hoseok expectantly, and Hoseok bowed ninety degrees.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Jung Hoseok, born 1994.” Soobin blinked at him and signed, staying fully upright. Jimin laughed.

“He said, ‘annyeong.’ Honey, it’s my little brother, not my great-grandmother,” he reminded him, always warm and kind, never truly mocking. Hobi stood up, embarrassed.

“Sorry, my sister would always whack me if I was rude to her friends.” They all giggled, and Eomma put a strawberry into Jimin’s mouth. Hobi took a picture of the surprised face he made with the fancy pink strawberry suddenly between his plush lips, practically the same color, eyebrows pressed together in confusion.

Like he usually did around Jimin, he laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Soobin smiled wide at Hoseok, his happiness palpable as the heat of a summer sun. After a few seconds, though, Jimin did have to tell him to use his inside laugh when Soobin started looking overwhelmed. His initial disappointment vanished when he discovered that Hoseok’s inside laugh–which Jimin hadn’t honestly been sure he possessed–was just a quieter version of his real laugh.

***

“Yoongi hyung wrote a song for Namjoon hyung. Where’s my song?” Jungkook demanded petulantly, stomping a foot dramatically. Jin dropped his violin from position and pointed his bow at his giggling boyfriend.

“I can barely get the notes out half the time these days, and you want a song?”

“Yes!” Jungkook said, unable to hold back the laughter that made Jin happier than anything in the world.

“You want a song that reminds me of you? You really do?” Jin asked, yelling. Jungkook fell back.

“Yes. Now,” he added, demanding. Jin’s bedroom was their practice room right now since Namjoon and Yoongi were hogging the real one. Jin preferred this anyway. He realized he liked having his own space, that he preferred playing in a room that was just for him.

“Fine, fine.” With difficulty, Jin played the fastest, highest notes he could think of on the spot, a sort of parody Paganiniana. Jungkook rolled on the bed, almost rolling onto his own newly fixed violin as Jin shredded and made what he thought of as “prodigy faces”, trying to look like a tortured genius.

“There! Are you happy? I wrote something you’d like to play, you little masochist,” Jin yelled, beaming.

“Hyung, you’re the masochist–” Jungkook started, but Jin put his violin down and tackled Jungkook, taking care to discreetly move his boyfriend’s violin before he put his hand over Jungkook’s laughing mouth.

“Shhh! What if they hear you?” Jin asked, still yelling. Jungkook licked his hand, and Jin took it off to rub the spit off onto his face. Jungkook didn’t seem bothered, which was crazy to Jin.

“They hear you when we–” the hand moved right back over his mouth.

“I love you, Kookie,” Jin said again, still anxious it wasn’t enough. Jungkook mumbled incoherently into Jin’s hand.

“What was that, darling?” Jin asked sweetly, not removing his hand. Jungkook licked it again. Jin took it away with a disgusted sound.

“You know I hate spit–”

“I said I love you, too!” Jungkook yelled.

“You spit on me–” Jungkook shut him up with a kiss. Jin kissed back easily, passionately, yapping as their lips moved and separated.

“This is why we never get enough practice in…” Jin let his teeth tug needily at Jungkook’s bottom lip, so thick and inviting.

“You just can’t be serious…” Jin blamed, then touched Jungkook’s waist and moaned. Whoops. He hadn’t meant to come off that needy. Jungkook’s eyes were hazy and dark, and Jin knew he was in for a treat and lay on his back, spreading his legs, still in his favorite sweats, inviting. Jungkook ripped them off quickly and immediately ran his nails down Jin’s thighs, hard, watched him get hard under his underpants with a moan as he twitched from the unexpected move.

“So what was that about you not being a masochist?” Jungkook teased, grabbing Jin’s chin with some force behind it and kissing him again, tongue probing deep into Jin’s mouth.

“Koo? Can you really hurt me?” Before Jungkook could answer, he added, with shyness induced by his own honesty, “I trust you a lot.” Jungkook stared at him a moment as if gauging Jin’s readiness, which Jin totally understood–he’d been crying on and off for weeks, so a little concern seemed fair. Finally, though, Jungkook spoke.

“Anything new off limits?” he asked. Jin shook his head.

“Still just spit and piss,” he said with a sweet smile. Jungkook grinned.

“I know you think it’s dumb,” Jungkook said, “but I’d really rather we used the traffic light system if I’m going to really hurt you. I’m going to assume all yelling to stop is positive, so I really want to make sure you have a chance to safeword or control how hard I’m going.” Jin rolled his eyes, but he nodded.

“I still think it’s stupid for our normal sex, but I think you’re right,” Jin acquiesced. “And before you ask, I know. ‘Viola.’” Jungkook smiled, kissed him. Thank god his boyfriend still thought he was fuckable.

Before Jin had any idea what was happening, Jungkook flipped him onto his stomach–none too gently–and immediately spanked his ass, underpants still on. Jin yelped in surprise and felt Jungkook’s strong hands grip his hair, pulling his head back, the pang in his scalp sudden.

“Already too much?” Jungkook goaded, a challenge. Jin shook his head, embarrassed, and Jungkook freed his scalp. Jin heard his pants come off, then felt his own underpants being torn away. He waited to feel the fingers inside him that he was sure were coming, but instead he heard a crack. A stinging pain on his ass travelled up to his lower back and down his thighs, hard dick rubbing against the mattress as he squirmed.

He felt it again, and again, and a fourth time before he realized Jungkook was beating his fucking ass with his belt. By the fifth crack, his ass felt like it was on fire.

“Stop, stop,” he begged, not wanting it to stop, shaking his ass a little to show that. It was like the words came from his body and not from his mind, automatic and instinctual.

“Stop?” Jungkook asked, a mocking tone. He straddled Jin, reached from behind and shoved his right hand’s three middle fingers deep into Jin’s mouth, the left pressed lightly on his neck, not going any easier on him when he started gagging, pounding his fist helplessly on the mattress. If Jin hadn’t seen his tears hit Jungkook’s hand, he wouldn’t have known he was crying.

Truthfully, his body felt electric, in his element, mind still sharp but body even sharper. Jungkook removed the fingers from Jin’s mouth, and Jin could sense from the moment of hesitation that he really wanted to rub the spit covered fingers onto Jin’s gasping face, was holding back for him. He felt so loved as two fingers were shoved roughly into his asshole, followed closely by a third.

Jungkook focused on fingering him, but did seem to want more, and held Jin’s head down to the mattress so he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, could only feel the fingers fucking into him, his ass getting tighter the deeper he went, over and over. The hand came out of his ass at the same time Jungkook let him up to breathe, and he gasped again at the exact moment the belt came down on him.

Jungkook seemed more into it now, losing himself cracking the leather hard over him, over and over until Jin was sure he must be bleeding. He felt the sobs now, felt himself losing control, that wonderful feeling he’d craved so badly. It was so nice, to hand everything over to Jungkook, to be his responsibility and not his own.

Jungkook turned him over and Jin cried out seeing the belt in his hand, still gripped tight in a loop. He covered his face, whimpered, and Jungkook ripped his hand away from his face and smacked him in the cheek. Jin sniffled, his sobs dying into regular crying now that the belt was put away. Vulnerable. That’s how he liked to feel, only with Jungkook.

Jungkook positioned himself over him, naked now–Jin hadn’t noticed before–and kissed his cheek tenderly to catch Jin off-guard.

“Color?” he asked. Jin just wanted to be good, to say the right thing.

“Purple,” he replied, the first color that popped into his mind, not sure what the test was but hoping he’d be punished for answering wrong. Jungkook smiled, so sweet and genuine.

“Traffic light color, yeobo,” he explained, more patiently than Jin felt he deserved.

“Oh,” he said, feeling genuinely stupid. He blinked, took notice of how he felt in his body, his mind. “Green. More,” he clarified. Jungkook kissed him again, squeezing his face this time, easing him back in.

“Good, because I’ve been dying for you to suck my cock.”

Jin tried to sit up, to get to his knees, but Jungkook pushed his chest back down. He simply moved up, and Jin got the message. He stayed on his back and opened his mouth for Jungkook to shove in, moaning with pleasure while Jungkook fucked into his throat like he was nothing but a blowup doll. He squeezed Jin’s hair.

Jin felt himself choking, falling into some sort of airless abyss. He hit Jungkook’s thighs for air, their usual system, but Jungkook ignored him. Jin panicked, hitting his thighs harder. Air. He needed air.

“You still don’t get it, huh? Not too smart?” Jungkook asked, stinging Jin. He gave up, let his hands drop, let Jungkook decide when he was done.

“Good,” Jungkook said, and he pulled out of his mouth, let Jin gasp for air and gag in turns. Jungkook hit his thighs while he tried to get it together.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, and Jin obeyed instantly, embarrassed that Jungkook didn’t put any more fingers inside him, just watched him gasp for air and drool thick mucus with his legs wide open. When Jin was breathing normally again, Jungkook dragged him to the edge of the bed so his torso was flat against the mattress and his knees were on the floor. He hung there, limp.

“Color,” Jungkook prompted.

“Green,” Jin answered again, a little ashamed that he wasn’t put off by this. Jin wrapped the belt around Jin’s neck.

“If this hurts, you tell me right away,” Jungkook said seriously. “Raise your hand if you need to.”

“I will,” Jin said. His voice was already hoarse. Jin sensed Jungkook lubing up behind him, felt him squirt a few pumps onto his ass and work it in with one finger before he thrust his cock inside him in one hard movement that made Jin scream into the mattress. Jungkook tightened the belt around his neck and he felt his entire body shudder with pleasure.

“Shut up or you get choked,” Jungkook said. Jin whimpered, testing him, and was promptly choked again. His whole body relaxed, his mind going blank, so blank that he didn’t know he was making noise until he felt his air cut off, a pleasant pain around his neck. The sheets where his face was pressed were disgusting, wet with tears and snot.

Jungkook leaned forward onto him, bit and sucked at his neck and shoulder, marking him as a belonging. Jin whimpered and cried, enjoying every bite, thrusting his ass into Jungkook’s hips when it hurt just right.

“I’m going to cum in you,” Jungkook said. He choked Jin with his hand, dropping the belt, though it still wrapped around Jin’s neck. Jin hoped his whimpering got across that he’d love that, and by the way Jungkook quickened his rhythm, staying deep inside him, it seemed to, until he felt the hot cum inside him.

“Where are your toys? I know you have them,” Jungkook asked. Jin was almost delirious, well past the point of embarrassment.

“Under the bed,” he said, raspy. Jungkook pulled out too quickly and left him there feeling like a dumb slut, oozing cum, then shoved a larger toy–one of Jin’s favorites, a very natural feeling cock with a “hard” metal core–inside him, licking his lips greedily when Jin cried out.

Jungkook lowered himself between Jin’s legs, started fucking him with the toy, and then wrapped his pretty mouth around Jin’s cock. As usual, he came so fucking embarrassingly fast, crying from the humiliation now. He was sure Jungkook wanted to fuck him with that dildo for longer, and he had ruined it.

But Jungkook pulled it out of his ass–again, too fast–and Jin hissed before he felt it hit him in the face. He didn’t hit him too hard, but it was still kind of heavy, and covered in Jungkook’s cum and Jin’s ass smell. It was a lot, so much. The smell, the feelings of it hitting him, of his sore, dripping ass, of coming down from an orgasm. The taste when Jungkook rubbed it against his lips, giving his throat a break as he wound him down–it was all so overwhelming.

“Yellow,” Jin said, feeling a little ridiculous his limit came here and not earlier. But Jungkook took it seriously, threw the toy aside and used his own T-shirt to wipe Jin’s face, lovingly. His expression had changed so suddenly, so concerned and adoring now. Is that hard for him? Jin wondered foggily, still not fully in the present moment.

Jungkook kissed his face, stroking his cheek, everything so soft. He kept a hand on Jin’s chest.

“How do you feel, yeobo?” Jungkook asked gently but evenly, no worry in his voice. That made Jin feel a little more secure, and he leaned into the hand stroking his face.

“Are you mad at me?” Jin asked, the question taking him by surprise. But as soon as he asked, he was crying again, sniffling. Jungkook kissed him on the lips, chaste and sweet.

“Not at all, hyung. I’m not mad. I love you,” he said. “You were so good.”

Jin looked at Jungkook’s face, coming into full focus again. He didn’t look mad at all. He looked happy, calm. Jin smiled.

“I love you, too. Can you lie with me?” he asked. Jungkook rubbed their noses together, and Jin took another deep breath, calming with every moment into a satisfied exhaustion.

“I will, but we need to get you hydrated and cleaned up first, okay? You trust me?” Jungkook asked, smiling like he knew the answer.

“Always,” Jin said, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, Jungkook placed a cold water bottle in his hand, opening it for him.

“Drink this,” he said. Jin frowned.

“You’re thirsty, too,” he said. He hated the thought of his maknae spoiling him while he was dehydrated. Jungkook laughed and kissed his forehead.

“I was thirsty as hell, but I downed one before I came back. Drink up,” he said, fond for a reason Jin was too tired to try and place. He drank the water, and the chill of it in his parched throat felt so good. The cold of the water seemed to travel through his bloodstream, waking his body up, reminding his brain which planet he was on.

He reached up to Jungkook, who lowered himself onto Jin, holding his waist so solidly without squeezing, kissing his face all over. Jin closed his eyes and enjoyed it for a while, then opened them to meet Jungkook’s, so deep and insistently loving. He had so much to give, Jin knew.

“I thought you didn’t want to fuck me anymore because you saw me unshowered for too long,” he admitted in a strained approximation of his joking voice. Jungkook traced his thumb carefully along Jin’s cheekbone, continuing to stare into his eyes with a hint of sadness.

“You’re handsome even when you’re greasy,” he tried to joke back, obviously for Jin’s benefit. It worked–Jin smiled, and that made Jungkook smile for real, too.

“Now I need to help you get cleaned up, hyung. I bit you pretty hard and rubbed your ass all over you. It’s for your health,” he insisted. Jin’s hands squeezed Jungkook’s waist, happy he was still on top of him like a weighted blanket and not keen on moving.

“Fuck my health. You’re warm.”

“Hyung.”

“Ugh, fine.” Jin let himself get helped up, threw his discarded sweatpants back on and didn’t bother with a shirt just to go to the bathroom. Jungkook kept a hold on him, one arm firm around his waist and the other supporting Jin by the arm, and truthfully Jin was glad–his legs felt like jelly, and his ass was still on fire. Walking wasn’t easy.

It got harder when they left the bedroom, and Yeontan ran out, excited–to see Jungkook, Jin thought with a fake but personal bitterness. He tripped on the damn ankle biter, stumbling, caught and held upright by Jungkook’s strong arms.

“Careful–” Namjoon stomped toward them looking at Jungkook with something dangerously close to hatred, yelling over him. Instantly, Jin fell back into a state of overwhelm. Too much, he thought, wishing he could tune out of this part.

“What the fuck did you do to him?”

Chapter Text

“Get the fuck away from him,” Namjoon warned, pulling Jin away as gently as he could. Hyung looked so fucked up, and Namjoon couldn’t fight the ocean-wave panic crashing through him, couldn’t think about how this would make anyone feel. He just knew he needed to help hyung, his body bruised up and eyes swollen and teary.

“Namjoon, it’s ok–” Yoongi started, but Namjoon snapped at him, holding a feebly protesting Jin closer to him. Hyung didn’t leave his arms even though he wasn’t holding him tightly at all–a sign he was needed, surely.

“Look at his neck, hyung. Jungkook, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Fear and hurt seemed to run so deep in Jungkook’s deer-like eyes. He opened his mouth to argue with Namjoon, but Yoongi snapped before he could speak, raising his voice.

“Namjoon-ah! Let him go. Come here.” He hardly ever raised his voice. Namjoon’s eyes rapidly filled with frustrated tears; he could already imagine them running down his face like little streams if he wasn’t careful with himself. Reluctantly, he let go of Jin, and their respective boyfriends dragged them both away, Jungkook more gently to the bathroom as planned, and Yoongi to their room.

“Joon, you’re out of line,” he said in a way that made Namjoon feel like he’d been the one to leave hyung covered in bite marks and bruises–and those were just the ones Namjoon could see. He opened his mouth, but Yoongi held up his hand.

“No,” he said simply. “Think of what we do in bed very carefully, Namjoon-ah. Very carefully.” There was a hint of warning in his voice but it remained kind, like a cat warning an overly loving owner that it was about to shred their skin into strips of fabric if they didn’t take the hint.

“It’s different. I don’t hit you like that–and actually I want to talk to you about that,” he said. Why did he fuck everything up? Yoongi folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve never gotten carried away and made me bleed? Or bruised me?” Yoongi hyung asked. Namjoon felt the heat rise to his cheeks as if his body sought to remind him of his own fragile human fallibility. He took a deep breath for four counts, held the breath for four, exhaled for four counts, held, and repeated a few times. He was in control of himself. Yoongi was always reminding him of that.

“I’m all he–”

“No,” Yoongi said, more gently now. It was at the exact moment that he thought Yoongi’s voice sounded like water that the dam holding back the flow of his river of tears failed, and he felt them fall down his face uselessly.

“He has Jungkook to look after him, just like I have you to look after me. Both of you are safe,” Yoongi reminded him. Despite Namjoon feeling like he was being scolded, Yoongi pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt down and used the black sweater paws to wipe away Namjoon’s tears, always gentle with his heart.

“Now, I don’t want to rag on you,” Yoongi continued. “But as someone who’s been in that headspace after a good fuck, I think you did more harm than good there. It’s a vulnerable place to be. When he gets out of the bath, I think you should apologize to him and then leave them alone. Apologize to Jungkookie privately later.” Namjoon felt the blade stabbing into his pride and twisting, right where it lived in his chest.

“He hurt–”

“Hyung liked it,” Yoongi drawled flatly. Namjoon blinked, slowly.

“He did, didn’t he?” Namjoon sighed, feeling, simply put, like a prick. Yoongi nodded, and Namjoon thought there was a trace of sympathy in that nod. It was kind of…unpleasant to think of Jin having sex at all, let alone like that. That was his hyung. He and Doyoung hyung, along with his own noona, had truly raised him.

Yoongi motioned for him to wait and popped out of the room for just a few moments before he returned.

“It’s going to be a minute. What did you want to talk about?” Namjoon could hear the defensiveness in Yoongi’s voice already and knew this wouldn’t go well, decided to just get it over with and rip off the proverbial band-aid.

“I’ve been reading up on choking, and it’s like. Super dangerous, hyung. I feel horrible that I’ve done it to you for like months now, especially without researching it first.”

“I like it, Joonie,” Yoongi said, sounding tired. Namjoon shifted, took a deep breath. He had to look at Yoongi directly while he spoke or he’d lose his courage.

“I don’t want to,” he said, trying to sound firm. “I’m uncomfortable doing it now.” He looked at Yoongi nervously, saw the flash of disappointment reach his eyes, filling Namjoon with shame–how could he sexually satisfy someone so much more experienced than him when he wouldn’t even do the things he knew he liked?

But then the usual flat line of Yoongi’s mouth turned upwards into a fond smile, and Namjoon wasn’t sure what was so funny, was about to get defensive himself.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me,” Yoongi said, and closed the distance between them with a hug. Namjoon hugged him back, so grateful for the softness of his body, the way nothing poked out at him anymore. Being held in Yoongi’s arms felt like home in a way that only Jinnie hyung’s arms had felt like before.

“You aren’t mad?” he asked, nervous. Yoongi shook his head.

“I…I felt like you were judging me for liking it,” Yoongi admitted. “But you were just worried, huh?” Namjoon nodded.

“How long have you been getting choked?” he asked, concerned, and then felt guilty when Yoongi seemed taken aback.

“Uh,” Yoongi started. Namjoon could tell he was trying to act like the question didn’t bother him but he could see in the way his eyes darted so prey-like that it did, and he wished hyung would be honest. It made him feel so fucking on edge when Yoongi pretended to be okay. All he wanted to do was fix everything. How could he fix what he didn’t know was broken?

“I guess since…My first real boyfriend did it a little. Four years?” he guessed with a shrug. Namjoon pictured everything clearly: the depressive and PTSD symptoms Yoongi had, the way he cleared his throat sometimes like it hurt, the way his brain seemed to fog over sometimes–what if the way he breathed when he panicked wasn’t actually panic, but his wind pipes being damaged all this time? What if his brain hadn’t been getting enough oxygen for four years? What if it had, but Namjoon’s choking had been the final straw?

“Sweetheart,” Yoongi interrupted his train of thought gently, touching his face.

“I want you to get a neurological checkup,” Namjoon begged, fear wrapping around his heart like a plaster, rendering it unable to function freely until the hard cast of fear was removed. He looked into Yoongi’s eyes, pleading with him not to argue, trying to communicate how precious Yoongi was. Yoongi searched his eyes a moment before nodding.

“Okay. If it’ll make you feel better and I don’t have to pay for it, I can get…a neurological checkup,” he said, blinking.

“Honey, maybe you should take a little Ativan before you talk to hyung,” Yoongi suggested gently. They had a system to make sure they each knew it was an option when someone was panicking. Namjoon shook his head.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, believing it. He’d had much worse. “...And I flushed all of mine down the toilet,” he admitted, avoiding eye contact now–Yoongi’s usual preference. But now, hyung was trying to meet his eyes.

“Joonie–”

“I would fucking die if something happened to one of you because I left them lying around,” he choked out, feeling hysterical again after all that work box breathing. He couldn’t keep the count now–Yoongi hyung breathed slowly, loudly, and Namjoon knew he was supposed to follow. His attempt was shaky at first, but soon he was breathing with Yoongi.

Once the panic started to disappear, shame punched him hard in the stomach, as it always did. He knew he was being a shitty partner, that he was unstable as hell and honestly? Kind of unlovable. But Yoongi was so patient with him, stroking his short hair so that it felt pleasantly staticky.

“We’re safe,” Yoongi repeated, making firm eye contact. “Taehyung is doing well there. You’ve read the updates. Hyung is obviously doing much better. You and hyung take really good care of me. Everyone is okay.” Everyone is okay. Namjoon repeated it to himself a few times like a mantra, but something about it seemed impossible.

“I’m sorry,” he said. What else could he say? Yoongi kissed his lips, and shame was replaced by butterflies. He still couldn’t believe someone like Yoongi would be into someone like him, so needy and anxious and ugly.

“Everything is okay between us,” Yoongi assured him, wrapping his whole arms around Namjoon’s waist, hands meeting in the small of his back. Namjoon kissed Yoongi’s forehead, feeling that rush of butterflies again. The butterflies with hyung weren’t scary, though–their wings hitting his insides was like a song that only the two of them shared, something comforting and precious.

“Go see if they’re done. I know you won’t believe this, but hyung was probably worried about you,” Yoongi said with a toothless grin. Namjoon nodded, kissed him one more time before he peeked into the empty bathroom, and then knocked on hyung’s bedroom door.

“Come in,” Jungkook called. Namjoon opened it sheepishly, and what he saw almost made him cry again. Hyung was in bed, held by Jungkook, both wearing some of Jin’s stupid pajamas–but hyung squeezed Koya to him like it was the only thing in this world keeping him tethered to a sense of peace.

Jungkook avoided his eyes, but that only brought attention, for some reason, to his hands, so loving on his hyung. One wrapped around Jin’s wide shoulders, the hand clasped firmly to his arm, intentional and loving, and another gently on his knee, stroking softly over the blanket. They were so close–Namjoon felt so strange seeing it, seeing Jinnie hyung truly comforted by someone else.

Taking a deep breath, he walked to hyung’s side and knelt so they were eye level. Jin’s brows furrowed and Namjoon realized Yoongi had, again, been right.

“I just wanted to apologize, hyung. I saw the marks on your skin and was really worried. That’s all,” he said. Hyung looked him in the eye, so serious that Namjoon was sure he’d be scolded, knew he’d deserve it.

“Joonie, if anything I’m the one who’s more into it. If I’m being hit, I promise I’ll let you know. But don’t worry so much. Kookie takes good care of me. During, too,” he assured, no awkwardness in his raspy voice even though Namjoon could feel his own face blushing.

It was obvious that it hurt hyung to talk, and Namjoon had to remind himself that he wasn’t upset by that, convince himself it didn’t scare him. He nodded, then kissed Jin’s forehead, happy at the way it made him cuddle Koya a little closer. Koya’s seen better days, he thought, noting that the white parts probably needed a wash several years ago, and that at some point a toe had fallen off and been sewn shut. Battle wounds.

He stood then, and bowed to Jungkook, just a little. Jungkook liked to skirt formalities, which usually didn’t bother him much at all, but he didn’t want to give the kid any wrong ideas just right now. It hurt Namjoon’s pride, but he owed it to him, and he knew it.

“I was hoping we could talk sometime, Jungkook-ah,” he asked as a statement. Jungkook nodded.

“I think that would be nice, too,” he said, less sweetly than usual. Namjoon nodded, bid his farewells, and got the hell out of there.

***

Jungkook got back from his morning jog and kissed Appa on the cheek, as usual. He stared at the pancakes Appa was making, felt his heart drop.

“Pancakes?” he asked, trying not to show how upset he was. Appa didn’t miss a beat, frowned at him as he transferred the one he was making to a serving plate.

“I thought you boys could use a treat,” Appa said. “Do you not want them? I can make something else.” Jungkook was a piece of fucking shit and he was about to be more of one.

“No! No, I just feel bad because I was planning on skipping breakfast today. My stomach started feeling weird on the run,” he lied. He didn’t know why he ever bothered lying to his parents–both of them could sniff it out immediately. He didn’t know if they were good at picking up on that or if he was just a really shitty liar. Either way, all it did was hurt their feelings.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” Appa asked slowly, turning off the stove and facing him with his full attention. Fuck! Jungkook screamed in his head. Of course he was crying, and then before he knew what was happening he was in his dad’s arms, back rubbed. Comfort.

“Don’t tell Eomma. I mean it,” he said, almost bitingly. He looked around nervously even though he’d had to wake Taehyung for breakfast every single day since he got here–Jungkook thought he might sleep in all day if he could. Appa nodded and waited. He was so damn patient and Jungkook hadn’t inherited a single shred of it.

“I just–I guess I don’t want to gain any weight,” he admitted, unsure how to say the rest. Of course Appa kissed his cheek, rocked him.

“Why not? You’re already slim and healthy,” he said, playfully squeezing his son’s arm. Jungkook was proud of his arms, worked hard for them and was working harder to pick Jin hyung up without wobbling and scaring him.

“I just–I don’t know.” He looked around nervously again before he spoke. What he was about to say was, for sure, crazy.

“My friend is on a diet,” he said, choosing to be vague so Appa didn’t start worrying about Jimin, too. “And I saw him do some weird stuff and tried it, and now it’s like I can’t stop. It’s not even about my body, mostly. It is a little, I guess. Just doing it makes me feel like I’m finally doing something right,” he explained. The pancakes smelled so fucking good, and he felt good for being able to avoid temptation. Appa stroked his hair and Jungkook started to feel uneasy.

“What do you mean, finally? Darling, Eomma and I are really worried about you, to be honest,” Appa said. He looked worried, that was for sure.

“Why? I’m okay,” Jungkook said, trying to sound reassuring. He wiggled them both in the hug.

“I just don’t know how you can keep this up. You wake up early to run to the gym and then run home and then go to your classes. You practice for what? Five or six hours a day? More when you’re on vacation?” Jungkook shook his head. Appa had it all wrong.

“It’s normal. Just a little extra so I can hang out with Jinnie hyung on the weekends,” he said.

“Where you then practice together,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And you’ve been hurting yourself lately. Do you know how often you call yourself stupid, just to yourself?” Jungkook blinked at him.

“I am stupid,” he said, horrified to see how this seemed to genuinely hurt his father.

“You are not. You–”

“No, Appa.” Jungkook interrupted. This was scary to admit, but he had to. “I have to do all sorts of weird things lately and I think it’s just because my brain is–I’m just stupid. Like I have to walk around the hallway six times before I leave in the morning and it has to be at least 80 steps.” He looked at his father to see if he was laughing, found him still listening, attentive.

“Now…I really think it’s my fault you didn’t have any other kids, and I’m so sorry” he admitted, talking before Appa could interrupt. “Because I only just started doing all this stuff that keeps everything together. I didn’t know before, but it still hurt you both. All I do is hurt you.” He started to cry harder, louder, wiping at his eyes with his sweaty running jacket.

“Sweetheart, what do you mean?” His father had never looked so concerned about him, and he’d looked so worried before. They had one kid and it was someone like him, who couldn’t be as perfect for them as he wanted, someone stupid and crazy and gay and unpopular.

“Like if I don’t walk around the hall, one bad thing will happen to Eomma that day and I don’t know what. It could be anything, small or huge. And when I eat things that aren’t like, pure I guess? One of you or Jinnie hyung will get sick. And–” He felt so overwhelmed, but Appa pulled him closer, kissed his face. Jungkook was so grateful for his parents that he absolutely, one hundred percent did not deserve.

“I think we should get you back in therapy and get to the bottom of this. A real psychologist,” Appa said. Hesitantly, like he was afraid to hurt his feelings by stating the obvious, he added, “None of that is true. Poor baby. How long have you been hurting like this?” Jungkook shook his head.

“Honestly just like a week or two. It’s nothing. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“You’re eating breakfast,” Appa insisted. “I’ll make you whatever you want, but you need to eat.”

***

Jungkook avoided looking at Jin, knowing that he was about to have to take care of his uncle after surgery, that this was a lot.

“So…Yeah,” Jungkook finished, wiping the tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Jin asked. He didn’t expect the question, even though it was obvious in retrospect. Jungkook leaned onto hyung as the tears slowed down, and Jin held him tightly. Jungkook was so comforted by his touch in that moment, felt like it meant Jin wouldn’t leave him.

“I didn’t even realize anything was weird about it for a while,” he replied. “Isn’t that kind of scary?” Jungkook squeezed Jin tighter, needing more comfort, hoping it wasn’t more than Jin wanted to give. But hyung squeezed him back and rocked him, gently at first and then roughly to make him laugh. Nothing except making music together made Jungkook feel more loved than the way Jin went out of his way to hear him laugh.

“It is scary,” Jin said, and Jungkook was happy he didn’t lie. “How can I help?” Jungkook started to cry again, so suddenly and hysterically that he even took himself by surprise. Jin didn’t seem to know what to do, was wiping his snot off his face with his own hand and mostly just smearing it around desperately.

“I thought you’d leave me,” Jungkook explained, hiccuping. Jin stared at him.

“I love you,” Jin said, incredulous, then grunted when Jungkook slammed his head into hyung’s chest, squeezing his ribs as he cried.

“For real, Kookie. You put up with so many panic attacks and weeping sessions and my dumb trauma, but you think I wouldn’t stand by your side when you aren’t feeling well? What do you think love is?” Jin continued. Jungkook rubbed his face on Jin’s chest, absolutely ruining yet another of Jin’s sweaters–a nice knit one, too. He hoped he’d be able to wash it all out. Only one hadn’t survived so far.

“I just don’t feel like I’m worth it,” he admitted, small. “Especially when you have so many other people to take care of.” Jin blinked.

“You’re all my family. We’re all here for each other, right?” he asked. Jungkook nodded. The way Jin looked at things was so refreshing. While Jungkook was wondering whether anyone wanted him around, Jin was taking it for granted that all of them would take a bullet for any one of their friend group, him included.

“I’m asking again: how can I help?” Jin rubbed his back, and Jungkook made a satisfied chirping noise he’d be humiliated to make with anyone else. With Jin it didn’t matter. He could vocalize however he wanted with hyung.

“I don’t know yet. I only had the intake appointment,” Jungkook said. “I’ll let you know. How’s your therapy going?” he asked then, curious. Jin wouldn’t even talk about the intake before, but he suspected he’d talk now, to make him feel less alone. Jin stiffened a little, but squeezed Jungkook like he was something that made him feel braver. That made Jungkook feel proud.

“She thinks I’m pretty fucked up,” he said quietly. “But she really lets me get out anything I want to, even if it’s awful. And I feel a little lighter. She said what you did, basically. That avoiding thinking about hyung only makes it hurt more in the long run. But it’s been really hard to think about everything more,” Jin admitted.

Jungkook looked up into Jin’s eyes, so round and pretty, and kissed his jawline softly before nuzzling back into him.

“I’m really, really proud of you for doing it even though it’s hard. You’re really brave,” he said, meaning every word but knowing in his heart that Jin would brush him off with some shitty joke he’d have to think of on the fly to avoid talking more about his feelings. He was surprised when Jin didn’t say anything for a bit–silence wasn’t really like hyung–and then kissed Jungkook’s hair.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, an edge of a sniffle to his voice. “I’m sorry. I–sometimes I forget there are people who care about it.” Jungkook kissed his neck. Things were good.

“I’ll always care,” he said. Jin smelled so good, always. He took a few deep breaths in–another thing he wasn’t afraid to do around Jin. Jin made him braver, too, more able to be himself without hiding anything.

“I’ll always care about you, too. I want to help you,” Jin said. “Even when I’m at Uncle’s, I want you to call me if you need to chat. I’ll video chat with you any time. Uncle won’t mind.”

Jungkook wondered what it would be like if Jin had something like this happen to him. How long would it take anyone to notice? His uncle clearly loved him dearly–Jungkook wasn’t denying that–but it was different than living with two parents who noticed any change in you immediately, kept an eye on you. Jin was the bravest because he didn’t have that and tried to be that for everyone else who didn’t, and for a few people like Jungkook who had everything in the world.

***

Hoseok really didn’t like to admit it, but he felt awkward as hell with Jimin’s family. Soobin was cool, but his parents were…they cared about Jimin, and they were kind. But they had expectations that Hoseok wouldn’t be able to handle, personally, and he was witnessing one now that he was pretty sure was going to fuck Jimin up even more.

“I made it just for you,” his Eomma said, clearly angry even though Hoseok knew she’d deny it if asked. She’d made Jimin’s plate, and it looked like a lot of food even to Hoseok. He understood their worry–of course he did–but he didn’t think shoveling more food than he could even eat down Jimin’s throat against his will was going to help, either.

“It looks good, Eomma. It’s just too much,” Jimin said. He shifted uncomfortably, and looked to Hoseok’s eyes like he was fucking miserable.

“You’re too thin, honey. You need to eat more,” Mr. Park added, concerned but unhelpful.

“I can’t–”

“You can. We ask so little of you, Jimin. What is this for?” Mrs. Park asked, her patience waning. Soobin started shifting in his seat uncomfortably, making grunting noises that sounded unhappy to Hoseok’s unpracticed ear.

“You’re upsetting your brother,” Mr. Park said quietly, not scolding, but a clear reminder to put others first.

Hoseok couldn’t take it anymore. His parents–god, and noona–would kill him if they knew he was about to act like this as a guest at the Parks’ house, but he couldn’t live with himself if he just let them bulldoze his boyfriend.

Breathe in. Deep breath. Exhale, Hoseok reminded himself, breathing out quietly through his mouth. He stood up, a little too suddenly, and reached for Jimin’s hand with his own that he knew was sweaty. God he was nervous.

“Would you mind excusing us for a minute?” he asked politely. To his own relief, Jimin’s parents looked pleased, probably thinking he’d be able to talk some sense into their son. Jimin walked with him to the hall, out of earshot.

“It’s too much,” he said immediately, desperately. Hoseok hushed him, gentle, calming. He kissed Jimin’s cheek, hoping to reassure him that he wasn’t here to talk sense into him, that someone was on his side.

“I know, honey. It would be too much for me even after a double dance day,” he said. “She’s just worried about you.” He didn’t add that Jimin did look too thin, that he was starting to lose his muscle tone.

“I really can’t do it. She’ll be even more upset if I start and don’t finish. Soobin’s got to be so upset right now,” Jimin thought aloud, worriedly. Hoseok put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, so cute and round, grounding.

“Would you be able to eat a little bit?” he asked, seriously. He needed Jimin to commit if he was going to argue with someone’s parents. Jimin nodded.

“Do you trust me to make your plate with something you can handle?” he asked then. “I need you to follow through, so really think.” Jimin looked into his eyes, and Hoseok’s stomach felt like it was b-boying with joy inside him as he took in the way Jimin melted into Hoseok’s gaze. Hoseok knew, really knew, that he was adored, and god did he adore Jimin back.

Jimin nodded, and Hoseok nodded back, taking his hand firmly as he led him back to the dining room. Soobin was definitely upset now, but seemed less upset when Jimin walked in. Hoseok bowed low, not wanting to fuck this up but knowing he would.

“I’m sorry, but I really think he shouldn’t have to eat so much,” he said. The Parks stared at him and Hoseok just fucking knew they’d be calling up Eomma about this later. He mentally braced himself for the video chat he’d get tomorrow.

“Excuse me?” Jimin’s Eomma asked, in disbelief. Hoseok lifted himself from the 90 degree angle, knowing he had to look confident. Next to him, Jimin looked small and ashamed, and he had to make up for it.

“To your son right now, the only two options are to eat a little or to not eat. That’s part of the illness. It’s better that he eats at all with those options, don’t you think?” Stiffly, he walked to the table and put most of the untouched noodle dish back, leaving enough for a light meal. Soobin started yelling, just a little. Shit. Hurry hurry, he told himself.

He pulled out the chair for Jimin and he sat quickly, smiling reassuringly at his very overwhelmed brother. Hoseok sat next to him, bowed and thanked them for the food like nothing had happened. They looked at his parents, waiting for them to eat first–well, Soobin hadn’t waited, but he wasn’t eating right now, either.

The Parks looked at each other, and then slowly, Mr. Park started to eat. Then, the rest of them joined. Jimin cleared his plate, and Hoseok thanked god he hadn’t overestimated.

When they had finished, Jimin insisted on clearing up and doing the dishes, kissing his mother’s cheek sadly. She took his hand and stroked it, guilty. Hoseok felt bad for being upset with them. They didn’t really understand what was happening, but they were doing their best, and they’d even let him stay in their home to comfort their son. When they were young, there probably wasn’t enough food. He helped clean up, too, trying to make Jimin laugh at the kitchen sink.

***

Taehyung corrected Namjoon’s posture, and it felt so unnatural for him to sit so straight to play, but in a way that filled him with a new bodily excitement–a new experience.

“Good. It should lean on you just a little bit here,” Taehyung said, gently moving Namjoon’s new alto saxophone, which he was finally breaking in. He guided Namjoon’s fingers to the correct position, and Namjoon noted that Taehyung’s touch was so soft and sure that it even hinted at how tense his fingers should be.

“Good. Now, you have to chomp it a little,” Taehyung said, motioning biting down with a smile. Then, he demonstrated on the head of his own saxophone, having not put it together so he could better show Namjoon the proper mouth position. Namjoon mimicked it.

“Literally perfect,” Taehyung said, a boxy smile. It was so good to see him joyful, color in his cheeks that were still sun-kissed even in winter, but Namjoon frowned anyhow.

“It doesn’t feel like I’m doing it right,” he said.

“Remember when you learned the cello? I bet that didn’t feel right at first either. You just need to get used to it. You’re doing great, really,” Taehyung reminded him. He guessed that was right, but still, he–

Taehyung sensed the anxious spiral about to happen, and to Namjoon’s deep surprise he kissed his temple. He felt himself freeze before he relaxed, shoulders dropping. It was Taehyung. Of course it was fine, it just hadn’t really happened before.

“Listen, hyung. I know you’re taking this really seriously. I promise I’ll teach you properly.” Namjoon moved his neck in a circle, reminding his body to release some more tension. He was taking this seriously. He’d known as soon as he’d honked Tae’s sax at his little recital that he needed to play it, that it would help some part of him, though he wasn’t yet sure how.

“Now let’s get your first note.” Namjoon practiced hard the entire lesson, trying to commit things to his muscle memory, which had never come as easily to him as his regular memory. For instance, he could tell you that the saxophone was invented by a man with the last name Sax–yes, really–or that the alto was tuned to E-flat, or that it sounds a major sixth lower than it was written and explain what that meant to someone who had no idea, but he couldn’t quite get a feel for how to switch from B to C to D playing an easy rendering of Ode to Joy for middle school students.

“I’m sorry, Tae,” Namjoon said. He felt completely deflated, his dream dead on arrival, after waiting so long and buying a $700 instrument like an idiot. At least it was when he still had some money. “I guess I was pretty hopeless.”

Taehyung cocked his head to the side in that way he always did when he genuinely didn’t understand something, trying to work through it.

“What do you mean? You did great,” he said. Namjoon shook his head. This is why he only played cello, a little piano. Nothing sunk in with him–it was pure luck that he’d started the cello so young.

“Joonie hyung,” Taehyung said, Namjoon’s heart leaping up. Joonie hyung. From Tae. It felt magical to him, but Taehyung just kept talking like he didn’t even know how much it meant.

“I’m like…It was my special interest. I practiced all the time from the time I was twelve, trumpet even earlier. You just need to practice. I’m prescribing at least a half hour every day to start. An hour is fine. Anything more than an hour at this point is major overkill. And I’ll play with you any time you want,” Taehyung said, so kind and genuine. Namjoon stared at him.

“But all I can play is Ode to Joy arranged for ten year olds. Actually, not even really that,” he said. Taehyung shrugged, genuinely seeming not to care.

“I’m not like Jungkook and Jinnie hyung. I don’t need to prove I’m the best all the time,” he said, and the way he said it so matter-of-factly, without even a trace of cattiness made Namjoon have to hold back a chuckle, unable to restrain his smile.

“I’ll play whatever with you. Scales. We can practice long notes–that’s fun. I just like to play. Isn’t that what you want this to be?” he asked. Namjoon nodded. Something fun, with no pressure at all–like Yoongi hyung’s lofi, something Namjoon still thought was so cute–that’s what he needed. An outlet.

***

“Thanks for coming over…” Namjoon said, closing the door to the reasonably soundproofed practice room for some privacy. He felt awkward, reminded not of hanging out with a friend so much as walking into a room of strangers. Jungkook didn’t seem to share the feeling, but rather looked combative in a way that set Namjoon’s nerves on a fiery edge.

“Yeah. I think we need to–what’s your problem with me?” Jungkook asked directly, so obviously hurt, crossing his arms in a way that seemed more like he was hugging himself than angry. Namjoon’s mouth dropped open. This wasn’t the way he’d expected the conversation to go at all, let alone start.

“I-I don’t have a problem with you, Koo,” Namjoon lied. He knew in his heart that as much as he liked Jungkook, he did have a problem with him, but he was also aware that the problem was shameful because, selfishly, it was in his own best interest and not Jinnie hyung’s.

Jungkook knew he was lying as much as he himself knew, and stared at him, waiting with a complete lack of patience until Namjoon snapped.

“You’re too immature to be dating him,” he threw out at him. Jungkook narrowed his eyes.

“Hyung told me he downloaded a frog sound to a keyboard and laughed about it for like ten minutes. I’m not mature enough to date him?” Namjoon felt his face get hot, his heart rate pick up. He tried to remember the trauma books he’d been reading, tried to breathe deeply and stay level.

“You’re always accusing him of something. I hear you fighting. Just now you made him sound like a loser,” Namjoon said, trying not to sound too upset, failing.

“You’re just mad someone else is trying to help him,” Jungkook yelled, not at all trying to hide that he was upset.

“You’re right! Okay? I miss my hyung and I’m worried you’re going to hurt him if you’re not already. He said we would hang out alone more and we haven’t yet. Are you fucking happy?” Namjoon yelled back, humiliated to find some tears falling down his face in slow motion, like glacial water, which he knew made them more noticeable to that damned brat.

Jungkook’s face looked surprised to hear him admit it so quickly, but his body relaxed, relieved for reasons Namjoon honestly couldn’t fucking fathom.

“You haven’t liked me this whole time?” Jungkook asked, voice laced with insecurity now, like Namjoon’s own admission had made it safer to be honest. Namjoon wiped at his eyes again and sighed.

“I like you a lot,” he said hopelessly. “I just–we didn’t really have any other friends growing up. It was just us and Doyoung, and then Doyoung died and–it’s like we became keenly aware that we could lose each other at any moment. And then I did almost lose him. It made us kind of crazy with each other for a while.”

“Someone else caring about him isn’t a bad thing,” Jungkook said, defensively but still insecure in a way that reminded Namjoon how young he was.

“It’s not the caring. Lots of people care about hyung. It’s that–I’m scared that I like you. Because if you get so close you can hurt him and I like you, that means I failed him. Do you know what I mean?” He gave up on wiping his eyes, relieved to see Jungkook looking teary, too, both of them existing in the same water-wobbled vision of the world.

“Hyung, I couldn’t hurt him. I really love him,” Jungkook said, but Namjoon still wasn’t fully convinced by the desperation in his voice. To Namjoon, Jungkook had never known desperation.

“You say that, but then things happen and I see them like warning signs. I don’t know. I’m sorry, Koo. It’s not you.” He sighed. He wasn’t explaining himself well and he knew it. He was always too wordy, too unclear, unfocused. Jungkook walked toward him slowly, and Namjoon stiffened, unsure he was ready for any of the possibilities of what may happen.

Slowly but sincerely, in a way that reminded Namjoon so much of Jimin, Jungkook hugged Namjoon by the waist, waiting for Namjoon to hug him back before he leaned in more or spoke. He felt so solid on Namjoon, so of-the-world; the way a mossed over boulder in a forest belonged to that forest and could never be parted from it in its essence, Jungkook was honest in a way that made him so entwined with all of them, Namjoon unexcluded.

He hugged him back, felt his warmth beneath his arms, and something moved him to squeeze, to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and raspy. He meant it, now.

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook said. “I understand what you mean. I’m trying to do better.” Namjoon sighed, more contentedly than before.

“No one is perfect. Hyung isn’t either. I know I’m not. I’ve hurt Yoongi hyung plenty, but I try not to think that that makes me unworthy of love. It wasn’t right of me to put that expectation of perfection on you. And I do like you, Jungkook. And I love how happy hyung looks with you.” Namjoon thought of the way they looked trying to see who could play some stupid scale the fastest, yelling and tickling and threatening each other with their violin bows, all with pure love and joy and trust. Jungkook smiled, shyly looked up at Namjoon’s face, chests still pressed together.

“I like that, too,” he said. Right then, round-faced and pink from crying, Namjoon thought he looked sweet in the same way his noona looked sweet, somehow girlishly happy. Thinking about it, maybe it was because Jiwon always seemed sad when she was happy, but in a way somehow differing from Jinnie-hyung. Noona was happy despite the knowledge she held that the happiness was fleeting, taking care to enjoy it. Hyung’s sadness overwhelmed the joy.

“You remind me of my noona,” Namjoon said suddenly, regretting sharing his thoughts instantly. What a lousy thing to say to the man he knew railed his hyung. But Jungkook smiled.

“Do you like her?” he asked, not playful at all, wanting to double check that this was a compliment.

“I like her so much. I miss her. You two smile the same way sometimes,” Namjoon explained, loosening up a little.

“Is she…” Jungkook asked, a slight frown. Namjoon laughed.

“About to graduate from a different university? Yes. She’s okay, she just goes to Ewha.” They both laughed.

***

“Are you sure you’ll be okay taking care of Tannie? And Yoongi-ah, Namjoon really can’t cook. He’s not lying,” Jin said. Namjoon grinned, but he didn’t feel happy. They all relied on Jin too much. He was only going to be gone a week, two max.

“Tannie and Joonie will be just fine. I can take care of them both. Don’t worry,” Yoongi assured him. Jin frowned. Last night Namjoon had seen Jin sitting on his bed, touching his violin without playing it, his plump lips settled into a frown then, too. He knew Jin was scared about losing his music still, only hiding it better now, and that scared Namjoon half to death: that fear had only gripped him during some of hyung’s lowest moments.

“Okay, then who’s taking care of you?” Jin half-yelled at Yoongi. Namjoon grunted.

“Me, hyung.” They all laughed, only Yoongi seeming to mean it. Namjoon hugged his hyung tightly, savored the feeling of being hugged back by someone who cherished him as much as he did. This is what love was.

“Who’s taking care of you?” he asked his hyung, softly. Hyung smiled at him in that way that scared Namjoon, the way where his upturned mouth only made his eyes look more resigned to despair as a permanent fixture.

“Uncle,” hyung joked, kissing his cheek and then kissing it again, holding the other, the softness of it filling Namjoon up from the top down with a sense of safety and love. It was only a week, and they hadn’t even lived together that long, but so much had changed, somehow.

As soon as hyung left, Namjoon took out his notebook and hastily wrote a draft of a poem in his little yellow notebook.

Seashore glass collected by a capsized boy in glasses
(an inch thick)
Worn down by repetition
How many living could say they touched a squall?
In your eyes, a touch of weather
(I report on this daily)
Glass smoothed by time may appear ancient
But it’s only factory-made soju:
A bottle cracked in our fathers’ Yusin youth.

He read it to hyung, urgently.

“What do you think?” he asked nervously. Yoongi nodded thoughtfully, eyes fluttering opening again, meeting his own–he always closed them when he listened to Namjoon read, and Namjoon liked to imagine that he could see, for a brief moment, what he saw every day.

“I think you’re hurting right now and that you need to play some music with me,” Yoong said, kindly. Namjoon nodded, kissed his cheek. He was right.

“There’s something I want to do first since no one is here,” Namjoon said. Yoongi barely had time to look quizzical when Namjoon smacked his ass, grabbing a handful with a grin. Hyung’s ass was incredible. Yoongi blushed, and Namjoon’s heart swelled with a love for him that was painful.

“You pick the music this time, hyung. I’ve picked the last…eight times,” Namjoon said, counting in his head with precision but still not releasing his hold on Yoongi’s ass. He brought his other hand to hyung’s waist, rubbing their noses together, feeling butterflies in his stomach even though he’d been the one to initiate the contact. It didn’t matter–he kissed hyung’s cheek.

Yoongi hyung seemed to melt into his chest, becoming one with him, and it made Namjoon feel like he’d done something useful when Yoongi seemed content like this, not weighed down by anything.

“Help me with something I’m writing?” hyung asked, nervously. Namjoon perked up instantly, bad mood already briefly forgotten.

“You’re writing more?” he asked, very pleased. Yoongi’s song for him…there was nothing to describe how it had made him feel, to be seen so clearly and written about so well it had been like reading a novel about himself in the span of a few minutes.

Yoongi nodded, blushing but open–Namjoon’s favorite.

“I’m writing a piano quartet for us all to play together,” Yoongi mumbled, embarrassed. “I thought it would be a present for hyung–with you on cello and Jungkook on viola, and Tae on piano–I thought it would be nice to have the people he lo–do you think that’s lame? I shouldn’t–”

“He’ll love it, hyung. Show me.”

Chapter Text

Jin wasn’t, truly, all that needed past the first day or two after the surgery, but he stayed for a week anyhow–he was comfortable in Uncle’s apartment. It felt like home, cozy and somehow spotlessly clean despite the piles of books and records and papers from some other class he taught.

The first day, when he tried to change Uncle’s bandage, near his groin, he’d protested, embarrassed, but Jin had really laid on the guilt:

“When you don’t want me to help, it feels like you don’t think we’re family,” he’d said, looking sad and vulnerable. Acting–none of it real. Obviously. It had worked instantly, though, to Jin’s secret relief. Uncle stopped kicking up a fuss, and Jin changed his bandage, helped him walk around to exercise, made him food, gave him his medication, and helped him bathe.

Later, when Uncle wanted to get back to doing those daily chores, a sort of proof of life, they did them together, laughing, Jin picking up his slack and scolding his uncle until Jin had to hold his arm, afraid he’d topple over laughing.

In the evenings, Jin played him music–Uncle requested piano, and then would scold Jin for not playing well.

“Well, who taught me?” Jin would yell back, a joke of theirs going way back, Jin unable to even recall the first time he’d made the joke, though he was positive it had horrified Doyoung the first time. He had a vague memory of his hyung bowing to their teacher, apologizing for his brother’s disrespectful attitude.

Now, a few nights in, Uncle was well enough to play, with Jin on violin. Though not up to his usual standards, Jin still thought he played beautifully, loved to watch how controlled his hands were at the keyboard–tiny muscles Jin didn’t feel in his own hands, some stiff and others loose, all fitting together perfectly, against all odds. Jin felt like something mechanical when he played, but Uncle looked like he was born to play.

“Jinnie? Are you okay?” Uncle asked, concerned, even though he was the one who just had surgery. Jin snapped back to reality.

“Hm?” He realized he’d forgotten his entrance. “I’m sorry. I was…I like to just watch you play, too,” Jin admitted. He hadn’t had many chances to do that these days. Uncle smiled at him.

“Sit down. I’ll play for you, if you want. No Rachmaninoff today, though,” he joked, obviously still sore. Jin had a funny, nostalgic feeling, remembered therapy, that it was okay to talk about his brother, that it would help him.

“Can you play that etude that you always made Doyoung play?” he asked, cautiously, still not really trusting that it was okay. Uncle smiled, but he looked sad, and Jin was sure he had fucked up–if his parents didn’t want to talk about him, of course nobody else would–but then he started to play, without any music, and Jin watched his fingers carefully.

It was such a strange piece to Jin’s ear, haunting in a way that couldn’t help but feel just a bit joyful, with how quickly the fingers moved. It felt almost like speedrunning life itself, with all its sadness and joys. It wasn’t a very long piece, and Jin wished it were longer, but Uncle looked so satisfied with it at the end.

“You weren’t supposed to put me to work. That one is difficult,” he said. Jin was about to argue that he made it look easy, but Uncle kept talking, so he listened instead.

“I liked to make Doyoung practice that one because he played it so well. It’s Chopin–Etude Op. 10, No. 10. Come here, let me show you.” He waved Jin over, and Jin smiled at the way he seemed like an old man when he did it, like a halabeoji trying to get his grandchildren to gather around, even though he was only in his forties. Jin sat next to him on the bench obediently.

“The left hand does the same thing…” He demonstrated with only the left hand. It didn’t seem too hard to Jin.

“And then the right hand does the same thing…” Again, Uncle played a short bit of music that sounded not too difficult to Jin. Uncle looked at him, greying hair warm in the dark with just lamps lit around them.

“So what’s so hard about it?” Uncle asked him, forever the teacher. Jin thought for a minute.

“Can you play it again?” he asked. He felt like a child again, a student. Uncle nodded, played it through one more time. Jin’s eyes widened.

“It’s not about the fingers–well it is. I couldn’t play that.” Uncle laughed. “But it’s about the musicality, right? You have to phrase it very carefully.” Jin poked a few bits out he’d caught by ear.

“Because this part is staccato, and then legato, and the phrasing has to be perfect or it’s just not right. I think?” he asked, unsure now. Uncle nodded.

“Anything about the rhythm?” he asked.

“Hemiolas,” Jin answered right away. Uncle beamed, even though Jin was no longer 12 years old, was a top music student at a top university. He blushed, ears getting hot.

“Let me teach you to play it. Stand up a sec,” Uncle said, tapping his back until Jin stood and uncle could rummage around inside the bench for music.

“I could never–”

“You can’t play like me or Doyoung because you don’t love the piano like we do,” Uncle said, not catching his use of the present tense. Jin bit his lip as Uncle put some music on the stand and motioned for him to sit.

“But you love music, and you love your brother, and I think that will be enough to get you to play it, and maybe it’ll make you feel a little better,” Uncle finished. Jin sat at the bench, for some reason deeply moved that he would give him a free impromptu lesson, and he felt Uncle’s hands on his shoulders, rubbing the tension out so that he realized there was tension. He turned his head back to look at him, seriously.

“I love you, too,” he said, quietly. Uncle squeezed his shoulder with one hand, stroked his head with the other.

“I love you, too,” he said. And then, they began their lesson.

***

Namjoon had been trying to throw himself at Yoongi for the two days they’d been alone, but Yoongi had grunted a quick no, busy with his music, not wanting to stop to fuck, if he was being honest. Namjoon never pushed after the first no, just tried again later, and he did join him to talk about music, help him out, or to read by his side. Yoongi only stopped writing to play, recording it himself using his lo-fi setup, artificially changing the instrument in the software, to see how his piano quartet sounded, to tweak it to match his intentions.

Today, though, Namjoon had caught him after a shower, only dressed, in sweats, for about two minutes, and Yoongi felt warmth and was reminded what it was like, to have a body, to exist in it and enjoy it. So when Namjoon kissed him, he kissed back, deeply and meaningfully. He loved Namjoon, felt sorry once he realized how long he’d kept him waiting, tried to apologize. Namjoon kissed his neck, sending shivers down Yoongi’s spine.

“You don’t need to apologize for not being in the mood,” Namjoon said, a little offended. Yoongi knew it made Namjoon feel weird when he said things like that. He took Namjoon’s face in his hands, larger than they seemed like they would be from his small frame, and kissed his nose, his cheeks, his mouth.

“I’m in the mood now,” he mumbled, trying to save things. It worked; Namjoon moaned, reached under Yoongi’s sweatshirt before he tried to tug it off. A wave of embarrassment–not the sexy kind–washed over Yoongi, and he pulled it back down, blushing. Namjoon frowned, worried he’d done something.

“Do you mind if I leave it on today?” Yoongi asked. “I’ve–I’ve really put on a lot of weight.” His face was hot with shame. Going from pretty underweight to, now, honestly kind of chubby had been hard for him, and it had happened quickly enough that he had some stretch marks that filled him with humiliation to look at, that he couldn’t control himself around food anymore.

“Hyung–”

“I’ll diet soon,” Yoongi mumbled, looking down. “I promise.” Namjoon kissed his cheek, his neck. Then, filling Yoongi with a mixture of horror and pure gratitude and love, Namjoon started kissing his chest, his stomach, over his sweatshirt.

“Don’t. I never want you to be hungry again. You look great,” Namjoon said, coming back up to kiss his lips, hands around Yoongi’s waist. Namjoon made him feel, genuinely, like he was cute, or even handsome. He moaned against Namjoon’s lips. When their mouths parted, they kept their faces close, Namjoon rubbing his nose on Yoongi’s. Yoongi gazed into his eyes, the only person he ever wanted to make eye contact with again–deep and soulful, loving and always, always questioning.

He took off his own shirt, embarrassment leaving him. It was Joonie. And Joonie went fucking crazy when he saw him half naked, dragging him to the bedroom and pushing him onto the bed, kisses becoming rougher, hungrier, leaving Yoongi whimpering, thrusting his hips up in a way he couldn’t control.

Namjoon rose himself up and yanked off Yoongi’s sweatpants in one desperate movement, licking his lips in a way that made Yoongi thrust his hips up, cock already hard. He knew Namjoon hadn’t even noticed he’d licked them, that it was purely instinctual for him.

“I felt bad about the choking,” Namjoon said, suddenly matter-of-fact in that way Yoongi always found so jarring when they were in the middle of something. “So I thought of something I thought you might like that I might like, too. Do you mind if I try spanking you?”

Yoongi tried, very, very hard, not to laugh or to let his jaw drop. He loved Joonie so, so much, had grown to truly love that he was like this even if it didn’t keep the mood consistently up. He knew that Joonie would bring it back. He pulled Namjoon down on top of him, kissed him, tried to impart that even if Joon was a goofball, he thought that would be really hot.

“Let’s try it,” he said, squeezing Namjoon’s waist, feeling the muscle beneath it. Namjoon groaned, and got that dark look back in his eyes, and Yoongi knew he was about to have a great night.

He up sat on the bed and pulled Yoongi over him, and Yoongi was a little surprised that this was how it was working, to be honest–he thought Namjoon would maybe hit him more while he was hitting it from behind.

“I’ve thought about this for days,” Namjoon said, voice deep and raspy. Yoongi felt himself get goosebumps, wondered if Namjoon saw the hairs on his back rise.

“Hands up over your head, baby,” Namjoon ordered. “Good,” he growled when Yoongi obeyed quickly. It wasn’t hard, he didn’t know why he was good, but already it filled him with a sense of butterflies. He wanted so badly to be good, already.

Yoongi didn’t expect the first smack to his ass, hard, and his hands fell to grip at the bed. They both knew the safe word, and Yoongi felt safe, but it was still a shock, sharp pain running down his thigh. Namjoon made a disapproving sound.

“I said hands up, hyung. Don’t put them down until I tell you it’s okay,” he said. Yoongi put them back up quickly, embarrassed by the way his hips jerked when Namjoon gently stroked his ass where he’d hit, his cock rubbing on Namjoon’s lap.

“Good,” he said before he hit him again. He hit him so many times Yoongi started to lose himself, the pain becoming more and more arousing, each slap to his ass making his hips jerk up a little more, his arms already aching–maybe it wasn’t so easy. Unable to hold back anymore, Yoong really whimpered, and Namjoon sounded satisfied.

“You’ve done so well,” he cooed. Yoongi heard him shuffling for something, but didn’t see what for before he was slapped again, a few more times, feeling so turned on that he felt vaguely dumb in that blank, just-fucked way, when he felt Namjoon’s fingers shove quickly up his ass, plenty of lube to make it nice and easy for him.

He cried out, wriggled helplessly, a few tears escaping even though his cock was still rock hard against Namjoon’s muscular thigh. Why am I like this? Yoongi thought, still a little too inside his head to completely let go just yet.

Namjoon fucked into him hard with two fingers, and he was proud of the way he kept his arms up even though they were screaming at him from being held like that this long. Suddenly, the next time the fingers pulled out of him, he was being spanked again, and Yoongi started moaning each time he was hit, unable to hold back anymore, starting to give in to that physical pleasure. He stopped trying to stop the way his hips jerked into the spanks, and Namjoon shoved three lubed fingers in now, fucking him even harder. He couldn’t stop making noises now, voice practically vibrating with the thrusts, and he started to grind on Namjoon.

“You can wait, sweetheart. No more of that. I’ll take care of you,” Namjoon promised. “You’re doing so good. I’m going to try something, okay? If you don’t like it, will you be good and tell me?” Yoongi nodded, remembered that Namjoon liked full, verbal responses.

“I’ll tell you,” he said, the words coming out all wrong. He was a mess. Namjoon continued to fuck into him with three fingers, and Yoongi had more or less forgotten that something new was about to happen by the time the fingers came out, shoved back in with the pinky. He cried out, just a little. He was used to girth by now, practicing when he was alone with his toys. But then there was more–Yoongi realized with a mixture of awe, shame, and arousal that more than four meant that Namjoon’s whole hand was stretching him out, fucking into him. He started to cry, thrusting his hips again.

“Do you like it?” Namjoon asked, and his raspy voice told Yoongi that he definitely liked it.

“I love it,” Yoongi cried, ashamed but honest. “Yes–Mm.” He couldn’t talk, was mostly babbling, encouraging Namjoon to go harder.

“You can take your arms down, but you have to hold open your ass. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Yoongi said, but when he put down his arms, they burned, felt heavy and hot like molten lead and fell to his sides. He could feel Namjoon smirking at him: Aw. Too bad, he seemed to say with every little amused noise, still fisting him not quite all the way, smacking his ass occasionally with the other hand, taking Yoongi by surprise each time.

Finally, he got his arms to cooperate, used them to spread himself. Whore, he briefly thought, the word never entirely eliminated no matter how much better things got. Namjoon shifted out from under him, pushing Yoongi’s head down gently and lifting him up with one arm until he was on his knees with his ass up, ass still spread.

“Perfect, doing what I asked,” Namjoon said. He pulled his fist out slowly and Yoongi whimpered, finding himself gaping desperately around nothing, Namjoon’s groan so loud it scared Yoongi for a moment before he felt Joon’s tongue licking at him with fervor.

“Fuck,” he said, lower and darker than Yoongi had ever heard him, like he was grunting through clenched teeth. He threw Yoongi onto his back, Yoongi yelping in surprise, and started taking his own clothes off desperately, hands shaking. The way his cock popped out of his jeans, Yoongi knew it must have hurt to be so hard trapped in there.

He moaned, opened his mouth obediently, but Namjoon was rubbing lube on himself, positioned himself over Yoongi and kissed him, still not inside.

“I need you. I need you,” he repeated, low and breathy. Yoongi spread his legs, needing him just as badly.

“I’m yours. I’m–” He didn’t have time to finish, yelping in pleasured pain as Namjoon pushed into him, pulling at Yoongi’s hair, biting his neck so hard when Yoongi threw his head back that he knew it would leave a mark. Namjoon pulled Yoongi’s head back up by the hair, surprisingly gentle.

“Look at me while I fuck you. Look at me,” he said, sounding, honestly, a little scary. But Yoongi looked at him, not scared at all. If Namjoon wanted eye contact, he could, with a little difficulty, give him that. Namjoon pushed in harder, deeper, picking up speed and Yoongi had such a hard time keeping his eyes on Namjoon’s face, biting his lip and crying out and grabbing desperately at the bedding, and then at Namjoon, clawing at his back, leaving marks on the back of his ribs.

“Fuck. Fuck,” Namjoon grunted as he started to come, and started sucking and biting, pretty hard, at Yoongi’s shoulders. Yoongi threw his head back again, unable to think anymore, knowing he was saying something but completely unable to tell what he was saying until Namjoon came, lingering inside him, panting.

“Don’t go. Don’t go,” Yoongi was vaguely aware that he was babbling, wrapping his legs around Namjoon’s hips, hoping to keep him inside forever. But Namjoon did pull out–Yoongi wasn’t sure after how long–and he cried out, hating being empty.

“Spread your legs,” Namjoon ordered, out of breath and less convincing, but Yoongi spread them obediently anyhow, feeling shame knowing he was being watched as he oozed cum from his used up ass, worried he looked loose–worried he was loose–but also turned on watching how much Namjoon loved to watch him, holding his soft thighs back onto his stomach, one in each strong hand. And Yoongi liked the way his thighs looked squished in those hands that he loved so much, felt pretty.

Namjoon looked almost as woozy as Yoongi was when he put two fingers back inside him, Yoongi humiliated to find himself immediately moving his hips to fuck himself with them. Namjoon moaned, necked him a little, and then sucked at Yoongi’s nipples.

“No, Joonie–no,” he said, suddenly embarrassed again by his weight gain. Namjoon stopped, looked up at him, fingers still in his ass.

“Does it feel good?” he asked. Hesitantly, Yoongi nodded. “I like it, too. Why not, then?” Yoongi nodded, laid back, knowing Namjoon was right, that nipples were nipples and that Joon had played with them before, that it didn’t really matter whether he weighed too much or too little or anywhere in between.

Once he had permission, Namjoon sucked again, teasing and biting, spending time there and kissing Yoongi’s stomach where he knew he was sensitive, where he’d shiver, until he reached his cock.

Namjoon looked so good blowing him, and Yoongi felt so good, finally, finally, his cock was being touched properly, and it felt more electric than it had ever felt before, the waves of pleasure so powerful—

Soon Namjoon was on top of him again, swallowing his cum, kissing him tenderly. He collapsed on Yoongi and they both fell asleep instantly, Yoongi holding Namjoon close, wanting to baby him, too. Neither of them had it in them to clean up before they took a long nap, and neither of them had it in them to roll away, either.

***

“I want to join.” Jungkook had that determined look in his eye, petulant, and his foot stomped down.

“Absolutely not,” Eomma Jeon insisted. Jin nodded his agreement.

“Under no circumstances, sweetheart,” he said, as kindly as possible. Taehyung blinked at Jungkook.

“Aren’t you doing like, really bad mentally? This seems like a good way to speedrun a complete psychotic breakdown,” Taehyung said, less…tactfully, maybe, but still kindly.

“Hyung, you know what this means. Tell them this could set me up for a career,” Jungkook said, looking at Jin, the expectant gazes of Jungkook’s parents and even Taehyung following him. Okay, so the pressure was on. Was he confident Jungkook couldn’t do this competition? Actually, no. Jin thought he probably could, could maybe even place. But he also knew he shouldn’t, and that was something he knew for certain. He looked Jungkook in the eye as he spoke to his parents.

“The Queen Elizabeth is extremely prestigious,” he explained. “If he won, it would set him up for some really great offers. But he won’t win, and he’s going to lose his mind practicing for it–way too much international pressure. It’s an honor for him just to have his application accepted, truly.” He spoke those words slowly, hoping they would sink in with Jungkook: He won’t win. And as much as he believed he could place, Jin also knew that he couldn’t win.

Jungkook’s lip wobbled–only convincing Jin he was correct–but his heart broke to see Jungkook try to hide his tears from all of the people he loved the most. This can’t have been an easy conversation to have, not when he was already having a fucking hard time. Jin made a hushing noise, sweet and uncharacteristically gentle, pulled Jungkook to him and let him cry on him. Jungkook didn’t hold him back, just cried on his chest, hands balled into fists near Jin’s collarbones.

“You don’t think I can do well,” Jungkook said. Before Jin could answer, Taehyung butted in–trying to be helpful, but as always not really excelling in bedside manner.

“It’s not that you can’t do well, it’s that you’re probably not the best in the world just because you’re one of the best at the school. You’re not even that much better than Jin, and I don’t think he’s ever won first place in even Korean competitions,” he said, trying to comfort but only making the sobs more pained, and making Jin cringe besides–Okay, fair but ouch. Jin knew how Jungkook felt.

Jin looked at Taehyung like he was going to have to kill him later, but instantly softened when he saw how upset Tae was that he hadn’t helped, knew that he’d really tried, thought that thinking things through that way would help because, Jin realized suddenly, it would really help Taehyung. Taehyung didn’t care about being the best, probably never had, so that wouldn’t have crushed him. He was truly in it for the love of the game.

“You know what Tae means, don’t take it like that,” he said, watching Eomma comfort Taehyung. Appa had gone to the kitchen, presumably to make a huge batch of hot chocolate. When Appa didn’t know what to do, he tried to fill everyone’s bellies, keep them warm: cocoa, hugs, blankets, starting a fire in the old fireplace. Eomma rocked Tae, and it comforted him immediately. She understood him, too, and–Jin was hoping he was correct–really seemed to love him, not just saying so.

“You’re just jealous,” Jungkook spat out, obviously hoping to hurt Jin, which Jin knew would absolutely crush Jungkook if he’d actually succeeded. But he didn’t succeed. Because for once, Jin really, truly wasn’t envious. Jungkook continued, upset.

“What does he–”

“He means that it’s one thing to be the best in your school with normal lessons from a normal age, but that some of these kids have done nothing but eat, sleep, and breathe violin since they were two and were taught by the best from the beginning, and were really prodigies from the get-go. And the Koreans that make it are geniuses and study at conservatory now–international ones–not Music Majors in regular universities, even the best.” Jin held him closer, not sure if he was more or less worried when the sobs died down.

“And Kookie, frankly nothing is more important than you being okay. And this will make you not okay. I’m like, so sure. You can apply again next round–you’ll still be young enough, my little prodigy.” He wiggled Jungkook, hoping to make him laugh, but he stayed there, limp and unlaughing. Something about Jungkook not laughing filled him with so much sadness.

Appa came in, as predicted, with a tray of mugs, but Jin made a shushing face before he could speak, sorry to go about it so rudely but not wanting to let go of Jungkook yet. Appa understood, though, setting the tray on the table quietly.

“When I gave up contests this year–it was a good thing, for me. I don’t think it was some sort of character failing. It was disappointing, but…it was good for me. We all love you so much, Koo. Please trust us.” Jungkook finally looked up at him, eyes filled with grief and fear and crushing disappointment. God damn it, Jin thought, feeling his own eyes fill with tears and then release them into the world, so much empathy for what Jungkook was going through. Jungkook searched his eyes for a few long seconds before he nodded, like he’d been trying to judge his intentions.

“Okay,” Jungkook said, so deflated. It was okay, Jin told himself. If Jungkook was falling, he could count on Jin to hold him up. Jin kissed his head. He knew this had meant a lot to Jungkook by the way he hadn’t even known that he’d applied, like it was a secret dream.

“Koo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–” Taehyung began, still held by Eomma, trying to shush him, comforting, not scolding.

“I know, Tae. It’s okay. Thank you for trying to help,” Jungkook said. He sniffled again, brought his arm back over his face in that way Jin hated, that made his guts feel punched.

“Can you guys not tell anyone else about the competition?” Jungkook asked, voice high and strained. “It’s just–it’s really embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing!” Taehyung piped up, Jin smiling a bit from the enthusiasm. “But I won’t say anything.”

“Me neither,” Jin promised. Appa put a mug of hot cocoa, homemade marshmallows melting inside, in everyone’s hands, and Jin really was grateful for the warmth. Jungkook stared at it, until his father gently assured him, so patient, so loving, that nothing bad would happen to anyone if he drank some cocoa, but that he would make him tea if it would make him feel better. That, too, broke Jin’s heart, the ache not healed by Jungkook sipping the cocoa, looking a little bit more relaxed.

***

Jimin’s heart dropped when he saw his brother dance from the living room entrance, heard Hoseok laughing, hidden from sight. This was exactly the kind of thing Jimin had gotten into fights about back in his younger years. But when he came into the room to ask Hoseok how he could act like that, he saw it was joyful laughter, that Soobin was smiling wide. Hoseok put on some music, very quietly, and Jimin felt warmth in his chest knowing that he didn’t tell Hoseok not to play loud music, that he’d just been listening to his brother.

“Okay, can you wiggle your legs like this?” Hoseok asked, moving fluidly. Soobin had trouble with some underdeveloped muscles, a chronic problem from childhood. Jimin watched from the door, smiling. Hoseok was a natural teacher, incredibly patient, seemed to know instinctively what Soobin’s limits were just like he’d known Jimin’s on their shared project this past semester.

He watched them dance together for a long time before he came in, Soobin clapping loudly, happy to see him.

“Are you two having fun?” he asked. Soobin yelled so loud Hobi ducked and made a surprised face, good-natured and unoffended.

“I am. Soobin saw me dancing and wanted to join in,” Hobi said, looking at Soobin for his input. Soobin signed at Jimin,

“I had fun. He can come over more.” Jimin laughed, kissed Hoseok’s cheek, blushed at the way Soobin smiled at the way Hoseok held Jimin’s waist, so secure and loving. Jimin translated.

“Can you guys teach me how to understand that? Sign language?” Hoseok asked. Jimin kissed him again, wishing he never had to stop. Soobin started to look overwhelmed, so Jimin turned off the stereo, then flipped off the lights.

“Have a nap, Soob,” he suggested. He turned back to Hoseok. “Yes, sorry. I’ll show you some tonight.” Soobin started to cry, yell out. Jimin quickly moved a confused Hoseok out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking guilty. “Did I do–”

“No, no. You’re fine. It–I’ll tell you in a minute. Can you grab my Appa?” he asked before he ran back to try to comfort his brother, figure out what was upsetting him. He was good at it, figuring out what was overwhelming when Soobin couldn’t articulate it. He re-entered the room slowly, took instant note of the way he touched his head, then his stomach.

“Are you–”

“Jimin–” His mother came in too quickly, too loudly. He tried to shush her, to explain that his kid brother had a damn headache, but it had pushed him over the limit of what he could handle, and soon he was on the floor, hitting his hands, his head. Jimin knelt by him; he’d always been good at soothing, smoothing over hard moments until his dongsaeng could rest. He tried not to glare at Eomma. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t understand things as well, Jimin knew. They’d grown up together. She’d lived 24 years before she had him, another few for Soobin.

“Honey, go keep your boyfriend company. I can handle it,” she said. Jimin ignored her, a little annoyed.

“He’s got a headache and he’s hungry, and music and bright lights were on too long,” he said softly. Soobin’s hands went over his ears. That was good. That meant he wasn’t hurting himself anymore, soothed enough to be soothed.

“Why was there music–”

“He can have fun,” Jimin glared.

“Of course he can have fun, but you know certain things are going to–”

“They were dancing. I should have turned it off right when they were done. I’m sorry, okay?” he said, a little too loudly, snapping. Soobin hit him, in the face just because that’s what was closest to him, from the way Jimin was kneeling. He knew it wasn’t personal, that he’d just swung, but it still hurt, and he groaned. Eomma snapped.

“This is why I asked you to leave,” she said, angry without raising her voice. Watching his brother hurt, being hurt himself, Eomma not caring about either–it was too much. He started to have his own meltdown. He shot up, pointed at her, accusatory. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Appa and Hoseok, didn’t care, was too overwhelmed and fed up himself.

“This is why I fucking hate to come home. I can’t stand it here,” he yelled, stomping through the doorway, pushing past both of the men standing there. He knew he’d feel guilty about it later, but right now, he didn’t even care that his brother was having a rough one, too. Right now, he wanted to matter, too.

“Sweetheart, your face–”

“No! I’m tired of this,” he yelled. “Neither of you listen to a fucking thing either of us say. You–” he pointed again to his mother. “You don’t care about us. You do whatever is convenient for you. No fun for Soobin if it’s a pain for Eomma! And you–” he pointed to his dad.

“You never fucking help! With anything. I hate coming here. I hate it.” His mother’s wobbling lip gave way and she burst into tears, running to their bedroom, and Jimin broke down, too, hysterical tears. Appa looked frantically between his two sons.

“For fuck’s sake!” Jimin yelled, barely intelligible through the tears. “He’s just hungry and needs an aspirin! I could have handled it!” Why didn’t they think he could handle anything? He hated them for it, just then. Hobi nodded at Appa and then held him, shushing him.

“Sweetheart, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he said, rubbing his back.

“It’s not. I’m not a good son,” Jimin cried into his chest. “Or hyung.” Hoseok kissed his head, told him that wasn’t true, but Jimin knew that he’d just screamed obscenities at his crying mother, further upsetting his brother.

He didn’t know how long Appa was gone for, but he could still hear his mother crying when he came back, looking serious.

“We need to talk,” he said, more stern than Jimin had usually heard him. He didn’t need someone yelling at him right now. All he wanted was to be held, comforted, told he mattered. Why did he matter when he was away, but the second he came home, he was absolutely nothing?

“No, I’ll stay,” Hoseok said, and Jimin realized he and Appa must have spoken.

“Jimin, listen to me. You can’t talk to–” Hoseok cringed before Jimin started crying harder. They just didn’t understand a fucking thing. Appa softened, realizing that wasn’t the best way to start.

“Listen,” he said, trying to make eye contact with his son. “Your aunt is sick. I’m at the restaurant the entire day. Your mother is here all day and then goes to take care of your aunt all night. I–I know you’re frustrated. I understand,” he said. That was when Jimin looked at him, finally, into those eyes just like his own, trying to see if he did understand.

“She’s stressed, sweetheart. And she wanted this to be nice for you, and she’s been worried sick and hurt this whole time, and–honey, she’s blaming herself for a lot of problems right now, okay?” Appa sighed, trying to get his point across.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asked.

“For what’s going on with you, sweetheart,” Appa said gently, not wanting to upset him more. “It’s not that she thought you couldn’t handle Soob. We both know that you two understand each other more than we do. She didn’t want you to have to. She wanted you to go relax with your boyfriend. You were supposed to come here to relax.”

Jimin turned back to Hoseok’s chest, wondered what he thought of how horribly he’d acted.

“This is what I can’t stand,” he bit out. “I don’t have to help Soob. I don’t mind it. It’s not a problem, just like it was never a problem for him to come lie with me when I was sad. We’re supposed to all take care of each other,” he finished, quivering and soft.

“I know,” Appa said. “But–we just thought you might want to do the fun parts, since you’re just visiting. We love you so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if–do you really hate coming home?” he asked, and Jimin knew he was fucking crushed by that, too. But he’d said it himself: just visiting. This wasn’t Jimin’s home anymore.

“I feel so lonely when I’m here,” Jimin answered honestly. “I feel like I’m nothing. I feel like nobody here likes me at all except Soob, but he’s used to living without me now. I’m nothing but a disruption to all of your lives and I wish I’d never come. I want to go back to Seoul when Hoseok leaves. I’ll take a train.” He couldn’t see, eyes too waved over by tears, but he felt himself being pulled into his father’s arms.

“We thought it would help,” Appa said, so simply, trying not to look or maybe even be upset.

“I feel worse,” Jimin replied. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why he couldn’t keep anything inside right now. It was just too much.

“I love you,” Appa said, softly. Jimin felt the warmth of his chest, listened to his heartbeat, too fast.

“I love you, too,” he said, and he meant that as much as he meant everything else. “I’ll talk to Eomma,” he said. Appa nodded, numb. Jimin knew that he had just crushed his dreams of them all being happy together again, because Jimin had never really been happy here. He left Appa’s arms and shot Hoseok a quick apologetic look that he couldn’t keep for more than a few moments, too ashamed, and then he went to his parents’ bedroom, found her sprawled on the bed, still sobbing.

“Eomma…” He said, kneeling by her. She didn’t sit up, just reached over and firmly took his head in her hands, like she was desperate to touch him, to feel that he was real.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said, sniffling, before he could apologize. “I–Please forgive me. I love you more than–” Jimin thought about getting some tissues but knew that his mother was like him, liked to be touched when she was sad, so he stood and crawled onto his father’s side of the bed, facing her. She turned to face him back, face red and blotchy and swollen. He touched her face, too.

“I–I’ve tried so hard, but I didn’t listen. You’re right. I was so tired,” she said. Jimin shushed her, stroked her hair, anger dissipating at the sight of her, at the apology that came from her heart.

“No, I need to tell you,” she explained, with some urgency that didn’t exist. Jimin nodded, willing to let her say what she needed to say.

“I’m trying–I don’t understand any of this,” she admitted, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “We were so poor when I was young. I didn’t have food, or see my parents. They only payed attention to my brothers and it hurt so badly–I thought if I payed attention to you, and made sure you were fed, and that you spent time with us, that things would be okay. I tried to support your dreams–I tried–”

“Sh, Eomma. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, too.” They lay there, holding each other’s cheeks with the same delicate touch. She looked at him, attentive, and it felt in so many ways like gazing into a mirror.

“I love you so much. I-I meant what I said. That’s how I feel. But…I wasn’t fair, too. I know you’ve done your best. And we have a lot of happy memories. You’re a good Eomma, and I’m so, so grateful for all the support you’ve given me. But it…I’ve been so anxious since I've come here. I feel like all I’ve done is disappoint you.” She frowned, deeply, eyebrows furrowed, face still too red.

“I’m not disappointed in you. Never. I just worry about you, darling. I feel the same about your brother. I want to help you both, but I can’t. And it frustrates me. It’s nothing to do with you. You’re perfect. You both are. I’m sorry,” she said again, and Jimin felt like she meant it more and more each time.

“You looked like you wanted to whack me over dinner every–” Eomma’s pained expression interrupted him before her words even started to form at her lips.

“I know what it feels like to go hungry,” she said, face crumbling again. “To see you losing so much weight when you used to look so strong, hurting yourself–I just wanted to help.” Jimin took a deep breath, understood how she felt even though he didn’t want to at that moment.

“Eomma, the problem isn’t not enough food. It’s–it’s always a little bit of a problem in dance, and I’ve always felt it. But it’s about…” He thought. “I need some control over my body, after what happened. Sometimes I don’t feel things and it scares me. This way it’s mine,” he said, softly. She nodded, touched his face.

“I love you,” she said again.

“I love you, too,” he said. “I’ll stay for Christmas. But I think…I think I want to spend my next spring break in Seoul.” Jimin felt guilty, even after all this, but his mother sat up, determined. She took his hand.

“Go spend time with Hoseok,” she said again, but this time, Jimin understood what she meant. “He must be worried about you. We’ll have a nice last few days together. And I’ll always be here. Tell me what you need. Anything. Your father feels the same. If we’re not giving you what you need, tell us. Okay? Even if it’s space.” Jimin nodded, kissed her hand.

“Okay.” He squeezed it before he went back to Hoseok, who was, Jimin was fucking humiliated to see, stuck in a one-on-one conversation with his Appa, looking like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin from the awkwardness. They switched places, Appa going to comfort his wife, and Hoseok waited until he was up the stairs before he spoke quietly.

“Don’t you ever leave me alone with your parents for that long again. Oh my god. He was asking if I’m going to make enough money to financially support you after college. Sir, I major in choreography. Your son will be supporting himself,” Hoseok joked, genuinely sweating over it, though. Jimin laughed. He needed that, needed Hoseok’s smile.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what–”

“Listen,” Hobi said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I know you all love each other a lot, but if my parents expected this much of me–not even big expectations, just reading between so many lines every single conversation–I’d pull my fucking hair out. They’re great! They’re great,” he reassured his laughing boyfriend. “But I’ve been in a nervous sweat for a week and a half, and I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. I wish I could take you with me,” he said. Jimin smiled, his own face feeling very swollen and sticky from dried tears, and he kissed Hobi’s face, watched it light up even under these circumstances.

“I do love them. And I miss my brother,” Jimin said, remembering all the nights Soobin had comforted him.

“Oh. Yeah, Soob’s great,” Hoseok said. “I shouldn’t say this but I sneaked into his room while your Appa was distracted and told him you were okay. I think he was worried. He signed something at me and I left.” Jimin sat on his lap, squeezing his waist.

“I’m really sorry you saw me act like that,” he said again. Hobi shook his head.

“Like I said. I don’t know how you didn’t lose it ages ago.”

***

Taehyung cried softly in a corner of the study, sure he wouldn’t be heard or found. He sat on the heated wood floor, crouching and holding his knees, warm and held and safe. He wanted to scratch at his hands again, but he didn’t. He pictured how sad everyone would be, and it wasn’t worth the little bit of comfort. He heard someone approach, and for some reason he hid his face in his knees, like he wouldn’t be seen, and immediately felt childish.

Appa sat next to him with a bit of a grunt, legs flat. He never squatted like everyone else. He put his hand in Taehyung’s soft hair, and Taehyung hummed at the touch, enjoying it now. Jungkook’s family had been added to his mental list of safe people.

“What’s on your mind?” Appa asked. Taehyung squeezed his knees tighter, deciding to be honest.

“Jungkook seems pretty sick now–I’m really worried about him. Don’t misunderstand what I say next, please.” He looked at him pleading. People took things in ways he didn’t mean them so often. And he was worried about Jungkook, his only dongsaeng. He was worried sick–literally, his stomach started churning unpleasantly when he saw Jungkook locked in to some horrible mental pattern that seemed to be inescapable.

“I won’t,” Appa nodded. Taehyung looked straight ahead to try and control the emotions he felt.

“Well, you two will be pretty busy with that,” Taehyung said as matter-of-factly as he could. “And my program is over right after Christmas. And my dog misses me.” He continued to stare, straight ahead at a bookcase that looked older than he was, holding books–only some of which looked older than he was–in four different languages that Taehyung could see. Maybe more.

“All of those things are true,” Appa nodded. “Do you feel upset about going back to your apartment?” Taehyung shook his head. That wasn’t it at all. But he did start to cry.

“I feel upset about–” He rocked himself, and Appa rubbed his back, which he also liked now. That’s what he hated so much–how much he liked them all.

“I’m sad because I felt like real adults cared about me for the first time since my Halmeoni died,” Taehyung said, wiping his face with his sleeve. “And I’m sad that it wasn’t…” He didn’t know a word that wouldn’t hurt Appa’s feelings, was tired of choosing the wrong word and hurting people. Appa nodded, though.

“Taehyungie, you know you’re welcome here any time,” he said. Taehyung shook his head.

“Everyone says that, but no one really means it,” he said, sadly. He felt so fucking sad. Appa spoke quietly, looking ahead.

“My wife and I actually looked at adoption laws,” Appa said. “We’re not eligible. You being 19 isn’t necessarily a dealbreaker, actually, but we’re too old. So you should make us both happy and visit often, and come over whenever you need a break.” Taehyung jerked his head to look up at him so harshly that he hurt his neck.

“You did?” he asked. His grandma loved him, but no one else had even wanted him around, let alone wanted him. Appa nodded.

“We both absolutely love you,” he said, almost apologetically for reasons Taehyung couldn’t fathom. “And you’re such a good hyung to our Kookie.” Taehyung bit his lip, started scratching at his hand gently, a reflex more than harm, but Appa gently moved his hand off the other.

“I love you all, too. Do you love Jin, too?” he asked, knowing he was nosy. Appa laughed, and Taehyung smiled, knowing the answer then.

“Yes, of course we do. Any other questions?” Appa smiled directly at him, like he was happy to just sit here with him, and Taehyung couldn’t help but blush, happy warmth inside of him.

“Can I call you?” he asked. Appa nodded, more serious again.

“Of course. Any time you need a chat, a ride, or some money–anything. But not at four in the morning unless it’s some kind of emergency,” he booped Taehyung’s nose, scrunched from giggling.

“My friends tattled, huh?” he asked.

“It’s good that you ask for support, but Eomma and I are old.”

“How old?” Taehyung asked. Appa laughed again.

“Both in our fifties. Help an old man up,” he asked, and Taehyung hopped to his feet and helped him. He looked at the leg, but didn’t ask, remembering that he didn’t like to talk about it. Appa saw him looking, ruffled his hair.

“It was a military accident. I got shot during training. It didn’t heal quite right,” he said. Taehyung frowned, stopped them both walking to hug him. Appa hugged him back.

Chapter Text

Christmas with the Jeons was every bit as cozy and comfortable as Jungkook had promised it would be. Uncle and Appa Jeon sat chatting while Eomma danced with Taehyung to Yoongi’s piano, both their eyes sparkling. Jin sat on the natural looking sofa–all creamy linen and dark wood–and cuddled up next to Namjoon.

Namjoon wrapped his arm around Jin, which seemed to summon Jungkook. Jin reached out his hand, still cozily pressed against his best friend, and Jungkook took it with a squeeze and yanked him up. Jin laughed as he faced Jungkook by force, saw Kookie’s lightly jealous energy, just wanting some attention, too. So cute.

“I bet you want your present,” Jin said, rubbing his nose on Jungkook’s. “I brought yours because I couldn’t wait until Friendmas.” Appa’s eggnog had loosened him up a little, made him as physically affectionate as, truthfully, he always wanted to be.

“I do,” Jungkook said, making Jin laugh loudly.

“Your room, your room,” Jin said, taking a bag from the side table, and they ran to his room giggling. His parents noticed them running off, but they only smiled at them. They shouldn’t have, but they trusted them. Inside, Jin closed the door, kissed Jungkook deeply, too deeply for the occasion.

“Happy Christmas, yeobo.” He handed him the bag, and Jungkook fished out a box–poorly wrapped, and Jungkook looked at it like it was uniquely terrible as he opened it, a jewelry box hidden beneath the terrible wrapping. Jungkook’s eyes widened.

“Hyung–”

“Put it on,” Jin said, getting close again, kissing at Jungkook’s jaw.

“You put it on me,” Jungkook said, both demanding and breathy, delicate. Jin smiled and stood behind him, and put the necklace on him: a chain choker, a pretty white gold instead of the typical silver. Jin had picked it out because it could look tough or delicate and sweet depending on what it was worn with, reminded him of Jungkook the moment he saw it. He kissed his neck.

“There’s more in the bag,” Jin said, continuing to neck him, gently kissing his neck, lightly tonguing the skin to taste him. Jin just wanted to be close to him, to be completely wrapped in his scent, his taste, his arms. The eggnog made him feel so warm, so loving and open. Jungkook dug in and found another box, and opened it. Quickly, he turned around to wrap his arms around Jin’s neck, crying.

“Hyung,” he said, simply, and Jin held him close, heart swelling, a warm feeling he didn’t have very often lighting up his chest. There were two matching bracelets in that box, both sterling silver chains with a few wrapping layers of pearls on them. Jin hoped Jungkook would like them–again, they embodied that duality he thought they both sort of shared: the blocky silver chain links, and then the few wraps of pearls above, so pretty but masculine–a truly gender-neutral piece of jewelry, in Jin’s opinion. He also hoped that Jungkook would like them because they were from Tiffany&Co and they were fucking expensive, even for Jin’s budget.

“Sorry you can’t really wear them together,” Jin said, his only regret. White gold and sterling silver could have been thought out better, he knew, feeling a little guilty.

“I thought I could take you shopping and we could pick up a matching outfit together, too,” Jin continued. Jungkook pulled back from their hug to look at him, and Jin wiped at his tears, frowning to see him cry so much, even happily.

“You really mean it?” Jungkook asked, sniffling. Jin couldn’t stop kissing his face.

“I really mean it. People can know. I…I want them to know.” Jin gently put one of the bracelets on Jungkook’s wrist, loving the way it looked on him, picturing how it would sparkle in the light as he played the violin, and held out his wrist for Jungkook put the other one on him, his touch so delicate with Jin, hands shaking a little.

It was strange to look at the bracelet on himself, if he was being honest. Jin had never anticipated being so…public with anyone, advertising it with jewelry he would normally never buy for himself. Ever since he’d really known he was gay, he’d assumed everyone he dated would remain something of a secret.

Jungkook took Jin’s hand, interrupting his emotional thoughts, and before Jin knew what he was doing they were back in the living room, Jungkook dragging Jin to his parents. He held their matching bracelets up together.

“Eomma! Look, we match! And we’re going to get matching outfits!” His parents beamed and cooed, giving each other a knowing look. Eomma’s eyes went a little wide when she really got a good look at the bracelets–Jin blushed; she knew how much he’d spent on them for sure, but she politely didn’t mention it. He hoped it didn’t freak her out; he’d had to budget for a while, give up a few stupid luxuries, but it wasn’t going to ruin him, either.

“Let’s get our presents for everyone. Boys, come here,” Appa said as Eomma ran off. Jungkook’s face paled.

“Appa! I said no–Jin. You don’t have to take it. It’s really bad–” Before Jin could answer, Eomma thrust a box in Jin’s hand and then a wrapped gift in everyone else’s, too–Jin was hardly surprised, to be honest, though he was, of course, deeply touched. But Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon looked really shocked, and Yoongi was biting his lip, tears starting to fall down his soft, rosy cheeks despite clear effort not to cry.

Jin couldn’t open his gift yet, not when Yoongi was so sad, so he went to Yoongi and wrapped an arm around him instead. Jin rubbed his arm and Yoongi really lost it, the tears flowing like this was a huge deal to him, something he hadn’t dealt with yet. Everyone tried to comfort him, Namjoon stroking his hair. Taehyung seemed particularly upset to see his hyung cry, and Jin wondered if they’d talked about things before or whether Taehyung just fucking felt whatever this was. Eomma brought over a box of tissues and wiped Yoongi’s face with one and then another.

“I’m sorry.” That was all he kept saying, trying to run off occasionally but held too close by Jin, who wasn’t about to let him get away.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Eomma asked, a kind and patient hand on his face–Jungkook was right. She had so much love to give, even for a hurt kid–not even a kid anymore–that she didn’t really know. Yoongi separated himself from Jin, trying to get himself together. He wiped at his eyes self consciously and wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, even Namjoon’s, squeezing his own crossed arms as he spoke like he was accustomed to hugging himself.

“I haven’t gotten a Christmas present in a long time,” Yoongi said, biting his lip again. Jin frowned. Yoongi had told him he’d been convinced his parents loved him deeply, unconditionally. Jin wondered if he missed them in a way that Jin had never really missed his own–you can yearn for something that never was, but you can’t miss it.

“I got you a present,” Taehyung said, softly. “Well–I made you a present.” Namjoon nodded.

“I did, too. I know Jimin and Hobi did, too. They told me while we planned Friendmas,” he said. Jin was glad they decided to have a separate holiday when Jimin and Hoseok got back–Yoongi would have been too damn overwhelmed with everything otherwise.

“Me too,” said Jin. Jungkook looked a little embarrassed, so Jin motioned toward him. “I mean, we did,” he corrected. He was glad in that moment that he’d gotten Yoongi a real present and not a weird joke gift. Namjoon wrapped his arm around Yoongi’s waist and pulled him close.

“I’m really sorry,” Yoongi said again. “It’s just been a long time.” Eomma took his face in both her hands, so gentle, and kissed his forehead, which seemed to almost scare him, even though he also sighed into her touch, a soft, comforted exhale. She didn’t push looking into his eyes, but stayed close.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said. “You don’t have to open anything now if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t think I can now,” Yoongi said, apologetic and starting to panic until Eomma shushed him.

“That’s okay. Stay with us, though?” she asked, giving him the option but wanting him to know how wanted he was. Jin nodded.

“It won’t be the same if you leave. Stay with hyung,” he said, opening his arms. Namjoon looked at him gratefully. Jin was the one person in the world who could get away with taking Yoongi from Namjoon right now. Jin thought he needed a hyung and he was right, judging by the way Yoongi crawled into his arms looking so vulnerable. Jin squeezed him with both arms and kissed his head, glad to see Jungkook didn’t look jealous at all this time, just concerned for Yoongi.

“Well,” Jin said. “I’m opening my presents.” He got a laugh out of Yoongi as he tried to open it one handed, exaggerating for dramatic effect.

“Jin, you really don’t have to open that–” Jungkook bounced nervously.

“Oh, so I’m not hyung anymore?” Jin opened the box for real–difficult with an arm still around Yoongi even with two hands, and stared at the gift inside for a moment before he completely lost it, laughing so loudly it startled Taehyung, probably jarring after poor Yoongi was still so upset. Jungkook groaned as Jin held up the gift for everyone to see: a custom mug with a photo of Jungkook playing the violin on it and a rainbow on either side of it. His parents beamed.

“I love it. Appa,” Jin asked, laying the aegyo on thick. “I hate to make you work on Christmas, but can you please pour me some more eggnog in my new favorite mug?” He batted his eyelashes, enjoying Yoongi vibrating on his chest from his soft laughter, glad to have cheered him up even a tiny, tiny bit.

“Of course. I’ll get some for everyone,” he said, kissing Jin’s cheek, making him blush.

“I hate you,” Jungkook said to his parents, no malice. Namjoon got a fountain pen, and Taehyung got a new sketchbook and pencil set. They were really thoughtful gifts, Jin thought, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Yoongi received.

***

“Hyung?” Yoongi’s voice was shy, small. He was stuck on hyung from the second they got home yesterday, Taehyung in tow this time, staying the weekend to get used to coming back permanently next weekend. He could tell Namjoon was worried about him, but he just wanted–he wasn’t sure. Something that was more hyung than Joonie, and Joonie thankfully seemed to understand.

Hyung didn’t seem to mind at all, dragged Yoongi around, wrapped around his waist, wherever he was going, with no complaint. They were in the living room now, winding down for the day after Christmas, Namjoon wrapped around the other side of him, the best of both worlds. Taehyung sat curled up on a chair with his little dog–fucking ankle biter, Yoongi thought fondly. They looked so cozy together, Yeontan obviously so happy to have Taehyung back. Yoongi wondered if he’d worried, if dogs could even worry.

“What’s up?” Jin asked, patient. Yoongi stood nervously, shedding the warmth of his friend, his lover as he walked away to get something from his nightstand drawer. He ignored the confused glances and returned with a thin, wrapped package the size of a folder. He thrust it at Jin, hands shaking, unsure why he was so anxious. He hadn’t been able to unwrap his own gift, yet–Jungkook’s parents had been too gracious, even hugging him longer before he left, with offers to come over for dinner any time, which Yoongi worried they actually meant.

Jin looked at the package with surprise and then up at Yoongi, who avoided eye contact yet again. Namjoon smiled though, stood up and rubbed his shoulders in a way that felt so good. Still, he was too stiff to lean into Namjoon’s loving touch. He’d been surprised Joonie hadn’t thrown a fit about him clinging to Jin, to be honest, but then hyung was usually an exception with Joonie.

Jin hyung took the package with both hands and unwrapped it carefully. Yoongi was grateful–he didn’t want to give him this during their other party, with too much going on. When the paper was off, he finally looked at hyung, saw his finger tracing over the glossy cover of the professionally printed booklet of music, his mouth gently open, awed. Hyung frowned, flipped to the first page, and his eyebrows scrunched together. Yoongi could feel Taehyung watching with interest even though he couldn’t see him.

“Yoongi you–” Jin started. Yoongi interrupted, too nervous, wanting to answer everything at once.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it. I wrote it for you on violin–and Tae on piano, Jungkook on viola, and obviously Joonie on cello.” He was standing so, so straight, more tension in his body than he’d felt in a while.

“Taehyungie painted the cover and Jimin did the layout and printing,” he continued. Jimin made all the fliers and posters for Hoseok’s dance club. And Taehyung had painted quite beautifully, Yoongi thought, though Taehyung was self-conscious about it.

The cover showed all of them, playing together in the orchestra room that Yoongi knew hyung loved more than anything. It was painted in a loose, timeless style–Tae’s very first time using oil paints, too, which filled Yoongi with pride. And he didn’t leave Jimin and Hobi out either, painting them dancing nearby. Yoongi–embarrassingly–wore headphones and was recording the performance, in the painting, a little laptop on the conductor’s podium with Yoongi watching it. Even with the loose vagueness of the facial features, it was clear who was who.

“I–” Yoongi’s throat choked up. He didn’t know what else to say. Jin sprang up and squeezed him hard, and Yoongi’s tears flowed again.

“Do you like the art?” Taehyung asked–Yoongi smiled a little, wondering if he was nervous too or just trying to cheer them up.

“I love the art,” Jin said instantly, sincerely. “Thank you. Both of you. This is the nicest–Tae Tae, can you call Koo? Tell him he has to come over to play–and to bring his viola.” Taehyung beamed and whipped out his cell phone, but Yoongi’s eyes widened.

“Now?”

“This is so nice, Yoongi. I want to play it even if we’re all sight reading and do a bad job.” He looked at Namjoon and smiled widely.

“I can’t believe you got Joonie to keep a secret like that for this long. I know he knew,” hyung teased. Namjoon blushed.

“I can shut my mouth,” he said, lying. Jin and Yoongi both looked skeptically at him; Namjoon had no secrets from Jin, just things Jin hadn’t thought to ask. Jungkook was over soon, just excited to be there, maybe excited to even be asked over on a Friday–and they all squeezed into the little practice room, everyone warming up with a few quick scales. It wasn’t a fancy room, and the grey sound panels on the walls weren’t exactly homey, but Yoongi looked around and thought that this was as good as things could possibly get, filled with love.

“Yoongi-ssi wrote this himself, so everyone take your time. Actually–Koo can’t count. Let’s use the metronome so he won’t rush it,” hyung said when it seemed like everyone was warmed up.

“I can–” Jungkook started, but Taehyung had already set the metronome to a slower pace than the one in the music.

“Sorry, Kookie. You can count but you tend to count pretty fast,” Tae said, even getting a laugh out of Namjoon, who usually only liked to make fun of hyung. They played through so slowly, and Yoongi watched their faces nervously, almost a little annoyed to mostly see furrowed brows concentrating on playing the music well. He got it–They want to respect my work, blah blah blah--but he was hoping to see more of any kind of emotion, even disgust.

They played very well, though, he noted, and the piece sounded good. Yoongi hadn’t been sure it would. It’s not like he’d really composed anything before, not except catchy little right-hand melodies he put over simple beats, and the one piano-only little piece for his Joonie. A quartet was a different beast that came with a lot of challenges, especially since Yoongi didn’t play strings.

Jin stopped when they were finished playing it through that first time, bit his lip hard enough that a speck of blood appeared, and Yoongi realized he was feeling something, wanted to shake him and ask what, and if he had been the whole time.

“Okay, Kookie and I were together in the middle of page two, and Joonie and Tae Tae were together, but the pair of us not so much. Yoongs, who do we follow?” Jin asked. Yoongi hated to admit this. He really, really did.

“You and Jungkook,” he mumbled. Jungkook laughed, high fiving an equally joyful Jin, and Yoongi wished he’d lied.

“You said we’re brothers. I can’t believe you’d do this to your own flesh and blood,” Taehyung accused. Namjoon nodded.

“We share a bed, but I guess that means nothing to you,” he quipped, deadpan, so much bolder than usual. Yoongi felt his face turn red.

“Wow, let’s hear it full speed!” He sped up the metronome quickly. He usually didn’t practice with one, but he honestly saw Jin’s point–Jungkook really liked to rush during slow practice. Yoongi thought he was pretty high energy–could not rush if he really wanted to, but that right now, what he really wanted to do was play the damn piece.

That second playthrough is what broke Jin. The piece had some sad vibes–Yoongi wasn’t blind. Hyung was a deeply sad person. But he’d tried to make it fun, too, adding all sorts of frankly douchey violin parts to get a smile out of hyung, who was always happy to show off his technical prowess. Yoongi had made sure the happiest parts of the violin influenced the other instruments, and he made damn sure to give the song a happy ending, the strings all coming together. He’d hoped it was fun and maybe even a little romantic. He thought Jin was a secret romantic. Not even a secret romantic–an ashamed romantic.

Jin didn’t hold the final note before he cried, immediately lowering his violin at the last count. He hugged Yoongi tightly, kissed his cheek with those soft, plush lips, still holding his instrument in a way Yoongi found a little anxiety inducing. Those things were expensive.

“Just playing here with everyone would have been enough–more than enough,” hyung said, and Yoongi caught Namjoon biting his lip, too. “But you wrote–it was really written for me?” He sounded so touched, so awed, that Yoongi honestly felt a little embarrassed. But he nodded and took hyung’s hand, locking their fingers together, and he felt a little braver. He hoped Jin did, too.

“I wanted to write something special for you,” he mumbled. One by one, they put their instruments away–Taehyung putting the dust cover over the digital piano, and Jungkook gently taking Jin’s out of his hands–and they joined in the group hug.

“It was so special. Yoongi-ah, please keep writing. You’re–you really have something.” Jin’s voice strained in a way that made Yoongi feel like he was holding something back; Yoongi was determined to find out what, later. Namjoon nodded in agreement, his big arms around all four of them. Taehyung was squeezed up against Yoongi, and he closed his eyes in contentment, surrounded by love.

“Can we play one more time? Please please please?” Taehyung asked. Namjoon smiled and ruffled his hair.

“I want to, too,” he said, giggling at the way Jin was already getting his violin back out. Yoongi blushed.

“Wait, this is embarrassing now,” he said, but nobody paid him any mind, which secretly filled his chest with a burst of warm joy. They played it through again, the phrasing a little more artful this time–they improved at everything so quickly–and no metronome, feeling the speed together.

Jungkook slipped on a note–probably just hadn’t played viola as recently and the size difference with the violin threw him off, Yoongi figured–but something was off. Koo didn’t immediately catch up with them. He kept playing the same measure of music, correctly each time after the first. Yoongi frowned–Jungkookie looked fucking anxious. One by one, the other instruments stopped, and Jin gently touched Jungkook’s arm.

“Sh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he said softly. Tae made eye contact with Yoongi, fear written all over his face. Yoongi tried to look reassuring, to be a good hyung, to not look as worried as he felt.

“Just a few more,” Jungkook begged. Yoongi realized that he was counting, watching his lips mouth the numbers, and that he stopped when he’d played it 80 times. When he finally lowered the viola, he looked fucking humiliated. And Yoongi understood why–they were all staring at him like he’d just barfed on the piano.

But Jin just wiggled him gently and kissed his cheek about ten times, nobody chiming in to tell them to get a room this time. He really looked so understanding, so patient, like it wasn’t scary to see at all.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Jin said. “Can you take a video, Yoongi? I want to send it to Uncle.” Nobody argued, and this time, the music sang around them, filling the room: perfect as Yoongi filmed, trying to capture everyone, trying even harder to not film Joonie exclusively. Nobody mentioned what had happened, but Taehyung held Jungkook’s hand for the rest of the night before they all went to bed, and Yoongi was pretty sure all three of them piled into poor hyung’s double bed.

***

Jin sat on Jungkook’s bed, Jungkook in his lap, kissing him with so much passion that Jin was going lightheaded not from the lack of air but from how fast his heart beat. He slid his hand down from Jungkook’s zip-up hoodie to his ass, the skirt over its firm muscles so soft that he moaned a little, not even self-conscious about how easy it was to turn him on, the way he was half hard just from kissing.

Jungkook’s lips moved to Jin’s neck, kissing it so gently–the contrast between the soft, breathy kisses on his neck and those kisses that had bruised his lips made him gasp. Jungkook spoke into his neck, the hum of his voice sending shivers down Jin’s spine, his head tingling.

“Let me fuck you,” he said. Jin felt a little nervous.

“Your parents are home. They’d kill me,” he whispered, not doing a thing to stop the kisses he was receiving. In fact, he squeezed Jungkook’s ass, gripped at his waist with his other hand, encouraging, wanting. Jungkook smiled, moved back to his face, and gently kissed there, too.

“They don’t actually care. And you’ll just have to be extra quiet. Can you do that?” he asked, teasing. They both knew he was loud. Jin had fucked in his own bedroom many times over the years–an amount of times that was a little embarrassing now that he was settling down again–and no one had ever been home to notice. He blushed and Jungkook giggled at him, the warm breath of his laughter on Jin’s face already getting a breathy gasp out of him.

“What do you want to do?” Jin asked, still unsure. Jungkook’s eyes darkened and the kisses picked up heat again as he palmed Jin’s navel and moved down, over his sweatpants, a little whimper escaping.

“I want you to do whatever I want,” Jungkook said. Jin sighed deeply into the kiss, hopelessly lost. He couldn’t say no to that; he nodded and Jungkook immediately ripped off Jin’s clothes, pants first. Jin held up his arms to help with his sweater–a soft, brown sweater with a teddy bear on it Taehyung had gifted him from a thrift store. Jin pawed at Jungkook’s clothes, but he shook his head.

“I want to see you get fucked by a guy in a skirt,” Jungkook admitted, moving his mouth down to Jin’s nipples. Jin writhed the first moment Jungkook’s teeth teased at one, but kept himself together. At least there were a million air purifiers running to muffle some of the sound.

“I can’t touch you?” Jin asked, crestfallen. Jungkook kept sucking, traveling down until he was kissing Jin’s sensitive thighs, watching him squirm with no self-consciousness. Jin knew he was hot, didn’t mind being splayed out for his boyfriend–but Jungkook was hot, too, and he wanted to see him.

Jungkook lifted Jin’s leg, watched Jin’s face intently while he kissed and teased at the sensitive skin with his teeth, just enough to make Jin gasp.

“You can touch me,” he said, throwing off his jacket and top, and fuck. Jungkook had been working on his core and arms, and Jin reached for the arms greedily, Jungkook smiling before he took away access, going back down. He pushed Jin’s legs up toward his chest, Jin feeling a burn in his thighs. Jin hadn’t felt this exposed in a long time, realizing with horror that the lights were on and Jungkook was staring at his asshole. Jin knew he was reasonably hot, definitely attractive enough to turn on his horny boyfriend, but he guessed that he still felt some shame.

But he didn’t have time to contemplate that for long because Jungkook’s tongue was on his rim, playing with him skillfully, and Jin was too busy experiencing bliss to wonder if his asshole looked weird. He looked down and kept seeing his own legs. As Jungkook’s tongue pressed inside him, he arched his back, putting a hand over his mouth to stifle a sound he wasn’t sure the air purifiers could handle.

But then he looked again–just wanted to see Jungkook, watch him eat him–and finally held his own legs in frustration, spreading them as wide as he could for the best view. Jungkook looked fucking beautiful, already lightly sweaty, so concentrated, but Jin spreading his legs for him did something for him, and his tonguing picked up, squeezing Jin’s thighs so tightly, until Jin was a mess, wondering if he was making noise without even realizing it. Jungkook stood from the floor, grabbed some lube, and slowly opened Jin up with one finger, watching, taking his time. It felt good and that made Jin feel guilty about how much time was being spent on just him.

“Keep holding your legs,” Jungkook said, kissing at the back of his thighs while he added a finger. He spent so long there with those two fingers, and as he added lube to add a third, Jin spoke.

“I thought we were doing whatever you want,” he said, confused as to why this entire thing had been about him, when he was sure Jungkook wanted to see his lips wrapped around his cock, knew he liked that; he’d admitted that sometimes he fantasized about it when he was staring at Jin dreamily.

Jungkook smiled, stuck three fingers inside him and crawled to Jin’s face to kiss it, fingers still inside. Jin thrust his hips onto Jungkook’s, felt Jungkook’s cock twitch when he did and almost fell apart. Jungkook’s fingers stretching him. Jungjook’s tongue deep in his mouth, hungry, hungry–Jin felt so wanted.

“The pain is for you,” Jungkook said. “I like to feel you open up around me.” Jin frowned, remembering that from the first time they’d had sex, wondered if Jungkook had been disappointed with the sex they’d had after that just got rougher and rougher–Am I a pervert? Jin wondered not for the first time. While he was still contemplating that, Jungkook hiked up his skirt and plunged into him deeply and quickly, thankfully covering Jin’s mouth in time to stifle the cry that escaped him. He started off hard, pulling Jin’s hair, intense eye contact, the skirt laid over Jin’s stomach so he couldn’t see the cock in his ass.. Okay–at least Jungkook genuinely liked it rough.

Jin squirmed under Jungkook’s weight, trying not to whimper, desperately not wanting anyone to hear this but also not wanting it to stop. Jungkook slapped his face, slapped it again, dragged his nails up Jin’s thighs, looking at him like he wanted to bite him. The nails made him loud even with the hand, and Jungkook’s lips replaced the hand. Jin could tell Jungkook was even more lost than he was, forgetting where they were, and his hands reached desperately for Jungkook’s waist, needing something to cling to.

“You like getting fucked by a bitch?” Jungkook growled low. Jin threw his head back and felt teeth there, felt like he was going to come from that alone. Jungkook stood taller, took Jin’s hands off his waist and pinned them to the sides of his head, pressing his whole body heavy and warm over Jin’s to hold them down hard, his cock in even deeper. He kissed Jin–Jin guessed because he couldn’t stop making noises now.

Jungkook let go of one hand that Jin immediately used to start picking at the bedding helplessly, and then he choked him, and Jin shuddered with so much pleasure at the way that his brain turned completely off, like he existed in a world of only physical pleasure, no cerebral element to life at all, just their bodies together. Jungkook groaned–“Fuck,” he said–and pulled out quickly, his glistening, hard cock finally revealed with the skirt draped over it.

Jin’s mouth hung open, drooling with want and not even wondering at what was about to happen when Jungkook crouched over his face on the bed, shoving his cock into Jin’s already open mouth, letting his skirt fall over Jin’s face so he was enveloped in comforting darkness as Jungkook pounded into his throat–more gently than usual, but still definitely not going easy on him–until he came, Jin’s mouth tasting of cum and his own ass.

Jungkook pulled himself off of Jin and took a moment to admire his face–Jin could only guess how he looked, definitely not presentable–before he pressed his lips to Jin’s, shiny with spit, kissed him hard. He kissed down Jin’s chest again and ended up back at his cock.

Jungkook took Jin’s dick in his hand, bangs sticking to his forehead, and pumped a few times. Don’t cum. Don’t cum, Jin tried to tell himself, knowing Jungkook wanted to suck him off, that he loved that.

But he did. He came from a few measly pumps of Jungkook’s hand, hiding his face in shame with the crook of his elbow when he saw Jungkook’s wide-eyed surprise, feeling that familiar sharp sting of shame behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry–I’m sorry,” he said. “It felt so good. I–” Jungkook crawled on top of him, not worried about soiling his pretty skirt with Jin’s cum. His upper body was tacky with sweat against Jin’s own chest, and the kisses that covered Jin’s face were tender.

“I’m not upset. It’s okay. It’s okay,” Jungkook repeated, low, nuzzling Jin, holding his cheek.

“I always do this.” Why did he have to end their fantastic sex like this? Before he could dwell, Jungkook kissed his lips, distracting him.

“I wanted to make you feel good, and I did. There’s no problem, honey. You don’t need to keep stressing out about it. I’ll get what I want.” Jin looked at him a little confused, but Jungkook slid down him fluidly, like a cat, and licked at the cum on Jin’s stomach and cock that his poor skirt hadn’t already mopped up. Jin licked his lips watching him, then tasted himself when Jungkook returned to him for another kiss. He grinned, and Jin grinned back.

“I love you,” Jin said. His heart still beat nervously when he said it. Jungkook rubbed his nose against Jin’s.

“I love you, too. So much.” He settled next to Jin on the bed, arm over his chest. Jin kissed his head.

“You said you didn’t like being called names like that, though,” Jin said, knowing Jungkook would know what he was referring to: bitch. Jungkook just smiled at him though, wrinkling his perfect nose cutely and cuddling closer.

“It’s okay with you. I know you don’t…I know you don’t think anything weird about me,” he answered, sounding a combination of happy and vulnerable Jin wasn’t sure he personally had ever felt.

“I don’t,” Jin assured him, hand on his waist. He thought for a minute: maybe he did know how Jungkook felt. He did feel vulnerable, but he had to admit that he was really happy here with him, too.

“I’m not in any condition to look at your parents right now, am I?” he asked. Jungkook blushed at him, a little embarrassed he hadn’t been able to hold back more. Jin was relieved that he really was as into it as he was.

“Not even a little bit. I left a huge hickey on your neck. I’m sorry.” But Jungkook didn’t look sorry at all.

Before he left that night, Eomma fussed at him.

“Let me get some bruise cream for your neck–”

“Eomma,” Jungkook begged. Jin laughed.

***

Jimin was glad to be back home–and Seoul was his home now. And he was glad to be in this bright white gallery with Namjoon close by his side. They were both sad today–Jimin could feel it seeping out of Namjoon, who was bad at hiding his feelings even though he tried hard–and Jimin knew that his own family business had brought him down.

But he could also tell by the way Namjoon kept glancing back at him and smiling to himself that he was providing some comfort for Namjoon, and Namjoon was doing the same for him. Hoseok wasn’t back yet, and it was better to be miserable together. Jimin fucking hated being in the dorms without Hobi, drank and cried without him, feeling like a loser. He’d thought about asking to stay with the guys in their apartment, but it felt like too much to ask.

“Can I talk to you about something?” Jimin asked, shyly, as they stood before a large, square canvas that was mostly just black brush strokes falling down like rain. He didn’t get it, wondered if Namjoon did, but something about it made him want to talk. Namjoon nodded, wrapped an arm loosely around his shoulder, like they were old friends and not fairly new friends.

“Of course,” he answered. Jimin hesitated. He didn’t move from the painting, and Namjoon intuitively understood, also stopping, both of them looking at it instead of each other. When Jimin sneaked a glance at Namjoon, he thought that he must understand the painting, because he looked emotional.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop,” Jimin said, so softly. He was scared. Namjoon waited while he gathered his thoughts.

“I–my parents made it worse. My…thing with food. I’m worse now.” He said it matter of factly. It was true; he was.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon said, looking at him with a frown. “You’re beautiful. I know it doesn’t help. But I hope you know.” Jimin smiled sadly. He didn’t feel beautiful, but he wasn’t about to turn down a sincerely given compliment, something meant to comfort him. And he knew Namjoon believed it, and that was comforting.

“Thank you. It does help,” he said, not lying. “But I think it’s not fair to Hoseokie if I don’t think I’m going to get better.” His voice cracked. He’d tried to convince himself the entire train from Busan that he was okay with this, okay with leaving. But he knew, standing in front of that painting–charcoal tears maybe, not rain?--that he wasn’t okay with it. Namjoon’s hand gripped his shoulder, big and strong and comforting.

“Be honest with him,” Namjoon said. “You’re just starting up in therapy, right? And you haven’t even been getting treatment in Busan. You never know what might change. Just because you’re not okay now doesn’t mean you’ll never be. And the holidays are stressful with food. I don’t want you to give up on yourself, or your relationship. I know you don’t want that either.”

Jimin leaned into Namjoon, who he was grateful held him back.

“I don’t,” he admitted softly.

“You still think you’re not good enough for him, but you are. He’s crazy about you.” Jimin looked up at Namjoon’s sure face, realized he was right: it was obvious Hoseok was crazy about him. He’d have to be an idiot to deny it with any sincerity. And he felt the same about his sweet Hobi.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said, leading Namjoon to another painting. “How are you doing?” Namjoon was quiet for a long time–through several paintings–long enough that Jimin wondered if they’d say anything else their whole little trip.

“I know I shouldn’t be,” Namjoon said. “But I guess I’m kind of sad.” Jimin could tell by the way he said that last word–sad--that Namjoon wasn’t going to offer anything else unprompted.

“Did something make you sad? Or is it just the feeling?” he asked. He frowned, pulled Namjoon by the arm to a painting with a bunch of blue horizontal brushstrokes, hoping it would make Namjoon feel the sense of peace it filled him with. Namjoon looked at it as he spoke, Jimin pleased to see he seemed to be using it to ground himself.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, thoughtful, always looking for the perfect words. Jimin realized then that when things sounded so simple with Namjoon it wasn’t that they were simple. He wasn’t feeling sad, he was feeling something so much more complex. It’s just that he hadn’t found those perfect words yet, so he felt like he couldn’t speak. When he had the words, Namjoon could really talk.

“I think I’m sad thinking about how everything will change soon and how much everything has already changed. I feel so overwhelmed. I keep writing poems about the sea changing the things that dwell there. I–I know this is messed up. But at least when I was at home, I could count on a fight with my abeoji when he was home. I feel groundless. Yoongi and Jin do whatever every day. Tae has a routine but it doesn’t make any sense to me and sometimes he adds to it, and he’s not even been home lately. And soon we’ll all have jobs and I’m worried…” He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to.

Jimin took his arm and squeezed it, leaned on him to remind Namjoon that right now, someone was there with him–there for him, that maybe some things could last.

“You really think that we wouldn’t all still be there for each other after some of us graduate?” he asked, with a gentle smile, a little bit teasing, trying to show him how ridiculous that was. But it didn’t work, and he had to fight to keep his smile relaxed, to not drop it into a frown when Namjoon teared up, started to cry a few fat tears that looked like real raindrops. Namjoon didn’t cry as easily as the rest of them, and it hurt Jimin to see, though he was proud that a few times now he’d been the person Namjoon felt safe crying with.

“Sh, it’s okay,” he tried to reassure, feeling a little lost, out of his depth in a way he usually didn’t feel with the emotions of others.

“You’re all–you’re all all that I have. If we lose touch, I won’t have anyone,” Namjoon said, sounding quite normal except that his throat seemed a little tight. He was always so, so quiet when he cried.

“And that will never, ever happen,” Jimin said easily, fully convinced. “Maybe things won’t always be quite like they are now. But we’ll always have each other. I’m certain. And even that’s so long away–Joonie, try to just enjoy where we all are. You’re always so far away. I wish I could tie you to my waist and keep you here with me,” he teased. If anything, Jimin thought they’d see each other more in just a bit over a week, when spring semester started. They had so much planned.

Namjoon jerked his head from the painting to Jimin like he was surprised by something he said, and for a moment Jimin was worried he’d offended him. But Namjoon whipped out his little notebook and wrote, and Jimin smiled again. There’s our Joonie, he thought.

“Thanks Jimin. I feel–thank you. Oh, did you notice that one?” Namjoon said suddenly, excited by a kind of abstract landscape in the next room–Jimin didn’t know how to describe it, but he was immediately interested, too.

“No! Let’s take a look.” They jogged over to the painting, giggling, Jimin not loosening his hold on Namjoon’s arm as they read the plaque.

***

Yoongi felt like fucking shit again. It was just like in hyung’s parents’ house: he was anxious, and felt like he couldn’t leave bed. Namjoon was at the library or something, and it made him feel guilty to think how much he depended on Namjoon for comfort. That wasn’t fair to him. He didn’t want to dump any of this on Joonie, so he ignored his texts–not just his. Everyone’s. He lay in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, until he became aware of Jin hyung slipping into the room.

“Yoongi-ah?” Jin asked softly, concerned. Yoongi hated when he was worried about him. He never wanted him to worry.

“I’m okay,” he said, realizing that opening with that before asking what hyung needed probably wasn’t very convincing. Jin sat next to him on the bed, pet his hair, and for some reason Yoongi started to cry, unaware of why it was happening but knowing, somehow, where the tears were coming from; he could feel the place in his chest where all his emotions were tangled up, where it hurt.

He didn’t wait for Jin to ask what was wrong or if he could help. He just crawled over to hyung’s seat on the bed, burying his face in his stomach and lap, arms wrapped around his waist, embarrassed to hell. But hyung stroked his back with one hand and held him firmly with the other, like Namjoon liked, and it made Yoongi feel protected, like he could be small, vulnerable. Like he was worth something again. He wondered if that’s how Namjoon felt, too.

“I miss my parents so much,” he admitted with a choked voice, squeezing Jin’s waist tighter when he felt the panic inside him mounting. Jin made comforting noises, stroked his hair, and didn’t complain about Yoongi’s fingers digging into his waist.

“Tell me about them,” hyung asked, voice quiet. Yoongi sat up, feeling a little disoriented, but hyung put his hand back on his hair, on his back, kept him close and touched. Yoongi’s head felt dizzy, like the happy memories with his family were both toxic and intoxicating.

“They never complained about me practicing all the time–and it was the oboe, you know? I mean, they complained about my school a lot. But if my Appa threatened to take away my oboe lessons, my Eomma would talk him down, and he’d hug me and say he was just worried I’d be poor like him if my grades weren’t good. They–they loved me. Eomma used to play with my hair and talk to me about anything I wanted. They went to every single recital and basketball game–” His throat closed up and he tried to yell, knowing he couldn’t, scaring himself when a sound somehow came out even though his throat was closing–

“It’s okay. Hyung’s here,” Jin said, breathing slowly like Yoongi and Namjoon did for each other. Yoongi tried to follow.

“I…it’s so hard. I’m sure my auntie told them I was homeless and they didn’t care. If they knew what I’ve done they’d know they did the right thing.” Unable to stop himself, he curled in a little ball, thinking of how fucking used up he was, how if Joonie knew how it had really been, the day to day work of his past, he’d be disgusted by him, too.

“I think you get scared when you feel too loved,” hyung said quietly, stroking the back of his head, accessible from his face being buried in his knees, but otherwise giving him space.

“What?” Yoongi asked, a little dazed. He felt sick.

“I think you get scared because you feel like if your parents could love you and then cast you away like that, so could anyone. Like you could be abandoned at any time, by anyone.” Jin moved closer, tried to move Yoongi’s head up, but he kept it buried in his legs, stubbornly. He’d rather die than have anyone see him right now. Jin was undeterred.

“But I’m here to tell you that you’ll never fucking get rid of me,” he said. “I love my baby brother.” Finally, Yoongi laughed.

“You’re, like, less than a year older than me,” he said, finally looking up at Jin with a gummy smile. Jin smiled back and wiggled him.

“Yeah, so I need to be a good hyung to my baby brother,” hyung doubled down. “Now. You’ve spent the entire day in bed, but I’m not going to let you ruin your night like this. Come keep me company in the kitchen while I cook up dinner.”

Yoongi frowned. He thought of how much burden Jin had to bear with them all, reached for Jin’s hand and felt immediately soothed when he took it.

“Thank you for taking care of us,” he said softly. He knew financially and emotionally supporting three people his own age–and that was just the friends living in the apartment–couldn’t have been easy, that Jin probably had better things to do with his time than cook them all dinner most nights, or have this conversation. Jin liked to practice and most the time would probably rather do that, or watch one of those shitty romcoms he liked. But Jin smiled in a way that seemed so genuine to Yoongi, wiggled him like he was cute and small.

“I like to take care of the people I love.” Yoongi squeezed his hand.

“I love you, too, hyung,” he said shyly, blushing when Jin beamed. Yoongi rolled up his sleeves and helped in the kitchen how he could.

After they all ate, he locked the door to the practice room and finally opened the present from Jungkook’s parents, privately. They’d gifted him headphones–professional headphones, for real producers, not a shitty hobbyist like him. He hugged them to his chest and cried, and he called Eomma on the phone to thank her, the least he could do for someone who would spend $400 on headphones for someone she’d only met a handful of times. And Yoongi was scared, because she was so, so kind, and he knew that Jin had been right about him.

Chapter Text

It was fucking chaos inside when Jin walked in–way too chaotic for 5:30 in the goddamn morning. Jungkook was yelling at his parents, crying, absolutely fucking hysterical in a way that worried Jin enough to wake him up a little. Jin could see why Appa would want even just physical backup; Jungkook was a lot stronger than both his parents.

“I can’t believe you called my fucking boyfriend,” Jungkook spat out, sounding so betrayed that Jin’s heart ached for him even though he was absolutely clueless as to what was happening.

“Jin. Tell them I have to go.” He ran to Jin, looked up at him with desperate eyes that Jin wanted so badly to give in to. Instead, he put a reassuring hand on the small of Jungkook’s back and looked expectantly at his parents, who looked fucking devastated. Jin wasn’t sure by what, exactly, but he really needed an idea of what was going on.

“His therapist said we should start interrupting his routines, especially ones that don’t seem healthy…” Appa began.

“...And today it’s pouring freezing rain, so we thought it would be a good day to stop the gym routine,” Eomma continued. Jungkook interrupted in a way Jin could only think to describe as freaking out.

“Hyung, I need to go. Please listen–” Jin took one of Jungkook’s upper arms in each hand, and looked at him so patiently, a patience he would show to basically no one else at this hour of the morning.

Truthfully, this scared the shit out of Jin. He couldn’t tell if Jungkook’s weird thoughts were getting worse or if they were always this bad and interrupting it just made it look worse. But he felt so much compassion for his boyfriend–Jungkook was scared too, Jin knew, even if neither of them fully understood why. So he made sure to look attentive and awake, to look him in the eye, to be affectionate. Jungkook deserved that.

“Hyung is listening. Take some deep breaths and tell me what’s scary about not going to the gym today,” he said, trying to get Jungkook to breathe with him. But healthy or ill, Jungkook was more of a brat than Namjoon or Yoongi, and didn’t cooperate as easily.

“I just need to leave like now and it–” Jin interrupted him, hushing sweetly, moving one hand to push some hair behind Jungkook’s ear. Kookie looked so helplessly at Jin that it stabbed him in the gut. Koo needed to feel in control again, but Jin didn’t know how to help him feel that.

“I know what you want. But I want to know why it’s scary to stay home today, or to go later. Can you tell me about it? I want to understand, yeobo,” he said. His parents looked at them nervously. They really looked so fucking tired. Jin wondered what time Jungkook tried to leave–Jin was never awake early enough to find out when he spent the night.

“I have to go, because Eomma’s going to work today. And if I don’t go, something is going to happen to her,” Jungkook insisted, like he was tired of saying something so obvious, bouncing up and down with enough anxiety that Jin was pretty sure if it was inside his own body it would knock him out. Jin touched his face gently, kept his palm on Jungkook’s cheek, knowing this was going to sting.

“Honey, that’s just not true, okay? Sh, I know it feels like it’s true. I know, I know,” he reassured, wiping at the tears with his thumbs.

“Eomma is okay. She went to work for a long time before you were even born. You only started worrying about this recently, and she’s been okay at work this whole time,” Jin said. He could see Eomma wiping her eyes from the periphery of his vision, and it felt horrible knowing how worried they must be, how much genuine care they had for their son. He desperately hoped he wasn’t making things worse, that he was helping in some small way.

Jungkook didn’t answer. He looked like he was trying so hard to accept this but like he still wanted to run out the door and run to the gym. Jin squeezed his arms, then rubbed them firmly. He looked at his parents, hoping they’d understand he was asking permission to try something, but only Eomma nodded at him. Appa’s gaze was too fixed on Kookie.

“We only have a little bit of break left before the semester starts,” Jin said. “Let’s go to bed. I’ll sleep with you. And when we wake up, I’ll take you on a mountain hike date so you can still burn off some of that energy.” He wiggled Jungkook until he smiled, shyly, definitely still anxious but coming around. Jin silently apologized to Jungkook’s parents, knowing they didn’t love them sharing a bed to sleep, but he needed to make sure Jungkook kept up his end of this deal.

“You don’t want to hike up a mountain in the freezing cold,” Jungkook said, smile falling. Jin kissed his forehead. Jungkook was, truthfully, correct. His own proposal sounded like a nightmare. But he realized he never really took Jungkook out, not anywhere special, and it would be worth it to take him on the kind of date he probably dreamed about. Hopefully.

“I think it’ll be a fun date, and it’ll be beautiful once we reach the top. We can take lots of pictures. And I bet your Appa will send us off with thermoses of something warm and caffeinated to drink to stop me from getting too cranky,” Jin reassured him.

“And snacks,” Appa added, holding his wife’s waist like it was the only thing keeping him from freaking out, too. Jungkook looked at the door again, sniffled and made a frustrated noise.

“What if I worked from home today, baby? Would that make it a little easier?” Eomma asked. Jungkook nodded, still looking at the door.

“Then we’re all going to bed,” Jin said, firmly. He was fucking exhausted, only having been able to fall asleep two hours ago, and Eomma and Appa looked like they could crash at any moment.

“Honey, can we talk to Jin alone for a minute?” Eomma asked. Jungkook reluctantly nodded, made another sad little noise and walked back to his bedroom, looking back too many times. As soon as he was gone, Eomma started crying hard, her husband’s grip on her waist tightening.

“I’m so sorry, Jinnie. We didn’t know what else–” Appa started, but Eomma took Jin’s face in her hands and looked at him with a gratitude Jin didn’t feel worthy of.

“Thank you. For coming and for being so–” She bit her lip, emotional. “To be honest, we were worried this might…I don’t want to say scare you off. But you’re both so young.”

“I think we just wanted to thank you for staying by his side through this. I don’t want you to feel like…I know you already deal with so many things. You have so much on your plate,” Appa finished, Eomma nodding. The implication was as clear to Jin as the guilt they felt about calling him. They must have been so scared Jin would leave, cause more upset to their son, and Jin knew they wouldn’t have resented him for it at all. Hell, he thought they’d probably help him if he called after breaking up begging for some support, or help him break up with their kid tactfully if it came to it.

He felt his ears get hot from what he was about to do. He never thought he’d have to do this, and he definitely felt ridiculous doing it this soon in a relationship, especially one where he’d only just confessed his love. It still felt strange to say–love. But that’s what it was, and so he bowed, ninety degrees.

“I feel very seriously about your son. I know we can’t get married. But I intend to be there for him, always. And he’s…he’s been so good to me.” Jin stood up, felt himself crying, too. “He has so much love–I mean he–he’s been so good to me, too.” He wiped his tears, embarrassed, hoped they understood what he was trying to say.

And he thought they did by the way they smiled and hugged him, by Eomma kissing his cheek, by the promises to talk more later. He was glad they didn’t want to talk more right now. Truly, Jin was fucking exhausted when he dragged his feet to Jungkook’s room and flopped onto his bed after throwing his coat off. He hadn’t changed out of his pajamas before he’d rushed over, at least.

Jungkook was awake, waiting for him, and wrapped himself around Jin instantly. Jin was grateful, not really wanting him to be too far away right now. He rubbed his back a little sloppily, kissed his mouth chastely.

“Are you mad?” Jungkook asked, facing him in bed. Jin yawned.

“Why would I be mad? I’m just tired. Stay close. I want to hold you.” He pulled Jungkook to him, so Jungkook’s face was safe in his chest.

***

Taehyung felt strange being back in his own apartment. He missed Jungkook and his parents, missed the boy who understood him so well, who was always happy to play music with him no matter what he’d been doing moments before. He loved his hyungs here, more than he could explain. He really, really did. But they were all so busy most of the time. Yoongi was meeting up with some instructors about a contest and tended to lock himself into the practice room anyway, Namjoon studied even on break, and Jin was in and out, visiting Jungkook and Mr. Lee and taxiing Namjoon and Yoongi around in his car.

Today, there was no one else in the apartment, and it made him anxious. He kept Yeontan close. The energetic pup seemed to realize he needed him, because he stayed calm in Taehyung’s arms when he usually would have preferred to run around.

He thought of Jimin, how Hobi wasn’t back for a few days–Taehyung bet he was lonely, too. He put the dog down and called, and was thrilled that Jimin answered the phone on the second ring.

“Taehyungie,” Jimin said fondly. His voice was like a song, always so sweet. Jimin had texted the group chat that he’d yelled at his parents really bad, but Taehyung couldn’t even imagine it. Nobody pushed, though; they could tell at the time that Jimin didn’t truly want to talk about it, just wanted to keep them filled in.

“Are you lonely too?” Taehyung asked right away. Jimin laughed lightly.

“Very. I hate the dorm without hyung. Want boba? My treat?” he asked. Taehyung shifted, uncomfortable. He didn’t like to ask Jimin for things. He didn’t like to ask anyone for anything, and he’d had to ask so much of them recently–all of them. But he especially hated to ask Jimin, and wasn’t fully sure why.

“Can you actually come over? I…I want to get used to being home again,” Taehyung said. He scratched at the hand holding the phone, tried to make himself stop by picturing how sad and disappointed everyone would be, but once he started, he always had trouble stopping, and grunted in frustration.

“I’ll be right over, Tae Tae. Will you be okay there for…mmh, twenty minutes?” Taehyung hated how worried everyone still was about him. He could tell by the way Jin touched his face like he was trying to make sure he was real, the way Namjoon texted him all day when he never had before, double texting when he didn’t get a reply.

“I’ll be fine. Tannie is here,” Taehyung said, smiling at the dog shaking around a rope chew toy almost as big as he was. He really was fine as he waited. Just knowing Jimin was coming put Taehyung’s mind at ease a little, and though he couldn’t stop picking his hand, like a compulsion, he didn’t have to pick it very deeply to feel satisfied, at least. They were little picks–he wasn’t tearing his skin off again. That was something.

When Jimin knocked, Taehyung was already at the door waiting, and opened it to Jimin, skin warm but too pale in the afternoon sun, smiling widely with two large bubble teas. Taehyung smiled back and hugged Jimin, who hugged him back with a boba in each hand.

“It’s freezing! Let me in,” Jimin laughed good naturedly. Taehyung let him in, and they sat on the couch together, stabbing their straws into their drinks. Jimin had gotten Taehyung a nice taro milk tea with tapioca pearls and pudding–delicious. He leaned his head on Jimin and whimpered happily.

“I love you so much,” he said, not meaning for the bubble tea. Jimin wrapped an arm around him.

“I love you, too. Is there anything you want to talk about?” he asked, brushing the hand wrapped around Taehyung through his hair. Everything about Jimin’s presence was so beautifully warm. Jimin felt like home.

“I’m nervous about being here–can I just like…” He blushed, embarrassed, a little ashamed of what he wanted, the way it wouldn’t benefit Jimin at all or even interest him. But Jimin smiled at him, encouraging.

“Maybe could I just like. Rant to you about some of the music I’ve been playing for a while so I feel normal?” He picked at his hand a little harder, and Jimin put his own hand, still holding his boba, over Taehyung’s, his touch so gentle. Taehyung smiled at his cute fingers, his little pinky.

“Of course. I love to hear you talk about what you love,” Jimin said. He was so kind. Taehyung knew that Jimin had a lot to talk about, too, but Taehyung told him about Chet Baker’s life, how many trumpets he stole from other jazz musicians, how Taehyung was trying to play some of his music exactly on cue with Chet Baker–he improvised so much in his jazz ensembles, and sometimes it was really fun to try to copy someone exactly instead, singing and trumpeting.

Jimin listened patiently, looking attentive the whole time, and Taehyung felt his heart start to lift even though he was sure it couldn’t be real.
.
“Show me, show me,” Jimin finally giggled, a long while into Taehyung’s long monologue. Taehyung giggled, too, put Chet Baker’s “Almost Blue” on Namjoon’s nice stereo system, and really hammed up his trumpet playing, acting like a sad jazz musician in a way that made Jimin laugh even as he listened.

It was a long piece, but the trumpet part was fairly short and Taehyung had managed to really perfect his timing. When he started singing five minutes in, perfectly in sync with Chet, he couldn’t keep up the act. He loved to sing, got incredibly into the music. And Jimin did, too, which made Taehyung feel warm and proud as a singer–he could tell by the way Jimin’s smile softened, the giggles stopped, moved by the song.

“Taehyung, you’re so wonderful,” Jimin said, and hugged him. Taehyung hugged him back, and he really felt wonderful. He felt like a good musician, and a good friend. That was all he really wanted to be, at least for now.

***

“Ugh, Jungkook. It’s so tall,” Jin whined, hiking up the kind of slippery wooden stairs that led their way up the mountainside. Jungkook turned around, ahead of him always, and laughed with rosy cheeks and real joy in his big eyes. Jin couldn’t help but smile at him, even though he felt a little delirious.

“Yeah, hyung. It’s a mountain,” Jungkook said. “We’re almost there. Come on. We can eat the lunch Appa packed up there!” He bounced excitedly, and Jin was struck by how much energy Jungkook had–he realized how important the gym really was in his day. Jin picked up the pace once food was mentioned, and Jungkook laughed again, finally pacing himself to Jin and taking his hand firmly in his own.

“Careful it’s–” Jin slipped and fell forward before Jungkook could finish. He winced.

“--Slippery,” Jungkook finished. “Hyungie, are you okay?” Jin looked up at him and saw he looked anxious and understood now that he thought the little tumble was his fault. He laughed and reached out an arm, determined to be casual about it even though his instinct was obviously to bitch about it for fun. Jungkook helped him up, still a little unsure.

“Hyung is fine. My comedic timing is just better than yours. Just like my musical timing.” He kissed Jungkook’s temple–it was easy to be affectionate here, since very few others had been stupid enough to hike up a mountain at the height of the harsh Korean winter. Jungkook relaxed, but held his hand tighter.

When they reached the top, Jin couldn’t hold back the sound of awe he made. Everything was so beautiful–the forest below them, the city in the distance, all covered in snow, untouched. When he looked over at Jungkook, Jungkook was looking at him with a smile, not the view. Jin looked around briefly, then kissed his lips, the fog from their breath mixing together as one. Jungkook’s lips felt cold; Jin wanted nothing more than to warm them.

“You look so pretty,” Jungkook said softly. Jin rubbed their freezing, red noses together.

“You do, too. You look so rosy. But we need to eat before we take pictures, or hyung will be grumpy in all of them,” he said. Jungkook laughed, and Jin used his sleeve to clear the snow off one of the unused picnic tables, starting at the tabletop and then their seats, which Jin could swear made Jungkook blush.

They dug into Appa’s food–he’d made them a generous amount of kimbap, which was fortunate because both of them were ravenous, hardly even speaking while they ate. He’d also packed them each a thermos of hot coffee, which Jin was especially grateful for. He needed both the energy and the warmth.

“I wish we’d brought our violins,” Jungkook said sadly after they ate. Jin laughed so loudly it echoed, imagining them carrying two violins up a fucking mountain–it was such a Jungkook thought.

“They’d crack the second we brought them out,” he said. Jungkook giggled, but Jin could tell he really wished there was music, so he stood up, pulled Jungkook up, and danced with him, poorly emulating some kind of waltz.

He sang an objectively terrible, but in his own opinion passable, rendition of Strauss’s Emperor Waltz, wondering how they would ever let him into a choir in a few days. But it worked–Jungkook was laughing again. Jin was actually pretty sure he’d never seen him happier, even when they were really playing together.

They leaned their phones against a large rock and took a bunch of timer-selfies in front of the edge of the mountain–dancing, giggling, hugging, kissing. Liberatory. That was how it felt to Jin–he’d never felt so liberated. He was as close to Jungkook as he wanted to be, out of the confines of the walls of his apartment and into the wide, open world, doing cute couple things like any straight couple would.

“We’ll send these to your parents when we have cell service again,” Jin said as Jungkook hugged him from behind, practically climbing his back.

“Hold on tight,” Jin said, and with a fair bit of effort held onto a squealing Jungkook’s legs and lifted him up, the kimbap and coffee having given him enough of a boost. Jungkook laughed as Jin spun him around before he set him back down. He was strong, but he didn’t work out like Kookie did.

“Can I bring the mood down a little?” Jungkook asked.

“Please do. We’ve been happy too long. My face feels frozen into a smile,” Jin said, getting another giggle out of Koo, who looked out off the edge of the mountain with anxiety despite his obvious joy, both coexisting inside of him.

“I keep thinking about pushing us both off the mountain, and it scares me,” Jungkook admitted. He looked so scared. Jin shrugged. To him, this was the same thing as worrying Eomma would be hurt if Jungkook didn’t follow his exhausting morning routine; it wasn’t real. Jungkook frowned and spoke again quickly.

“That doesn’t scare you?” he asked. Jin shook his head, calm as ever. He kissed Jungkook on the forehead reassuringly.

“Why would it? It’s just a thought. I know you would never, ever hurt me, Koo. Ever.” Jin was serious, and he knew Jungkook knew what he meant. It was vulnerable to fuck the way they did. Jin wouldn’t trust most people not to hurt him. Many had hurt him. But not Jungkook.

“But I think–”

“Thoughts like that don’t mean anything. The more scared you are of them, the more they bother you. Try to just ignore them. Don’t think about how you shouldn’t be thinking them–just let them do their thing and keep living your own life. They don’t matter. Just like the ones about counting don’t matter. They’re not who you are, and they don’t control you.” Jungkook looked at Jin, looked at the edge of the mountain again, and Jin watched his face relax, his eyes brighten again.

“You really trust me,” Jungkook said, not asking.

“So much,” Jin said. “We do need to leave though, or you’re going to have to carry me down these icy stairs.” Jungkook laughed and offered, and Jin would have been tempted if the steps weren’t so icy.

“Stay over tonight,” Jin suggested. Jungkook hummed happily.

***

Everyone ate Jin’s cookies in their living room–finally, Hoseok was back, and it made Jimin feel so much safer eating junk with Hoseok by his side. Junk wasn’t the right word, he knew. They were delicious, and made with love. Eating dessert, maybe, or treat food. He’d workshop it. He leaned on Hoseok as he nibbled.

He watched, with horror, as Namjoon absently picked at the thighs of Yoongi’s black sweatpants, pinching a few places like he was testing the tension while Yoongi squirmed with obvious discomfort, turning from Namjoon to Jungkook as he ate. But then Joon fucking pulled at the waistband so casually. Yoongi froze, and Jimin’s heart dropped for him, aching and hurt on his hyung’s behalf.

“We should go shopping soon. These are getting pretty tight. They seem like they aren’t comfortable anymore,” Namjoon said. “Anyone else want to go to the mall later?” Jimin’s jaw dropped and everyone seemed to be looking all around the room, at everyone but poor Yoongi. He was bright red, and simply got up and ran away, the sound of his bedroom door slamming–with desperation to get away, Jimin thought, not anger. He tried not to watch him leave, not wanting him to feel stared at.

Namjoon had the audacity to look surprised, looking around the room in confusion and seeming even more taken aback by the stares he was getting.

“Joonie, what the fuck?” Jimin hissed, quiet. He didn’t want Yoongi to overhear them talking about him. Namjoon frowned, a little hurt.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Jungkook’s eyes widened.

“Hyung, if Jinnie said that to me alone I’d cry, and you said it in front of everyone we know,” Jungkook said. Jin nodded.

“Not great, Joon,” he added, terse. Taehyung blinked.

“I don’t get it. He was trying to be nice. He said he’d buy him new pants and wanted him to be comfy,” Tae said. Namjoon nodded.

“A lot of people are insecure about their weight, Tae Tae,” Hobi said patiently. Taehyung frowned deeper.

“Is he though? Namjoon knows better than us. And he looks better now. He looked sick before.” Jimin had to agree with Taehyung on the latter point, wasn’t angry with him at all, but couldn’t help snapping a bit at Namjoon.

“He obviously is insecure about it whether Namjoon’s noticed or not because he ran off crying,” he spat, instantly regretting the harsh edge to his voice from the way Namjoon’s face fell, how sad he looked.

“I didn’t mean to–” he stood up, realization dawning on him, to run to Yoongi, but Jimin stood quickly and blocked him, seriously. Just because he felt bad about being harsh didn’t mean he wanted Yoongi to have a worse time than he was already having.

“Absolutely not. I’ll go talk to him,” Jimin said, firmly. Most of these assholes had never gained a pound in their adult lives, even if they thought they had. Jimin at least would be an understanding ear. He went to Yoongi, knocking gently on the door.

“It’s just Jimin, hyung. Can I come in?” Yoongi cracked open the door and let Jimin in quickly, closing and locking it quickly behind him. Tears streamed down his face, and he hugged himself so tightly. Jimin immediately felt gentler. He reached out for Yoongi’s hand, which was taken quickly, desperate for contact.

“I’m so fucking embarrassed,” Yoongi said immediately, squeezing his hand so hard that it hurt. Jimin made comforting noises.

“I know. No one is on his side, hyung. He was crazy for that,” Jimin said, squeezing his hand. Yoongi shook his head.

“He’s right–I’m getting chubby. I should have known he wanted–we talked about it and he said he was fine with it.” His voice sounded so pained at the end, pinched with betrayal, and Jimin felt himself get a little teary. He’d really be crushed if Hobi ever said something like that to him.

“No, that’s not what he meant, baby,” Jimin said, forgetting he’d never used pet names like that with Yoongi hyung before, hoping it was okay.

“It’s just–you know how they are, hyung. They don’t get it. He didn’t understand why it was hurtful until we explained it. He thinks you’re beautiful. You are beautiful. You look so strong and healthy and pretty.” Yoongi cried more, squeezed Jimin’s hand hard, and Jimin knew that was all he’d wanted to hear.

“Will you talk to Joonie hyung? For such a genius, he’s an idiot sometimes, but he really loves you so much, hyung,” Jimin finished. Yoongi kept his grip on his hand tight. Jimin wiped his tears with the sleeve of his free hand, tried to smile comfortingly.

“Thank you,” Yoongi said softly, tears dying down. “I–I want to talk to him. But can you…” he didn’t finish, looked upset again. Jimin brought hyung’s hand to his lips, trying to reassure him.

“Anything, hyung.” Yoongi took a deep breath, paused a moment.

“Can you ask everyone to not act weird or mention this at all when I come back out? Even if everyone’s nice I–it’s so embarrassing.”

“Of course, hyung. No one will mind.” When he came back to the living room, their friends were quiet, worried about Yoongi. And, Jimin could tell Hoseok and Jin hyung were both pretty upset with Namjoon, even if they didn’t say it.

“Joonie, go talk to him. Everyone, not one of you is saying a word about this when he comes back out. He begged. We’re changing the subject,” Jimin commanded. He looked especially at Taehyung and Hoseok, the most likely would-be offenders in the encouragement wars, and made sure everyone nodded. He sat back down next to Hoseok, and was surprised by how grateful he was for the protective arm that he immediately felt around his waist.

***

Yoongi felt a little scared when Namjoon came in, like that despite Jimin’s sweet assurances, Namjoon was about to call him a fatass and tell him to hit the gym or pack his bags. But when Namjoon saw him so upset, his own face fell, and Yoongi knew he was anxious about making it up to him.

“Hyung, I really didn’t–I’m so sorry. I just–I know it sounds stupid. But I just thought you might want to go shopping and get something comfier. I want you to be comfortable. I was–I was anxious that you weren’t comfortable.”

Yoongi hugged himself on the edge of their bed, arms criss-crossed around each other, and he felt so fucking vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and then repeated it. Namjoon looked so fucking horrified that he felt like crying again, guilty for so many reasons, but Namjoon pulled Yoongi’s arms off his chest and pulled him close, and Yoongi soaked in the comforting warmth of Joonie, wrapping his arms around his wide shoulders instead.

“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t know it bothered you this much, hyung. I’m so sorry I didn’t notice. I should have asked you more about it when we talked.”

“I can try to–”

“No.” Yoongi felt Namjoon’s chest vibrate when he said it, so firm. “I meant it when I said I never wanted you to be hungry again. I would be heartbroken if you were hungry because of me. Don’t.” Yoongi felt proud of him again, like he always did when Namjoon told him how he felt and what he wanted confidently. It was reassuring; he took some deep breaths against Namjoon’s chest, felt happy when he felt Namjoon’s chest rise and fall with his own, breathing with him once he’d noticed what Yoongi was doing.

“What if I keep gaining?” he asked, more practical now. Namjoon shrugged.

“You’re healthy now. I think it’s like…You know how once you were safe, you started feeling more anxious for a while before you felt better? I think your body is doing the same thing and is trying to keep you fed and healthy. It’ll level out. And if it doesn’t, I–Yoongi I want to grow old with you,” Namjoon stated plainly. Yoongi looked up at him, somehow still surprised, but touched, too.

“When you want to grow old with someone–our bodies change all the time throughout life. You were sick before and I liked you then. And I like you now. And I hope you’d still want me if I was sick or thinner or fatter. It doesn’t matter. That’s why I didn’t think about what I said in front of our friends. It doesn’t matter to me at all as long as you’re okay,” Namjoon finished. Yoongi felt relieved to hear him really say it, really spell out exactly how he felt for him, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Not a fucking word about this when we go out there. And–I feel better now. But not in front of our friends again, please. Ever,” Yoongi said. Namjoon nodded.

“Yeah, no. Sorry that was. Yeah. Can I still take you to the mall soon?” Yoongi couldn’t help it. He laughed. Joon was single-minded sometimes, usually when it came to spoiling Yoongi. Or about his own anxieties, a voice at the back of Yoongi’s head thought, even if they’re at the expense of mine. It didn’t matter; he waved the thoughts away. They loved each other.

“Yeah,” he said. “Come on. I want to hang out with everyone again,” he said. Namjoon smiled and held his hand out, and while they sat down, Yoongi was relieved no one mentioned a thing about what had happened. They were all jokingly singing their fake choir auditions. Yoongi was glad this choir didn’t actually have auditions, because he knew some of them–him included–never get in.

***

Jin closed the door of the school practice room. The school was still mostly empty, so they’d been able to book a nice room the day of. Namjoon stretched before he took out his cello, and Jin could tell by something about the heavy way he moved his body that he’d been sad lately.

“What’s up, Joonie?” he asked, casually. He knew he’d hit something because Joonie sat motionless for a moment before he spoke. Jin had thought he’d have to try a little harder to get something out of him, but he seemed like he’d been ready to share for a while.

“You said you’d hang out with me more alone, and you haven’t,” Namjoon said, and Jin was horrified to see his chest silently shake, tears rolling slowly down his handsome cheeks. That explains why he’s been ready for a while, he thought. Jin put his case on the floor and ran to Joon, holding him.

“Joonie, I’m so sorry–everyone’s been so–I’m so sorry. You’re right. I love you. You know that, right?” Joon was still sitting, so Jin held his head to his chest, stroked his short, soft, growing hair.

“I’ve been scared you’re going to forget about me,” Joonie said softly, and to Jin he sounded so much like the hurt child he used to know, back when they were both hurt children.

“You’re my family. You’re all my family but you–Joonie, you’re so special to me. I could never, ever forget you. You’re everything to me. I’ll be better about spending time together.” Jin felt like such a fucking asshole. He’d made time for everyone except the person who had been there for him through the worst moments of his entire life. Guiltily, he remembered kicking Joon out of the kitchen recently while he cooked–he thought he was being kind, preparing the meal himself so the rest of them didn’t have to worry about it, but he was kicking himself now. Joon had just wanted to spend time with him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be needy. I just missed you,” Namjoon said, tears gone. Namjoon could stop crying in an instant. Jin realized, too, that even with Yoongi standing attentively by his side recently, Namjoon had been fucking traumatized by Taehyung’s attempt, and triggered as hell, he was sure, even though Namjoon politely tried to hide it from him. And then the holidays, without his eomma and noona–fuck. The only time Jin had spent with him was when Joon was comforting him while he was having his own fucking meltdown.

“You’re not needy. I’ve been a bad hyung to you.” Jin crouched down to kiss him, holding his cheek with his right hand and kissing Namjoon’s other cheek. He looked him in the eye.

“You’re always a good hyung,” Namjoon said instantly. Jin knew he was defensive about that and that it was pointless to argue the point no matter how he felt. Jin tickled him even though he was still holding the cello and Jin was at risk of getting whacked with it.

“Fine. Then I’ll be an even better hyung. I want to be the best hyung in the world for my Joonie,” he said over Namjoon’s soft giggles. He even laughed quietly, never screeching like Jungkook did when he was tickled. The way Namjoon looked at him, Jin knew that he thought he already was the best hyung in the world, and god that made him want to do better for him.

“Have you gotten any books yet?” Jin asked. “If you can pick something that isn’t boring as hell, we can read a book together.” He suggested it only because in middle school and into high school, Joonie had tried to get him to read something with him constantly until he was finally worn down by the consistent “no.” Jin knew it had been rude, but fuck, those books were too hard for him. He wasn’t an idiot, but he hadn’t known how to approach Kierkegaard in freshman year of high school, either. Sue him.

“Really?” Namjoon asked, perking up.

“If you can remember I’m stupid, then yes,” Jin said with a grin.

“You’re not stupid, you’re just dumb,” Namjoon said with a smile, an old inside joke of theirs from a day when Jin had proudly told Joonie that he’d gotten an A on some difficult Korean exam, and then a few hours later that he needed to go to the clinic for preventative antibiotics because he’d had unprotected casual sex.

Namjoon had gone with him, taking a stack of free condoms from the bin at the clinic absolutely stone-faced, putting them in Jin’s bag like he was scared to touch them. It was a hard day and a fun day, a bad memory and a fond one.

“I’m not stupid, Joonie,” Jin had said, offended by Namjoon’s scolding.

“No,” Namjoon had said, straight faced back in Jin’s bedroom. “You’re really smart. But sometimes you are fucking dumb.”

Looking at Joon now, Jin remembered that kid.

“Joonie, let’s skip practicing.” He expected the look of confused revulsion on Joonie’s face and laughed at it.

“It’s one thing for your violin, but I hauled a cello out here, hyung,” he said, seriously. Jin rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I drove you here. You didn’t walk twenty miles to the school to practice. Let hyungie buy you a coffee and some books. Come on, I’m excited. Do you want to kill my love of reading even as it blossoms?”

Namjoon wasn’t the most strong-willed person when it came to Jin, and Jin knew it, knew it well before they loaded back into Jin’s car, giggling.

“Okay, so where’s the bookshop you go to?” Jin asked, ready at the driver’s wheel, shivering while the car warmed back up, already cold. Namjoon looked at him strangely.

“You bought me a gift card there,” he said incredulously. Jin nodded.

“I went through your notebooks for the name of it when you weren’t home–yeah, sorry. I knew you wouldn’t mind. And then I called them and begged them to mail it to me and said I was a busy student and that I was illiterate,” he said. Namjoon leaned back in the car seat that was starting to warm underneath him.

“Unbelievable,” he said, but Jin knew he really didn’t care if he went through his notebooks. He knew him well enough to know that the cute thin books with “Sketch Book” printed on the front were all fair game, his fat little planner was fair game, and only the creamy notebooks were truly private. Joonie had had the same notebook system for years now.

Namjoon directed him to the bookshop, which Jin was a little scared to go into. He didn’t know why. He sort of felt like there would be some kind of wizard waiting at the door, who would quiz him on Hannah Arendt or someone else Namjoon liked to yap about and who Jin had never managed to absorb a single word of knowledge concerning.

“Hyung?” Namjoon looked at him with concern as they approached the two story shop, windows glowing a warm orange from the dim lights inside. Jin could see through the window it was stacked with books inside, even off the shelves. He felt ridiculous, but he had to ask.

“Uh. They’re not going to like. Ask me any questions about like…Jean-Paul Sartre, right?” he asked. Namjoon laughed, and Jin fucking loved the way his cheeks pressed his pretty eyes closed, the way he seemed to glow when he laughed.

“Very funny, hyung. No one cares what you read,” he said, and offered his hand. Jin took it gratefully as they stepped in. The clerks began to bow, saw it was Namjoon, and waved in a more friendly way instead, all smiles. Of course they knew Joonie here–he was a handsome genius who spent big bucks every time he visited. Namjoon waved back with a grin, and Jin noticed not for the first time what a social butterfly Namjoon really was when he wasn’t horrifically depressed.

“What do you want to read, hyung?” he asked, attentive. Jin looked around at all the different books on the shelves, the genre signs in the different sections.

“Cookbook,” he said, reading what he was looking at but correcting quickly. “I mean. Maybe a music biography or history? Or a fun novel. Actually, can I look at the cookbooks, too?” Joonie nodded.

“I’ll look for something for us. You check the cookbooks.” He squeezed Jin’s shoulder and disappeared–really disappeared. Jin had no clue where he went, prayed he hadn’t been spirited away here and that he would find him again in the labyrinth of shelves.

He looked through the cookbooks for kimchi recipes, found some easily and settled on a slim hardcover volume of only kimchi. He texted his uncle a picture of the book:

Jin: Let’s start making our own kimchi?

The text back was almost instant–that middle aged man texted faster than anyone else Jin knew. Now that they’d been dating a while, sometimes Jungkook even accidentally left him on read for days–a habit he’d had with everyone since he’d gotten his first phone, Jin learned.

Uncle: Deoksu and I were talking about doing that. He ferments as a hobby. Makes jeong, too. Want to make it together with him?

Jin frowned. His uncle had always been a little antisocial despite how friendly he was, mostly introverted. When did he get a friend Jin didn’t know about?

Jin: Respectfully, who the fuck is Deoksu?

He expected the fast reply and the scolding.

Uncle: Seokin-ah, language! Jungkook’s father!

He texted back his apology and his sincere agreement. He liked Appa Jeon a lot. Those two would be fast friends, Jin realized. They were both nerds in the way old men tended to be. Namjoon poked his head around the shelf and Jin jumped, dropping his phone and the book on the soft carpet. Their other friends would have laughed, but Namjoon frowned and bent down to help him even though his arms were completely full of books.

“I’m sorry, hyung. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. Jin smiled at him reassuringly.

“It’s okay. I just thought you were a wizard.” Namjoon cocked his head to the side.

“Uh, wha–”

“What did you pick?” Jin asked, looking over at the pile of books in Namjoon’s arms, and if he wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t all for them, he at least hoped they weren’t. Namjoon blushed.

“Oh!,” he said, setting some down on a stool and hunting through the pile for two. “Sorry. I wanted to use my gift card for my own reading, too. So this is a book entirely about the conception, publication, and problems of Bach’s Art of the Fugue. Doesn’t that sound interesting?” Namjoon looked so bright and hopeful that Jin simply had to lie to him. He didn’t love Bach like Namjoon did–it wasn’t showy or emotional enough for him–but he did love to hear Joonie playing Bach, his specialty.

“Yeah! It sure does,” he said, and Joonie must have really been hoping he’d say that, because he beamed, willfully oblivious.

“And the other–I don’t know if you’d be interested in this. It’s a British novel, called The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It’s like, funny sci-fi.” Jin thanked the universe, promised to be a better Buddhist from now on.

“That actually sounds really interesting! Can we do that one?” he asked with unfeigned enthusiasm. Namjoon’s dimples peeked out.

“Yeah! Sounds great.” He moved to pick his pile back up, but Jin added Joonie’s books to his own kimchi book.

“Hyung will get it. Lead me to the checkout.” When it came time to pay, Jin wouldn’t let Namjoon use his gift card, and he frowned when he saw that it came to almost exactly $300 before his own cookbook. He’d budgeted so carefully. The clerk chatted with Joon about someone called Osamu Dazai. Jin hoped he’d never have to read one of his books. That guy sounded miserable.

***

The first day back in class was fucking miserable for Yoongi. He’d been forced to take another 8:00am course by his sadistic advisor, and Joonie wasn’t even taking this one, so he couldn’t copy his notes. Maybe he could help him study anyhow. He knew he was going to skip this one a lot even though Joonie would yell at him. He knew Jimin had an early class, too, and texted him asking to meet up afterward, relieved Jimin also texted in class, instantly.

Jimin looked so fucking tired when they met up outside the engineering building–their halfway point–that Yoongi actually wondered if he’d slept at all. He gave him a hug that Jimin returned and lingered on, leaning his body heavily against Yoongi’s; he tried to remain solid and strong for him.

“You not sleep?” Yoongi asked, mumbling. He always mumbled when he was fucking tired.

“I did. Did you?” Jimin asked back. Yoongi nodded and yawned, which made Jimin giggle. Neither he nor Namjoon actually slept all that well, ever. Sometimes they both woke up in the middle of the night at the same time and they’d sit up and talk softly for a while until they were tired enough to try again. Namjoon took his sleep seriously precisely because it was hard won.

“I’m not much of a morning person. Let’s grab some coffee. Hyung’s treat.” Yoongi offered Jimin his hand, honestly just wanting his own hand held, and was grateful when he felt Jimin’s cute little hand squeezing his own.

They sat in the student cafe in the big library, quiet until that first sip of espresso brought life into their faces, and then they started to talk. Jimin was easy to talk to, and Yoongi found himself wondering why they didn’t hang out more.

“Okay, okay. I’m going to be bitchy for a minute,” Jimin said, sipping his iced americano. They had both gotten an iced americano–You can’t beat the classics, Yoongi thought. He grinned and nodded, anticipating.

“The fucking string players practice so much. I practice for like an hour a day and I get bored and I’m still in the orchestra!” Jimin exclaimed, Yoongi laughing.

“They like it, they like it,” Yoongi defended them weakly. He was the same way. All he ever wanted to do was play his instruments, or make his beats on his downtime. Sometimes he wanted to fool around with a new instrument.

“You’re one of them,” Jimin accused, pointing and suppressing a smile. “And I want to tell you a secret you can’t tell anyone.” Yoongi leaned in closer, happy to play the game. Jimin leaned closer too, and spoke softly in his ear, not quite a whisper.

“Hoseok is a better player than all of us. He’s that good and sometimes I don’t hear him practice for a week straight,” Jimin revealed. Yoongi didn’t laugh, instead looked up with genuine shock. There was no way–Hoseok never messed up during full orchestra practice.

“Does he win all sorts of competitions? Is he like a prodigy?” Yoongi asked, serious. Jimin giggled and shook his head, and Yoongi thought his laugh sounded like a kind of music, too, very melodic–he’d have to try to write something that sounded like Jimin’s laugh.

“No! Hobi and I always do awful in those. I think it kills Jin that he’s never gotten first and Jungkook is always winning them all. He’s probably lost to Jungkook before without even knowing him,” Jimin said. He sipped his drink rather daintily.

This gossipy side to Jimin was new to Yoongi, and he wondered if he was like this with everyone or just him. Normally, it would make him uneasy, but Yoongi knew in his heart that nothing was meant cruelly, that Jimin might have even told Jin as much to his face. Still, it felt a little…almost sacrilegious. These were Yoongi’s first friends in college in the three fucking years he’d been there. He didn’t want to hurt them.

Jimin must have noticed, reached out a hand, placing it on Yoongi’s wrist gently.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–you’re just really easy to talk to,” he said. Yoongi blinked in disbelief. Me? he thought. Nobody had ever accused him of that. Yoongi shrugged.

“I just don’t really know what’s…” He started, but then he thought about it a second. Who was it hurting? Did he really think no one talked about them at all when they weren’t around? They’d all talked about Tae and Jin recently. They’d all talked about poor little Jungkookie’s fucking mental breakdown behind his back. Lovingly, but still–Yoongi knew Koo would have hated it. Fuck it. Why not?

“Nothing mean,” Yoongi finally finished with a grin, Jimin grinning back. “But I thought all that was fake,” he insisted. Jimin snorted, and Yoongi raised his eyebrows at him during his next sip.

“If you think those two aren’t actually competitive as hell with each other you’re wrong. I’m glad Hoseok and I play separate instruments and dance differently. Don’t you think it would piss you off a little if Joonie played the oboe better than you?”

Yoongi thought about it. Would it piss him off? He wasn’t sure it would. He liked to see Joonie improve at the traditional instruments he tried. He shrugged.

“I think I’m so used to people playing better than me that it doesn’t really bother me. I honestly don’t know how I got this position–it was like a dream come true for me,” Yoongi admitted softly, looking down, too heartfelt for the conversation they were having. Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed and Yoongi didn’t want to give him a chance to comment on that.

“But the real question–you said if Joonie played better than me. Which of them do you think plays better?” Yoongi knew he had a shit eating grin on his face by the way Jimin threw his head back laughing.

“If you tell either of them I said this, you’re fucking dead,” Jimin joked, little fists balled up into a swinging stance.

“But,” he continued, looking around and leaning in a bit without even realizing it. “I honestly think Jin hyung. They’re obviously both very good–I would never say they aren’t on equal footing. And I think they both improve the other’s playing.

“But I thought Jungkook must be Chloe Chua or something when he got concertmaster as a freshman–especially with how close Jin hyung is to Conductor-nim. But he was just a really good player,” Jimin finished, looking at Yoongi with a hint of cautiousness that Yoongi wasn’t sure he understood the meaning behind.

But he nodded. If he was being honest, he’d had the same questions. Jungkook was fantastic, but he worked hard for it. Jin worked as much as he needed to, and no more. His fingerings and bowings always seemed more innovative and efficient, and Jungkook often even took his advice, consulting with him during orchestra. When he asked the advice and didn’t take it was when Yoongi really noticed Jin’s lip thin with annoyance.

“I’ve thought the same. But–oh shit. I’m going to be late for my class. Jimin-ssi, would you like to make this a Monday-Wednesday after class tradition?” he asked, smiling. Jimin smiled back widely, blushing a little.

“I’d love to. Next time I’ll buy,” he said. Yoongi waved him off.

“Hyung always buys. See you around,” he said. He felt better after chatting with Jimin. It was okay not to put his friends on a pedestal–there was a balance to be had. Maybe he’d talk through his feelings about gossip with Namjoon later.

Chapter Text

Jimin rubbed Hoseok’s sore neck, watching him melt in his hands. There was something so vulnerable about the way Hoseok showed Jimin when he was comforted, when his guard was down. It struck Jimin then as more intimate even than his face betraying the soreness. He worked his hands into the stiff muscles smoothly, hands trained by years of dancing to feel each source of knots and tightness.

“You’re wonderful,” Hoseok said, eyes fluttering shut. Jimin bent down low to kiss his cheek, lingering. Hoseok would understand what he wanted, and Jimin would respect his answer either way.

“You’re so pretty right now,” Jimin sang, smiling. The softest moan escaped Hoseok’s mouth, and he turned his face up to Jimin’s, his hand on Jimin’s arm stopping the massage. The heavy look in Hoseok’s eyes was all Jimin needed, and he moved around the little sofa to straddle him, trying to be gentle. He always wanted to be gentle with Hoseok.

Hoseok leaned his neck forward to reach his lips for a kiss that Jimin gave him happily, savoring the warmth of his mouth. His arms flailed briefly, finding Jimin’s hips and squeezing them to connect himself back with the world, already so lost. Jimin smiled, kissed his cheek and spoke softly.

“Your face is already so red.” He was very pleased–not with himself, he realized, but with Hoseok. But his Hobi’s eyebrows knit together.

“Sorry,” he said. Jimin kept his smile, holding Hobi’s face with his left hand, cradling it, showing him how precious he was, and he kissed his left cheek again.

“No, honey. It’s so cute. I like it,” he reassured him, moving back to his mouth–just small little kisses planted there, nothing overwhelming. Hoseok exhaled blissfully, eyes closed.

“Can I see you naked?” Hobi asked, the sweetness of the question not enough to stop Jimin’s dick from hardening under his skinny jeans. He kissed his mouth again, stood, and undressed slowly. He knew that Hoseok liked to watch, that it helped situate him.

“Only if I can see you,” he teased, already naked. Hoseok nodded urgently, and Jimin pulled down his pants as Hoseok took off his shirt, lifting his hips to help Jimin. His dick was already hard, and Jimin touched it, lowering to his knees. From the moment Jimin’s lips first kissed his warm cock, Hobi’s body shivered in pleasure. He looked down at Jimin, red and dazed and happy.

Jimin made eye contact when he took Hobi’s cock into his mouth, slowly, cautiously. He wasn’t sure he was really ready, but he wanted it, groaned when Hoseok threw his head back gasping from his lips wrapped around his cock. Jimin knew his lips were plush, that it was a good sight. He’d been told he had blowjob lips by many men less lovely than his boyfriend. Taking quick stock of his emotions, Jimin decided he felt okay, able to get more fully into it as he moved his head to suck.

But Hoseok jerked his hips up in pleasure and Jimin panicked, taking his mouth off with a yelp, regretting it instantly when Hoseok jolted to reality with guilt all over his face, the magic Jimin had cast gone.

“Shit, shit. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. It was an accident,” Hobi said, anxious, reaching out for Jimin. Jimin took the hand pulling him up and straddled him again, this time with his arms wrapped around Hobi’s neck. Hobi held him close by his waist, kissing his cheek.

“I’m okay,” he said, realizing it was true. He’d panicked, felt that familiar dread in his chest, like his heart was being strangled by a strong, thin thread wrapped around it, tightening. But he’d calmed down quickly, and he wasn’t upset anymore: It was just Hobi. He could taste him, smell him, touch him. It’s just my Hobi. He kissed Hoseok deeply, romantically, watching to see how quickly he could send Hoseok back where he belonged, back into that space where he was safe and taken care of.

“I really am okay. I want you to prep me today,” he said, getting things back on track. “Can you prep me nice and slow?” He watched Hoseok’s face carefully. If he was rattled, the last thing Jimin wanted was to pressure him into continuing. But Hoseok’s lips parted, and his eyes looked so big and touched.

“I can–wow,” he whispered with a reverence that made Jimin blush, caressing his hands over Jimin’s skin, sending pleasant shivers through his body. Jimin hated to leave him to get the lube, and a condom–he was not dealing with cum in his ass again today–but he was happy to be back on Hoseok’s warm lap, kissing him immediately. He hoped Hoseok wasn’t upset that he had to be on top for prep–he just had to. He couldn’t be on his back, not for the first time he touched him there.

Hoseok, obviously not upset at all despite Jimin’s worries, breathed hot on his neck, bending to tease Jimin’s nipples softly with his mouth. He held Jimin firmly while his back arched back with pleasure from Hoseok’s breath on his sensitive skin, firm and gentle like his hands. Hoseok touched and licked at his neck and chest for a long time before he even opened the bottle of lube.

Jimin leaned his head against Hobi’s shoulder and held his own ass open for him, hoping to make the position a little easier. It would still be awkward, but hopefully not annoying. Hoseok touched the cold lubed finger to his hole, rubbing it gently.

“I already feel so good,” Jimin whispered, kissing his neck. The touching had made him feel so beautiful, so precious and worthy that he had to try not to get emotional as Hoseok pushed the first finger into him gently.

Jimin never thought he’d moan from one finger, but he did, thrusting away from it, then sinking back in.

“Is this okay?” Hoseok asked. Jimin thought it was cute how hard he was trying to focus right now, to make this as good for him as it could be.

“I feel good,” Jimin said. “You can add more.” He breathed hot on Hoseok’s neck, wanting to feel him shift and squirm under him. Hoseok whimpered softly, teasing a second finger in slowly, letting Jimin fuck himself on his fingers.

“You’re doing so good–Oh, Hoseok,” Jimin said, breath picking up.

“One more, baby.” Hoseok obeyed, and Jimin moaned as he fucked into his three fingers, long and delicate. Normally he’d be fine with two, but he didn’t want to have any chance of scaring Hobi like that again.

“So good,” Jimin whispered.

Eagerly, he reached for the condom, tearing it open and rolling it over Hoseok’s cock slowly, savoring the way his eyes closed when Jimin touched him. He squirted lube onto his hand and warmed it up before he rubbed it onto Hobi.

“Are you ready?” Jimin asked. Hyung nodded, looking vulnerable, holding Jimin’s waist like it was made for his own comfort. Jimin sank his ass onto him, moaning, kissing Hoseok all over as he adjusted himself to the girth and feel of his cock, letting Hoseok fill him.

Hoseok threw his head back, rolled it to the side, whimpered, holding on to Jimin for dear life. Jimin took things slowly for him, knew he liked to savor it, liked to feel like Jimin wanted it to go on forever–and he did.

He rode him like he meant it, gasping prettily. Jimin tried to meet Hobi’s eyes as often as they were open, wanting him to stay with him.

“So good,” Jimin said, picking up the speed of his riding. Hoseok held his ass with one hand, his waist in the other, and he thrust up into Jimin, unable to help it. But Jimin didn’t mind as long as he was on top, even moaned to encourage him.

“God yes, yes–”

“Can I touch you?” Hoseok seemed barely able to get his words out. Jimin moaned his “yes,” moaned it again, and tried to focus as Hobi touched his cock. Jimin needed him right now, needed him badly. He grabbed behind his neck, the back of his hair, haphazardly, sloppy and needy and desperate for closeness.

“You make me feel so good. You’re doing so–” Jimin couldn’t finish, a whine escaping instead of the words he meant to say as his body–Hoseok’s body–gave him what he wanted. Hoseok moaned at the same time, and Jimin kissed him, kissed him, kissed him. He never wanted to stop kissing him.

***

“You wanted to see me?” Yoongi asked, poking his head into Conductor-nim’s office. Mr. Lee smiled at him, welcoming him in. His office was cozy, like Jin had described–Jin, he learned recently, had a key, and would come in to nap on the leather sofa between classes if he wasn’t meeting up with them. There was a pillow hidden in here somewhere. It made Yoongi smile to imagine hyung sleepily grabbing it from its hiding place, napping cozily.

“Yes, yes. Do you want some coffee?” he offered, making himself an instant latte packet. Yoongi nodded nervously, not sure if it was a test, but he was tired as hell and could use it, and sipped the cup he was handed gratefully.

“I spoke with Dr. Yoon about competitions–for oboe, it seems most of the more prestigious ones are international. I’m guessing from what we’ve discussed that that would be difficult for you?” he asked, frank but understanding. Yoongi looked down and nodded. Mr. Lee nodded, too.

“I thought so and chatted with her for a while. She thought it might be nice for you to take some masterclasses instead, and we were brainstorming other ways to build your CV,” he said. Yoongi tried not to look too surprised, or too frightened at the thought that he’d closed the door. No one had taken an interest in his future like this since he was a kid, and it put him on edge.

“It’s–it’s okay,” Yoongi said.

“No, no, there’s still plenty we can do. I spoke with the department about doing chamber groups again for more performances in the music department–we actually did these my first year here, the year before you and Jinnie were accepted, but they were a COVID cut. Dr. Yoon said she’d be delighted to work with us on picking a concerto or another piece for you to feature in.” He smiled with excitement, a smile which fell when Yoongi didn’t look excited. He hated to disappoint him–he still couldn’t believe he’d gotten into the orchestra in the first place.

“Um–I mean, thank you,” Yoongi said quickly, bowing. “What do I–do I need to do–” He struggled with his words, squirming uncomfortably, and Mr. Lee looked at him with a tenderness that made Yoongi want to crawl out of his skin with shame.

“Yoongi-ssi, are you asking if you owe me something?” he asked gently. Yoongi nodded. That was what he was asking, and he couldn’t help but wonder if his professor knew what he was worried he’d have to do.

“Of course not,” Mr. Lee answered. “I’ve told you this before, but it’s…seeing a student who didn’t believe in themself succeed is why anyone gets into teaching in the first place. I enjoy helping my students–and I do get paid well to do it,” he added. Yoongi blushed.

“What if I don’t pass the audition?” he asked quietly. Mr. Lee laughed, loud but not unkind, and it struck Yoongi how much like Jin’s it was, wondered if it was a coincidence or if it was something hyung had picked up from him over long hours spent together as a child.

“If you practice at all, you’ll be chosen,” Mr. Lee said confidently. “It’ll be a panel decision, not just mine. Don’t worry so much. And your club work will be a great help for your CV, too. Your first meeting is next Friday?” he asked. Yoongi bowed again.

“Thank you for advising–yes. Next Friday.” Conductor-nim advising had been a lifesaver. The teacher he’d wanted to ask, who worked primarily with traditional percussion, had taken an unexpected leave, and Yoongi had been left in a panic.

“If you need anything for the meeting, let me know. You still have my number, right? You’re welcome to text. I’m usually faster with it.” Yoongi nodded, and gathered the courage to ask yet another favor.

“Um…I’m kind of scared the meeting space won’t be big enough to have stations like I’d planned, but the other room is booked. Could–could I steal the orchestra room? I’ll put all the chairs back, I promise.” They were the only group with their own dedicated room, since they had long practices multiple days a week. The smaller, less prestigious orchestra had to use a room that doubled as a music classroom. Conductor-nim nodded.

“Yes, of course. I’ll come to the first meeting anyway, but I’ll get you a key made to the room for the future. You can use it for all of your meetings as long as you let me know the times if they fall outside the usual.” Yoongi bowed again, so grateful. He really did believe in the vision and importance of his club, and wanted to do right for anyone who bothered to show up to even just that first meeting. Everyone should get a chance to get up close with the music of their people.

***

Jungkook kissed Jin’s cheek, but the implication was clear, and Jin sighed happily in his dimly lit bedroom, curtains pulled tight. He had straddled Jungkook on his unmade bed, hoping it would lead somewhere, and was happy that it was.

“Can I try something new?” Jungkook asked, necking Jin. Jin nodded, wondering what was going to happen, what they hadn’t done together. Jungkook took his shirt off and then Jin’s, but something was off, different, like he was undressing them in slow motion. He looked at Jin too long before he gently pushed him to the bed, straddling him, kissing, necking, touching so softly.

Jin’s heartbeat quickened with anxiety. His first thought was that he must look bad today, but he’d kind of hoped that being naked would override a bad hair day or a little bloating from ramen last night. Still, he could get through it until things picked up. Jungkook lubed a finger and traced his hole, looking into Jin’s eyes in a way that embarrassed him, before he slowly pushed his finger in. Jin lay completely still, feeling one fucking finger slowly pushing in and out, more like a medical examination than sex with his boyfriend.

It was hard to breathe, he realized, staring at the ceiling, avoiding looking at Jungkook while he tried not to freak out. Don’t think about it. Just let him do what he wants, he thought desperately, until he felt that lone finger leave his body, even that taken from him.

“Hyungie?” Jungkook sounded worried, tried to get Jin to look at him, but he couldn’t. How could he face him?

“I’m sorry,” Jin said, voice pinched and scared, the words releasing some tension in an unpleasant way that made him shiver uncontrollably. Jungkook covered him with a blanket, frowning, and kissed his head several times.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. What’s wrong? Hyungie?”

“If you didn’t want me–that’s fine. You could have just said no,” Jin sniffled, still shaking. They hadn’t fucked in a while, and Jin tried not to feel insecure about it, to remind himself that they were both a little on edge and that there hadn’t been a great time, but–perhaps unfairly–it seemed like a pattern.

“Sweetheart, of course I want you. What are you talking about?” Jungkook asked gently, planting kisses all over his face now.

“You didn’t act like it,” Jin said quietly. Jin watched Jungkook realize what had happened, saw it reach his eyes, and hoped he’d explain.

“Honey–Honey, Honey.” Jungkook held him now, pulling Jin up from his sad little sex doll position and into his arms, where Jin lay stiff.

“I wanted–hyung, listen. We can’t fuck as often as I want because I can only visit you on the weekend, and there’s always someone fucking here, and my Appa is always walking in at home after Eomma saw that I gave you that huge hickey–hyung, we fuck so fucking loud.” He looked at Jin desperately, hoping he saw the problem. Jin blinked.

“Are you saying we haven’t fucked in weeks because I’m too loud?” he asked, a little offended. Jungkook shook his head.

“No–I mean, you are loud,” he grinned, unable to help it. “But so is like…the act of me hitting you. Of course you yell–that’s like. The point, right? And when you choke someone, like yeah, they’re going to gasp. And I’m not exactly quiet, either. I thought if we could fuck normal style, I could fuck you more. That’s it, yeobo.” Jin snorted at normal style, unable to help it even though he was still vulnerable.

“Honey, I fucking hated that,” Jin said honestly. Jungkook nodded.

“It was really boring. It’s not what I imagine doing to you.” Jin blushed, a question on his mind.

“Do you think of me when you jerk off?” he asked, curious after that. Jungkook looked at him like the question was obvious.

“Pretty much exclusively, yeah,” he said. Jin bit his lower lip.

“What do you think about?” He wanted to know, he was ashamed to admit to himself, who between the two of them was the bigger pervert. Jungkook smiled widely, reaching his eyes, like the question had been sweet, and he kissed Jin’s lips.

“Sometimes I think about tying you up so good you can’t move and then fucking you until you’re a mess, and choking you with the dick I just fucked you with–my hand too, but I usually come making you cry on my dick,” Jungkook admitted easily. Good. He’s at least kind of a pervert, Jin thought with relief.

“I picture fucking your mouth in your sleep until you wake up and you can’t say anything about it because you’re choking on my dick.

“Sometimes I think about giving you to someone–or like a big group of guys–and watching them all fuck you however they want, until you’re all worn out and filled up and leaking cum out your ass. And then I step in and show you how it feels to really get fucked,” Jungkook added, no blushing, no shame. Jin blushed though.

“You want to share me?” he asked, feeling uneasy about it. He’d had one threesome and it had made him feel worthless for a week afterward. Jungkook laughed, twinkling and bright, and kissed him.

“No! God, no. I’d fucking kill anyone who touched you,” Jungkook said with another kiss. “But it’s fun to picture someone as hot as you getting fucked while I’m jacking off, you know?” Jin smiled, too.

“What if I just blow you when people are around?” Jin asked. He loved to give a sloppy blowjob, anyway. “And if it’s been too long since our friends left the apartment, I’ll get us a hotel.” He grinned, delighted by the grin back.

“That sounds good,” Jungkook said, necking him more lovingly than sexually, always attentive to what Jin needed. “Because I want to fuck you until you’re begging me to stop.”

“And maybe you could fuck me in my sleep. I might like that,” Jin admitted, looking away. Jungkook growled, and he laughed again. Too cute, he thought.

***

“How was your day, baby?” Namjoon asked when Yoongi walked into their room.

“Really good. I got a lot of stupid homework I’d been putting off done, and I hung out with Jimin again today,” Yoongi said, handing Namjoon an instant coffee he’d made him. Namjoon frowned, and Yoongi hoped it wouldn’t turn into another fight. Any time Yoongi hung out with anyone but Jin that Namjoon knew was gay, he was upset. He’d always been jealous, but it was starting to really get to Yoongi.

“Any reason I’m not invited?” he asked.

“Your first class starts when we get out of ours,” Yoongi said, testily. “It’s nice to chat with someone else who fucking hates getting up and sitting in some stupid lecture.” Yoongi would skip every non-music class, if he was being honest, except that it would lose him his scholarship. Namjoon nodded, frowning into his coffee.

“You spend a lot of time with the other guys now,” he said with affected casualness. Yoongi groaned.

“What do I have to do to convince you that I’m not fucking every guy I talk to, Joon? This isn’t cute.” He knew he was curt and he didn’t care. Joon set his coffee down too fast and Yoongi flinched, hands in front of his face, which softened Namjoon. He took Yoongi’s hand, slowly, and Yoongi squeezed it, guilty that he thought Namjoon would ever hit him.

“I’m sorry,” Joonie said, voice hoarse. “I…you haven’t seemed all that interested lately. And I’ve never dated anyone, so I’m worried it means you’re interested in someone else.” Yoongi looked at him like he was insane.

“Joonie, what are you talking about? Of course I’m interested.” Namjoon returned the look.

“We haven’t made love since before Christmas. You’ve been spending most of your free time locked in the practice room–you’ve hardly even touched me. When you need comfort, even, you go to Jinnie hyung. And when I ask you what you’ve been up to, you always mention someone else.” Yoongi avoided mentioning how recently Christmas had actually been, not wanting Joon to feel unsafe sharing how he felt.

Namjoon looked off in a way that Yoongi knew meant he had more to say that he was afraid to, so he waited, stroking his hand gently with his thumb, hoping that counted for something.

“I already don’t feel good enough for you,” Namjoon finally said, voice hushed. “And honestly hyung, I feel–I feel like you realized you don’t really want me.” Yoongi frowned. He lay next to Joonie on the bed, opening his arms for him to lie on top of him, to be held, and Namjoon accepted gratefully, lying his head on his chest once Yoongi’s arms were safely around him. He kissed Namjoon’s head between his sentences.

“I want you, Joonie, but–I need to be honest, too. The jealousy is a major turn-off. I need you to trust me. When you live with someone…things get more comfortable, you know? And I haven’t had time to…practice,” he blushed. Namjoon sat up again, frowning deeply.

“You’re in the practice room all evening. I know you’re probably making beats, but–”

“Joonie,” Yoongi begged, not wanting to say it. “Practice. For sex. You know it hurts if I don’t stay on top of things,” Namjoon looked confused for a moment before it clicked.

“But I can help. Or you could spend less time on the lofi stuff,” Namjoon said. Yoongi tensed with annoyance.

“It’s embarrassing to me. That one time was fun but I want to do it alone, and you’re usually in here when I’m home. And I’m actually making some money on ‘the lofi stuff.’ It’s something I love to do, and I want to keep doing it. I finally have time and money and space to invest in myself. I’m not going to stop because you’re horny,” he snapped.

“That’s not what this is about,” Namjoon snapped back. “And you had no problem–” Namjoon stopped himself from saying something cruel, but it was too late. Yoongi knew what he was going to say, and hurt tears poured from him without his permission. Namjoon tried to comfort him, but Yoongi whacked him away, flailing like he couldn’t even control his body anymore.

“Absolutely fuck you,” he said, lip quivering. “I’m not your fucking whore. I don’t have to spread my legs whenever you want.”

He thought of the night he thought he was going to have, which he had actually planned to spend with Namjoon–he hadn’t been planning on sex since he hadn’t been keeping up with his embarrassingly large dildo, but he’d planned on cuddling together with a movie or a book, rubbing the tension out of his shoulders, kissing.

“Hyung, that’s not wha–”

“It is so what you fucking meant,” Yoongi said, icy, and Namjoon went quiet.

“It’s what I meant,” Namjoon admitted. “But I was just mad. I don’t really think that.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes.

“You have no fucking idea what it was like. Don’t throw that at me. How would you feel if I moved to hit you, then said it was no big deal because it was just to scare you? You wouldn’t be fucked up from that?” Namjoon nodded, serious.

“What was it like?” he asked softly. “I never asked you.” Yoongi wiped his tears and held himself, making himself into a ball, small and protected.

“Do you really want to know, or do you want to get mad at me for not being a virgin?” He knew he phrased it defensively, but the question was serious. Yoongi would tell him, but not if it was going to be used as ammunition later.

“I want to know.” Joonie’s voice came softly. He sat leaned against the wall their bed was pushed against, looking at Yoongi in his little ball. Yoongi could tell him, but he couldn’t look at him while he did. He worried he’d never be able to look at him again.

“I’ve never felt so much like a worthless piece of trash in my life. When I first–it was summer, and it was humid and rained a lot. I had to fuck for a shower,” he remembered bitterly, chest tightening.

“It–imagine having sex with someone you love six times a day,” he said. Namjoon cringed. It would wear them both the fuck out to do that.

“Now imagine that, but with six different men who all smell bad and laugh when they hurt you. It was like that before I got my apartment. I thought I was going to be killed a few times. I’ve gotten gang raped for saying no. I’ve had food held in front of me and had to blow a guy for it.

“I’ve been filmed when I begged for it to stop. I know I probably have videos online somewhere and have to live with the fact that anyone I meet might have cum to the worst moments of my entire life.

“I’ve had men rape me in my apartment and then throw money in my face to make it okay. And I worry about running into these guys every time I go out, because they were all normal men with normal jobs. You have no idea how many normal people want to hurt people with nothing.

“I was exhausted and in physical pain for most of three years of my life and I’m not going to be pressured into sex by someone who’s supposed to love me. And I’m not going to listen to you try to make me feel worthless about something that already makes me feel worthless,” he finished. His chest was so tight it hurt, and he put a hand to it, rubbed it, like it was a muscle cramp.

It hit him then that he’d grown in these last few months. A few months ago, he would have pushed through anything to try to get Namjoon to stay, even though he knew in his heart that Joonie didn’t want that, either. Maybe he was healing, after all.

Joonie was quiet, and for a horrible moment Yoongi wondered if the details had actually turned Yoongi from someone he thought of sexually to someone he was revolted by, and he cried harder.

“Please don’t hate me,” he begged, all the power from that moment of hope slipping away from him like sand through his fingers. Quickly, Namjoon wrapped himself around Yoongi, like an added layer of protection to the ball he’d made himself into.

“I love you. I just know I was a prick,” he assured, kissing his head. Yoongi cried against him, crying for himself again, and noticed Namjoon was crying with him.

“I know you said you’re fine with just blowjobs sometimes,” Yoongi choked out. “But sometimes I just want someone to want to spend time with me where I’m not–” He couldn’t finish, but he didn’t need to.

“I understand,” Joonie said, his grip around Yoongi tight. “I never want you to do something you don’t really want to do, hyung. I’m sorry I–I’ve just–”

“It’s okay that you feel insecure,” Yoongi assured him, trying to sound comforting through his own breakdown. He didn’t want him to feel like his feelings didn’t matter. “I can do better, and I promise I’ll try–I just need you to stop dealing with it like this, Joonie. It feels so fucking awful. I know you’re anxious, but if you can’t ask me for what you need without getting like this, I can’t be with you.” Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. He struggled out of Namjoon’s arms, suddenly suffocated, running to the bathroom to puke like he hadn’t in months, the vomit tasting like his own failure to heal.

“Joon, what did you fucking say to him?” he heard hyung snap from outside the bathroom while he puked his guts out. He didn’t hear Namjoon’s reply, but did hear Jin scolding him.

“No. You really treat him like shit sometimes. I love you too much to let you turn into your fucking father.” It was hyung whose arms helped him up, picking out bits of puke that had flown into his long hair.

“It’s not his fault,” Yoongi said, voice hoarse. Jin didn’t answer, just helped him clean up and move to where he’d made Namjoon settle, on the couch, placing him in Namjoon’s arms. Jin brought him a warm cup of yuja jeong tea and two bottles of water, placing one in front of Joonie, a small sign of love.

“Drink this. You’ll need some sugar.” He walked away then, leaving them to talk.

“My Abeoji is really jealous,” Namjoon said suddenly. “He hits my Eomma when she goes to work dinners and things like that. Even if he comes with her, he’ll hit her if she talks to a man too long.” Yoongi nodded. He knew how hard it was to break free of patterns when they were all you knew.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He meant it, couldn’t imagine being a kid and dealing with seeing his Eomma he loved so dearly getting hurt by his own Appa.

“I’d like it if you spent more time with me. Even if you just let me in the practice room while you’re working. And I’ll research how to stop…being like this. I don’t want to hurt you. And if I do start turning into my Abeoji, I want you to leave me.” Yoongi nodded. He squeezed Namjoon where he held him at the waist.

“You won’t,” he said firmly. “It’s just that neither of us is really ready for a relationship.” Namjoon didn’t seem comforted by that, but scared.

“Are you breaking up with me now?” It scared Yoongi to feel Namjoon’s heart rate speed up from his wrist, his nerves spiraling out of control. He made a soothing noise, moved a loving hand to his chest.

“No. We’ll make it work. It’ll just be harder. We both have a lot of work to do.”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon said again.

“Me too,” Yoongi agreed. It wasn’t like there were no hurt feelings from them both. But they were able to lie tired on the couch in each other’s arms, sympathetic to the other, and full of love. And that felt like enough.

“Joonie?” Yoongi asked after a while, almost falling asleep.

“Yeah?” Namjoon’s voice was hoarse; he was tired too.

“Read me whatever you’re reading right now?” Yoongi asked, shy to ask anything of him after that. But Namjoon loved to read to Yoongi, and he kissed his temple cautiously, then again more lovingly when his kiss had been accepted gratefully.

“I’m reading a book about Blues music in America that Taehyungie recommended me,” he said. He left, briefly, grabbed his book from his nightstand, and came back to the couch. Yoongi was glad they didn’t both move to the bedroom. The living room just felt safer right now. Hyung was right for that.

Namjoon read from his book, and Yoongi closed his eyes and listened to the words, trying to absorb them all so it was worth it for Namjoon, who read much faster on his own. And he listened to the hum of Namjoon’s voice in his chest, and to the way he breathed, and he knew that the work they’d both been doing these months was worth it. And he also knew that at some point he was going to have to talk to Namjoon about getting back on his medication. But for now, he just enjoyed hearing Namjoon read, learning about music in a faraway land together, like they always talked about.

***

Jin had called Jungkook over the second he knew everyone else was out of the apartment.

“Hurry up,” he’d said. “I’m skipping class for you.” It was so worth losing the attendance points now, Jungkook groaning on top of his half-naked body, shoving his tongue down his throat. Jin shifted his hips up, fucking begging for his pants to be torn off. Jungkook, never failing to get the hint, ripped them off so fast that Jin thought he heard them tear. He gasped, arching his hips up as Jungkook threw himself back on Jin, sucking his neck hard.

“I want to hear you,” Jungkook mumbled into his neck. He pulled himself off Jin to hunt under the bed for what he was looking for, one of Jin’s dildos that made him blush. He’d picked one of the bigger ones–not that any of Jin’s were really huge. He didn’t actually jack off that often, and when he did, he wasn’t inclined to put in that much work.

Jungkook flipped Jin over onto his stomach, never afraid to manhandle him, and shoved his legs apart until Jin spread them himself, like a good boy. He held open Jin’s ass, thumbs so close to his hole that Jin filled with want for more right away. Jungkook licked gently first, up and down, and then harder, more randomly.

Jin arched into him, so automatic that there wasn’t room for shame or fear, just following his body. Jungkook’s movements became more desperate, his tongue tip poking roughly inside of Jin before he couldn’t take it anymore and shoved an unlubed finger in. Jin moaned, embarrassed by how easily it slid in even though they hadn’t fucked in a while, while at the same time letting himself enjoy a bit of smugness about how turned on he could tell Jungkook was just from this. Jungkook’s hand stopped squeezing his ass–Need it back, Jin thought–and lubed up the other, and soon there were three fingers inside him all at once, fucking him hard, a sharp bliss.

Jin had forgotten about the dildo by the time the jolt of shock made him cry out as it entered his ass. Jungkook didn’t exactly ease it in, either, really shoving it before he flipped him back onto his back, rough and bruising.

“Fuck yourself with it,” Jungkook said hoarsely. Jin obeyed, pulling it in and out roughly, wanting to hurt himself just enough to feel good, groaning with frustration. He was already a whimpering mess, and Jungkook was only now undressing.

Jin couldn’t help it–he slowed down to admire Jungkook’s muscular build, licking his lips, wanting to taste his body, to hold Jungkook’s strong arms, to dig his fingers into his developed back muscles. Jungkook noticed and grinned, blushing a bit demurely, more cutie patootie than dom for a moment.

“Keep fucking,” he said, crawling back onto the bed. At first he straddled Jin, but he moved up, and Jin’s mouth opened automatically.

“Slut,” Jungkook groaned, pushing into Jin’s mouth, crouched over his face. Jin squirmed from the name. Usually he would hate to be called that, but right now, all he wanted was to be Jungkook’s slut. From his position, all Jin really had to do was keep his mouth open, so he just let himself go limp, toy still inside him but untouched as Jungkook thrust into his throat.

Jin gagged–this was the most painful blowjob he’d given in a while, and he realized Jungkook was trying to get him to produce the sloppiest noises. He’d said as much–he wanted to hear him choke, and frustrated with Jin’s blowjob skills, was resorting to fucking into him as hard and deep as he felt safe doing.

Jin did make some pretty disgusting noises, crying desperately already. His throat stung, and he felt mucus spilling out of his mouth and down his face. Finally, Jungkook had really gotten him–he couldn’t fucking breathe. Turned on but panicked, he beat Jungkook’s thighs desperately for air and Jungkook finally pulled out.

Jin gasped, and when he opened his mouth more mucus spilled out, and a sense of humiliation completely filled him, all encompassing. He whimpered, teary and knowing deep, deep in his bones that he was truly worthless, just a body, just a hole, falling, falling–

But Jungkook realized what was happening quickly and took his own T-shirt from the edge of the bed and wiped at Jin’s face and neck gently, cleaning all the thick spit off him, kissing his face softly, replacing it with the soft touch of his lips.

“I’m sorry, yeobo. Is that better? Do you want to stop?” Jungkook’s voice was soft and sweet, everything Jin needed. He shook his head, surprised by how hoarse he was already when he spoke, even compared to other times he’d gotten face fucked by Koo.

“It’s better. Don’t stop. Just kiss me for a minute,” he begged, and then, “Thank you.” Jungkook wiped at the pile of drool next to him, too, before he threw the T-shirt off the side of the bed and kissed Jin’s mouth like he wanted to suction them together forever. They kissed like that for long enough that Jin forgot he’d ever felt scared, that he’d ever felt anything but Jungkook’s love.

Jungkook pulled the toy out of him painfully slowly, and Jin cried out. Greedily, spreading his legs widely, he watched Jungkook again as he lubed himself and shoved himself into Jin in one quick movement, eyes fixed on Jin’s. Jin closed his eyes and moaned, but Jungkook took his face roughly, fingers squeezing his cheeks.

“Look at me,” Jungkook said, and Jin opened his eyes lazily, keeping them fixed on Jungkook’s intense gaze. Jungkook lowered himself only to kiss Jin occasionally, fucking into him roughly, watching Jin’s face whenever he was loud, moaning and messy.

Jungkook’s hand slapped his face and Jin threw his head back, begging for more, and Jungkook gave it to him, pressing his hand to his throat.

“Take it like a good fucking slut,” Jungkook muttered, barely comprehensible, and Jin’s body erupted in shivers from being choked, his head emptying as Jungkook came inside of him. Jin wished he could feel that hot cum squeezing into him forever.

Jungkook lowered himself heavily onto Jin, his sweaty body fever-hot on Jin’s as he gave Jin sloppy kisses wherever his lips reached. When he finally pulled out, Jin whimpered, but Jungkook shoved his toy back inside of him before he started to ooze cum. He screeched, truly embarrassed by the sound he made but thrusting his hips, grateful to be full again anyway.

Jungkook sucked him off with the toy inside him, angling it a little too well. Jin’s orgasm came quickly and intensely, lasting longer than usual–long enough that it scared him a little, spasming over the toy. It was like pleasure rushing up and down his body, over and over, from his head to his toes, a pile of heat heavy in his stomach that spread little by little. He could feel that he was making sounds, but he had no clue what he was saying or how loudly, blind to everything but his own pleasure.

By the time Jungkook pulled the toy out of him, he was so worn out that he didn’t even react, limp on the bed as Jungkook climbed over him to kiss him again.

“I love you,” Jungkook said. He seemed to have as much energy as always. Jin couldn’t leave him hanging like that. He tried to speak, to say that he loved him, too, but what came out of his mouth didn’t sound anything like words. Jungkook laughed, happily.

“I’ll take it,” he said brightly, like Kookie was back after Jin had just gotten fucked by Jungkook.

“Come on, hyungie. I think you need some after care.” Jin blinked at his kind, grinning face, reaching up for him. Yeah, he realized. I do. Jungkook helped him up and to the bathroom, and started running a bath, leaving the room for Jin to take care of the cum over the toilet, the worst part about having sex.

He stood and looked at himself in the mirror and laughed, even though his voice was dry and sore–Jungkook had left several hickeys. Most of them would be well hidden on his chest, but he’d taken great care to leave one on his neck in the exact spot of the bruise he had there from the long hours of practicing violin.

Jungkook came through the door with a grin. He was in Jin’s bathrobe, with two bottles of water in the pockets and a mug of tea in his hand, in the mug the Jeons had gotten Jin for Christmas.

“I see you found my surprise. I hate when you’re not marked up.” His voice was so sweetly petulant that Jin couldn’t wipe the smile from his own face, even though he was sure it made him look crazy. Kookie set the tea down and stopped the tub, motioning for Jin to step in. When Jin did, the hot water felt so magical on his used up body, healing and lovely. Jungkook set the tea by him and handed him an open bottle of water, which he drank greedily. Jungkook opened another and set it next to the tea.

“Tell me why,” Jin said, knowing but wanting to hear it. Jungkook didn’t hesitate.

“You’re mine and it pisses me off when there’s no way to tell.” Jin sank happily into the tub, sipping the tea, smiling at the mug. He felt so much better–wanted, held, cared for. And Jungkook looked a little more relaxed, a little easier.

***

Taehyung sat in a corner of his bedroom on the floor, a little ball, his little fluffball at his feet, protective. He didn’t deserve that protection. What do you want? He’d asked himself the same question about a thousand times today, and the day before, and the one before that, and this time his answer was no different:

I don’t know.

He squeezed his knees, rocked, annoying Yeontan into standing up from his guardpost. The immediate things were more obvious, easier to name. He wanted Hobi hyung. He wanted parents who loved him. He wanted to be normal. He wanted to sleep with Jin hyung every night. He wanted–

“Tae? Can I come in?” Jin hyung. Taehyung wiped at his eyes.

“Come in.” He hoped he hadn’t done anything annoying. Sometimes they came in to talk to him about something annoying he was doing without realizing. They were also so nice about it. It killed him.

Jin opened the door and seemed surprised to see him in the corner, and Taehyung realized that he should have moved. But Jin just sat on the floor across from him, cross legged, and made kissy noises to lure Yeontan over. It worked. He’s not loyal, Taehyung thought, and it made him smile.

“You okay?” Jin asked. He picked up Yeontan and kissed him on the head, and Yeontan nipped at him playfully, wagging his tail.

“I don’t–it doesn’t matter. What did you need?” Jin cocked his head at him and Taehyung knew that his plan to act natural had failed. He was bad at hiding things, bad at figuring out when to lie, and even worse at following through with the lying. He wished he’d figured it out.

“I came in to see how my Tae Tae was doing. You didn’t go to your classes today, or eat. I haven’t heard any brass all day. I was worried about you.” Hyung was always extra direct with him. Taehyung rocked again.

“I’m really sad, and I don’t know what I want in life.” He squeezed his legs tighter. Jin put Yeontan down and opened his arms, leaving them open patiently when Taehyung didn’t shake his head no. It took him a moment to unravel himself, but he moved into Jin’s arms, held in his lap, to be put together again. Hyung stroked his hair, and it felt so good to be loved.

“You don’t need to know that, Tae. You’re nineteen years old. You’ll figure it out.” Taehyung hesitated, unsure if he should share this.

“I want to sleep with someone.”

“You can sleep with me tonight. It’s not a prob–”

“No, hyung. I want to fuck someone.” Jin’s eyes widened like he’d feared they would.

“Oh. Why don’t you?” Taehyung pulled Jin’s arms tighter around him, and Jin squeezed him, comforting, grounding.

“I think…I know you love me. But I kind of think that all of you think I’m too stupid to consent to sex and that you’ll freak out the second I lose my virginity.” Jin’s eyes widened again, comically this time, so Taehyung couldn’t help but smile even though he knew in his heart that it wasn’t the time.

“Tae Tae, no. I don’t…I think we’re a little overprotective of you sometimes. I’m sorry. It’s just because you were our baby until last semester,” Jin said. Taehyung raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Sometimes I hear what you’re doing with the new baby.” Jin’s face reddened so severely, so quickly that Taehyung decided to change the subject, tie it into the other thing that was on his mind.

“That’s the other thing–you all think I’m like…a stupid little kid. I don’t think I was ever even an option for any of you.” There. It was out now. Watching them all pair off without him was hard, and he’d finally said it. Jin was silent, and Taehyung worried he’d gone too far.

“It’s not that you weren’t an option, sweetheart. It’s that none of you were an option. I just don’t see any of you that way. Jimin and Hoseok have been crushing on each other since they met. Joonie was simping for Yoongi before they even really met. You’re all my family.

“Like…Namjoon and Jimin and Hoseok weren’t options for me, either. I think they all felt the same. It’s not that we’re all dating each other and leaving you out–is that how you’ve felt?”

Taehyung was quiet, for so long that Jin hyung worried, begging him to speak. But he couldn’t. All he could think about was how no one would ever love him. He knew he could get laid–he was hot, and the demographics he was into were all into what he had going on. But if even the people who loved him most out of anyone–ever–had never even considered him as a romantic prospect, he was fucked.

***

Jin laughed loudly as he read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Finally, Joonie had put him onto something good. He took notes in the margins carefully, underlining his favorite jokes and writing his thoughts in blue ballpoint. Joonie’s color was red.

Jin loved to pass the book back and forth each chapter with him, to see his thoughts in real time as he read when it was his turn. Sometimes he’d add notes about the English in the original, and Jin thought it was cute that Namjoon thought he remembered enough English from school to absorb any of it.

It had been a long time since they both did something fun, something not related to music, and something they both enjoyed, together with only them. They did things with two or three of the four often, but dating seriously, and really even just becoming closer with their friends, had really changed things for them, for the amount of time they had to spend with each other.

So Jin made sure to read every line carefully, to really savor even the portion of the activity spent in isolation, before they got coffee to talk about it like they did every few chapters. Joonie deserved his full attention, even if he was on a date with Yoongi while Jin read. Joonie was precious to him, and he hadn’t shown him that lately.

Chapter Text

“Can you believe it?” Jin asked, excited as he packed up his violin from orchestra rehearsal. “It’s been so long since we’ve had the ensembles. I was worried they wouldn’t be back by the time I graduated.” He smiled to himself, back in his favorite place in the world, and now he was going to get to play the piece that meant more to him than any other ever had in his entire musical life. He stood up and imagined a future with abundant applause and artistic fulfillment. Maybe even some job offers for after his graduation.

“I know,” Jungkook replied, practically bouncing. “I’m so excited. My Sibelius is really good.” Jin looked down at Jungkook still–kind of, anyway–in his seat, smile falling.

“You’re auditioning?” he asked. Jungkook tilted his head to the side.

“Obviously?” he said, confused. Jin couldn’t stop staring at him, and he knew his face was doing something weird, the muscles tensing.

“Hyung? Why wouldn’t I–”

“Can you not just let me have something for once?” Jin snapped.

“Uh oh,” came Namjoon’s voice. His cello was already on his back, and Yoongi and Jimin stole a nervous glance at each other.

“I think you two should take a few minutes to breathe,” Namjoon suggested, calmly. It pissed Jin off when Namjoon used his calm voice on him.

“I didn’t even fucking know you. I didn’t take your stupid spot,” Jungkook snapped, ignoring Namjoon, which also pissed Jin off even though he was also planning on ignoring Namjoon.

“You didn’t even play well today,” Jin said. He noticed people were hanging around to watch them argue.

“Okay,” Hoseok said, holding his hand out before Jungkook could say something hurtful. “You guys know I hate to get involved. Kookie, come with me and Jiminie. Jin hyung, go with Yoongi hyung and Namjoonie.”

Jin and Jungkook met eyes, and Jungkook’s looked as hurt as Jin knew his own did, and he nodded, slowly, and Jungkook nodded in return. Hobi asked so little of them. When he put his foot down, none of them would be able to bear to look him in the eye to argue.

Jin’s eye caught the Tiffany bracelet on his wrist, way too dressy for his outfit, but that he’d worn every day since the semester started, and his eyes travelled to the matching one on Jungkook’s wrist. He bit his lip. He was not going to embarrass himself even more right here, to give these lingering people any more to gossip about. Jungkook bit his lip too, a nervous flicker in his eye.

***

Jin stared at Doyoung while he practiced on the big piano in the living room, wondering why his own fingers didn’t float the way his hyung’s did over the piano keys.

“It’s getting late, Jinnie,” Doyoung said, sighing at the music, penciling something in. Sometimes Jin pretended to have something to pencil in on his own sheet music, copying the serious squint of his brother’s eyes. At thirteen, Doyoung was so much older than him, so much cooler.

“He said it would be tonight,” Jin whined. “Just a little longer?” He sat on the piano bench next to his brother, giggling when Doyoung wouldn’t scoot his butt over, happy when he was tickled. Doyoung smiled at him, and Jin loved him even more because the smile reached his eyes.

The front door opened, and Jin popped up, alert, forgetting his game with his hyung. He ran to his father, back from a weeklong business trip, and tackled him into a tight hug before Appa’s arm even finished closing the front door. The piano played in the background, the same piece; Doyoung had gone back to practicing.

“Appa!” Jin shouted, full of glee. He’d missed his Appa so much.

“Hi, Appa,” Doyoung said, voice small but cautiously cheerful. Appa pulled Jin off him.

“Seokjin, I just got home. Doyoung, quit that racket. We put in the practice room for a reason.”

“Why have a real piano in the living room if I can’t play it?” Doyoung asked. Jin got nervous. Doyoung wasn’t like Jin, didn’t live for the attention of their parents.

“Do you really want to get–” Appa started, upset. Jin interrupted, desperate to save the situation. He thrust the card he’d made up at his father.

“Appa! Appa, I made you a card. Look.” He knew he’d done something wrong immediately from the way his father’s face darkened. Appa was a nice man, and he usually wasn’t upset with Jin. When he was, it physically hurt him, in the chest, like someone was squeezing him.

“You’re nine years old. Too old to be–people are going to think you’re stupid, Seokjin.” He snatched the card and crumpled it. While Jin’s heart broke, Doyoung stood from the piano, slamming the lid. Jin jumped.

“He’s just a little kid,” he snapped. He stood behind Jin protectively, holding his little brother close to his chest with one arm. Just wanting a hug, Jin took the arm desperately, tried to pull it even closer.

Appa stared at them, his face softening, saddening in a way Jin hated even more than the anger. He rubbed his weary face, understanding he’d been in the wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Appa said, leaning down to hug Jin. Jin ran back to him without a moment’s hesitation, savoring his Appa hugging him for so long, the lingering kiss he received on his cheek.

“Appa had a bad trip. I’m just cranky and tired. Thank you both for staying up so someone was here to welcome back your old man.” He stood to ruffle Doyoung’s hair, but Doyoung didn’t soften into the touch like Jin did, just stood there, staring at him and then at Jin, still holding on to their father. Eomma was already in bed, exhausted from…something. Jin didn’t actually know.

“I need to sleep. Good night.” Jin watched his Appa straighten out the card, put it in his coat pocket, unread, before he trudged up the stairs. Jin wondered if he would ever read it. Doyoung’s arm wrapped back around him. He liked to stand with his hand on Jin’s chest, and Jin liked to be close to him.

“Come on. Bed,” he said. Jin pouted, quiet. He wanted to sleep between his parents, safe and held. Frustration. Sadness. He didn’t know what to say, just completely overcome with a sense of emotional overwhelm. Doyoung bent down.

“Do you want to sleep with hyung?” Jin nodded, and Doyoung held his hand tightly up the steps to his bedroom.

“I’ll take you and Joonie to the park tomorrow,” he whispered, like it was more a promise to himself than to Jin.

***

“You know how much–”

“Of course I know,” Namjoon said, holding up a hand. “Don’t remind me. But does he know?” Jin let himself hang on to the guilt for what he’d put Namjoon through for just a moment before he thought seriously about it.

“I’ve told him I played it a lot when I was going through a hard time,” he said. Yoongi and Namjoon both blinked at him, one on either side of him on the couch of Uncle’s office. Jin had a key, and he knew that he taught a theory class right after orchestra practice. He usually only came in here to sleep between classes, sometimes being gently kicked out when another student arrived, but he’d decided it was as good a place as any for a private conversation. Plus, there was an electric kettle to caffeinate.

“Not at all the same thing,” Yoongi mumbled. Jin sighed.

“Am I the asshole? Be honest.”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“Not for being upset,” Yoongi added. He sipped his creamy instant coffee.

“But for saying all that, yeah,” Namjoon completed. Jin leaned on Joonie, who wrapped an easy arm around him, pulling him close.

“Just apologize and tell him how you feel about the piece, hyung.” He kissed Jin’s temple, and Jin caught Yoongi looking–not possessive, per se, just…interested in their contact. Jin honestly didn’t give a shit about respecting their relationship, or whatever, right now. He fucking needed someone to hold him or he was going to scream.

“Fine,” Jin said. “But I’m going to be upset if he auditions.”

“You can be upset…” Namjoon said cautiously, stealing a glance at Yoongi–Jin didn’t know why he ever bothered. Yoongi looked away at the slightest hint of eye contact, usually. It was a game to Jimin.

“...But it doesn’t mean he would be wrong to audition,” Yoongi continued.

“You don’t think it would be shitty for him to audition knowing it would hurt me?” Jin asked, impatient as hell with all their caution. He hid his face in his hands and said the worst part before they could answer.

“He’s going to get the part if he does.” There. The fear was out in the world, small and pathetic. Namjoon rubbed Jin’s side and he curled up into a hidden little ball like a potato bug. Namjoon was worried about him now–he could tell by the speed he rubbed his arms at this point–and it was his fault.

“He should care, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t audition, hyung. And you don’t know that,” Namjoon said firmly. “Your Sibelius is really good.” His fingers ran through Jin’s hair, and he peeked up so just his eyes were exposed, unsure if it was worth it to re-enter the world yet, to become a part of it again.

“It is really good.”

“And how could they not pick a star so humble?” Yoongi deadpanned. Jin laughed, and Yoongi’s gummy smile broke through. The way he scrunched his nose when he laughed, completely silently, was really cute.

***

It was, honestly speaking, pressure that made Yoongi lean over to kiss Namjoon after some time reading together in bed. Namjoon kissed him back, and even with that unpleasant sense of obligation, Joonie could kiss Yoongi in a way that made his stomach flip. Awkwardly, he tugged at Namjoon’s shirt.

“Stop,” Namjoon mumbled, lips parted. His face flushed prettily when they kissed. Yoongi looked at him expectantly.

“I didn’t mean it.” Namjoon didn’t have to say what he was referring to. Yoongi fucking knew, instinctually scooted a little bit away from him.

“I don’t–I really don’t need that. I meant what I said before. I just wanted…I just needed to be touched. I’m sorry. What we were doing–that was good. The cuddling. That’s what…”

Yoongi couldn’t stand to watch him fumbling with words like that, twisting his hands around each other, fingers tense. He opened his arms. The last thing he wanted was to fight with Joonie.

“You’ve been a good boyfriend,” Yoongi reassured him while he climbed into his arms, a sweet, innocent little ball held secure between Yoongi’s legs and his arms, locked to him. He knew that’s what Namjoon was worrying about right now. It was best to get it out of the way.

“And I honestly…I think we should focus on building some trust back, then–if you really don’t mind,” he admitted. Namjoon wasn’t the only one who had trouble talking about his needs. It felt ridiculous for a whore to deny himself to his own boyfriend.

But Namjoon looked up at him gratefully. Yoongi kissed his head and poked where his dimple would be if he smiled–where it should be right now. It worked; a big, bashful smile appeared on his beautiful Joonie. He matched his smile, trying to reassure him with his eyes even though the contact made him a little nervous.

“I think so, too. Our sex is pretty…” Namjoon blushed through Yoongi’s widening grin.

“I thought the same thing. I think I’d like to stay above the waist for a while until we both feel good and…loved, I guess? Without sex. I know it’s–I know it’s crazy for me to…” The grin left his face quickly. Namjoon frowned, rubbed little circles on Yoongi’s chest in a way that he didn’t deserve. He was still so close.

“Don’t say that. I don’t think that–”

“You do. You said–”

“Hyung.” Gently, Namjoon took Yoongi’s chin in his hand, the absence of it from his chest hitting him harder than he cared to admit. Namjoon turned Yoongi’s face so he was forced to look Namjoon in the eye–painful, given the thoughts running through his mind right now, but he managed. His lip wobbled when he saw what Namjoon wanted him to see.

“I’m so sorry. I wanted to hurt you because I was hurt. It was shitty of me. I don’t think that. I don’t. I want to make you happy.” Namjoon let go of Yoongi’s face to wipe his own stray tear, his own guilt no doubt chewing him up.

“Honey…” Yoongi hesitated. It was a bad time to bring it up, but. Well. “You need to go back on the antidepressants. You were doing so much better.” He missed seeing Namjoon more confident, less constantly anxious. Joonie stared blankly at something Yoongi couldn’t see for a moment.

“I know I was. I know I should. But if one of them takes them–hyung, I’d die.” Yoongi shushed him, pulling him closer again. Namjoon practically climbed him to get closer, closer, arms around his neck, and rested his head on Yoongi’s shoulder, childlike and vulnerable. Yoongi rocked him gently.

“They won’t try anything like that again. I know it,” Yoongi promised.

“I’ll call my doctor and ask about it.” He sighed on Yoongi, and Yoongi hoped that Namjoon liked the way he rubbed his back as much as Yoongi liked how Namjoon did.

***

Jin had cried into the phone for so long he almost forgot that Namjoon was on the other end of the line. He needed him here with him. It wasn’t fair that Joonie was in school, that no one had even noticed that Jin had skipped school. It wasn’t fair that this was how Namjoon was using his lunch, and at this rate probably the free period after it. Jin was a bad hyung, and he knew it. His Joonie depended on that free period for quiet study time. The thought of him not eating well–

“Hyungie? Hyung, please. It’s okay. Everything will be okay. Stay on the phone with me. Don’t hang up. Please.” Jin had traumatized him enough. He thought his parents would have found him. He didn’t mean to do that to Joonie.

“I’m so scared,” Jin tried to emphasize. Hardly able to breathe, he squeezed the koala plushie, his little Koya, who he hadn’t been able to pry himself from in the week since that zoo trip with Joonie. Straining, he tried to remember the zoo, to forget the panic.

Jin didn’t know what he was afraid of, only that he’d felt it the moment he returned from the hospital. Every trace of his brother in the house had been erased, except for that fucking piano Eomma had bought to be used as decor.

All he thought about when he saw it was the loud thump it had made when Doyoung’s body had fallen against it, the night Appa had hit him for those texts with Kangmin he’d found–snooped, really. At least Jin knew he could never tell Appa that he was gay, too.

“I know. I’m scared, too. I’m really scared,” Namjoon said. Jin took a deep breath. He couldn’t do that to Namjoon again. He looked at the little koala he was crying onto, squeezing hard. He was an asshole for wanting to leave Namjoon nearly alone in this world in the first place. Another deep breath. For Namjoon. Always, always for Namjoon if no one else.

“Go to your free period. Hyungie will be fine.” He stroked Koya’s cheek, soft and crisp white.

“Hyung–” Namjoon’s voice, choked and desperate and panicked. Jin wondered if anyone had even tried to comfort him after what had happened.

“I’m going to call Seonsaengnim. I’m going to try to go back. I don’t know what else–I love you. I love you so much.” Jin’s body was heavy with the exhaustion of grief. Even after so long in the hospital, he still didn’t feel quite the same after swallowing all those pills. Still so tired, so heavy. Even crying involved so much labor.

“I love you, too. Text me like all the time. Please.”

“I will.” He called his Seonsaengnim after, but he didn’t know what to say. He cried into the phone again and said the same thing: that he was scared. And somehow, in the next twenty minutes, Seonsaengnim was there with him, and he was at least sobbing into the chest of someone who cared if he died.

“What thoughts are making you this sad?” Seonsaengnim finally tried, after a while of trying to ask what was wrong, a question Jin had trouble answering in the best of times. He thought.

“I’m scared,” he repeated. He’d also said this to his parents in absolute hysterics, but they didn’t know what to do. They’d still left him alone here, all week. Seonsaengnim stroked his cheek tenderly, hushing him, waiting for more. Jin wished Seonsaengnim was his Appa, then had to hit himself to ease the guilt for thinking something so mean to his family.

“They took down all the pictures and hyung’s awards. I–” He started to panic again. Like hyung had never existed, like he didn’t matter to even his own parents. When he’d brought it up, they’d simply hushed him, scolded him not to talk about it.

Even in his panic, he could see the flash of anger in Seonsaengnim’s eyes as he frowned, deeply, in a way he usually didn’t with Jin. He usually tried to be light.

“We’ll print some pictures just for you. You have some on your phone, right? I’ve taken lots of you two and Namjoon-ssi over the years. I have some copies of his awards. We’ll make a book just for you.” Jin was pulled close, and clung, clung, clung–he was so clingy, and his Appa fucking hated that about him, but Seonsaengnim was always patient, and the contact, the prospect of memories, it helped.

“Can I frame some for our practice room?” He sniffled. He guessed it was just his, now.

“Do your parents go in there?” Seonsaengnim was hesitant, like he knew he was overstepping but could be convinced to do so easily. Jin shook his head.

“It was their gift to us, but it was for them. They were tired of hearing us when they were home.” Seonsaengnim stroked his hair.

“We’ll get the best ones framed.”

“Can Namjoon be here?” Jin was asking too much of this man who wasn’t family, and he knew it, knew he should feel shame and then experienced the shame, in that order.

“I’ll find a way to sneak him over.” Seonsaengnim winked, and Jin couldn’t help but smile too, imagining his teacher telling a white lie to get Namjoon out, though probably he’d just pick him up and say they were going to Jin’s.

“Can I stay with you again?” Seonsaengnim’s face fell, and Jin knew then that he’d finally been too selfish. Of course his teacher didn’t want him to intrude on his life any more. He’d spent three sad months there before he’d come back home. That was a long time to take care of an annoying teenager he wasn’t even related to.

Jin jerked away with shame when Seonsaengnim’s touch became gentler as he prepared to let Jin down, but he didn’t let Jin get away with it. He tilted his face up to look at him.

“I think your parents would miss you an awful lot. But you should keep coming over for dinner. As often as you want,” he said. Jin’s eyes stung with tears.

“They wouldn’t. They didn’t even visit me.” His voice was dispassionate, but he could see from his teacher’s face that what he’d just said had truly crushed him, so before Seonsaengnim could answer, he jumped up from his bed.

“I should text Joonie. He’ll be worried.”

***

The warm smile Jimin reserved for Hobi quickly fell when he saw that whatever Hoseok wanted to talk to him about was bothering him. He patted the seat next to him on the little sofa, and Hobi took it. He kept meeting his eyes and then looking away. He’s done with me, Jimin worried, then told himself to stop. It wasn’t fair to Hoseok to make this about him.

“Um. I’ve been thinking of getting some work done. My auntie said she’d pay for some of it. I wanted to see what you thought,” he said. Jimin blinked at him, unsure of what he even meant.

“‘Work?’” he asked. Hoseok stiffened, moved his head from side to side like he was deliberating with himself how to phrase what he said next.

“I thought I could start with just double eyelid surgery. And then maybe fix up a few other things later.” His voice was quiet. Jimin knew he needed to reply, but shock stole his ability to speak for too long. He pictured how often Hoseok had frowned in the mirror since he’d known him. Too often.

“Why would you do that?” He asked. He couldn’t honestly think of another question. That was the one on his mind: “Why the fuck would you change a thing about yourself?” That was the real question, but he liked to speak respectfully with Hoseok, a habit from watching his own parents interact.

“I–to look better.” Hoseok rubbed the back of his neck. This obviously wasn’t how he imagined the conversation going. Jimin blinked at him.

“For you? For me? Why?” he asked. Hoseok stuttered.

“F-for you, I guess. If I had to…say why.” His face scrunched in confusion, and Jimin’s expression mirrored it.

“I won’t tell you not to get something you really want to get, but honestly, I’d be really upset,” Jimin said.

“But I want you to have a handsome boyfriend.” Hoseok sounded so broken just then, and Jimin’s face crumpled, heartbroken for him.

“Who told you that you aren’t handsome?” he asked. “You’re beautiful. I love your face.” To prove it, he leaned in, kissed it softly all over, watched Hoseok’s face burst with relief that also seemed to hurt him, to make his eyes wet. He kissed each of his pretty eyes, his nose, his cheeks. He kissed along his jaw and he kissed between his eyebrows and he kissed his chin, which tickled enough to make Hobi laugh.

Without overthinking it, Hobi lay in Jimin’s lap, happy to be pet immediately.

“I’ve felt really guilty,” he admitted. “Because you’re so pretty.” Jimin kissed his hand and touched it to Hoseok’s nose, smiling when he received the twinkling laugh he’d wanted.

“You’re beautiful, too, and I don’t want you to change a thing.” Hoseok squeezed his waist, squeezed his eyes closed. Jimin held him and made a note to himself to be more open with how he felt about Hoseok’s face, but he still barely knew what to say. The whole thing threw him off-guard. What would have possessed him to ask his aunt for eyelid surgery? He frowned and squeezed Hoseok reassuringly.

***

Yoongi looked at the students gathered in the orchestra room: a pretty good crowd for the first meeting, but not too overwhelming. Perfect. He bowed to them all, thanked them for coming, and gestured to the instruments around them, each spaced with plenty of room between them.

“First of all, does anyone have a lot of experience with any of the instruments that they’d like to share with others?” He looked around, saw a few hands, and pulled them up to stand with their instruments with a wave, relieved that one boy played nabal, the long horn, because he certainly didn’t, but the university had lent them one.

“Wonderful, thank you. Our volunteers will help at the instrument stations. Today, you’re encouraged to explore anything that interests you. If you’re interested in joining a group to rehearse traditional court music, there’s a sign up sheet at the welcome desk.

“There’s no pressure, though. We’ll have several other open days like this, too, and the occasional presentation. Please, enjoy yourselves.” He bowed, a little nervous, but he shouldn’t have been. Everyone was absolutely giddy to get to touch the older instruments.

Namjoon walked around keeping things–and people–orderly, and Jungkook waved for students to try the haegeum. Yoongi was proud that he was good enough to teach, now, and it made him feel like he should be proud, too, for teaching him well, but he shook off the feeling, unable to allow himself that.

A crash course in the flutes had been enough for Jimin and Hoseok to help, though Hoseok was a little less sure with his. It was okay; it wasn’t lessons, just a taster. Yoongi was impressed by how quickly Jimin had picked it up, though.

Jin had taken a few half-assed daegeum lessons from Yoongi, never fully committing to the larger flute despite the need to out-prodigy Jungkook and Jimin, but whatever. He was a great teacher, sharing the little he knew extremely well, and he had a real talent for getting people to loosen up and have fun.

Taehyung knew a girl from jazz who knew how to play the gayageum, and apparently other plucked strings too, so he’d roped her into helping, for which Yoongi was eternally grateful. He knew people found it hard to resist a favor asked by Taehyung: he made everything seem like it would be so fun. Taehyung himself manned the signups table, which was an excellent fit for him for just that reason. Yoongi knew they’d get plenty of general and long-term signups.

Yoongi himself grinned at his piri cohort, recognizing Sara from the other orchestra, where she was one of the oboists. He pointed at her with a smile that she soon returned, covering her face giggling.

“I know you can make a sound out of this. Do you want to be my instructional example?” He had a packet of reeds–no need to be gross about it. Well, Yoongi had shared reeds with quite a few people before, but just because he’d done it didn’t mean it wasn’t gross.

He explained how to make a sound, then a few notes, Sara demonstrating absolutely perfectly. He was nervous when the first uninitiated student tried–a double reed was hard for beginners, and the piri was a bit of a hard sell, in his opinion. But the boy only failed to make a sound for a moment, cheeks puffing out widely, and when he honked on the traditional oboe he laughed with delight, and Yoongi’s mind eased.

He floated between stations naturally, helping with the daegeum, smaller flutes, and haegeum as needed, but it seemed like everyone was having a good time, and he was relieved when Jin got up to start breaking the ice with the other groups, too.

Conductor-nim made himself largely invisible, appearing suddenly to praise good work. It wasn’t until the end of the meeting, when he was wishing everyone well and reminding them to stop by Taehyung’s table, that he realized Mr. Lee had been watching him closely, and he felt heat rise to his cheeks, worried he failed some kind of test.

“I’ll clean up, you all don’t worry about it other than moving the instruments,” Jin offered sweetly.

“I’ll help!” Jungkook offered, still bouncing after the meeting. Yoongi felt a little nervous. Those two hadn’t really spoken this whole time, and as far as he knew, the two were still upset with each other. It had been a busy day, so they probably hadn’t talked.

“I’ll help, too–” Joonie started to offer, but Jin cut him off.

“Hyung will do it!” It was already dark, the room lit with warm lights that made Yoongi more tired than darkness. Too tired for this, for sure.

“And I’ll do it faster,” Jungkook countered, with an intensity that shocked Yoongi, even for them. When they had stupid little competitions with each other, they really meant each of them. He watched them both speed to be the best…cleaner upper? Yoongi wasn’t sure what they thought their endgame was, but he guessed he was happy he didn’t have to move all those fucking chairs.

Taehyung ran up to Yoongi, beaming.

“A lot of people signed up for the club! And there was a lot of interest in the group, too. Jiminie, here,” Taehyung said, handing the papers to Jimin. Jimin was more organized than the rest of them, so it had been decided he’d handle the spreadsheets. Yoongi couldn’t imagine that any of the rest of them knew how to work a spreadsheet.

“Are you two idio–sorry, Jungkook-ssi,” Conductor Lee said, reminding himself that he could only talk that way to hyung. Namjoon barely contained a snorted laugh.

“I meant. Is everyone ready to go?” He asked, trying again. Everyone nodded, and Yoongi noticed that Jin was…clingy tonight. Mr. Lee didn’t seem to notice or care, wrapping a casual arm around him, but it seemed to make Jungkook upset. He kept staring at them.

As he locked the door one handed, still hanging on to Jin with the other, Mr. Lee turned to Yoongi, handing him his own key to the door. He took it with both hands, still in disbelief that he was being trusted like this.

“I’m really proud of you.” Yoongi blushed because he met his eye when he said it, and Yoongi could tell he meant it.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, shy.

“It’s not. Not everyone is a great teacher like that,” he said. Jin whined, stomping his foot in fake outrage.

“I was good too, right?” Conductor-nim grinned at him.

“You’re a pretty good teacher, but a terrible daegeum player,” he teased. “You didn’t practice. Yoongi-ssi is too nice a teacher. I would have sent you back home until I could tell you practiced.” Jin couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yoongi’s good at so many instruments,” Hyung told Mr. Lee. Yoongi wanted to run away from the praise, but Jin was his ride.

***

“Hyung?” Namjoon’s voice was panicked. Yoongi ran into their bedroom, saw Namjoon sitting frightened at the desk, a little disoriented.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Yoongi cooed. Namjoon looked surprised to see him, then relieved. He looked at the desk before something clicked in his mind and he stood to hug Yoongi.

“Sorry. I fell asleep reading, I guess. I had a nightmare.” Yoongi pet his head. He’d been pretty tired recently, and Yoongi didn’t know if that should worry him.

“What about?” Namjoon’s grip on Yoongi’s back tightened when he asked the question.

“Do you think I was too harsh with Jinnie hyung?” he asked. He didn’t have to answer Yoongi’s question. He could guess, based on that, though he was a little surprised. Not all, but so many of Namjoon’s nightmares were about getting hit.

“No,” he said honestly, rubbing his back. “Hyung can take reality and a little teasing.” Namjoon stayed tense in his arms, and Yoongi waited for what he knew would happen.

“I’m just going to check on him.” Yoongi nodded.

“Good idea. He’s okay. Go look.”

Namjoon ran off, and Yoongi waited for him to come back, looser and relaxed.

***

“Hyung!” Namjoon screamed into the phone, truly terrified for the first time. Abeoji had hit him so many times before, but he’d never tried to hit him with anything other than his hand–flat or fisted. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look at that brand of whiskey again, the bottle already menacing him.

The bruises, and now a little cut. It was too much to look at, but he had to look, because he felt it, felt every place where he’d been grabbed and squeezed and slammed and hit.

“I’m coming, Joonie.” Hyung’s voice was so calm, so serious that Namjoon knew he would take care of things one way or another.

“He’s coming. Please, he’s coming back up here.” He almost dropped the phone, the shaking starting in full force. He hated the shaking more than anything. Sitting on the floor trembling like a scared dog while someone looked for him was so fuckingweak. He sobbed, just once, loudly.

But Abeoji wasn’t really coming back upstairs. He was done with him, for now. It took him a few minutes to notice that Jinnie hyung was in his room, and by the time he did notice, he wondered if he’d said anything.

Hyung worked quickly, putting the straps of Namjoon’s heavy cello case onto his back and quickly gathering up his music folders and exercise books. Hyung took his hand tightly and practically dragged him to his car, throwing Namjoon into the passenger seat before anything else.

Namjoon wished he could stop shaking, crying. He looked at his bruised wrist and felt like throwing up. What if he’d twisted it too hard and it had broken and he couldn’t play anymore?

Jin didn’t speak until they had driven from the house, leaving him plenty of space to think through all the things that might have happened. Jin stopped before he reached his own house, touching him frantically, searching for injury as soon as they were out of view of Namjoon’s home.

“Are you okay? Do you need a doctor? What happened?” Namjoon choked, nodded, realizing that nod was unhelpful.

“He tried to hit my head with–” he couldn’t finish. Definitely couldn’t look at that bottle again. Would he have had brain damage if he hadn’t dodged out of the way in time? What if he couldn’t play the cello? What if he didn’t get into any college because he had a TBI? What if he’d been hit so hard he couldn’t understand music anymore?

“Bottle,” he managed to whisper. He pictured that bottle in the sea somewhere, pictured himself as a boy showing Hyung the beach glass he picked up, worn smooth from the waves and time. He wondered if it had somehow traveled back to the past, if he’d touched that bottle before, and it made him woozy; he swallowed back some vomit.

“Joonie, that could have fucking kil–” Jin took a deep breath, pale. “Has he been like that a lot?” Namjoon shook his head.

“I’ve never–I don’t know what–I was laughing on the phone with noona. It annoyed him, maybe? I don’t know. I–”

“Do you need a doctor?” Jin asked, firm. Namjoon shook his head, and Jin drove them the short distance to his house. Namjoon knew the drill. They went up to Jin’s practice room. There was a rolled out Japanese futon in there now, which was new, and his heart squeezed inside his chest to see hyung still slept with that koala he’d gotten him years ago. Koya. It reminded him–

Unable to hold it in, he cried out again, sobbing, sobbing, dropping to his knees.

“Joonie? Sh…” Jin’s arms warm around him.

“I left RJ at home.” Namjoon squeezed his own arms desperately, humiliated to admit how hysterical he was without the little llama here with him, at the age of sixteen. RJ’s name was actually Llama Jin–hyung had named him, and thought “llama” started with an R in English. Namjoon had clowned him for that for a while.

“Hold on, sweetheart. Okay?” Jin put Koya in his arms, and Namjoon squeezed it because it smelled like Jin and Jin smelled like home.

“Koya will keep you company. Set up your cello and I’ll be right back.” Jin kissed his head, then kissed his cheek before he left the house. Namjoon knew no one was ever here, but he did sometimes worry he’d see Doyoung hyung’s ghost if Jin wasn’t here with him.

But Jin returned within twenty minutes, before any ghosts came oozing through the walls. Namjoon had already set up his cello, sitting, waiting for the shaking to stop. Hyung put RJ, beaten up to hell and needing a bath, on Namjoon’s knee. His eyebrows furrowed together.

“You went–”

“I love you more than anything, Joonie. Let’s play something together. I’ll make you dinner later. Whatever you want.” Jin seemed so much older than seventeen, and something about that filled Namjoon with a deep, deep sadness, even though the hyung in front of him was the same as he’d always been.

Namjoon wanted to write it down, desperately, to explore why, but he knew that now wasn’t the time. He nodded, and they played for such a long time that the sun set fully before Jin hyung remembered dinner. Namjoon wished he’d never remembered, that they could have played all night, until the moon disappeared again and the world came back into view.

***

“I just don’t want to gain anything,” Jimin explained, desperate for the group to understand, but when he realized what he said, shame overtook him. They were all inside the library, with bubble tea and the kinds of desserts you could get at a boba shop, and Jimin had gotten a plain hot green tea. Of course they were worried.

Now he watched as Jungkook–who was still not really speaking to Jin–stared at his three ube macarons, at the moral dilemma Jimin had planted there between his furrowed brows. Worse, he saw everyone instinctually turn to Yoongi with a concern that would have embarrassed Jimin. Yoongi hyung set both his boba and his sandwich down. Namjoon’s nostrils flared.

“So you can–”

Jin got up and stretched with comically fake nonchalance, a huge loud yawn reminding Namjoon to shut up, that there was no fighting during boba. It got a laugh out of Hoseok at least. Not that making Hoseok laugh, Jimin had to admit, was much of an achievement. Namjoon gave him a polite chuckle along with the tight expression he wore when he was holding it in, but he seemed glad he hadn’t said what he’d been about to say.

“Jiminie, there was something I wanted to ask you. Can I talk to you a sec?” Jin motioned, still jokingly, away with his head, and dread filled Jimin’s stomach. It was nice of him to try and lighten things for him, but he was still about to get yelled at.

He slinked away behind Jin into a study room, and Jin closed the door behind them. Jimin waited for the scolding. And while his first instinct, which lingered in his body, was defensiveness, he knew he deserved it.

“Jiminie,” Jin sounded so, so fucking kind. Jimin looked away, already sniffling. Jin pulled him into a hug right away. God, Jimin needed that, rubbing his face on Jin’s chest.

“I know you’re hurting, but you can’t–it’s fucking other people up, babe.”

“I’m sorry,” Jimin said softly. What else could he say? He was. But then the injustice of everything hit him like a punch to the gut and frustrated tears gathered at his eyes. He pulled away from Jin, one hand lazily rubbing his other arm.

“Nobody–nobody but Hoseok gives a fuck about me,” Jimin choked out. “Nobody asks how I’m–nobody talks about it at all unless I’m hurting someone else. And then everyone cares about their feelings. But not mine.” He let himself be a little hysterical. It felt good to get it out.

Jin frowned, so deeply, and for the first time, Jimin couldn’t really read him, couldn’t tell which of them he was upset with, and that upset him more. But Jin touched his face, gently, with just the tops of his fingers, and Jimin was able to look at him again.

“I–I’m sorry,” Jin said, voice strange. “Of course I care about my Jiminie. It’s just…easier to solve that problem than this one.” Jimin nodded. He was being a baby. It was easier to tell him to stop acting like a fatphobic jackass than it was to cure an eating disorder that had been building for a decade.

“But Jimin, I am–you’re getting worse,” Jin said, looking at him for confirmation. Jimin nodded. He’d been a little frightened for himself when he couldn’t order bubble tea–he’d always subscribed to the notion that bubble tea with friends didn’t have calories. It was a safe space. And he was the one he’d made it less safe, for everyone.

Jin thought for a minute, rubbing his arms.

“If I make you a nice, low calorie dinner–healthy food–do you think you could eat it all?” Hyung pushed some hair from his face. Jimin squeezed his eyes shut.

“Really healthy?” he asked. You’re an ungrateful asshole, he told himself. Jin nodded.

“Too healthy,” he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. It was the kind of smile Jin gave when he was desperate to cheer one of them up. Jimin nodded, stiffly.

“Hyung is going to bring you dinner to warm up every few days. I think it would be good if you ate three meals a day. Even if it’s not enough food, it’s better to eat. Don’t you think?” Jin asked. He looked…desperate. Jimin understood then that Hyung had been worried the whole time. He was willing to cook for his own roommates, and then cook a separate meal for him and fucking deliver it to him. Ungrateful.

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to help. You were right. I haven’t been helping my Jiminie, and I want to help. I want to see you healthy again.” Jimin bit his lip.

“I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Jin held him close, cradling Jimin’s head on his chest.

“I love you, too. I think everyone will be fine if we just go out and act like nothing happened,” Jin hyung reassured him. Jimin shook his head. Yoongi had opened up to him about his weight and he’d said something so casually cruel. And Jungkook–god knows what that had done to that poor kid. He was struggling, too.

“I should go.” Jin wiggled him, frowning at how small he was. Jimin realized that the way others experienced his body didn’t match up with how he did, that that wasn’t something his therapist had been making up to make him feel better about gaining weight, when he did.

“Stay.” So they walked back out, and Jimin nuzzled into Yoongi, and he thought Namjoon was upset with him for a different reason than he usually was when he did.

That night, Jin brought him enough food for the next few days: brown rice, mixed with quinoa and riced cauliflower, with tofu and steamed soybeans for extra protein, cooked together in a spicy chili garlic sauce without oil.

“Who brought you dinner?” Hobi asked as Jimin ate, blinking. No doubt he wondered if it was a good idea to indulge Jimin’s low calorie obsession. But his expression quickly turned into one of relief: this was the best Jimin had eaten in a long time. He felt full. It would be nice to go to bed without any hunger pangs.

“Jinnie hyung,” he smiled. He kissed Hoseok, already feeling more like himself. It reminded him of how he could feel. This was something he could stick with. His therapist had told him it would be hard to recover before he was ready. Now, he knew he was truly ready, to heal for himself, not for Hobi or any of their friends. He deserved to feel full for himself.

***

They met in Jungkook’s room, after a “we need to talk” text that made Jin’s stomach lurch, but here now, no one had said a fucking word.

So this is it, he thought, disappointed with himself for ruining everything with someone so great. I chose Sibelius over my boyfriend: not clickbait. He smacked himself in the face, a habit he’d picked up from Joonie somewhere along the line, and Jungkook didn’t even flinch. Jin did it more than Namjoon did now, but usually people thought it was a joke when he did it. The sound filled the room and left it just as quickly, nervous.

Jungkook still wore his comfy “girl” clothes at home, which gave Jin a bit of hope that he was still trusted, in some way. But Jungkook’s pretty round eyes were puffy, and he looked fucking miserable, face too heavy for someone so young and beautiful.

“I didn’t take your spot,” Jungkook whispered, finally breaking the silence they’d sat in. Jin squirmed. He did still resent Jungkook for that, if he was being honest.

“I know, but I still…” He didn’t know what to say, how to be both honest and fair. He didn’t want to. He was sick to death of being fair. Jin was tired in a way he couldn’t describe.

“And you didn’t have to say I played badly, you fucking asshole,” Jungkook continued. His voice was flat despite the harsh words. Jin cringed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at his own lap. “That sucked.” Jungkook nodded. Jin was glad Jungkook was practically allergic to lights, because he didn’t want to be seen right now.

“Why are you so mad about it?” Jungkook asked, letting his gaze linger on Jin for the first time since he’d answered the door. Jin sighed.

“I played it in the hospital when I was fourteen,” Jin said. His voice was flat, too, and he hoped Jungkook would remember what he’d meant. He didn’t want to talk about it again.

“And after that, it was…it was important to me. I tried to channel a lot through that piece. It was like a symbol of….it was something to stay alive for. I worked on it a long time, and I played it when things got hard again.” Jungkook nodded, but Jin had to ask.

“You knew it was important to me even if you didn’t know why. Why wouldn’t you just let me fucking have this one, Koo?” Jin couldn’t keep the exasperation, the hurt out of his voice. Forget what Namjoon and Yoongi had said. Sometimes it was like he was the only one not allowed to have feelings. He was tired.

Jungkook teared up, his voice bitter and choked as he spoke.

“You think it doesn’t mean a lot to me? I had to give up a huge, career building contest. I have to take pills now because I–you don’t think playing that piece after auditioning and proving to myself and you and my parents and everyone else that I can handle it would mean a lot to me? Fuck you.”

Fuck you. The words hurt, but Jin could read Jungkook by now, knew that he was more hurt than angry. Jin had neglected to think about his feelings. He could let himself be hurt and acknowledge that, too.

“I’m sorry,” Jin whispered again. His hands balled up into fists that he ran nervously up and down his own thighs.

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook whispered back.

“You aren’t wearing your bracelet.” It was a fact. It was the first thing Jin had noticed once he’d looked away after being let in, avoiding Jungkook’s face. He tried to keep it together, to remind himself that if he lost Jungkook, it was his own fucking fault.

Jungkook looked at him so strangely, so searching, and didn’t answer for a moment.

“How does that make you feel?” he asked, quiet. Jin couldn’t keep it inside then, crying with a horrible sound he was humiliated to have made as soon as he made it, but it was enough for Jungkook, his arms flying around Jin, who clung, clung, clung, digging his fingers into Jungkook’s arms so hard he was worried it would hurt him. But he couldn’t stop clinging.

“I’m sorry.” Jin didn’t know what else to say, what else he could even choke out.

“I thought you wouldn’t want me to,” Jungkook finally answered. “It’s okay.” Jin looked at Jungkook’s frowning face like he couldn’t believe him.

“I love you. You think one fight about the violin and–”

“It isn’t one fight though, is it?” Jungkook asked quietly. “I upset you a lot. And I want you to be happy. And I’m not–” Jungkook sniffled, wiped at his eyes before moving his hands back to Jin, and seeing his fucking sweater paws drag over his face woke Jin’s hyung instinct back up.

He pulled away, took Jungkook’s face in both his hands, tried to make eye contact through his tears and Jungkook’s avoidance and his love of dim lighting.

“You’re perfect. You’re so good for me. I’m just–” He took a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not even a person, Koo. I get so–I don’t know.

“Do you see what I mean? I can’t even tell you what I’m feeling now because I don’t know. I think sometimes a lot of me never grew up.” He dropped his hands from Jungkook’s face, stared straight ahead of him, away from Jungkookie. That was a feeling he couldn’t share with anyone else, not even Namjoon, who would feel so horrendously guilty if he knew. Jungkook cocked his head at him.

“What do you mean, hyung?”

“I mean it’s my fault. It’s not you. You’re–Koo, you’re wonderful.” Jin wiped his own tears, noting that the snot streak on the sleeve of his sad day hoodie was not cute.

“But what do–”

“I mean you’re so much more mature–I don’t even know who I am. And I never grew–I’m stuck. I’m stuck there forever and I’m a busted up person and I’m the one making you feel like shit and I’m sorry.” He couldn’t look at Jungkook. He tried, but he couldn’t see him, wanted nothing more than to see him, to be held again like he had been–he’d ruined that, too.

“You have a lot on your plate, all by yourself.” Jin wasn’t sure what he meant by that, or what it mattered or even why he said that just then, but Jungkook said it like a major realization had hit him. His arms moved around him again though, and Jin just cried harder, because it should have been him comforting Jungkook. Jin was the one who had hurt him, not the other way around. Not–

“What do you want, hyung?” Jungkook asked, nervous the moment the question left his lips. Jin turned to him, touched Jungkook’s lips softly with his fingers, and when he didn’t pull away from that, he kissed him.

Jungkook kissed him back, his tongue invading Jin’s mouth, claiming it roughly, and Jin’s hysteria–what else could he call it?–finally eased up, and his shoulders dropped. When they pulled apart, he dropped his head to Jungkook’s shoulder, exhausted.

“I want you, too,” Jungkook said, after thinking for what seemed to Jin too long a time.

“I bet you wished you’d picked a viola player,” Jin joked, trying not to look too broken, too shattered. It hit him then that he would never even pick up all the pieces, let alone put them all together again. So, so tired.

“You don’t have to worry,” Jungkook said, voice soft. “My parents won’t let me audition.” Jin looked at his boyfriend–he at least was pretty sure they were still dating–took in the disappointment, the way he dropped like a wilted flower, usually so bouncy.

“I’ll talk to them tonight,” he said. Jungkook’s eyebrows squeezed together tightly, and Jin almost wanted to smile. So cute.

“But you don’t want me to–” Jin kissed him again.

“I’ll talk to them. Let me hold you for a while, first.” Jungkook’s brow still betrayed his confusion, but he nodded and lay on his bed, a little stiff, nervous until Jin’s body hit the mattress beside him, the big spoon tonight. Jungkook scooted back into him, melting into his arms, and Jin breathed his hair in deeply, taking in his scent. Jungkook giggled, and the sound of it filled Jin with a small relief.

“I’m usually the one smelling you,” he said. Jin pulled him closer and kissed his jawline, enjoying the way he squirmed happily. He wanted to stay here forever, but he knew they didn’t have forever. They had maybe half an hour before they had to go back into a world where they were competition and they were fighting. But they did have right now, and Jin tried to let himself not think beyond that, to let now be enough.

“I like how you smell, too, you know,” he mumbled.

Chapter Text

Jin bowed to Jungkook’s parents–it felt right, and it always made them laugh and, Jin hoped by now, prepared them for having a favor asked of them. He took Jungkook’s hand when he rose, and bit his lip when the lack of bracelet clinking against his own hit him. Jin met Jungkook’s wide, nervous eyes, and it gave him the strength to face his boyfriend’s parents.

“I…There’s no good way to say it, I guess. I hope you’ll consider letting Jungkook audition for the Sibelius concerto.” He studied their faces, the way they looked at each other nervously. He knew he could reason with them, because they were motivated purely by what they thought was best for Jungkook, and so was Jin: Common ground, he thought.

“We’re just not so sure that’s a good idea, sweetheart,” Eomma said, gently. “He only just started his medication…” Jungkook blushed, and that’s when Jin realized they hadn’t really talked about Jungkook starting on his pills. He’d mentioned it, but it wasn’t the same. Jin would have to do a better job of being there for him. He squeezed Jungkook’s hand.

“It’s not like the Queen Elizabeth,” he explained. “It’s just for school. And–I’ll practice with him. I can be there every time he practices, if you want. I’ll stop him if it seems like it’s getting unhealthy.” He tried to look confident. Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Hyung,” he said, barely more than a whisper. It only strengthened Jin’s resolve. Too bad, he thought. It would have been nice to perform Sibelius for everyone.

“I mean it. I’ll take good care of him. I promise.” Jin made sure to meet both Eomma’s and Appa’s eyes when he promised, to prove his sincerity. Jungkook’s parents faced each other, and Jin was, as usual, amazed by the way they seemed able to have a full but completely silent conversation with their eyes. He wondered if he and Joonie did that.

“Okay,” Appa said, slight uneasiness on his face. “But I need you both to promise me that it’s over the second things get out of hand.” He met his son’s eyes now, and Jungkook nodded and dropped Jin’s hand to hug his father. Appa had been, Jin knew somehow, the harder sell. Eomma was more easily swayed, less protective in that particular way.

“I have another favor,” Jin asked, a sly smile. All three of them looked at him, confused.

“Can Jungkookie stay over at my place for the whole week? I really miss him,” Jin admitted. It was Saturday, already later than he usually came over to stay. They’d both assumed that their weekend sleepover wasn’t happening this week.

Jungkook smiled, looking up at his father, who smiled back at him and brushed some of Jungkook’s long, pretty hair out of his face. Eomma kissed Jin’s cheek, and his ears heated up in immediate response. It felt strange, to be loved by the people who most loved the person whose life he was ruining.

“Of course he can. Text sometimes and when you’re coming back so we don’t worry,” she said to Jungkook. He nodded.

“Okay.” Jungkook hadn’t sounded so shy in a long time, but Jin knew he was kicking his feet inside. Appa suddenly looked at Eomma in horror, and Jin’s jaw tightened.

“Um. Kookie’s been having trouble taking his pill, so we’ve been holding onto–”

“Appa,” Jungkook warned. “Not to my boyfrien--”

“I can give him his pills,” Jin found himself saying, easily. “I don’t mind. I need to hang on to them?” He motioned for Jungkook to come to him and gave him a kiss on the forehead, Jungkook looking up at him with an emotion Jin hadn’t really seen on his face since they first started dating.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just–yes, keep them.”

“You already deal with so much, hyung,” Jungkook said. Eomma looked at Jin like she was worrying over him, completely unrelated to how he would care for her son. His ears got hot again. Suddenly, he was glad his roommates loved Jungkook, maybe more than they loved Jin himself: he hadn’t asked them about the stay. Today, Jungkook was the pomeranian puppy Jin was bringing home.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. I love you.”

***

“Taehyung-ssi,” Dr. Lee said, interrupting his lecture. Taehyung looked up, heart pounding too loudly suddenly.

“Yes, Seonsaengnim?” He’d just been listening to the lecture, better than usual. He didn’t really care about Anthropology, to be honest, but it seemed more interesting than usual today, for whatever reason.

“The incessant rocking is disruptive. Sit still or kindly leave.” The entire lecture hall, about a quarter full, turned to look at him, a mixture of curiosity, exasperation, disgust. Taehyung wanted to run out, to leave, but he knew he should stay, that he’d be tested on this in a few weeks, that they’d only talk more if he left. So he put down his pen, held back a noise he knew would be weird, and as Dr. Lee started his lecture back up again, he picked at his hands, trying not to move too much.

The second his lecture was finished, he called Hoseok hyung. It took him a long time to answer, and he was worried he’d go to voicemail and have to try someone else when who he wanted was Hoseok hyung. But Hobi answered just in time, and Taehyung was so, so grateful.

“Tae Tae? Is everything okay?”

“Can you be with me?” Taehyung answered. It was getting hard to breathe, the process becoming louder and too conscious. A panicked sound that turned a few people’s heads in the hallway rose from his choked throat. He was a freak, unable to control himself, unable to live in the world.

“I’m sweaty. Is that okay?” The last thing Taehyung wanted was to smell sweat, and he sobbed tearlessly when he spoke, knowing he was a spoiled fucking brat.

“No!” It was all he could get out. There was a pause on the other end–hyung was probably confused or pissed off.

“Okay. I have to shower first then, baby. Why don’t you get a practice room and sit in there where it’s quiet? Can you do that and text me the room?” Hobi hyung’s voice was level, but Taehyung still couldn’t breathe.

“Yeah.”

By the time Hoseok made it to the practice room–pretty quickly, all things considered–Taehyung’s hands were bleeding, and the sight of it filled him with self-loathing more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced. Hoseok rushed to pull his hands apart the second he stepped in–I must have really been tearing at them, he realized, a little disturbed he hadn’t noticed until now–like the last time things had gotten really bad.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. What happened?” Why was he always worrying Hobi? Taehyung let himself be pressed against his hyung’s chest, let himself cry, finally.

“I’m a freak,” Taehyung said. Hobi rubbed the back of his neck where it met his back, and god it felt good. He always knew just how to relax some of his tension, and Taehyung could melt into his magic touch forever.

“You’re great. A little weird, yeah, but great. It’s nothing to hurt yourself about,” Hoseok answered honestly. He sat with him for so long that he had to get up and renew the practice room on the shitty iPad mounted on the wall that they reserved the rooms with, and then came right back to him.

“You skipped a lot of stuff because of me, didn’t you?” Taehyung asked, realization hitting him. Hobi laughed good naturedly, and Taehyung couldn’t help but smile. Hobi hyung’s laugh was contagious.

“I skip all the time for way stupider reasons. Who do I look like, Namjoon-ah?” He tickled Taehyung, but then his face grew more serious, and Taehyung knew that he was going to have to do whatever hyung asked of him.

“But Tae Tae, I think you should go back to Jungkookie’s house for a little bit.” He bit his lip, and it seemed like he decided not to say what he was thinking of saying, which drove Taehyung absolutely insane. He wanted to know, hated when people kept things from him. Did Namjoon hyung hate him again? Or Jin and Yoongi? Being kept out of the loop gave him that feeling again, like everyone thought he was a stupid kid.

“Are they mad? Do they hate me? You can be honest. Just tell me what I did. I’ll apologize,” he requested. Hoseok’s eyebrows scrunched together and he looked at him strangely, something Taehyung couldn’t quite read–sadness? Was he sad?

“Tae, fuck. No one hates you. I’m just worried about you.”

“It’s not just that. Why does no one tell–”

“I don’t want Jinnie hyung to worry too much. That’s all,” Hoseok said, eyebrows remaining firmly scrunched up. Oh, Taehyung thought, and started to cry again. Maybe they kept things from him and thought he was a stupid kid because he fucking acted like one. Reflexively, the thought made him want to pick, but Hobi was ready, grabbing his hands before they were even joined together.

“Why don’t you call Mr. Jeon? I’ll be here with you.” Hobi stroked some hair out of his face, and Taehyung wanted to die again. All he did was make things hard for everyone.

“Okay,” he whispered. He looked at his hands with grief. “I should have known I couldn’t do it.” To his surprise, Hoseok kissed his temple, soft and lingering, not a quick peck. He kept his lips on him even when he started talking. His lips–it made Taehyung feel something he knew he shouldn’t feel. Not for his best friend’s boyfriend.

“Oh, Tae,” he said. “Nobody heals perfectly the first time. You always go back to what you know a few times. Don’t let this–all you have to do is keep moving forward, okay? Today doesn’t matter. You still went weeks without picking them, and I’m proud of you.”

“I love you.” Being loved like this was hard for Taehyung, and he choked on the feeling, able to snap himself back into the way he was supposed to be looking at Hoseok. But Hobi kissed him again, rubbed his nose on Taehyung’s cheek until they were both giggling.

“Hyung loves you, too.”

***

“Joonie! Joonie, come listen to this,” Yoongi said, his unselfconscious gummy smile bringing out Namjoon’s dimples. He took Yoongi’s hand and put his book on the bed page down, and followed him to the practice room. He handed Namjoon the professional headphones Jungkook’s parents had gifted him and grinned.

“I know it’s just lofi, but it’s better with these. I’ll replace the midi tracks,” he explained. Namjoon put them on, and Yoongi thought that he looked cute while he blushed, but had no idea what would have made him blush. He played the track, and Namjoon closed his eyes, waving his head to the side. When it finished, he moved the right ear’s side off to the side so he could hear Yoongi, ear exposed, which struck Yoongi as so cute that he thought he might ask Taehyung to draw it for him.

“This is great,” he said, and Yoongi could tell that he really meant it, and didn’t mind that he didn’t say a lot. He blushed, too, now.

“How does it make you feel?” he urged. Namjoon straightened the headphones and Yoongi played the track again for him. Before it was over this time, Namjoon pulled them half off again, yawning.

“Really calm. Like, usually the vibe is more chill than calm. Something I can study to, with it playing in the background, or for reading. Like–unobtrusive, you know? But this is like, something I’d go to sleep to I think.” He frowned as Yoongi smiled, beaming.

“Is that okay?” Namjoon asked.

Yoongi pressed his lips to Namjoon’s, enjoying how pink his cheeks got, how much tenderness was in his eyes; Namjoon had so much love inside of him, and even if it wasn’t always expressed in the best way, he always tried his best to show that to Yoongi. Every single day, Yoongi appreciated that about him, vowed never to take it for granted.

“It’s perfect. I wrote it to help you sleep.” He grinned, motioning for Namjoon to look at the screen of his shitty free editing software. He’d named the file “JOONIE_LULLABY.” The pinkness in Namjoon’s cheeks turned crimson.

“Thanks, hyung. I–thank you.” He bit his lip. He didn’t need to say more.

“Anything you want to add to it? You usually like rain, but I wanted to check,” Yoongi said, trying to soothe. Joonie nodded.

“I’d like rain. What are you replacing the shitty midi keyboard with?” he asked. Yoongi’s grin softened into something tender that he mostly reserved just for Namjoon.

“Jinnie hyung said he’d play. I wrote it for violin.” The whole reason he’d made this track was to try to convince Namjoon’s brain that hyung was really okay, that everyone would be safe if he slept, and slept well. And Yoongi couldn’t think of a better way than to send hyung’s playing through his ears. Yoongi knew that Namjoon could pick hyung’s playing out of absolutely anyone else’s in the world. He’d said so before.

“Hyung–” He stood from Yoongi’s chair and hugged him, squeezing Yoongi’s body to his own. Yoongi hugged him back tightly.

“I love you,” he mumbled, a little uncomfortable now that the love was directed to him and not solely to Joonie.

“Plus, the people on YouTube really like the real strings. The ones with you are the most popular. Don’t tell those two doofuses, but people like the cello more than the violin.”

Namjoon pulled away to grin at Yoongi, arms still around his neck.

“Jungkook will tell you you have to try one with the viola for the best of both worlds,” he said, kissing Yoongi’s cheek and then his neck, nuzzling him. Joonie’s love was so casual, yet so intense–effortlessly romantic. Yoongi laughed, a little too hard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, calming himself as Namjoon looked at him quizzically. “It’s just–he already said he wants me to write one for viola.” Namjoon laughed too, and they kissed in the practice room, Namjoon squeezing Yoongi close to him, first from where they hugged, then his arms, and finally his waist, like he wanted every part of Yoongi to be close.

***

Jin frowned at Namjoon asleep on the couch in an odd position again, sitting up with his neck bent and a really boring looking paperback on his chest about to fall. Jin gently took the book and put his llama bookmark inside of it, quietly placing it on the table.

He saw Jungkook watching him, lovingly, but didn’t think about it too hard. Jin got a pillow from Namjoon’s shared bedroom and put it at the end of the couch before he gently moved him to a lying position, frowning at how deeply asleep he seemed to be, unstirring in the same way a napping child was when picked up and moved elsewhere. He really hadn’t been sleeping well lately.

With more love than he could possibly explain to Namjoon or anyone else, he covered him with two of the throw blankets they kept on the couch and kissed his head, stroking his growing hair and silently praying that he’d continue to rest well, to wake up refreshed.

When Jin stood again, he wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s waist, kissing him, savoring his lips.

“We’ll have to wait until Yoongi-ah is out of the practice room to play more. I don’t want to wake him. But maybe there’s something else you want to do?” he asked suggestively. Jungkook grinned.

“Do you think you can be quieter than a violin to make it worth the sacrificed practice time?” Jin blushed through Jungkook’s giggle.

“I know we should talk more,” Jin said seriously, unsure of what possessed him. Jungkook nodded easily.

“For sure,” he said. His hands greedily reached for Jin’s ass, squeezing it right there in the living room. Jin’s eyes widened and he tried to move them away. Joonie was right here, and what if Yoongi came out?

“But for right now, I just want to fuck you,” Jungkook admitted. Jin hissed for them to move to the bedroom, and Jungkook rolled his eyes, obeying nevertheless.

Jin started pawing at Jungkook’s shirt the second his bedroom door was closed and locked, appreciating that he hadn’t turned any lights on earlier so Jungkook couldn’t see his embarrassment at his own eagerness.

“I can’t believe you would say that with Joonie sleeping there like an innocent little angel,” he said as he pulled off Jungkook’s shirt. It worked: Jungkook snorted, and Jin cracked a smile, running his hands over his boyfriend’s chest muscles.

“They can’t hear very much out there with the blanket hung up above the door and the white noise machine on. I tested it earlier when you were picking them up from school,” Jungkook admitted. It was Jin’s turn to laugh, loudly.

“Oh, you must be down bad,” he snorted. That was why Jin had bought the white noise machine, though that was a secret he’d take to the grave.

Jungkook grinned and, with a series of thumb tacks and tape, hung up Jin’s heavier winter blanket over the door, covering the cracks. He even rolled up a towel under the door. As Jin watched his shirtless boyfriend who he was still kind of fighting with fiddle with the settings on the white noise machine, he really couldn’t contain the laughter.

“What, this is funny to you? I want to fuck you crazy style and you’re laughing?” Jungkook met Jin on the bed, tickling him, his smile growing the more sincerely Jin’s seemed to grow.

“How crazy style?” Jin asked, still laughing. Jungkook’s eyes softened, though his smile didn’t diminish at all, and he kissed Jin deeply but tenderly, tongue exploring his mouth slowly.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re happy,” he said, and it felt like being punched in the stomach to Jin, but not necessarily in a bad way. There’s no good way to get punched in the stomach, he reminded himself, but then Jungkook was kissing him again and he forgot what it was like to have any thoughts at all.

“You should make sure you remember the safeword today,” Jungkook whispered. That’s what Jin liked to hear.

“Wait, Koo–” Jungkook stopped immediately, looked at Jin with his full attention, serious.

“Gentle on my throat today, please. I normally like it,” he clarified, knowing Jungkook would worry. God, how could he explain how much he usually liked it?

“Um. I just…I really don’t want to deal with spit or…throat gunk today.” Jin blushed. Jungkook grinned again, that little shit, but he nodded and kissed him.

“It’ll be sad not to choke you on my dick. You’re so pretty when you choke. Your eyes water,” he whispered, fingers tracing Jin’s still clothed back in a way that sent shivers down his spine. Jungkook was so easily intimate, so able to set everything else aside when they fucked. Jin wanted that, wanted it badly. He kissed Jungkook’s neck, enjoying the happy sigh it elicited.

“How about your ass, baby? Or this,” he asked, necking Jin in return, already getting him to whine, when he placed his hand gently over Jin’s throat, intention clear. Jin moaned.

“Yes to both,” he whispered, hating saying it but wanting it. The next thing he knew, his clothes were being pulled off of him with a little yelp that worried him until he looked at the blanket. He would have to remind himself not to look at the blanket again, or he might laugh.

His thought was interrupted by being tossed over, by five rough slaps to his ass that made him jump.

“Get up and spread your legs,” Jungkook ordered. Jin obeyed immediately, pulling himself to all fours and spreading his legs as far as they would go.

“Obedient slut,” Jungkook mumbled, almost to himself. Jin was glad Jungkook was looking at his ass for once, instead of his ears. When did he get so comfortable calling Jin things like that?

Jungkook’s tongue was already rough on his hole, and Jin squirmed uncomfortably. It was like being an animal somehow in a way Jin couldn’t explain, like the act of getting pleasured for someone else’s was somehow dehumanizing–very pleasantly dehumanizing. Maybe that’s what made it feel so good in the first place.

The squirt of lube hit Jin’s ass before he noticed that Jungkook even had the bottle. He turned his head and saw Jungkook stroking himself with a generous amount of lube, though it didn’t seem like Jin was getting any fingers today. That was for him, he knew.

Jungkook shoved Jin’s face into the sheet, then put a pillow over it. He tried to turn his head, to look, but bit into the sheet with a deep moan when Jungkook’s cock thrust into his ass, sharp and unforgiving. He realized he was a bad boyfriend, that he hadn’t even stroked Jungkook hard, and he whimpered with that thought.

Just as he was running out of air, the pillow was tossed away and Jungkook jerked his head up by the hair, too far up. He winced. Jungkook shifted in a way that was especially uncomfortable for Jin, a strange, deep angle that he liked precisely for the discomfort.

But Jungkook used the new angle fucking into him almost from the side to step on his head, to push it back into the sheet. Jin’s heartbeat raced and he felt himself stiffen, hit the bed with his fist several times, silently fighting, unable to speak or breathe well.

“Stupid fucking bitch,” Jungkook growled, unaware. Jin found the leverage to finally grab Jungkook’s wrist firmly after some frantic reaching, and was grateful he immediately stopped thrusting, took his foot off of his head to check in, tender and attentive.

“Foot too much,” Jin said, stupid and a little dizzy from the combination of pain, pleasure, and panic. Jungkook pulled out slowly despite Jin’s wincing protests, flipped him gently to his back and entered him again, just as roughly, searching his eyes to make sure he was taken care of.

Satisfied, Jungkook bent down to kiss him, deeply. Truthfully, Jin had wanted someone to try the foot thing with him, and wasn't mad about it. He was just grateful Jungkook stopped when it hadn’t lived up to the fantasy and trusted Jin to know that he could keep going.

He was a bit more careful with him now, but Jin could live with that. Jungkook raised his hand slowly and waited for Jin to nod his consent to getting slapped, got an enthusiastic whine and a turning of his head to give Jungkook more access instead. It drove Jungkook wild, and he slapped him, slapped him again, the stinging pain feeling so good.

When Jungkook’s hand touched his throat, he knew he was gone, and sure enough, when it pressed down, so carefully, reality left him. He was nothing more than the electric feelings inside his body, intensified, until Jungkook lifted his hand and he could breathe again.

Like he couldn’t contain his pent up feelings, Jungkook clenched a fist hard in Jin’s hair, jerked his head up so he could look at where Jungkook’s cock entered him. It fucking hurt, and Jin wanted to push Jungkook too, knew by now that they both liked to be pushed a little.

So he cried out when his neck was jerked, and when the tears came, he made no effort at all to stop them. He let his whines get more pathetic. Jin told him that it hurt, knew that Jungkook would know he was playing it up: their sex was built on the assumption that Jin would safe word or get Jungkook’s attention if he was actually hurt.

But then they were playing too hard, Jungkook getting too into it, which was a relief to Jin in some ways. His head was released suddenly, crashing back to the soft mattress with a slap so hard that it disoriented Jin just as Jungkook came inside him. Jin gasped, and as Jungkook fell on him as usual to kiss and adjust before he got Jin off, he tried to push him off.

Bad, bad. That was all Jin could think. His face hurt, not in the usual pleasant way. His head–not right. He got choked specifically because he liked the blankness it brought, but now when he was trying to articulate what was wrong, it was unwelcome, language still not fully coming back to him.

Jungkook frowned and held himself up immediately.

“Sweetheart, fuck. I’m sorry. I hit–I missed your cheek because of the angle–shit.” He tried to kiss his hurt cheek, closer to his jawline, but Jin pushed him away again. Space. He needed space. When Jungkook moved away to give that to him, Jin’s hand immediately reached for his–not too much space.

Jin wasn’t sure how long it took, but he began to come back. To him, it seemed like it took fucking forever.

“Love you.” That was the first thing he mumbled, blinking back to reality. Jungkook smiled, real and endeared but nervous.

“I love you, too. So much. Can you hear? Does your jaw hurt?” He tried to touch it again, gently, but this time Jin kissed his hand, making Jungkook blush.

“I feel fine. It felt bad for a second. Good now.” He kissed the hand again, and Jungkook got the hint, bending down to kiss him.

“I’m sorry. I got too into it,” he mumbled before he pressed his lips to Jin’s again. Jin sighed happily, which seemed to throw Jungkook off a little bit.

“I like when you get too into it,” he admitted. “I like when it really hurts, as long as it’s just a treat.” He wasn’t sure if he made sense, but Jungkook seemed to get it.

He put his palm on Jungkook’s chest, felt his hard-earned muscles and his steadying heartbeat. Jungkook put his fingers in Jin’s mouth, almost quizzically, and Jin sucked them obediently, looking into his eyes.

Jungkook moaned and sat up, moved Jin’s hand on his chest to his cock that was already trying its best to get hard again.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, frowning. Jin pulled his mouth off Jungkook’s fingers, making sure to do it in the sexiest way possible. He earned the moan that left Jungkook’s mouth.

“Make me come,” Jin whined shamelessly, head thrown back. Jungkook stuck two of the spit lubed fingers back in his ass and fucked him with them before he touched his cock. Right now, Jin didn’t think about it, but later, he would be embarrassed by the fact that even when he was hurt, it never got soft.

After Jungkook’s lips wrapped around him, it didn’t take long for him to orgasm, his ass spasming around Jungkook’s fingers. He realized that Jungkook had tried to make it longer for him, to make him feel less embarrassed about how fast he always came, and was filled with so much love, so much fondness.

He pulled Jungkook to him with a kiss. After they got cleaned up–giggling coming in and out through the door with the blanket over it–Jin held Jungkook close on his bed, no blanket to cover them. His chest rumbled with his laughter. Jungkook fake whacked him.

“I can’t believe you’re laughing–I fucked you within an inch of your life.” He smiled, though, and Jin knew that Jungkook loved to see him laugh.

“I can enjoy the blanket and the ass pounding. I contain multitudes.” He leaned down to kiss Jungkook’s forehead.

“I’m…I’m sorry I hurt you again,” Jungkook said. Jin nuzzled his hair, breathing in that fresh, clean smell. He’d have to put a stop to this before it turned into a shame spiral.

“I don’t mind. It would be pretty crazy of me to never expect accidents with the way we fuck. It’s not like either of us is super careful to do it the safest way. I like it. I like when you lose yourself. I like to lose myself, too. I’m not upset. You always stop when I need you to.

“I’d stop if I pushed you too hard, too. I play up how hurt I am a lot of the time because I know that’s a line for you that can be kind of fun to walk on. I know you know that. But maybe you need to hear it more.” Jin ran his fingers absently through his hair, the texture of his perm feeling so Jungkook, comforting.

“I’m lucky I have someone who understands me like you do. I mean like…” Jungkook frowned, unsure exactly of what he was trying to say. He lost his train of thought like that not infrequently. He didn’t have to finish, never did. Jin knew. He remembered partners that treated him like he was worthless after they fucked, and he remembered partners who were disgusted when they found out what he was into.

“I know. I’m lucky to have you, too. I mean it.” Jungkook’s hands tightened around his waist. Silence.

“Do you think Yoongi is done in the practice room?” Jungkook asked. Jin laughed, took a pillow and hit him with it, delighting in the way he giggled.

“It’s late. Your parents would kill me. Get my fucking blanket off the door and come to bed.” When Jungkook took it off the door, he threw it over Jin’s head and laughed, then climbed onto his back. They were okay.

***

Taehyung poked his head into Appa Jeon’s study, knocking afterward. He looked up from his book and smiled so much like Jungkook that it took Taehyung a moment to remember it wasn’t him.

They’d both been extra happy to have him over with Jungkook gone–Taehyung wasn’t sure what they’d do when Koo really moved out–and Taehyung was extra grateful to be here. He loved Jungkook with his whole heart, but the timing had worked out. Being in an apartment with four other people was a lot for him every weekend, overwhelming and smothering no matter how much he loved them all.

“Come in, Tae. What’s up?” He stepped in, reminding himself he didn’t have to be nervous here, or with Jungkook’s Appa.

“Can I talk to you about something I can’t talk to my friends about?” He asked, rubbing his arm.

“It’s–it’s about love.” Heat rose to his face. He didn’t know if this random man would want to talk to Taehyung about something like that. He was always so worried he misread what his relationships with people were, what they were comfortable with. It wouldn’t be the first time, or probably the last.

But Appa stood up and rubbed a hand on Taehyung’s back and he remembered this wasn’t a random man, this was someone who had been exceedingly kind to him.

“Of course. Let’s sit down. Do you want a mug of cocoa?” Taehyung nodded, and he was set on one of those small sofas that looked both minimalistically uncomfortable and also extremely expensive, surprised to find it was actually quite comfortable despite the severe look to it. It faced a window that led out to the Jeons’ garden, mostly lifeless for the winter, and he felt a little calmer already by the time Appa came with hot chocolate.

He took the mug and held it gratefully, appreciating the comforting heat. He looked at the green mug a moment before he spoke.

“I have feelings I shouldn’t have about my friend sometimes. He’s in a relationship. And sometimes…Sometimes I picture them together. I know it’s gross–I’m sorry,” he finished hurriedly.

There was a terrible pause, and he looked at Appa’s face, a little panicked that he was going to be asked to leave, maybe permanently. But although Appa seemed surprised, he looked thoughtful.

“What are the feelings like?” he asked finally. Taehyung put the mug on a coffee table that definitely cost more than Jin hyung’s monthly rent and almost started to pick his hands, but Appa took the mug and placed it back in Taehyung’s palms.

“That’s what the mug is for,” he said with a wink. Taehyung whined and squinted his eyes closed to fight it, felt stupid for that, but tried to focus on keeping his hands on the mug. He tapped the mug instead, which seemed to soothe something in him, and Appa didn’t seem annoyed by it like he was sure most people would be.

“I get butterflies when he kisses me. You know how everyone kisses me and Jungkook,” he said. Appa laughed.

“I do know. It’s sweet. You two are so loved. Any other feelings?”

“I feel upset that he didn’t ask me out. And when I think of how my friend would be lonely without him, I want to kiss him, too. I almost told…someone else, but I focused on the wrong thing. I focused on how nobody chose me.

“And I guess I thought that’s what was wrong when I said it. I only just realized that I think I like him. Sorry, I’m not making sense.” He looked up at a pine of some kind hitting the window gently, a little green in a cold, harsh winter. He wanted to see the garden this summer, wondered if he’d be allowed to stay with them again for a while when it was full of life.

“My answer is the same regardless, but–is it Jungkookie and Seokjinnie?” Appa asked, curiosity written on his face. Taehyung scrunched up his nose in reflexive disgust in a way that made Appa immediately cover his mouth with laughter, another habit he shared with his son. Taehyung wondered whose habits he had picked up on, or if he didn’t share any and that was why he was a shell of a person.

“Sorry! I mean they’re great–they’re both great. But. Uh. I don’t love them like that,” he said, giggling a little when he saw Appa wasn’t offended.

“It’s–it’s Jimin and Hoseok,” he admitted.

“Well,” Appa said. “I’m an old man, so maybe my advice here isn’t good. But you said you just really started to get these feelings, or at least just started to notice them, right?” Taehyung nodded.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure which it was. He’d always thought he’d happily date any of his friends, but now he understood that that wasn’t true. Still, the line between romantic love and the strong love he felt for his friends was always a little fuzzy for him. And the feelings for his friends had started popping up when he started thinking about going to bars to fuck, complicating things more. God. I’m so fucking confused.

“I think I’d wait to see if the feelings pass, and if they don’t pass in that time, see how they grow. My old man advice is to leave it alone if they pass. It’s not worth hurting people for just a feeling, I think. But if the feelings don’t pass, or if they grow, or become too overwhelming, you should talk to them–both of them.”

“Do you think I’m a pervert?” Taehyung asked, straight to the point. Appa smiled and stroked his hair, and Taehyung wished he could identify the way that gesture made him feel right now so he could tell Jinnie hyung that he wanted to feel that way more often.

“No. You’re young and you have a crush–maybe two.”

“But I imagine them–”

“You’re young and have a crush. Is this the first crush you’ve had?” He asked so tenderly that Taehyung almost cried again. He nodded. He’d definitely wanted to fuck people before, but he’d never really imagined more than that, or for any sustained time.

“When I was your age, I obsessed over my professor’s teaching assistant. I’d go to all the recitation sessions, even the ones not for my section. It’s why I’m so good at speaking Chinese now.

“Everyone has dirty thoughts about their crushes sometimes, especially at your age. As long as you don’t do anything to someone without asking them, you’re not doing anything wrong just by having feelings or by thinking. I don’t want you to worry about that.” Appa continued to stroke his hair, and Taehyung took a sip of his cocoa before he put it down, this time to curl into Appa’s side, to be held.

“Does…Sometimes I worry it doesn’t really matter.” Taehyung frowned. Appa looked down at him with a frown, waiting for more.

“Like. How long can you love someone even if you really love them? After a while it must wear off, and then everyone gets hurt.” He thought of his own parents, thought of the way they fucking hated each other, full of resentment for the other even though he knew they’d loved each other very much, for a time.

“I still love my wife more than anything in the world, across many difficulties and differences. Love changes over time, but I think it gets better.”

“I think no one can love me like that,” he whispered, so afraid, eyes squeezing shut. Appa pulled him closer.

“I thought the same thing,” he said quietly. “And you’re so loveable. You’ll be okay. Give yourself time. Love isn’t a race.”

***

“You’re rushing it,” Jin said, bored. It wasn’t even fun to tell him he sucked at counting anymore.

“Am not,” Jungkook insisted. “You play it too slow.”

“Play it exactly like you have been,” Jin said, picking up the metronome and setting the time. He hardly ever used the metronome, but he always had to bring it out for Jungkook. As Jin knew they would, boy and time fell out of sync with each other quickly and Jungkook sighed in defeat. It wasn’t even worth being smug about.

“Okay, but that part is boring and I rush for the audience.” Jin grinned.

“Not buying it. Try to slow down this time,” he suggested. That had been his first suggestion, and Jungkook had taken it. But as they’d worked on his fingerings, his bowings, his phrasing, he’d gotten too confident again. Where the fuck does he get all this energy to be playing through things like that? Jin wondered yet again, feeling a bit lazy in comparison for literally no reason.

Jin helped him with practice instead of just sitting with him, which is all he’d really promised his parents, because he could tell that it meant the fucking world to Jungkook. He could sacrifice his own desires if he knew that it meant a lot to Kookie, though every time he thought about how he wasn’t going to get the part he felt a horrible pang of sadness deep in his bones. It hurt, physically hurt the bones of his chest.

Jungkook frowned as he played, slowing down and sounding good. Jin couldn’t help but be proud, smiling encouragingly, but Jungkook repeated a measure, then repeated it again, frown deepening, and as he tried to play it again, faster, Jin gently stopped his bow with his hand.

“We should take a break,” he said.

“I need to–” Jin fucking hated this, the way Jungkook almost writhed when there was something he felt compelled to do and couldn’t.

“Sh, sh. Let’s put it away and come here,” Jin said, taking his bow before Jungkook could realize how easy it would be to keep going; Jin wouldn’t want to risk breaking his instrument, after all. Reluctantly, Jungkook gave Jin the violin to put away, too, and Jin hugged him.

His chest ached for a different reason when he realized Jungkook was clinging to him to try not to cry. As far as Jin could tell, his compulsions seemed to fill him with a more anxious kind of energy that simply wouldn’t expel unless he carried out whatever random–or not so random–thing that it demanded he do.

Jungkook pulled away and started to hit himself. Jin was prepared for that, warned in a text by his mother that he did that often when he was stopped, so he was ready to intervene, holding his wrists as gently as he could before he could get more than two slaps in.

Frustrated, Jungkook stomped his foot and cried out. Jin wished there was space for the two of them to sit together here.

“I know, jagiya. I know. It’s okay. If you have to hit something, hit me. Or we can go get a pillow.” Being in the practice room almost felt like invading Yoongi’s space anyhow, even though it was for all of them. Yoongi lived and breathed in this room, practicing so many instruments Jin’s head hurt.

“I just feel so fucking stupid.” Jungkook sounded desperate, so young. Jin wanted to rub his back, but he knew the second he dropped one of his wrists that Jungkook would hit himself again, and he couldn’t have that. So he leaned forward and rubbed his nose on his head, loving.

“You’re not stupid. You’re not feeling well.”

“If you’re sick in the head, doesn’t that make you stupid?” Jungkook argued. Jin frowned, deeply.

“I don’t think the rest of us are stupid. Do you think that? Or do you maybe understand that we’re all just people who need a little extra help sometimes, and think you’re the only one who’s stupid just because they’re ‘sick in the head?’” Jin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“...The second one,” Jungkook mumbled. Jin kissed his temple then.

“That’s what I thought. And that doesn’t make any fucking sense, right?” Jungkook shook his head that no, it didn’t. Jin wanted to know why he felt like he had to play that measure so many times, but it didn’t seem like the time to ask. He wanted to understand so badly, to help him.

Instead of asking, he broke from the hug and quickly climbed onto Jungkook’s back, wrapping his legs around his waist as Jungkook leaned forward to accommodate him. Jungkook squealed with delight, and Jin could hear the smile on his face, all he wanted.

He couldn’t believe how secure he felt with his arms wrapped around Jungkook’s shoulders like that, easy access to kiss his neck, which Jin did.

“I can really carry you around?” Jungkook asked, like it was a treat. He was still bent over in case Jin changed his mind. Truthfully, he hadn’t realized just how excited he’d be–he’d just briefly thought it would help him burn off a little excess energy and ran with it.

“I’m waiting,” Jin joked, softly kicking his feet like Jungkook was a horse. He laughed harder and hoisted Jin up by his butt as he stood straight, Jin’s grip around his chest tightening as he felt how high up he felt, how helpless. Jungkook bolted into the living room–He’s so fucking fast, Jin thought–and beamed at Yoongi, lounging lazily on the sofa.

“Hyung look!” He bounced lightly and Jin felt himself bounce with him, laughing. Yoongi smiled, sincere.

“That’s great, Koo. You should try to cook dinner like that,” he deadpanned. Jungkook gasped, not getting the joke.

“Hyung, can we?” Jin snorted, but couldn’t say no. How could he, when Jungkook tilted his head so far back to look at him with eyes that glistened like that, full of hope and excitement? He bent down to kiss his forehead, laughing at the angle.

So Jin had to cook from his piggyback position on Jungkook’s back, shouting at him to hand over ingredients like they were on a timed variety show, Jungkook giggling like a sweet child, more than Jin had ever heard.

He steered Jungkook by his long hair, occasionally being run out of his own kitchen in the middle of a task–“Your turn ends early!” Jungkook shouted before running out to another room, Yoongi and Namjoon barely even looking up to smile fondly. Finally, Jungkook wore himself out and had to put Jin down. But by that point, Jin was almost done, and he felt disoriented back on solid ground. He missed being on Jungkook’s back.

***

“Hyung?” Namjoon knocked on his bedroom door. Jin looked up from his desk, grateful for the interruption. Jungkook had fallen asleep on the bed, so he couldn’t use him as an excuse to not read this stupid book for his stupid class.

He stood and opened the door, slipping out instead of inviting Joonie in to avoid waking Jungkook, but when he looked up, he frowned.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He stroked Joonie’s back. Silent tears streamed down his face.

“I’m such a fucking–” Namjoon hit himself in the face, arms still stiff when Jin took his wrists in his hands.

“Whatever you were going to say, you’re not. What is it?” Jin’s thumbs gently rubbed Joonie’s wrists, a reminder of his love. Joonie took a deep breath.

“I–can you–I snapped the fucking bridge in half,” he finally got out. Jin smiled, relieved that’s all it was. Jin loved a fixable problem. In this case, a very easily fixable problem.

“We can take it to the luthier right now if you want. It’s not a problem.”

“I’m always costing you hundreds of dollars. I think I need to talk to my Abeoji. I need–”

“Joonie, I’ve got it.” Namjoon frowned, eyes squeezing shut, like he was trying to block out all the bad thoughts from coming or going, keeping them to himself exactly as they were.

“It’s my fault, though. I was stupid. I laid it down and then went to get my notebook, and when I came back, I tripped on it. I could have broken a lot more than the bridge.” The way Namjoon talked, so quickly, made Jin feel like shit, like Namjoon thought of him like a parent who would scold him.

“That’s okay,” he insisted. “Accidents happen. How often have you had a mishap like that? You know me, Joonie. If I had an instrument that big, I’d be repositioning the bridge from where I knocked it every damn day at the very least.”

“I just feel like–” He paused, looked up, and Jin understood suddenly, like he should have before, that this wasn’t really about the bridge. Not entirely, anyhow. Maybe not so fixable.

“It’s okay,” Jin insisted. “Tell me.”

“Everything I touch breaks,” he choked out, more or less the first time Jin had ever heard the real sound of Namjoon crying. His eyes widened in surprise.

“What? Joon–Come on, let’s sit down and talk.” Namjoon let himself be dragged into his own bedroom, and he looked so absolutely lost, like he barely knew where he was headed. They sat on the bed, and right away Namjoon leaned onto Jin, who held him like he was everything, because to Jin he was.

“What else do you feel like you’re breaking?” Jin asked quietly, rocking him gently.

“You, to start. I’ve always made things harder for you.” Namjoon let out a wail so uncharacteristically pained and squeezed Jin’s shirt hard, and Jin wondered if he could feel how frightened he was from his heartbeat. Joonie doesn’t cry like this. That was all he could think.

“You don’t. You’ve always given me a reason to live and I love you more than anything. Don’t say that,” he said, firm.

“Yoongi hyung, too. I hurt him and hurt him and hurt him, and one day I’ll wear him down like sea glass until he’s not himself, and then one day I’ll look and there will be nothing left.” His voice came from deep in his chest, and Jin tried not to look freaked out.

“Yoongi’s never looked happier in the years we’ve known him, sweetheart,” he said, confused. Yoongi looked healthy, like he was eating and sleeping and had fewer worries, and often ran out of the practice room smiling with his sweet gummy smile to share some music he played or found or wrote with whichever of them happened to be there. Seeing him like that eased Jin’s heart, every time.

“He looks happy because I’m not touching him!” Namjoon exclaimed, frustrated Jin didn’t get it. He hit himself in the face again and Jin took the hand not clinging to him.

“Sh, sh. Of course you’re touching him. You’re always togethe–”

“And I hurt Jimin all the time, and it upsets Hoseok. I piss off Jungkook. Taehyung teaches me sax but I don’t think he wants to like, hang out with me. I don’t think I’d have any friends without you–” It took Jin a moment to realize that before he could finish what he was saying, he bit down on Jin’s hoodie to stop a pained, chesty moan from being too loud.

“That’s not true–”

“It’s all I do. I just hurt people. You take care of all of us, and all I do is worry you. I know you don’t like me anymore and that you think I’m boring and that I’m just a burden you bear because we grew up together when we didn’t know anyone else. And I feel horrible that I can’t move on from you like you want me to.”

Joonie squeezed him so hard it compressed his ribs, hurting, but Jin let him, understood that he wanted to be close, to crawl inside him, because he also wished Joonie could crawl inside him right now. He squeezed him back, rocking again.

“Let me finish talking this time,” Jin said with a kiss to his warm hair. “You are not a fucking burden and I would die before I ‘moved on’ from you. Don’t you ever fucking say that to me again. Do you really think I don’t like you?” Jin’s chest squeezed, constricting his breath, but this time it wasn’t from Joon. Had he said something? Treated Joonie differently?

“You roll your eyes at me when I talk about what I’m reading or writing all the time. You all make eye contact and laugh at me when I’m in the room. I know it’s worse when I’m not there. It’s–it’s humiliating. I know I’m not–” Another loud, deep moan, like a ghost’s.

Jin looked around Namjoon’s bedroom, feeling dizzy. How could he have acted like that? This was his fault. He shouldn’t have done it and he should have noticed it from everyone else and shut it down immediately.

“Joonie,” he started, softly. “We–we think it’s cute. We’re smiling because you’re cute. I’m not–I don’t mean to make fun of you. I’m sorry–why didn’t you talk to me about this?” Namjoon looked up at him quickly, face so broken.

“How could I talk to you about it? You don’t even want to see me,” he said, eyes squinting shut again before he could say the rest of what he had to say.

“You don’t even want to see me, but I have to ask you to spend hundreds of dollars and your time driving me to fix another thing I broke, and you do it because you felt bad for me as a kid.

“And I did try to tell you. I showed you the poem about the cliffs and erosion and I showed it to Yoongi hyung and neither of you knew what I was trying to tell you, and it felt so fucking awful.” A fresh round of loud sobs, one of them almost a scream.

Jin held him close, didn’t know what else to do.

“Jagiya, I love you more than anything. Things are changing, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you. I want you to live with me forever. I–I mean that. I was thinking about it last night.

“I just–Joonie, sometimes I don’t understand, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to. Sometimes your head is running laps around mine, and I’m not even at the original finish line yet. I want to understand. Help me. Tell me what I’m missing.

“I love you. You’re everything to me. You could need a new bridge every fucking day and it wouldn’t matter to me. I just want you here. That’s all I want. What have you been thinking about these feelings?” He knew the answer. Just looking at him, he knew the answer. The way Namjoon’s tears suddenly seemed to stop, silent again, he fucking knew.

“I don’t want you to worry more,” Namjoon answered, voice hoarse.

“Tell me,” Jin said, surprised by how rough he sounded. Not angry. Rough. Namjoon loosened his grip on Jin’s hoodie, silent for a moment before he answered.

“I think about taking a train to the sea and drowning myself in it before I can break anything else,” he whispered, calm and collected. That eerie quietness, the matter-of-factness unsettled Jin more than anything. Joonie was a serious person. If he said this, he’d probably almost done it several times.

Jin couldn’t help it, a guttural scream like he’d been unable to hold back when Taehyung–when Taehyung. Namjoon looked at him with surprise that upset Jin even more. How bad a hyung had he been?

“Namjoon, are you taking your pills?” Jin asked, voice shaking. Namjoon’s eyes widened childlike, and he nodded quickly, reassuring.

“I’m taking them again. I’m–”

“And you’re still thinking like this? How long have you been back on them? Have you told your doctor? What do you need? Hyung will do anything–please–” He screamed again, moving his fist to his mouth to bite the sound down a little, hating himself for not being able to stop these childish reactions, to be there more fully for Namjoon.

This was supposed to be about Namjoon, but he couldn’t stop acting like this, so automatic. His heart did the panicking for the rest of him when Namjoon shook against him, and it took him really looking at Namjoon to realize that this time it was himself shaking, not Joonie.

“Hyung, I’m–I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Jin snapped. “I couldn’t fucking go on if I lost you–you’ve been worried about me and Tae, but it’s you—” He couldn’t finish. What was he even trying to say? He was dizzy, genuinely worried he’d pass out. Focus. He willed the darkness closing in around the room to stop tunneling his vision, and slowly, it disappeared. Calm. Stay calm for him.

Namjoon stared at him with that wide-eyed curiosity he loved so much. I’m crying, he realized.

“Joonie. Listen to me. Do you need to go to the hospital?” He made eye contact, tried not to look as shattered as he was, to look like his heart was in one piece and located exactly where it should be.

Namjoon shook his head and looked down.

“I know I could never do it. I couldn’t–not after Doyoungie hyung,” he whispered. Jin trusted that. He had to trust that that was true. Jin didn’t think before he spoke, but somehow knew it was what really needed to happen.

“Jagi, I think you should take a medical withdrawal this semester and just…reset.” Namjoon stiffened in his arms. Jin knew he wouldn’t like that. He’d always been the best student.

“You and Taehyung didn’t take one. Yoongi didn’t even though he was going through just–just the worst–” Jin hushed him, rocking.

“Honey, I know. Okay? I know. But everyone is different. I bounce back fast, but it’s bad for me because I’m not solving the problem. I just push it away and keep crashing forever. Taehyung has a lot of extra support. Yoongi was in pure survival mode.

“But you’re my poet and you really feel things and I want you to stay safe. Will you think about it?” His plea silenced Namjoon, for too long.

“Trust hyungie, please,” he tried again, begging. “I always want what’s best for you, Joonie. Always. You can play more–”

“I’d have to leave the orchestra, and the choir, and the club. Everyone would forget about me.” Jin’s arms tightened around the warm mass of Namjoon’s body in sync with the moment his voice cracked. He was so happy Namjoon was here, in his arms.

“No one is forgetting about you, and if you think that Yoongi-ssi and Uncle aren’t going to let you come to the club anymore, you’re delusional.” It hit Jin, then, how young Namjoon was–he didn’t think of himself as being young anymore, even though he was barely older than Joon.

But right here, right now, Namjoon was just a boy, a boy who probably needed his fucking parents. And Jin felt completely helpless just knowing that all Namjoon had was him, a busy noona, and their friends who were even younger and even more helpless.

“Will you play with me again if I do?” Namjoon’s crying voice choked out, grasping Jin’s hoodie. Jin had always wished Namjoon would let himself cry loudly, but he had to admit that now that it was happening, it freaked him out.

“Every single day,” he promised, rubbing Namjoon’s arm. He kissed his forehead. Stay. Calm. Grounding. Stable.

“But first, we have to get your cello fixed up. How’s your bow hair? Strings?”

Before they left, Jin slipped back into his bedroom, looked at the beautiful boy sleeping in his bed. He hated to wake him, but he knew their errand would take a while, didn’t want him to wake up scared and alone. He climbed into bed and spooned him, wrapping his leg around Jungkook’s and kissed him awake.

Jungkook moaned happily and snuggled into him, warm and stable and completely unaware that Jin had been practically screaming ten minutes ago. The white noise machine had been a really good idea.

“Koo?” Jin rubbed his arm. Jungkook turned his head stiffly to face Jin, smiling sleepily. Still upset, Jin couldn’t help but smile back, the love in Jungkook’s big heart contagious.

“Hyung.” His voice was hoarse from sleep, but still so joyful.

“Sweetheart, I have to take Joonie to the luthier. It’s going to be a minute. Do you need to come along for anything?” Jungkook shook his head.

“Can I cook dinner tonight? You can text me when you guys are coming back.” He yawned. “I miss Tae. I’ll invite him even though Appa will kill me for taking him away.”

Something stirred in Jin’s chest, something new, which surprised him. He’d already been taken aback by love; he hadn’t thought there was much more that was new to discover. He’d have to think on what exactly it was that was new. Maybe Jimin would know.

“I’d love that, yeobo.” He kissed him twice before he got back up to leave, blushing when Jungkook reached for him as if to keep him there forever.

But Joonie needed him now, too. And he smiled at Joonie just like that, just as happy to see the beautiful boy there by the front door as he’d been to see the one in his bed. It seemed to make him feel a little bashful. Jin took his hand and squeezed it, and Namjoon smiled cautiously.

“Let’s take a walk by the river and talk more.” He took the cello in its heavy hard case from Namjoon.

Chapter Text

“Can we talk now?” Jin asked. They’d spent the week together, and now it was Saturday, and Jungkook was going to go home so that Jin could have dinner at Uncle’s on Sunday. Jungkook sat too still, his only movement his hands rubbing nervously against his own thighs.

“I don’t want to, Jin,” he said. He paused. “We’ve had a good week. I want to end it well. Can we talk another time?” He looked up at Jin, and Jin had to look away, not wanting Jungkook to see the hurt in his eyes.

This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to talk. He wondered if he’d be brushed aside forever, bit his lip.

“Please, hyung.” It was a plea, yes, but there wasn’t any conviction behind it. This wasn’t something that was important to Jungkook. Jin’s body shut down first, before his brain turned off. Worthless, he thought, weakly. Absolutely worthless. Dizzy–he was a little dizzy.

“Are you okay? Hyung?” Vaguely, Jin was aware of Jungkook speaking, of his arm being grasped, little shakes, but not enough to snap him out of whatever this was.

“Are you mad?” Jungkook’s voice started to sound scared. Jin didn’t want him to be scared. There was no reason to be scared. He forced himself to blink a few times, hard, scrunching his eyes tightly closed to feel something.

He needs me, he thought. He scratched his thighs over his jeans, just to move his fingers again, to feel his legs.

“Sorry. I don’t know what happened. Hyung is fine.” His voice sounded strange even to himself, and Jungkook looked completely unconvinced, so he smiled a smile that he didn’t mean.

“You’re like, really pale. Why don’t you lie down, honey?” Jin shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. Want to watch a movie tonight?” Jungkook didn’t answer, just looked at him very oddly. Or maybe Jin was the odd one. He wasn’t sure.

***

The second Jin stepped into his Uncle’s house, he started to cry, and once he started, he found he couldn’t really stop. Uncle sat him down with tea, rubbed his shoulders, sat with him, but it seemed like nothing could stop the dam now that it had been broken.

“Seokjinnie, what’s the matter?” Uncle rubbed his arm firmly, trying to snap him into reality. But Jin was too far gone, couldn’t answer. He shook his head.

“Are you sleeping well?” Jin thought, then shook his head again. Uncle held him closely, worried, so worried. Always worrying people for no reason.

“Take a nap in your room, sweetheart. I’ll make dinner,” Uncle said. That brought Jin back somewhere closer to where he should be. He frowned.

“I always help.” How could he explain that he wanted to help? But Uncle helped him stand and led him to his room–the guest room–his room.

“Bed. Are you getting sick?” Once he was in the bed, Uncle felt his head with his wrist, frowning. Jin wanted him to keep it there, to have someone touch him, but he took his hand away again, leaving Jin’s skin burned with cold in its absence.

“You feel okay. Get some rest. You look exhausted.” Jin didn’t want to waste his time alone with Uncle asleep in bed, but he couldn’t find the words to say so. Instead, he let himself drift off, and the sleep came easily, much more easily than it had at his own home for…well. He wasn’t sure. His sleep schedule had never been the best.

When he woke up, it was to Uncle gently shaking his arm, holding out a large, steaming mug of chicken noodle soup, the odor strong and tempting. I really must be sick. He had to admit, he did feel better after sleep. Sleep isn’t something he and Jungkook did a lot of. Maybe he’d just been worn out from getting laid so often–not something he really wanted to complain about.

***

Yoongi sat between Joonie’s legs like both of them liked, and Namjoon wouldn’t stop touching him, loving the feeling of Yoongi being so close. Yoongi loved it too, put his hand on Namjoon’s when it settled on his shoulder, kissed his wrist. They were on the floor, with Namjoon leaned against the bed. The floor was their favorite place to cuddle–it felt so safe and intimate.

“Everything is going to be okay.” Yoongi spoke softly, comforting. Namjoon squeezed him.

“I don’t think it will be,” Namjoon answered. He said it so sensibly that it threw Yoongi off guard for a moment.

“I know it will be. I’m here. We all love you.”

“When they find out I’m taking the semester–”

“They’ll all be there for you.” It was quiet a long minute before Namjoon spoke up again.

“I’m ruining Jinnie hyung’s life.” Yoongi leaned back on him, took Namjoon’s hand and brought it to his lips, let his mouth caress his fingers.

“I think hyung would disagree with that.”

“Have you seen him lately?” Namjoon asked. He was still scared for Jin, Yoongi knew. He tried to lighten the mood.

“He’s just tired because Jungkook has been keeping him up all night with his dick.” Joonie laughed, light and awkward, agreeable to that possibility, but Yoongi regretted it the moment it had left his mouth. Whatever was wrong with hyung wasn’t Namjoon’s fault, but it wasn’t that, either. It had been a shitty thing to say, and he felt shitty for saying it.

***

Taehyung loved to play music with Jungkook. Koo was a natural at improv, something most classically trained musicians honestly kind of sucked at unless they’d been instructed in it specifically. He loved to play his trumpet to Jungkook’s piano, eye contact being all they needed to make beautiful music.

Sometimes, Jungkook would try to hide a grin, and Taehyung knew he’d have to be ready for him to try and trip Taehyung up, a little game they played.

Taehyung was prepared this time, though, so when Jungkook started banging on the piano in a different key, when they’d been playing soft and sweet, Taehyung honked the worst sound he could think out of his trumpet, sending Jungkook falling backwards off his bench squealing with laughter.

Eomma walked in from her work dinner, and Taehyung could tell right away she was drunk, stumbling toward them laughing, helping Jungkook up and kissing his head ten times. Taehyung was still always surprised when she pulled him close, too, and kissed him like he belonged in their family. He still awkwardly held his horn, savoring the love before it disappeared.

“I must have missed something pretty good,” she said. “Oh, you both look so cute. Let me take your picture. No, no. Kookie baby, sit at the piano. Taehyung, hold your trum–oh my god! You guys can just play,” she said, clapping, so happy to have realized it.

They played a little more just for Eomma, and Jungkook’s eyes crinkled with how delighted he was to see his Eomma in such a rare state. She gasped, and they both looked up, confused when they only saw Appa.

“You look so handsome,” she sang, wrapping her arms around his waist and rubbing her nose into his chest, full of love. Taehyung had seen Jungkook do that to Jin hyung about a hundred times and had to hide his grin. Appa blushed with a shy smile and held his wife back, kissing her head.

“I wanted to tell the boys that dinner is ready. Let me get you up to bed,” he said, eyes shining with joy, like seeing her happy was all he needed. They both giggled as he walked her to their bedroom, and Taehyung followed Jungkook into the dining room.

Appa had made japchae just for him, his favorite, with side dishes and a plate of some sort of traditional cookies for dessert. He beamed.

“Your Appa’s the best,” Taehyung said, serving Jungkook first, filling his dongsaeng’s plate with a smile. He stopped as Jungkook shifted nervously, serving chopsticks still in his hand, holding more noodles in the air.

“I’m kind of nervous to eat it,” Jungkook admitted quietly.

“Why?” Taehyung asked. Appa’s japchae was good. Appa walked back in the kitchen, reaching into a cabinet, and added the electrolyte powder he found there to a large glass of water.

“I’m trying to make Eomma’s morning a little nicer,” he chuckled. “Is dinner okay?”

“It’s great, Appa. Thank you.” Jungkook suddenly stood up and hugged his father–not a usual dinner occurrence. Appa seemed a little worried, but he hugged him back, rocked him gently.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, stroking his hair. Jungkook was so loved, by everyone. Kookie nodded and smiled.

“I just–I just really appreciate you. You take care of a lot.” Appa kissed his cheek.

“I’m happy to cook. Silly boy. Eat well. Can you pack the leftovers tonight? I think your Eomma wants to give me the company dinner tea.” Jungkook and Taehyung made eye contact, and both snorted laughing.

“Yes, sir. I can pack it,” Taehyung said.

“And don’t ever say that again,” Jungkook added. He waited for him to leave again, eating a bite of kimchi to look natural, before he answered Taehyung, quiet again.

“It’s got oil in it. But if he knew I didn’t want it, he’d be so sad.” Jungkook’s eyebrows pressed together, like this was a real moral conundrum, but Taehyung still didn’t get it.

“What’s wrong with oil?” he asked, feeling stupid. He slurped some noodles while Jungkook frowned into space.

“I don’t know,” he admitted after thinking about it. Taehyung smiled, finally understanding. This wasn’t a Jimin situation.

“You trust your hyungie, right?” he asked, putting his chopsticks down to tickle Koo. He giggled, squirming cutely. He always acted a little bit younger and cuter when it was just the two of them. Taehyung guessed he kind of had to, to get babied by the second youngest, and he loved it. He liked being hyung.

“Duh,” Koo answered. Taehyung’s chopsticks grabbed a good-sized bite of noodles and quickly shoved it into Jungkook’s mouth. Taehyung kept his easy smile while he watched him eat. Jungkook’s eyes widened, then closed in pleasure while he chewed.

“God, it’s good,” he admitted.

“Everything is okay, Koo. Hyung promises. Eat up.” Jungkook still looked at his plate with uncertainty and distrust, so Taehyung fed him another bite. That seemed to break whatever spell oil had had on Jungkook, because he ate well, moaning happily a little too loudly for just dinner.

Taehyung knew from living here that Koo was on medication, and he was glad that it seemed to be working. A month ago, he never would have tried a move like that. Jungkookie would have lost it.

***

“Hyung, come over tonight,” Hoseok had suggested, and Jin took him up on it easily, even though he was tired. He thought maybe Hoseok wanted to talk about something, and Hoseok really did ask so little of him, of any of them.

So he found himself with Hoseok in his dorm room, smiling.

“It’s just us,” he explained when Jin looked around to say hello to Hobi’s other half. “Jimin’s out clubbing for at least a few more hours.” Jin blinked at him. He didn’t seem bothered by that at all.

“Jimin still goes clubbing?” He knew he sounded judgmental when Hoseok clucked at him disapprovingly, his face settling into something more serious.

“The way you all talk about him pisses me off,” he said. Hoseok had a way of speaking when he was serious, frank but without a trace of malice, that let him say things that would have sounded harsh coming from anyone else.

“I trust Jimin with my whole heart. He has a whole routine with his dance friends. He doesn’t need to stop hanging out with them on my account. You all act like you’ve never seen someone settle down before. And it doesn’t make me feel great, either. Like you don’t think I’m good enough to keep his attention,” he added.

Jin was properly chastised. Hadn’t he lectured the others about this before? Still, when he thought about Jungkook clubbing without him, he felt jealous. What did that say about him? About Jin’s role in their relationship?

“I’m sorry. That really wasn’t nice. I guess I thought–I thought maybe something was bothering you tonight, since you asked me over. And then when we were alone…” He trailed off dumbly, knowing it sounded a little shady to suggest that he thought Jimin might have been what was theoretically bothering him.

Hoseok smiled strangely, concern written all over his face, so painfully easy to read–even more painful when his facial expressions were directed toward Jin this time.

“I just wanted to hang out with you, hyung. I thought we could put on some sheet masks and play some Mario Kart.” Jin’s ears reddened. What was wrong with him? The dizziness came back, and he tried to sit down without drawing attention to himself.

“I haven’t had time to game in–I can’t even remember,” he realized, with a pang of grief. Hoseok watched him, and Jin realized he was waiting for some sort of approval.

“It sounds really nice,” he admitted. Hoseok smiled.

“Great. Snacks first or mask first?” Jin thought.

“Snacks first. Because eating in a mask sucks.” He moved his mouth up and down awkwardly like a marionette to demonstrate, and Hobi laughed like Jin had never said anything so real and funny in his life. Going to tell everyone that someone thinks I’m funny, he thought happily.

Jin kicked Hobi’s ass with his Princess Peach cart, Hoseok’s laugh filling the room each and every time he drove over a banana peel–which was more often than Jin had thought possible. They ate popcorn and crunchy pretzel bites filled with peanut butter, and Jin threw some popcorn at Hoseok whenever he managed to sabotage Jin’s race, though he always still won.

Still got it, he thought smugly right before driving straight off the edge of Rainbow Road, to his death. He vowed then to always be humble, something he forgot about less than five minutes later.

Once they were both full, they switched to sheet masks while they played, Hoseok taking some not-so-sneaky photos and videos of Jin making frankly pornographic noises playing Mario Kart with the scary white mask on his face.

Hobi looked like a wax figure, and it distracted Jin every time he looked over at him, complaining jokingly but extremely passionately when he started losing a race because Hoseok’s face was melting off, which in turn sent Hoseok into another fit of laughter. It was contagious, and soon Jin put down the controller to simply laugh with his friend.

By the time they took the masks off, Jin admiring his refreshed skin in the mirror, he realized they hadn’t talked about anything. They’d just had a nice time together. He was about to say so when Jimin walked in, looking absolutely divine in his artfully torn up clubbing clothes, a ripped, rather sheer oversized knit sweater in a deceptively sweet pink worn over tattered black skinny jeans.

His neutral expression turned to pure, drunken joy when he saw Hoseok, appearing not to even notice Jin. Jin’s jaw dropped at the slight, not truly offended when Jimin ran to Hobi, arms around his neck, rubbing his nose sloppily on his cheek while Hoseok’s face turned pink and then red, smiling. They were so cute together, and it squeezed at Jin’s stomach to see them so happy together.

“Hobi hyungie! I missed you so so much.”

“Hello, Jiminie,” Jin said, loudly. Jimin looked over at him with pure shock that sent everyone into another giggle fit.

“Hyungie, hi! Isn’t Hobi so handsome?” Jimin leaned on Hoseok again, a one track mind after a few drinks, apparently. Hoseok frowned, but Jin smiled at both of them.

“He’s so handsome that I just want to eat him sometimes,” Jin answered playfully but honestly. Jimin beamed.

“I know! Wait, wait. I have something for you.” Jimin staggered away, motioning for Jin to stay like he was an untrained dog. He looked for something in his night stand drawer. Hoseok took the opportunity to hug Jin, tightly.

“Come over more,” he said, quiet and sincere.

“I’d love to.” This was the most fun Jin had had in ages. He loved music, but leaning on something else that he’d used to love so much, turning his brain off–that was nice, too. Really nice.

Jimin staggered back over and handed Jin a…he thought maybe a card a child made? A hunk of pink and purple construction paper with about a hundred googly eyes stuck to it.

He took it, a little scared, but it was Jimin’s handwriting on the front: JIN HYUNG. He opened the card, and Jimin had rigged a crude pop up heart on the right hand side. Still a little afraid, he read the note on the left: Hyungie, thank you so much for cooking for me. I can’t tell you how much it means to me, or how much it’s helped. I love you so much, and I love eating real food thanks to you. Yours always, Jimin.

Jin tried to wipe his eyes, discreetly. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but Jimin already looked better, the color in his cheeks, and a bit of the fat in his cheeks, too, back to something a lot less frightening, more living. Jin hugged Jimin tightly, picked him up and twirled him, glad that he laughed prettily instead of running off to puke–Jin had forgotten he was drunk off his ass when he twirled him.

“I love it so much, Jiminie. Thank you. Why the googly eyes?” Hoseok laughed hysterically.

“I told you!” he said, pointing triumphantly. Jimin whacked his arm playfully.

“I thought he’d like the eyes! Shut up,” he demanded, hands on hips. Jin laughed, too.

“You win this one, Jiminie. I love the eyes.”

When he left their dorm room, he felt rejuvenated, breathing the chill late night air and really feeling it, and he could swear he felt the card in his coat’s breast pocket, like it was warm.

***

Jin packed up his violin after orchestra, heart pounding while he wondered what would happen with Jungkook when they left practice: if it would be weird, what they’d say to each other. He’d been anxious about it all through practice, so anxious that he’d given himself a splitting headache that definitely didn’t improve from the sound of a full orchestra practicing together.

Jungkook looked at him awkwardly, then looked away. Fuck. Jin snapped his hard case closed. I guess we were only cool for the weekend. He wanted to throw up.

“Jin, come look at this,” Jimin said, giggling at his phone while he waited for Hoseok to stop chatting. Jin stood and took two steps toward Jimin before he felt the room closing around him in a strange, all-encompassing darkness that seemed to wrap around his whole mind and body.

Thank god Namjoon isn’t here for whatever is about to happen, he thought with a calm matter-of-factness. It was the last thought he remembered having.

***

Taehyung recognized Jin’s parents the second they entered the hospital waiting room, having somehow never met them before through a year of concerts with their son. His Abeoji looked just like Jin, if hyung's tenderness had been completely stripped away. Not that he looked unkind. It’s just that, well. He didn’t exactly look kind, either.

The Kims both stopped to look quizzically at Jungkook’s father, holding a very upset Jungkook, before looking accusingly at Mr. Lee, and greeting exactly none of them. Taehyung had arrived at the hospital with Appa Jeon right away, when Mr. Lee had called from the ambulance.

The adults had told the rest of their friends not to come yet, not until they knew more about what was wrong with Jinnie, but Taehyung knew there was no point in trying to keep Namjoon away once they broke the news, and then they’d all be showing up.

“Thanks for coming,” Mr. Lee said, failing to hide his bitterness. He’d been trying for two hours to get ahold of them, crying at several points. Taehyung had felt truly terrible for everyone except Jin’s parents.

“The doctor said that he’s been asking for his Appa. They’re still running tests.” Mr. Lee seemed a lot more worried than Jin’s parents. Jungkook looked up at the Kims from his father’s chest, nervous, so Taehyung took his hand, trying to be reassuring.

“So we left work and rushed over here, and we can’t even see him yet?” Mr. Kim blinked at Mr. Lee. At least Mrs. Kim seemed worried–she twisted her hands in her cardigan a lot. Taehyung wanted to draw it, but now wasn’t the time.

“We thought you’d want to be here the second you could to see him,” Appa Jeon practically gritted through his teeth. Taehyung wasn’t sure what exactly he was mad about, if he was offended for Jin or just upset it had taken so long to talk to them, or that they were so rude.

“And who are you? Why are Seokjin’s friends here?” Mr. Kim spoke politely, but it was obvious to anyone that he wasn’t happy with what was transpiring.

Namjoon burst through the door first, followed by Yoongi chasing after him, and then Jimin and Hoseok. Joon pointed a finger at Kookie, and Taehyung was actually scared of him for the first time. He looked fucking unhinged. Instinctually, he put himself in front of Jungkook’s body, still covered from behind by his Appa.

“This is because you choke him half to death every fucking time you two fuck–”

“Joon!” Yoongi was pissed, and tried to get his attention, pulling at his arm, but Namjoon ignored him.

“Hyung is having a stroke because you don’t know how to–” Taehyung joined the chorus of friends yelling to block out whatever Namjoon was about to say. He was scared they were about to get kicked out of the waiting room, and then none of them would get to see him.

“Joonie, listen to me.” Jimin jerked his shoulders so he was facing him, looked him dead in the eye.

“Think of who you’re yelling at. That’s our Jungkookie. Look at him. He’s scared, too. We all care about hyung. You’re not the only one who’s scared. You cannot act like this.” Jimin physically moved Namjoon’s face with his little hands so he was forced to see the same Jungkook Taehyung tried to block now, along with his shocked father. His poor maknae, sobbing, so humiliated, frightened, guilty. He tried to run off, but Appa held him close. Taehyung didn’t want him to be alone, either.

Namjoon’s face softened, and he was about to apologize, but another fight was breaking out: Mrs. Kim was trying to pull her husband away from poor fucking Jungkook, Appa’s arms tightening as he swung his son out of the way, protective.

“You little–you’ve been to our house, you little queer.” If this is what he sounded like angry, Taehyung hoped he had never been angry at Jin growing up. He was scared, cried out against his will.

“Insu. Stop it,” Mrs. Kim hissed, pushing the hand that was trying to reach Jungkook down. But Mr. Kim was still upset.

“And you,” he continued, moving his sights to Mr. Lee, “You knew about this. You’ve always been an overstepping bastard, and you probably made him this way like you did–” He was interrupted by a small nurse’s even smaller voice.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Um. We heard…Uh. If he’s getting choked, can I talk to someone who…knows something about that?” They all turned to Jungkook, and he sobbed hard and loud. Taehyung squeezed his hand.

Appa tried to walk him over to the nurse, but Taehyung shook his head at him and held out his free arm. The last thing Jungkook needed right now was to detail how he choked Jin in front of his fucking dad.

So Taehyung, happy to leave the unfolding drama, walked with Jungkook to a private little interview room with the nurse, a doctor waiting inside. She took notes while the doctor asked questions: what kind of choking, how often, any signs of harm, and more, all of them upsetting his Jungkookie.

When they were done, he stayed in the hall with him for a moment, needing to help him, needing to be the hyung. He was so scared, but he couldn’t show it right now; Taehyung would have to be what Jin hyung had always been for him.

“Koo, it’s not your fault. Joonie feels bad–he’ll apologize. That prick just wouldn’t shut up to let him.” Jungkook sniffled, moving into Taehyung’s arms, which received him with pleasure, squeezing his only dongsaeng to his chest, wishing he could fucking help.

“I know he will. I’m just upset–Jin didn’t want his Appa to know, and it’s my fault he knows. And he might be too hurt to defend himself, and it’s my fault–”

“Sh. Koo, it’s not your fault. I promise it’s not your fault. Even if it was the choking–Jin likes it. I know he does. Don’t worry about any of that. All of it can wait. Let’s just go get news about hyungie, okay?” He wished he could tell Koo that it was Namjoon’s fault, but then he thought about it. It wasn’t Namjoon’s fault either. This mess was Mr. Kim’s fault, for sure.

***

A few minutes after Jungkook and Taehyung came back, hyung’s parents were escorted out of Jin’s room they’d just been let into–it didn’t look good. Yoongi was so fucking relieved Jimin was helping to take care of Joonie right now, because he didn’t know what to do.

What if Namjoon was right, and hyung was dying? What if the last thing he heard was whatever got his Abeoji escorted out? As discreetly as he could, Yoongi walked closer to a trash bin, sure he was going to vomit his guts out at any moment.

“You said that he wanted me–”

“Maybe he didn’t know it was you because you’re not acting very paternal,” Mrs. Kim snapped. She led him straight out, helped by a nurse, and returned to Mr. Lee. She took his hands, grateful but still eerily un-upset in a way that gave Yoongi the fucking creeps. His own Eomma had disowned him and she’d have never acted like this if he’d been hurt.

“Thank you, Sanghoon-ssi. Will you text me if anything changes?” It was like she was concerned, but about something quite minor, a scraped knee. He nodded.

“Of course. As soon as we know more. I’ll stay with him as long as he’s here,” Mr. Lee said. Yoongi caught Appa Jeon looking up at him as Mrs. Kim left after her husband. It was quiet for a few long moments.

“I’m sorry, Jungkookie,” Namjoon whispered tearfully, biting his lip hard. In Jungkook’s position, Yoongi honestly couldn’t say he’d have forgiven him. Those accusations being thrown in front of their friends, maybe. But in front of both their fucking parents?

But Jungkook was better than Yoongi, the sweetest soul, and he just nodded at him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re all scared.” Appa Jeon squeezed him, and Yoongi noticed Taehyung was practically glued to him today, protective. He wondered if he felt about Jungkook something similar to what he felt about Jin: only one hyung, only one dongsaeng.

Mr. Lee sniffled, then couldn’t hold his tears in any more. Yoongi couldn’t imagine how hard he’d tried to hold himself together in front of them. Appa Jeon let go of his son, relinquishing him to Taehyung, and hugged their teacher, tight and intimate, like a Jimin hug.

The two whispered to each other, planning and comforting, and Yoongi was a little surprised to hear his teacher call his friend’s dad “hyung.” He didn’t know why he was surprised–old people needed friends, too.

But suddenly, Appa Jeon broke away from Mr. Lee and addressed all of them as Mr. Lee bowed a discreet goodbye, going to Jin’s hospital room, Yoongi assumed. Jungkook’s Appa didn’t seem angry, and Yoongi couldn’t figure out why. He’d kind of thought he’d have to beg for forgiveness on behalf of Namjoon after that.

“We do not all need to be here,” he said, the closest he got to an accusation. “You’re all coming over for dinner and spending the night so everyone gets any news right away. Come on. We’ll know the second something changes with Jinnie. I promise.” Namjoon hesitated, ashamed, and Appa Jeon wrapped his arm around his shoulders, whispering something to him, too. When he broke away, Yoongi took his hand again.

“Everything will be okay,” he said. Yoongi believed it, and he was pretty sure his firm belief in an okay future was the only reason Namjoon followed him out of the hospital.

***

Appa left the dinner table to take a call, something he usually didn’t do, and Jungkook tensed, immediately felt a hand on him from either side, Taehyung’s on his thigh, Namjoon’s on the back of his neck.

He could tell that Namjoon felt awful, but he couldn’t bring himself to try and make him feel better. Hyung. He pictured how pale he’d gotten before he’d fallen, the loud sound from two music stands falling onto the hard floor, the yells from scared students.

Appa walked back in, smiling what was almost a real smile, which was the only thing holding Jungkook together.

“Jinnie is going to be okay,” Appa said, and Jungkook felt every single person in the room exhale except himself, because it was his fault this had happened in the first place.

“He passed out from–they think he was just really anxious about something. He said he’s been dizzy, and all his scans came back okay.” Jungkook felt Appa’s eyes on him then, and he cried, unable to help it. He really hated that Appa knew what he did in bed, hoped he wouldn’t tell Eomma when she came back from Japan.

“He’s out of it right now because he has a concussion from hitting his head falling. He should start feeling a little better by tomorrow, and then heal within a few weeks at most. It was just bad luck that he fell where he did.” Appa looked around for questions, but everyone was quiet.

“Are his parents going to take care of him?” Jimin asked quietly, the fear on everyone’s mind. Appa smiled.

“Sangh–Mr. Lee will take care of him, and Eomma and I will help, too.” It was quiet again. Too quiet.

“What if they want to help?” Jungkook asked, scared. He didn’t trust those people to take care of his hyung. Before Appa could answer, Namjoon spoke, looking down at his plate.

“They won’t.” Silence, too long. Jungkook stood and then sat, stood then sat, feeling things getting better until Appa moved to him and squeezed him close. He tried to squirm out of the hug–he’d been helping to bring order to a bad situation, and Appa couldn’t see that. No one did. God, he was so fucking lonely without Jin.

“I think it’s time for our Jungkookie to go to bed. We don’t have enough bedrooms for everyone, but since my wife isn’t here, I think it would be best if I slept on the couch and a pair of you took our room. I’ll show you to your rooms. Pair up.”

Jungkook squirmed away and wrapped himself around Taehyung’s back, whimpering. Taehyung scooped him up and Jungkook helped the rest of the way, so he was carried to his bedroom, safe and warm against Taehyungie hyung’s back. Taehyung loved him a lot, and Jungkook loved him back. He sniffed his hair and whimpered again, rubbing his nose on the back of his hair, and Taehyung didn’t even react. He’d never think he was weird for something like that.

Appa stopped by his bedroom before he went to bed, to kiss him goodnight like his parents did most nights. He held his father a little longer than usual, even more grateful for him after seeing Jin’s father again, hearing what he said about his son.

“Take good care of him, Tae,” Appa said, kissing Taehyung, too. Jungkook waited for his Appa to leave before he let deep sobs take over his body. He pictured Jin, wanting his Appa in a horrible hospital room, cold, and being told he wasn’t coming. Jin got chilly so easily, and he was sick–he was sick because of him.

“Koo, Koo. Try to sleep, baby,” Taehyung said, softly. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even try. When he finally slept, it was because his body couldn’t hang on anymore. Hyung.

***

Jungkook and Namjoon sat with Jin in his room at Uncle’s house, and he honestly wanted both of them to fucking leave. The way they stared at him stressed him out, and his head hurt, aching every time either of them talked. He couldn’t fucking believe that bonking his head on a music stand could cause him so much pain.

“Hyung, is anything numb?” Namjoon asked him a question about a symptom of a stroke or something about every twenty minutes, and Jin couldn’t take it anymore. He started to cry, whining helplessly.

“Hyung, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Jungkook looked at him with big, scared eyes he felt like he needed to comfort. Uncle walked in–thank god. Usually when Uncle walked in, at least one of them had to leave because the room wasn’t that big. But they both stayed.

“What’s the matter?” Uncle asked sweetly. He checked his head. Jin was also sick of being touched every few hours.

“Nobody will leave me alone,” Jin cried pathetically, cringing when he saw how much that hurt Jungkook and Namjoon, all over their faces.

“I’m sorry–” he added, crying more. Uncle hushed him, ushering the other two out for a moment.

“We aren’t allowed to leave you alone until tomorrow, Jinnie. What would make it better?” Jin pulled up the blankets. God he was tired.

“Just want to sleep. Everyone wakes me up,” he grumbled. Uncle smiled and stroked his hair, affectionately this time, not looking for bumps or whatever. It felt nice, more stimulating than usual, borderline too much, but still nice. He felt like a child again, worn out after a long car ride, maybe.

He always wanted Uncle when he was sick. Something in him just knew he’d be safe, cared for, even if he was knocked out for months. He closed his eyes, savoring the touch and the darkness. But he still wished Uncle would shut up. Jin whispered for him with his eyes closed even though he was right there, then again. It relieved…something.

“I’ll send them away and I won’t talk, but I’m going to have to watch you sleep. Deal?” Jin’s heart warmed and his head seemed to wobble, the weight in it shifting for no reason. He gave up on nodding, just blinked.

“Deal.” Uncle poked his head through the door to his living room, and Jin was asleep before he even finished telling the people he loved the most to go home.

***

Hoseok kissed Jin’s cheek and put his palm to the other side of his face with a smile, but he didn’t say anything. Jin smiled back at him, just grateful someone was being quiet. But Hoseok took a box out of his bag, and Jin felt confused watching him set something up on the little card table he used to eat. Was that–checkers?

Hoseok grinned and put two pieces in his hands, holding them out for Jin to choose. Confused still, he tapped a hand. Black.

Somehow, he got roped into playing several completely silent games of checkers before he fell back asleep. He even won most of them, wondered if Hobi was always letting him win or if he was the ultimate game master.

Holding back laughter was hard for Hoseok, Jin could see, but he didn’t laugh loudly once, kissed his cheek and left as silently as he’d arrived. Jin smiled before he fell asleep.

***

Jungkook sobbed on him, and Taehyung wasn’t really sure what to do. But he held him and patted his back, because Taehyung liked that when he was crying, so maybe Kookie would, too.

“He hates me,” Kookie said. Taehyung rocked him. Before he could argue, Jungkook continued.

“He’s kicked me out every time I’ve visited. Today he said the way I tapped my foot was annoying. But–it was quiet! I was just scared.” Taehyung cradled his head, nuzzling his cheek.

“Weird things are annoying to him right now, Koo. They said he might be snappy or sad for a while. It hasn’t even been a week yet, give him some time.” Taehyung thought he sounded pretty sensible, but Jungkook shook his head.

“It’s my fault,” he insisted again. Taehyung sighed.

“You know it isn’t. You–”

“Not like that,” Jungkook said, warning. He was pretty sensitive about the weird loops he got on. Taehyung got it and waited for more, quiet. Jungkook took a deep breath when he saw that Taehyung respected him, trusted him enough to hear him out.

“I mean–I’m the reason he’s been so anxious. I was blowing him off, and I knew it made him anxious and I kept doing it. I was going to blow him off again after practice, and I think he knew it.” He looked at Taehyung desperately, but all Taehyung could do was blink.

“Oh. Why did you do that?” he asked, not really getting it. He’d never ignore someone he loved, and it would really hurt him to be ignored, but he tried not to judge.

“I make him talk about his feelings all the time, but I didn’t want to tell him what was going on with me because I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Do you ever feel like we’re all burdens on him?” The question seemed sudden to Taehyung, too much of a jump. He felt like a burden to everyone, not just to Jin hyung.

“I thought if I added one more burden, it might be the last straw. But the last straw was me blowing him off.” Honestly, Taehyung didn’t buy it, and he wasn’t about to hide it.

“That’s not why you didn’t want to talk,” he said, not a question. Jungkook blushed.

“No. I guess it’s not.”

Taehyung knew better than to ask more.

***

Yoongi was at the end of his fucking rope and he didn’t know what else he could be expected to do. Nothing seemed to help Joonie, even his fucking emergency benzos. Joon was a wreck.

“He didn’t tell me if his headache was getting worse,” Namjoon said for about the fiftieth time, pacing.

“I’m sure his doctor–”

“He could have a fucking brain bleed, hyung,” Namjoon snapped. Yoongi had heard it already, and he was tired of all the negative feelings being directed his way. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Joonie hadn’t been well before this happened. That’s why he hadn’t been there, at practice. Of course he was upset about it now. It made sense.

“His doctor would know if he had a brain bleed,” Yoongi insisted.

“Mr. Lee might not recognize it.” He looked at Yoongi with so much fucking sadness in his eyes that he felt genuinely awful that he hadn’t been very patient with him. He opened his arms, and Namjoon fell into them, immediately crying and clinging to him.

“He knows what to look for. Hyung is going to be okay. Everyone says so. All the doctors.”

“He was anxious because of me. I told him about–I told him I was thinking about–” Yoongi frowned.

“Not everything is about you,” Yoong said honestly, feeling harsh but also like it needed to be said.

“Hyung deals with a lot. If he was really anxious, I don’t think it could have all been your fault. But I’m sure it didn’t help,” he added with a sigh. He stroked Namjoon’s head extra tenderly, trying to make up for his insufficient words.

***

Why did nobody think to fucking clean for hyung? Hoseok thought, upset. Yoongi–god bless him. He did everything Hoseok asked him to, with a serious little nod that tugged at Hoseok’s heart. It was just that Yoongi had absolutely no clue what to do on his own. Jimin was helping, too, at least. Most chores made Taehyung freak out a little. Hoseok didn’t mind that. He couldn’t help it.

But Jungkook and Namjoon were honestly starting to piss him off, even more now that they weren’t even helping to clean.

“My parents won’t let me practice without Jin hyung,” Jungkook told Namjoon. “I’m going to do really bad at the–”

“Can you two stop fucking making this about you?” Hoseok finally snapped. He couldn’t take it anymore. It had been a full week of this. He knew he’d been too harsh when Jimin and Yoongi both froze in place, mid-chore.

“You don’t understand,” Namjoon snapped back, while Jungkook stood with his mouth open, looking like he was questioning his entire life. At least he was thinking about it. Hoseok put his hands on his hips.

“No, I understand. I get that this is harder on you two, I really do. But hyung has been so anxious that he passed out and hit his head so hard he’s had to sleep for a week with someone watching him.

“He’s going through a hard time–did either of you even check in with him after he woke up to being outed to his parents and his Appa calling him a faggot? After calling for him for hours?” He took in the silence in response.

“No,” he answered for them, disgust in his voice. “You didn’t. You’ve been bitching about how you can’t practice, you can’t sleep, you can’t relax with hyung hurt, you’re sad because it’s your fault. How do you think he feels?” Hoseok’s heart rate wouldn’t settle, so he stormed into Jin’s bedroom and groaned.

“And nobody thought to wash his sheets before he came back?” He tore them from the mattress, and opened a window to air out the room. He’d have to dust, too. He put the bedding in the washer, still waiting for a response, an apology, but he didn’t stop moving.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook finally whispered. Namjoon looked down. Hoseok knew he’d been too hard on them–but Yoongi was crying now, too, and they all turned to face him, surprised. His Jiminie went straight to Yoongi hyung, wrapping himself around his embarrassed shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi hyung said. Hoseok softened. Yoongi had had his own hands full lately, taking care of Namjoon–both as his boyfriend and as hyung’s stand-in, doing the cooking and cleaning for Joon.

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything. But we’ve all been taking hyung for granted lately. You all know that, right? This has–I’ve been upset about this for a while,” he admitted. Namjoon frowned, hit his face once and bit his lip. Hoseok watched a little spot of blood bloom under his tooth.

Hoseok never tried to stop Joon from hurting himself, because he got it out of his system before he could hope to move to stop it. He wasn’t like Tae, who couldn’t stop once he got going.

“How long?” Namjoon asked, quiet.

“Let me ask you this,” Hoseok replied. “When’s the last time any of you remember doing something with hyung that wasn’t him doing you a favor?

“And I know he’s not blameless in this,” he added, holding up his hands. “He should say no a lot more often. But when you know your traumatized friend is easily bulldozed, it’s fucked up to bulldoze him. I just want us to do better. And we can start by getting this fucking apartment clean before he comes back.”

“What can I do?” Yoongi asked quietly. Hoseok knew that out of everyone here–even Namjoon, though he’d never admit that–Yoongi truly appreciated Jinnie hyung more than anyone. Hoseok didn’t know the specifics of why, but he was pretty sure it was something in the category of “life-saving.” Jimin seemed to know that, too, because he wiggled Yoongi hyung, trying to get a smile out of him.

“Yoongi, why don’t you clean the bathroom? Really make sure the floor and the tub are sparkling. He’s going to need to relax in the tub.” Yoongi nodded. He blushed at Jimin like he was debating something, then kissed his cheek and ran off quickly without making even a millisecond of eye contact.

Hoseok smiled watching Jimin’s face light up in delighted surprise. He laughed and took a quick photo of Jimin’s goofy grin as he held his cheek happily where Yoongi had kissed. Maybe he could lighten up. This didn’t have to be a tense day. Yoongi’s kiss seemed to loosen up the others, too, even Joon, so he turned to Jungkook.

“Koo, I want you to go home and bring some of your best pajamas and maybe like a throw blanket that smells like you. It’ll make him happy when you have to go home. And don’t bring up that you’re worried he hates you, please.” Jungkook nodded and took his keys from the sliced wooden table, running out the door.

Next, he turned to Namjoon. He put his hands on his shoulders–he really had been unfair. Namjoon was a fucking wreck, and he knew he had plenty of reason to be afraid. He’d seen things he shouldn’t have with Jin hyung, and he loved him so much. There was nothing Hoseok hated more right now than knowing he was the cause of these few, heavy, silent tears.

But he also wasn’t really sure what to ask him to do. Namjoon was notoriously…well. Not domestic. He thought about asking him to dust Jin’s room, but then pictured all of Jin’s shit falling to the ground to their deaths. An idea came to him.

“Jinnie hyung can’t have screens or play violin for a little longer, and you know he’s going to be bored out of his mind. Will you pick out some things to read to him? Easy, light things. Remember his brain’s still bouncing back,” he said. Namjoon wasn’t an idiot though, caught him in the kindness he was trying to show him.

“I can’t do anything else?” There was no accusation in his voice, only a pure sadness that made Hoseok feel like a fucking monster. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea–hyung really was about to be bored, and when he was bored he tried to do things. He needed rest.

Cautiously, Hoseok touched Namjoon’s face. He’d always gotten the impression that Namjoon didn’t really like him, wasn’t really sure how he’d take his touch. But Namjoon leaned his head into his hand, and–god, Joon was not doing great.

“First of all, I think you’re underestimating how bored he’s going to be. But secondly…Namjoon-ah, I think you should try to relax and focus on not freaking out. He’s going to freak out if you’re freaking out. And I think he’s going to want you to stay with him. I need you to be strong for him, okay? Take a nap if you need to. Anything. He needs you.”

His honesty seemed to help. Namjoon nodded–it really was obvious that Jin wouldn’t be able to relax if he felt like he needed to take care of his Namjoon. And Namjoon really was Jin’s.

“I’ll pick out a few books and take a nap,” he said. Hoseok smiled at him.

“Thank you.” He was grateful Jimin was already cleaning the kitchen. But Taehyung stood there, awkwardly holding his arm with Yeontan sitting next to his feet, looking so lost. Hoseok frowned, walked over to him so they were close, so they could talk more intimately.

“I’m sorry,” Tae whispered. “I’ve worried him and I don’t–I don’t give him anything in return.” The pain this caused him was so obvious in the horrible, grieving way he wiped the tears from his eyes. Hoseok took both Tae’s wrists in his hands, his touch gentle, frowned when it made him sob.

“Tae Tae, sh. He loves you so much, and I know you love him. This wasn’t really–what I said wasn’t really–”

“It was,” Taehyung said, sounding very sure despite the tears. “I do it, too. I take from him and I take it for granted.” Hoseok didn’t know what came over him, but as natural as anything he pulled each of Taehyung’s wrists closer and kissed the back of each hand once, so tender.

“You don’t take him for granted,” he said firmly. But now was the hardest part. He moved his hold to Tae’s hands, which clasped his desperately, his lost eyes looking at Hoseok’s face, searching.

“I know you miss Tannie and everyone and wanted to come back, but I think you should stay with Jungkook a little longer.” He expected the fresh stream of tears that came and was ready to pull him into a hug, rubbing his back tenderly. Hoseok’s chest felt so warm every time he held Taehyung to him. He really cherished him, so grateful he was here and doing so much better most days.

“I’m such a–”

“It’s not that,” Hoseok insisted. He wasn’t about to let his Tae Tae think what he was thinking.

“Jinnie hyung loves you and he’d love to see you. But–sweetheart, you have nothing left to give right now, and the last thing I want is you to be in hyung’s position in a week. You need to take care of yourself and let other people take care of you before you can give anything more.”

“No, I never help. I never–”

“Taehyungie, listen to me.” Hoseok made eye contact, knew his own emotions were written all over his face and wanted to share them with Taehyung, to show him how he felt.

“Baby, you just tried to kill yourself. Like, less than three months ago. You’ve been picking again. It’s not the time to be taking care of someone. I want you to be happy, too. Stay with Jungkookie, just another week. Let people take care of you. We all love you so much.”

He was so fucking grateful when Jimin sneaked behind Taehyung, surprising him in a hug that started with Jimin’s little hand cradling Tae’s neck, and even when they were wrapped around each other tight, he kept that hand there.

Jimin smiled, calm and reassuring.

“We want you to come back smiling again. Think of how happy that would make hyungie,” he said, his voice a song. Taehyung pulled just his head away to look at Jimin, and Hoseok couldn’t help but feel…strange about the way Taehyung looked at his boyfriend. Not threatened–there was nothing disrespectful happening.

But their shared glance was intense, and from the way Jimin looked down blushing, he’d felt it, too. He reminded himself that Jimin loved him, that he was enough for Jimin, as he had to do every so often, usually when he looked in the mirror and felt especially ugly.

“The kitchen’s all clean, captain,” Jimin said, eyes sparkling at Hoseok. He smiled back at him. I’ve never been so loved in my life, he reassured himself.

“How about I steal Tae Tae for a bit? I want to hear some music,” Jimin said, convincing. Tae smiled at Hoseok, too, and all Hoseok’s little worries vanished.

“Tae, play well for our Jiminie.” He kissed both their cheeks. “I’ll finish up hyung’s room.”

Alone in Jin hyung’s room, he dusted first, always cleaning from the top down. He dusted Jin’s framed pictures especially carefully. He’d never been in hyung’s room before, actually.

When he held the picture of Jin with his hyung, a small boy on a teenager’s shoulders, holding a little award from a contest, he sniffled, unable to help it. Jin’s hyung had his exact sad eyes, but he looked happy here, too. But in this picture, little Jin looked so truly happy, even though Hoseok knew that he didn’t have a great childhood and–fuck.

He wiped his eyes. When had Jin looked that happy since he’d known him? He thought never. When had his eyes gotten so sad?

He dusted a framed picture of all of them on the wall, the last photo they’d have together with Taehyung in the orchestra, touched that he’d framed it. But Hoseok’s hand flew to his mouth when he realized that hyung’s expression in that photo was exactly the same as his dead brother’s in the old one. It was like seeing a ghost and a horrible future grief all at once.

Hoseok put the photo back on the dresser, along with hyung’s Mario figurines, arranging them in the same loving way they’d been set up before. He still had a lot of cleaning to do. He shivered, but he couldn’t close the window until after he vacuumed. His tears were cold on his face.

***

Taehyung crouched beside Yoongi. The concussive-friendly surprise party had been Namjoon’s idea, and they all laughed at it for twenty minutes after he’d suggested it, a little delirious.

Jin walked through the door with his Uncle, looking a little surprised and sad until they popped out of their hiding places, all of them doing jazz hands instead of clapping.

“Surprise!” they whisper-shouted. Jin snorted and started to laugh, more quietly than usual. His head probably still hurt, but he seemed really touched, or maybe happy–he smiled, and Taehyung needed to see that.

“Thank you, guys. Wow, who cleaned?” he asked, looking around. Horrific guilt gnawed at Taehyung–Jin hyung really did do all the cleaning usually. Taehyung freaked out if he had to touch old food or anything too germy like trash or a toilet, so the only thing he ever did was the floor.

“Everyone helped,” Hoseok lied. Stop, Taehyung reminded himself. Look happy. But he realized that he didn’t really know how to look any way other than he looked. Okay then. Plan B. Don’t freak out more.

Uncle left for the kitchen, and Yoongi followed to help after giving Jin hyung a shy greeting back. They’d be eating well tonight for sure, without him and Jungkook, who would eat well somewhere else, away from everyone. He tried not to think about scratching his hand and looked up at Jin again.

Hyung looked fucked up, and it scared the shit out of Taehyung. He knew he’d been sleeping most of this time, but Jin hyung was so pale he was white, with the darkest circles Taehyung had ever seen under Jin’s insomniac eyes. And he looked like he’d lost like, a lot of weight in a week.

He snapped himself back to reality. Jin was in Namjoon’s arms, and Namjoon looked…weirdly calm, and he didn’t say anything about a brain bleed. “He could still die even if he seems fine,” Namjoon had said a few days ago. “He’s fine, Joon. Stop. You’re scaring him,” Yoongi had said, holding Taehyung.

When Taehyung came back to the present again, Jin was in Jungkook’s arms, being kissed on the cheek with so much love. He really had to stop spacing out. Look normal. Yeontan barked at Jin, tail wagging, and Taehyung’s chest tightened at the thought of their shared dog missing Jin hyung. He wondered if he missed Taehyung too badly when he was at the Jeons’.

Jin laughed, louder now, and started to bend to pick up the dog, but he stopped before he got even close to low enough and froze there for a moment before he slowly–too slowly–rolled back up, looking nauseous, ill.

All of their friends froze, even Hobi and Jimin, usually unfazed. Taehyung wanted to help in some small way, more than anything. Quickly, he bent down to pick up Yeontan himself. The little dog’s entire body shook with how excitedly he wagged his tail trying to run to Jin through the air, and Taehyung laughed holding him up to Jin’s face for his dog kisses, which Jin received happily, laughing too.

“I missed you too, Tannie,” Jin said, petting Yeontan’s head, behind the ears. His grateful eyes met Taehyung’s, and Jin opened his arms for him, now. After setting Tannie down, Tae held Jin as long as he could get away with, felt that he was here and okay.

“I love you guys, but I’m still really tired,” Jin said. He seemed embarrassed, but that didn’t make any sense. Why would he be embarrassed? Namjoon stepped toward Jin, putting a hand around his waist. It was so gentle that they looked like a couple. Jungkook watched them, wide-eyed but more shy than anything.

“I’m tired, too. Why don’t we nap together, hyungie?” He sounded so calm that Taehyung really wasn’t sure how he’d managed the switch–Hobi hyung must have really put the fear of god in him.

Jin smiled wide and sincere, like all he’d ever wanted this whole time was for Namjoon to shut up and take a nap with him. That probably was all he’d wanted.

Chapter Text

Namjoon read to Jin from the second book in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, and Jin was truly grateful to hear his voice, low and prettily raspy.

Even though he was technically allowed to look at screens now, it still randomly made him feel a little woozy, and it brought Namjoon closer to him again in a way he hadn’t truly seemed to Jin lately. He liked to close his eyes with his little koala pressed to him and be transported somewhere far, far away for a little while.

And when Jin grew tired, Namjoon would put the book down, often just resting by his side. Seeing Joonie sleep, calm and peaceful, helped him to rest, too. He tried not to worry about whether or not his father would cut off his trust fund, or his credit card. Whether, in other words, they were all about to be dead fucking broke. He’d have to talk to his Eomma about it when he felt better. For now, he had enough saved for a little while.

He shouldn’t have gotten those expensive bracelets. Especially when–well. He didn’t want to think about that just yet, either. These thoughts passed his mind now as Joonie read and he got sleepy, yawning.

He cuddled into himself, telling himself it certainly wasn’t because he wore Jungkook’s pajamas. Joonie frowned, put the book down and lay facing him, pulling him close, Koya smushed between them. Just like always. Jin took a deep breath, comforted by the smell of Namjoon’s everything.

“Sorry,” Jin said, unsure of what he was sorry about but knowing he was.

“No. I’m sorry. I’ve been acting…I haven’t been acting in a way that I like. Especially with you.” Namjoon’s hand took his own, and he looked him in the eye when he spoke, so much calmer than Jin would expect of him from this line of thought. He wondered what had changed.

“You haven’t been feeling well. You’ve been with me through enough of my mental breakdowns, not to mention bad decisions,” Jin said with a grin. Joonie grinned back at him easily. His Joonie was so much more handsome than he thought he was, truly beautiful.

“I think I saw this apartment as a halfway house at the edge of a cliff on the sea,” Namjoon started. Jin knew by the way he spoke that he was about to start yapping, and he watched him talk with admiration, so close.

“You know, like a step away. Away from a nightmare. Or a lifeboat. Yeah.

“I thought maybe I’d feel like Yoongi and I were above the water, on a lifeboat, and you and Tae would be with us–with other stranded people, not so alone anymore.

“But we’ve been worried about the gale that wrecked the ship, and the gale’s been over for months. It’s not returning.” He looked past Jin briefly, eyes emotional. He’d always gotten so emotional about this kind of thing, and Jin was glad that his Abeoji had never been able to beat his heart out of him.

“I’m not sure if we’re on land yet, though. I mean–I just don’t know. I’m confused. Sometimes I think we’re riding gentle waves in the middle of the Pacific, do you know what I mean?

“Like the gale is gone, but we could still drown. We’re safe, but anything could kill us. Really vulnerable.” He looked back into Jin’s eyes, so he nodded.

“I feel the same way,” he said, hoping that was enough. Sometimes Joonie lost him, but he didn’t lose him today. He squeezed his hand, and to his surprise Namjoon leaned in and kissed his lips, soft and chaste, intimate and so deeply familiar, but familial, too.

“I love you,” Joonie said, the start of his conclusion. “I think we’ll wash up on shore together no matter what happens out in the ocean. And I want–I want to be better for you. With you. Together. I want us to be happy together again.

“We used to be so happy together, when we were miserable. Sometimes I worry I’ll never be as happy as I was then, when I was so fucking miserable I wanted to die. But I wanted to live, too, because you were there, and we were happy.”

Jin let go of Joonie’s hand to wipe his eyes, but Namjoon was already grabbing him a tissue. His concussion had made him embarrassingly weepy for a while so they always had some nearby, but this wasn’t that.

“I love you, too. I’d wash up on any shore with you, from any ocean, in any lifetime, Joonie. And you’ll be happier than you could ever even imagine. We both will. We still have a lot to learn, though.”

He pulled himself closer to Namjoon and shifted Koya between them, not wanting to leave his little stuffie out of their love. And he rested there in Namjoon’s arms until they both fell asleep, finally truly resting.

***

Yoongi watched Namjoon play his Bach–Joonie never got sick of his Bach, even though he had to have played through all of those Suites a thousand times by now. He watched his bow hand, the fingers so nimble, almost loose, his whole body so relaxed compared to how he seemed out in the world.

When he’d finished the piece, he set the cello down on its side and stood to stretch, still holding the bow. Yoongi approached him shyly, but Joonie looked at him with such warmth that he moved in closer, smelling the rosin as he hugged him. One armed, Joonie hugged him back, kissing his head.

“Do you think you could show me how to play a little?” Yoongi asked shyly. It seemed ridiculous to start a new string instrument at this point, especially a Western one. He played so many instruments already, truly living for music.

But he could see clearly the effect the cello had on Joonie, how full body an experience it was to play, and he was curious, wanted to try it, to feel something special that Joonie had felt, too.

“I would love to. Sit down,” Joonie grinned. He seemed so, so happy to show him, so full of joy that Yoongi felt sad he’d waited so long to ask. Yoongi sat, but Namjoon touched his back.

“Edge of the chair. Good.” He moved a few inches of the end pin back into the instrument–Damn, he thought. I’m short.

“So you want this part to sit above your knee, and this around here on your chest…Yeah, yeah. This looks good. How does it feel?”

“Funny,” Yoongi answered honestly. “Like I’m holding a big hunk of wood between my thighs.” Namjoon laughed.

“Yeah, stop squeezing them. That’s Baroque style,” he grinned, dimples out, eyes crescent moons. He moved Yoongi’s left hand to the strings, explaining that Cats Go Down Alleys to help him remember which string was which, and taught him to pluck Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Honestly, it was more difficult than Yoongi had expected it to be. There was so much instrument to look at, and he was glad he had big hands. With his phone, Joonie took a few photos of him concentrating on the fingering, and he knew they would be sent to the group chat and maybe printed. The last photo he took showed Yoongi looking up with a smile to scold him for taking so many pictures, eyes playful.

“Well? Do you want another lesson sometime? It’s okay if you just wanted to try it,” Joonie said. Yoongi thought about it.

“I want to keep learning. Honestly, it’s a lot harder than the last few I picked up. That makes it more fun.” Namjoon beamed while he put his beloved instrument away, and then he pulled Yoongi up to him, kissing him.

His tongue told Yoongi that he was very much still wanted even with their above the waist rule, and, well–if every once in a while Joonie had broken it to squeeze his ass, Yoongi wasn’t about to complain about it. Of course, he couldn’t speak for Namjoon. But for him? He was almost ready to fuck again. Almost.

“I’m taking you on a weekend trip in a few days,” he said lazily. “If you say yes, I mean.” They’d moved in together so fast that they had stopped going on dates relatively quickly. Yoongi wanted to fix that.

Joonie had been a dick about it for sure, and upset about the wrong things maybe, but the more Yoongi had thought about it, the more he realized that he hadn’t really been helping Namjoon feel loved. He’d been intimate mostly only when they were alone, and shy even around their friends.

“What? Really? Where?” Namjoon sounded almost scared.

Yoongi had never pulled off any big gestures. At one of their friend dates over coffee, Jimin had pointed that out, gently, told him how he had saved up to take Hoseok somewhere fancy, that he was planning a Jeju trip as a spring break surprise. That conversation had made Yoongi feel like a prick. If he could think Namjoon had acted like a prick, he could admit that he’d been one, too. A more chill, more casual prick, but a prick nonetheless.

“Nowhere fancy,” he mumbled, embarrassed suddenly. “But I wanted to get us a hotel by the sea in Incheon. I-I wanted…I wanted you to have happy memories by the sea. So that when you’re sad, it’s easier to think about those, too.”

Guilty, he added, “And someday, I’ll take you somewhere nicer. Like Jeju.”

What if he’d been super off-base, and Namjoon was going to ask him why the fuck he’d suggest something to remind him of that? Joonie’s lips parted, eyebrows together, and Yoongi felt sick, but Namjoon leaned in to kiss him again before he could run off to puke.

“That sounds–Hyung, I–” He kissed him again. He didn’t need to say anything else. Yoongi relaxed into the kiss.

“You’re special to me,” he mumbled when they parted, lips so close to Joonie’s that they brushed against each other when he spoke.

“I’m sorry I haven’t done anything to make you feel special to me. I’m–I’m not great at that kind of thing. But I love you, and I’ll try to show you. How I feel, I mean.” Yoongi blushed, and Namjoon kissed him hungrily, somehow already more relaxed.

***

“Everyone is always kicking me out,” Tae grumbled. Jin was close to losing it. The thing that Jin hated was that Taehyung had a fucking point. This was his home, and everyone was constantly asking him to leave it. Jin looked at him desperately.

“Tae, listen, okay? Don’t tell Jimin and Hobi this–I mean it. Promise me.” Jin didn’t want to give Taehyung this information right now, but he unfortunately did owe him an explanation. Wide eyed, curious, Taehyung nodded.

“I’m breaking–” Jin’s throat caught. He closed his eyes and tried again.

“I’m breaking up with Jungkook. I don’t want him to worry about his friends seeing. Okay? So please just spend one more night with Jimin and Hoseok,” Jin begged, opening his eyes again to find them stinging with tears. Taehyung seemed upset in a way that Jin maybe should have anticipated.

“This is so embarrassing–I spend so much time there,” Taehyung said. As much as Jin knew that this was going to be hard for Taehyung, he really, really couldn’t bring himself to care that much.

I fucking knew everyone would be upset. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did–Jin didn’t want anyone to choose between them. He wanted them all to stay friends. But deep down, he was also pretty sure that if he asked them to choose, they’d choose Jungkook, and it fucking stung.

“Well I’m going to miss my boyfriend,” Jin snapped, mentally chiding himself for not being more patient when he was, again, kicking Taehyung out of the home that he lived in, and when he was already depressed to boot.

But instead of looking hurt, Taehyung looked at him with a question. Jin sighed and waited, deflating.

“You still love him?” Taehyung asked, softer. Jin opened his arms–Taehyung was a cuddle bug, but he rarely came to anyone first. He hugged Jin, and Jin held him back.

“Of course I do.” Taehyung had another question on his face, but he didn’t ask this one.

“I’ll stay with Hobi and Jiminie. Text when I can come back, please. I miss my dog.” Tae looked so forlorn that guilt gnawed at Jin’s stomach lining despite himself, and he kissed his forehead, hoping he got the message.

***

Jungkook seemed like he knew what was about to happen: he was an anxious ball of even more anxious nerves, and it put Jin on edge. He’d kept his bedroom dimly lit for both of them.

“Koo,” he said, patting the spot next to him on his bed. Jungkook looked at him with animal fright in his big, round eyes, already watery. Shit shit shit, Jin thought. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

“Don’t. Please.” Jungkook’s voice was barely audible, high-pitched from the strain and barely above a whisper. Jin wanted to give in, badly. I can’t do this. He patted the spot next to him again, until Jungkook sat down, moving robotically.

“Jungkook,” Jin started, like he had planned. Jungkook started to cry. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. He looked at his lap. If he looked at Jungkook, he would never finish.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I mean that. But for a while, I haven’t–”

“Stop! Please, hyung.” Jin looked up. Jungkook was crying for real now, holding his arms tight over his chest, looking ten layers of crushed. Fuck. I can’t do this. Jin wrapped his arms around Jungkook from behind, and it was wrong the way Jungkook stayed so stiff, didn’t lean into him.

“So you’ve felt it, too,” Jin sighed. Jungkook turned so suddenly to face him that Jin fell backwards into his pillows. Koo looked a little crazy, but also determined.

“I–I’m sorry. I avoided–I knew you were going to–I’m sorry, can you give me a minute?” Hearing him so lacking in confidence, stuttering, ate at Jin’s heart. He nodded and sat up again, feeling stupid.

Jungkook left the room for a few of the longest minutes of Jin’s life, and he didn’t have any idea what he was supposed to do. Jungkook had explicitly asked for a minute–he couldn’t very well follow him. But what if Koo was doing something maladaptive and needed a hyung? Maybe he shouldn’t have kicked Taehyung out–

Whatever he’d been doing, Jungkook walked back in and immediately got down on his knees. Jin was–well, embarrassed for both of them, to be honest.

“Hyung. Do you still love me?” Jungkook’s eyes grabbed his own flightier eyes against Jin’s will, searching for honesty. Jin couldn’t lie, not about something he held so close to himself, precious. He nodded, small, like he regretted that he still loved him. He opened his mouth, but Jungkook spoke first.

“I still love you, too. Give me another chance. Please.” I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t fucking do this. He wanted to give in badly, so badly, but things were so fucking bad.

“Koo.” He wiped tears from his face, ashamed, but the tears only escalated the longer he spoke.

“If I don’t do this now, I won’t ever be able to. I’m not happy. You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t like me anymore. I can’t be with someone who wants to be near me but doesn’t want to be with me. I’m so lonely.”

Jin’s body shook with sobs–lonely--the tremors scary to experience, so out of his control. Warm arms around him. Clean smell. Jin couldn’t help but lean into the chest that wanted him there, wanted him there as badly as he wanted to be there.

“I was scared you’d break up with me–I got it all wrong. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please.” Jungkook was here and holding him and Jin wrapped his arms tight around his waist, so desperate to keep him by his side. No, you were going to break up, he weakly reminded himself. But he didn’t want to.

“Talk to me now,” Jin said, a hint of warning in his voice. It was now or never. He’d been prepared–poorly prepared, but prepared. He could be prepared again. Jungkook spoke so quickly that he seemed to have some trouble keeping up with his own words.

“It’s been so scary–how crazy I’ve been has been really fucking scary, hyung. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry. I–the meds–I was really ashamed, but everything was so–it felt like everything was out to get me, all the time. I thought I had to hide a lot, or everyone would start–”

Jungkook cried once, loudly, and Jin squeezed him tighter, closer. Don’t cry, he thought. I love you.

“I’m sorry,” Koo repeated, cringing at himself. “I was thinking about–it’s dumb. But I was thinking about high school. And I thought you were all staring at me when I was weird, and that you were going to start filming me and showing everyone.”

Jin wasn’t a monster. He rocked the sweet boy crying in his arms, kissed his head.

“None of us would ever do that. No matter what,” Jin said firmly. Jungkook nodded. He started to calm down again, to speak normally.

“I know, hyung. But it was like, this obsession like all the other ones. And then you were mad at me because of the stupid audition, and I know that it wasn’t, like, wrong of you to be mad, but I kept thinking that that was it. It was the end.

“When we talked I lied to you. I didn’t wear that bracelet because I kept having this like–I kept thinking you would laugh at me. And then I was so guilty that I lied and hid so much from you. I couldn’t–and you were already mad.

“And then–” He hiccuped, and Jin fucking hated that it was cute.

“And then you were sad or upset or anxious that I wasn’t talking to you, so I thought every time you asked you wanted to break up with me, and that you’d stay if I could just put it off a little longer, because I knew you’d want to leave if you knew, too.”

Jin interrupted him, kissing his head.

“You were feeling sick, I couldn’t–”

“Please, wait,” Jungkook asked, breaking away to look at his face. Jin moved a hand from his waist to his cheek, so fucking grateful that Jungkook leaned into his touch this time.

“I–so the meds didn’t kick in for a while, and then they did, and then I saw how much I’d fucked you up, and I think I was even more freaked out and I didn’t know what to do and I did the wrong thing. I’m sorry, hyung. I love you. I don’t want to let you go.”

He cried into Jin’s hand, and the way he shared his vulnerability, looking into Jin’s eyes deeply, sharing his sadness, his guilt–it broke Jin, and soon they were staring into each other’s eyes, crying.

“I’m sorry you felt so shitty, but how do you think it makes me feel knowing I didn’t help you at all, after you helped me so much? I feel like–sometimes I feel like I’m just a sex doll to you,” he admitted. Jungkook didn’t breathe for too long, face crumpling.

“How could you say that?” he yelled, the sound scaring Jin.

“How could I not? You say things to me in bed you know I don’t like,” Jin cried back. “And you’re always groping me in public. You tried to fuck me in a bathroom. And it’s not like it bothers me enough to stop the sex. But it like, shows me where I stand.” Jin blushed and looked down. Worthless.

Jungkook stopped sobbing, even, mouth hanging open.

“I thought–I’m–I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something?” He sounded horrified, and itched at his chest with his fingers, like he wanted to tear his own heart out. Jin took the hand, hoping to keep that heart in his chest, still looking down.

“Because you knew and I–this might surprise you,” he tried to joke, failed utterly. “But I kind of have had some fucked up experiences with sex.” Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, softly. Jin shrugged. Admitting this was truly fucking humiliating. There were things even Namjoon didn’t know.

“I don’t like to think about it long enough to tell anyone,” he said, stiffly. Jungkook hugged him again, crawling into his lap to put his arms around Jin’s neck. He kissed his cheek, soft and chaste but hesitant, unsure if it would be wanted.

“I just got carried away and then thought you were okay with it because–you usually say something. I’m so sorry, hyung. You’re precious to me.” He spoke so sincerely that Jin’s ears reddened with embarrassment.

“You’re precious to me–I don’t want to lose you,” Jin cried, letting himself look ugly doing it. He knew there was snot running down his face and he tried not to imagine it or get any in his mouth, unsuccessful in both regards.

“But I’ve been so lonely. You haven’t liked me. I know I’m immature and competitive and I think about things in a dumb way sometimes. But I care about you so much, and you–you seemed like you stopped caring about me. And it hurts so fucking bad.

“I’ve never told another boyfriend I loved him. You’re the first person I’ve ever–and it felt like you tossed it aside.” His throat hurt from sobbing so hard, and he could barely see Jungkook through his tears.

He realized, with horror the likes of which he’d never experienced in his life, that Jungkook was wiping the globs of snot that were running down his face with his sleeve.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jungkook whispered. “I’m sorry. Really. Please, hyung. Let me try again. I’m–you might be immature and competitive and–sorry, but–emotionally stunted. But I’m immature and competitive and neurotic about it.

“I need to grow up sometimes. And you–you need to relax. I’m sorry. I know that’s a shitty thing to say. But you’re going to have a heart attack if you keep this up.

“It makes it really hard to talk to you about anything serious when I know you’ve spent all day taking care of other people and you’re stressed and tired and I want to let you relax.”

“I know,” Jin said, wiping his eyes. The ugly crying got worse, and Jin worried Jungkook would never think he was hot again. That was a good sign, right? At least he still wanted Jungkook to think he was hot.

“But I–you don’t understand. Someone has always loved you.” He was simply too hysterical to talk for a period of time–Jin had absolutely no sense of how long. All he knew was Jungkook held him through it, stroking his hair and wiping his snot.

“When I see our friends, and no one is helping them or has time for them or cares about them, it kills me. It really feels like being punched.” Jin balled up his fist and put it to his stomach between his lower ribs, showing Jungkook exactly where.

“I can’t just–if they felt like–” He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. Jungkook rubbed his back, soothing, rocking him.

“You’ll feel better after you say it,” he said softly, reasonably, so kind and young and tender and everything else Jin loved so much about him. It made him want to gain Jungkook’s courage to be open, but it still took a long time to get out.

“I don’t want them to feel like I felt at home. I couldn’t sleep in my bedroom anymore–nobody even asked why. Nobody cared. The only person who ever cared is dead.

“And–a lot of our friends. Nobody cares, or they don’t care enough, or can’t care about them. I don’t–I need to help. I need to make sure they know I care.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep in there?” Jungkook asked. Even though it shouldn’t have, the question took Jin by surprise.

“Because I almost died in there, and then I lost my virginity in there, and I couldn’t take it.” Jungkook nodded.

“I’m sorry I never asked, either. We all have each other, now. You don’t need to be the only one there. We can all work together and be there for each other, and my parents and your uncle can help. You don’t need to do it alone.”

Jin shattered. It was so hard to imagine. He knew that everyone had worried about him when he’d fallen, but the idea that they really cared--it just seemed so foreign, so unbelievably strange and unlikely.

“Fuck me. Please. Please,” he begged, trying to make eye contact but failing because his vision was so blurred. Jungkook kissed his lips, too softly for him to be about to get railed.

“No, hyung,” he said sweetly. Jin cried harder, and Jungkook held him.

“My head hurts,” Jin said. He was so fucking tired. Jungkook kissed him again.

“Stay here a minute,” he said, kissing him one more time before he left, like he couldn’t help it. He returned with cold bottled water and ibuprofen, which he was officially allowed to take again, thank god.

“Thanks. I should be taking care of you,” Jin said, swallowing the pill and gulping some water, grateful for the cold against his throat.

“Why?” Jungkook asked. Jin blinked.

“I just tried to break up with you,” he said, confused. To his surprise, Jungkook smiled, gentle and tender.

“But you didn’t.” He waited for Jin to finish his water and clung to him. Jin held him back, scared that if he let go, he’d be gone forever.

“Things have to change,” he said softly.

“They will.” There wasn’t a shred of doubt in Jungkook’s voice. Jin closed his eyes and took some comfort in Jungkook’s certainty. He didn’t share it, but he so desperately wanted to believe. He leaned against him and closed his puffy eyes.

***

Taehyung almost couldn’t take looking at Hoseok while they both waited for Jimin to come home. The more he thought about fucking other men, the more he was sure: he liked Hoseok and Jimin, liked them both a lot.

“Hyung?” He sensed it was time. He remembered Appa’s advice: he had to talk to both of them, or things would get messy. Well, even messier.

“What’s up, Tae Tae?” Hobi asked. He was taking out the vacuum cleaner, embarrassed Taehyung was over before he’d cleaned. Taehyung didn’t understand why–the dorm room looked like it always did, and it always looked clean.

“I need to talk to you about something serious when Jimin is back.” He was telling him, he knew, so that he’d have to go through with it even if he chickened out. Hobi smiled kindly and nodded, probably assuming it was something to do with his therapy.

Why did this feel so hard? Even if things changed for a while, he didn’t actually think Hoseok or Jimin would want to stop being his friend entirely.

Taehyung watched with fascination as Hobi dusted and vacuumed, then lit two candles with a long lighter right before Jimin walked in the door, the way his shoulders finally dropped once Jimin stepped inside. The timing was impeccable, practiced.

The first thing Jimin did was kiss Hoseok, before he even put down his bag, and then he hugged Taehyung. Taehyung loved the way Jimin especially smelled after a long day of practice and a quick shower at school, somehow so clean and so uniquely Jimin at the same time.

“I didn’t know you were coming, baby,” he said. “Thank you so much for cleaning, hyung. It’s so nice in here.” As Taehyung watched Jimin’s smile as he looked around the room, stretching his tired muscles, he understood why Hoseok wanted to have everything nice and clean for him. Hoseok smiled shyly.

“It’s no problem. Tae Tae wanted to talk to us about something,” he said. Jimin turned to Taehyung and smiled, a little worried.

“It’s nothing serious–well. It is serious. But it’s not bad. Well. It might be bad. It probably is bad–I don’t really know.” Not off to a great start. They both stared at him, blinking. Taehyung shifted from foot to foot, then sat on the mini sofa so fast that it was awkward.

He was about to apologize when Jimin plopped down on his left, and then Hoseok next to Jimin. They both smiled at him. He took a deep breath.

“I have a–I think I’m in love with you.” He successfully avoided blurting it out, but he wondered then if he sounded too normal about it, if they were even able to gauge the fact that he was sincere, that he’d been totally consumed by this recently.

“With–with which one of us, Tae Tae?” Hoseok asked. Both of them looked worried. He’d have to get it out but–

“Oh. I just realized I shouldn’t have brought this up right now, since Jin said I have to sleep over,” he said, realization dawning.

“Tae, darling–which one of us?” Jimin pressed. Oh. It was also rude to leave them hanging.

“At first, I thought maybe just Hoseok hyung.” Taehyung wanted to be fully honest. “But then more and more, I realized Jimin, too. I’m in love with both of you, and I don’t know what to do.” Silence.

He looked at their faces for any signs that they hated him. He didn’t know why he looked, why he ever looked–he was simply not that good at reading faces, though Hoseok hyung’s was usually pretty easy even for him. But they looked, to Taehyung, more speechless than anything. Blank. That can’t be good.

Finally, Jimin turned to look at Hoseok, eyes flighty. That seemed to activate the part of Hoseok that could speak.

“Tae, I–thank you for telling us. We really appreciate it.” He looked at Jimin, who nodded, still speechless.

“But I hope you’ll understand that–has this been a while? Is it new?” He took Jimin’s hand, and seeing them like this–Taehyung’s chest ached. It hurt, to see them holding hands after confessing, leaving him all alone when he was the one being vulnerable.

“I don’t know exactly how long. A while. I tried to talk to Jin hyung but I was confused then. I talked to Appa about it.” He didn’t specify whose Appa. They knew. More silence. Taehyung bit his lip.

“I can stay somewhere else. I’m sorry,” he said. Quickly, Jimin reached out and grasped his hand with the one not holding Hoseok’s, and Taehyung could finally relax a little, seeing them all connected through a chain of arms and clasped hands.

“No,” Jimin said. “I’m sorry, Tae. We’re not mad. I–I think we’re both just surprised.” Taehyung looked down at his hand, at Jimin’s cute little hand inside of it. Why did no one seem to believe that he was capable of love?

“Okay. Taehyung was really brave and honest, and I think we owe it to him to be brave and honest back,” Hoseok said, finally collecting himself. This was the same Hoseok who had assigned them all chores. Taehyung figured this was probably the Hoseok that taught his choreography, too.

“I’ll go first,” he continued. “I thought–I mean. Sometimes I thought you two might have something going on. But I always reminded myself that Jimin would never hurt me.

“And I’ve…I won’t pretend I’ve never felt anything for you, Taehyung. Sometimes–sometimes I’d kiss your head and I’d want to stay there.” He looked at Jimin so guiltily that Taehyung worried he was ruining their lives.

A faint blush worked its way through Jimin’s whole face, but he took his hand away from Taehyung’s to hold Hoseok hyung’s face with both hands, to smile at him kindly.

“I would never hurt you,” Jimin reassured him, waiting for the shy smile he wanted before he continued.

“I thought you two had something going on, but I trust you, too, so I didn’t think about it too hard. I think I noticed you liked me, Taehyung, but…I’m not really sure I feel the same.

“I don’t know. It’s all confusing–I try to always focus on our Hobi because…I mean that I try not to look at–” He had trouble continuing, shifted, unsure or uncomfortable with what he wanted to say. Taehyung frowned, wanting to help.

“Because you want him to know you aren’t a slut anymore?” he offered.

“Taehyung!” Hoseok hissed, but Jimin laughed, relieved.

“That, and I don’t want to feel like a slut anymore,” he said, flashing a smile to Hoseok to show him everything was okay. Taehyung’s stomach sank too low, making him a little queasy.

“So you don’t like me?” he asked, feeling so young and stupid and simple and, above all, disappointed. Jimin’s smile grew softer, directed at Taehyung, and he touched Taehyung’s face, unworried about touching him even after what they’d all said.

“I didn’t say that. You make me blush a lot. I just mean that I don’t know. I don’t know for sure.” Taehyung nodded. He could understand that. But he still didn’t know what to do. As if reading his mind, Hoseok took over again.

“Thank you. I know that was hard for everyone. I almost threw up in my mouth admitting that.” They all giggled, a little too long, nervous and awkward.

“What I think,” Hoseok continued, “is that we should all go on a few dates together. Casual dates. I don’t…I’m already openly gay. I don’t care if our relationship is weird, but I don’t want to jump into anything, either.”

Taehyung’s heart beat too fast, and the butterflies were fighting to burst out of his stomach and fly away into the world. He looked at Jimin, nerves overwhelming, and made a whining sound he knew was weird, knew he shouldn’t have made. But they were used to that kind of thing from him, and no one reacted at all.

“That sounds nice,” Jimin nodded. “I want to be up front, though: I don’t want to sleep with you unless we’re sure we’re dating, and I don’t want you two to sleep together, either.

“Kissing would be fine with me. We kind of need to, I guess. To see.” Hoseok and Taehyung both nodded.

“I’m a virgin and I don’t really know what I’m doing, and I usually fantasize about like pretty old men, so I really don’t know what I’m doing.” He picked at his hands. These two were not his usual type, and it felt weird to admit that to them.

Hoseok took his hands, one in each of his own, and Jimin kissed his cheek, as natural as ever, nothing unusual at all. He’d been so fucking worried they’d be afraid to touch him, and it really eased his heart, if not the butterflies, to see they were still comfortable around him, that they still loved him.

“Thank you for telling us and for trusting us,” Jimin said. Hoseok nodded, kissing Jimin’s temple.

“Can I plan our first date?” Taehyung asked, cocking his head to the side imagining the things they’d have fun doing together.

“Of course, baby,” they both cooed, smiling prettily. This had gone at least fifty times better than he’d thought it would.

***

Yoongi grimaced as he set up their picnic on the beach. He’d been a fucking idiot planning the worst holiday ever.

“Sorry,” he mumbled guiltily, shaking out the blanket and laying it down. “I should have waited until it was warmer.” But Namjoon smiled at him warmer than any summer sun, his growing hair tossed around his dimpled face by a chilly breeze.

“I never swim anyhow, hyung. This is great. We have the whole beach to ourselves. How often can you say that?” He seemed genuinely excited, and Yoongi couldn’t help but smile with a blush.

“I never do anyhow. That’s why I didn’t think about it.” Something in Yoongi’s heart lightened, and he was able to smile about it, which only made Namjoon happier. He kissed Yoongi’s head, which was the perfect kissing height for him.

“Look for glass with me?” Joonie asked. Yoongi nodded. He’d never looked for glass before. He usually just sat on the blanket and watched everyone else enjoy themselves when he’d gone to the beach in the past. But why not try it? he thought.

So he walked along the shore with Joonie. The waves seemed heavy with the chill, and until they started to find something, those waves were the only sound, full and welcoming. Both of them walked dramatically hunched, giggling.

“Found one! Do you like blue? Is that common? Oh, a green. I guess most bottles are green, huh?” Yoongi started up his collection, tossing them into a little jar. As it turned out, he had a lot more affinity for beach glass hunting than Namjoon, who only found a few pieces, easily distracted by, Yoongi suspected, his own thoughts.

But there was something else Joonie got distracted by. He laughed, more joyfully than Yoongi had heard maybe ever, and Yoongi turned to see what he saw, worried that maybe he looked shitty in a funny way.

But Joonie turned to him with eyes that were perfect crescents and dimples and teeth both on full display, arm outstretched to share whatever he’d found with Yoongi. Yoongi stepped closer to get a better look.

“Hyung, look. A crab!” Yoongi stared at the little blue crab, who seemed surprisingly unoffended by this manhandling. Yoongi laughed too, and took a few pictures of Namjoon holding it out, then a few more of him bringing it to his face, thanking it before he put it down, watching fondly as it scuttled away.

“Do you know a lot about crabs?” Yoongi asked. Joonie tended to go all in on the things he loved. But Joonie’s face turned to amused confusion.

“No? I just like them.”

They moved to the blanket and lay side by side, pretending the cold didn’t exist. Namjoon turned to his side to face Yoongi, resting on his elbow.

“It’s too bad about the sea glass,” he said, a little more serious. Yoongi tossed him his little mason jar.

“All yours, babe. Never say I don’t provide,” Yoongi drawled, his accent really coming out.

Namjoon laughed and then tickled him, Yoongi contorting into a ball, trying to protect himself. They stopped before it got out of hand, with Namjoon leaning in for a kiss before settling back into his spot on his side, watching Yoongi.

Being watched by Namjoon like this was–well. It was loving, and Yoongi understood that deep in his bones. Nobody could ever fake the look in Joonie’s eyes, least of all Namjoon.

“Sorry I’ve been acting fucking crazy.” Namjoon’s words seemed to come out of the sea itself, so soft that they blended in with the sound of the waves. Yoongi smiled at him kindly, scooted himself closer.

“Oh, and I’ve never acted crazy,” he joked. But he realized they really should talk, and thought while Namjoon watched him like he could see each little thought that passed through his mind.

“You tried really hard,” Yoongi finally said. “If you’d expected me to put up with anything–but you were trying really hard the whole time, and you didn’t expect that. I could see you felt bad.

“Even if no one else saw that, I did. I saw how much it upset you to be unreasonable.” He looked at Namjoon’s face but not his eyes, watched him look down at his hands.

“I should have tried harder, though. I made things bad for you, and I’m sorry,” Joonie said. Yoongi moved even closer, pulling Namjoon down flat again and holding him close, savoring the warmth of his body on this frigid day.

“I don’t want this to eat you alive, Joonie. Apology accepted. But I don’t think you could have tried harder. I think you were hurting really badly and not sleeping well, and you had a hard time handling it. And that’s okay.

“Definitely not ideal, but okay.” he grinned. Namjoon smiled back, nuzzling his head into Yoongi’s neck, looking so open and vulnerable and okay.

“I want to fuck again,” Yoongi mumbled. “Do you? Feel good enough to try again, I mean? You can be honest. You don’t have to say yes just because–” Yoongi was interrupted by a deep kiss, by Namjoon moving on top of him, reaching under him to grab his ass, squeezing. Yoongi looked around nervously as though there was any chance of someone being nearby.

“I want to, too. I’m glad we took a break. Especially with everything–I’m sorry. I don’t know–” Yoongi hushed him and held him, Namjoon lowering himself to settle his head on Yoongi’s chest.

“We moved so fast. Not really avoidable with the housing situation. No one did anything bad. But we might need to reset and figure things out every once in a while. I’m fine with that,” Yoongi shrugged. Namjoon nodded, and his shoulders dropped. Yoongi hadn’t realized how tense they’d been until he saw them fall.

“I feel the same way. I love you and I’m happy to live with you, but…I don’t know. You’re my first boyfriend. I don’t know anything. I’m sorry I sucked. I’m always a little scared to lose you.”

“Forgiven,” Yoongi said. “I sucked, too. I wasn’t very patient. I knew I was your first and should have helped more.” Namjoon held him a little longer.

“Hotel?” he asked. Yoongi snorted, but they rushed to that hotel, a decent place with a nice view out the window. Yoongi had been proud to book it for them. The damn second they entered the room, Namjoon threw him on the bed, then closed the blinds so the only light was from a dim lamp on a nightstand.

Namjoon undressed more quickly than Yoongi thought possible, and was naked by the time Yoongi got his shirt off. Impatient, Joonie pulled his sweatpants off himself, moaning at the sight of Yoongi’s dick, getting harder every second.

Joonie crawled over him and kissed him tenderly, so deeply that Yoongi was already fucking lost in him.

“What can we do, jagi?” Joonie asked him, kissing all over his face now, rubbing his nose and lips on his skin. Yoongi tried not to look as turned on by some kissing as he was.

“I practiced before we came here and brought a huge bottle of lube,” he admitted, a shamed mumble.

“Fuck,” Namjoon growled, pushing him flat onto his back on the hotel bedding, biting his neck. Yoongi’s hands reacted to the shock, flying to Namjoon’s back, gripping him tightly. They didn’t have anywhere to be for days, and Yoongi’s imagination went wild.

“Mark me up. Show everyone I’m yours,” he begged. Part of him knew he should feel ridiculous, but he was full of too much need to listen to that voice, and he was glad he said it when Namjoon grunted and went harder on his neck. Yoongi’s back arched as he imagined everyone seeing all his love bites, red and bruised purple.

“Joonie–mouth.” How was he already this incomprehensible from some necking? Embarrassing. At least Namjoon understood, pulling Yoongi up gently and sitting on the edge of the bed. Yoongi crawled to the floor and got to his knees, squeezing Namjoon’s thighs. His cock was already hard, just seeing Yoongi there, just knowing Yoongi wanted to touch him.

Yoongi kissed his thighs first, taking in the way Joonie shivered. He liked when Yoongi took his time with him, when he was romantic with him. So he ran his tongue along Namjoon’s balls, then up his shaft, flicking his tongue at the head playfully, and he did this for a while, squeezing his thighs. When Namjoon gasped, Yoongi took that as his cue to take him into his mouth.

Joon was still too big for his lips, but he did his best, using his tongue and a hand to help. Namjoon thrust gently into him, seemingly to prevent himself from jerking too hard into his throat with more constant controlled movements. His forehead already glistened with sweat, and Yoongi took in the way Joonie wanted to close his eyes but kept opening them to look at him, look at his lips around his cock.

With a grunt, Namjoon pulled Yoongi’s head up by his hair–surprisingly gentle, close enough to the scalp to prevent pain–and guided him over his lap. Yoongi blushed, knowing his own dick betrayed how excited he was for what was about to happen.

This time, he was prepared for that first slap, moaning into it. It was easier this time to let his mind go, to just enjoy the feeling of being smacked, and it didn’t take long at all for him to forget who he’d been an hour ago.

A finger in his ass, sudden, with so little resistance and no pain. Shame. Whore. Loose whore, he thought, unable to stop it, even knowing how hard he’d had to work to loosen up this much, knowing that it was for the sake of his own pleasure.

“Wait, Joonie,” Yoongi said, voice strained, embarrassed when Namjoon took the finger out of his ass. He’d just had a lightbulb moment. It was going to sound fucking crazy, and unfortunately it was something they’d need to discuss, though he hated to ruin the mood.

“Are you okay?” Joonie asked, voice already different. He rubbed Yoongi’s shoulders when he sat up, so reluctant to leave his place spread across Namjoon’s lap. Yoongi kissed him passionately, hoping to keep the mood alive, when he remembered that getting serious in the middle of sex was natural to Namjoon, that he’d done it nearly every time.

“I’m fine. I’m–call me a whore,” he said. Namjoon’s eyes widened.

“Don’t–you’re not--” Yoongi hushed him, comforting noises, kissed him again. He put a hand on his cheek.

“I’m thinking it anyhow and will probably be thinking it forever, but it’s fucking killing my mood. At least make it sexy for me. It’s so depressing now. Make it hot. Please.” Namjoon looked into his eyes, and Yoongi shifted his own gaze away. Joonie kissed his cheek.

“You have to tell me if you don’t like it,” he said, very serious. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’d rather die than hurt you.” Joonie kissed him again, and again, and Yoongi knew he was safe in his hands, always, trusted him fully with the part of himself that he feared and hated the most.

“I will. I’ll say stop and raise my hand if I need to, okay? I love you. I trust you. Make it better, please. Please.” He couldn’t help but beg. If he couldn’t get the voice to stop, all he wanted was for it to bother him even a little less. He wanted to lose himself. He wanted Joonie to fuck someone truly lost in him.

Namjoon kissed him one more time and shoved him back down onto his lap, getting back to work reddening his ass. They both needed a few minutes to get back into it, but as soon as Yoongi did, squirming with his hard dick rubbing on Namjoon’s leg, Namjoon was able to, too, and the smacks got harder and harder, until two fingers were shoved in his ass. Whor–

“Fucking whore,” Namjoon said through his teeth, pulling Yoongi’s hair. His dick twitched, so hard and desperate for release, and his face reddened.

“I know two isn’t enough for you, but I want to hear you say it.” He shook Yoongi’s head lightly, too in control to hurt him. Tears welled behind Yoongi’s eyes, and he grinded his hips desperately on Namjoon, a little surprised he let that happen.

“Need more,” he admitted, sniffling. Namjoon shook him by the hair again, as though he were scruffing a bad kitten.

“Tell me why.” His voice was low and firm, so authoritative, and Yoongi wanted to give up everything to him, every single decision, every part of himself. He wanted to be good again. It had been so long since he’d been good.

“Because–because I’m a–” His voice stopped, overwhelmed with emotion. Namjoon flipped him onto his back and onto the bed in one swift, unbelievably gentle motion, studying his face for a moment before he spoke, stroking Yoongi’s cheekbone with his thumb.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Say it for me. Tell me why you need more fingers stuffed up your ass.” He kept his thumb on Yoongi’s cheekbone, rubbing comforting circles, and his eyes were so focused and kind. He was so safe.

“Because I’m–I’m a whore,” he said quietly, tearful, and Namjoon leaned down and kissed him, keeping his hand there until he pulled away again and swiftly parted Yoongi’s legs, rewarding him with three fingers. Three ached in just the way Yoongi loved, and he whimpered, wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s waist, so helpless.

“So good.” The thrusting fingers jerked inside him harder, not really any deeper, but rougher, and Yoongi couldn’t help but look like he enjoyed it, because he fucking did.

“But you’re mine now, sweetheart. All fucking mine.” He looked at Yoongi expectedly, and Yoongi jumped to speak, knowing what he had to do to be good for Namjoon.

“All yours. All yours forever. Yours.” Namjoon pulled his fingers out of his ass and shoved them in Yoongi’s mouth. He wasn’t sloppy about it, so Yoongi had ample time to move his mouth away and didn’t. He didn’t want to, and he looked Namjoon in the eye while he sucked. Namjoon liked when he really looked at him.

“So fucking beautiful,” Namjoon moaned, gravelly through his teeth, staring at the eye contact and savoring it as the rare treat it was. He took his hands out, spitty, and squeezed Yoongi’s jaw, his grip tightening when Yoongi whimpered.

“Do you want more fingers or do you want to get fucked?” he asked. His voice was so low that Yoongi could feel the vibration every time he spoke. He bit his lip, unsure what the right answer was. Namjoon made a disappointed clicking sound, and Yoongi watched his own chest redden with shame.

“You were being so good. Tell me what you want.” Yoongi couldn’t disappoint him, bit his lip again.

“More fingers,” he whispered, reaching for Namjoon’s cock. Just because he wanted more didn’t mean he didn’t want to touch Namjoon. He hissed at Yoongi’s touch, a short, contended grunt that planed satisfied warmth into Yoongi’s chest.

“My baby wants a whole fist in his whore ass, doesn’t he?” Namjoon’s voice gently mocked him, and Yoongi sniffled when he nodded, then remembered to answer.

“I want your fist again. I’ve been thinking about it since last time,” he admitted, breathy. Namjoon’s mouth pushed against his, bruising and hasty, a little sloppy for the first time tonight. He lubed his hand and put three fingers back inside him, then got back to the important business of kissing him.

Namjoon fucked him with four fingers, and then his fist, mumbling low and grunting, hissing between his teeth, but always intelligible, always wanting Yoongi to hear.

“Taking my whole fucking fist, jacking me off like a needy little whore. You fucking love being filled up, don’t you?” Yoongi cried out helplessly when Namjoon took his fist out, his hole clenching, desperate for something.

“Spread your legs. Hold them up.” Yoongi did as he was told, somehow feeling more vulnerable than he had when he had just had a fist shoved up his ass, but before he could wonder what was wrong with him or any of that usual line of thought, Namjoon’s cock pushed inside him.

The stretch was nothing after his whole big hand inside him, and his body writhed with the happy burn, thrusting his hips up into Joonie before he’d had a chance to start, babbling something about needing Namjoon.

He’d thought, earlier, that Namjoon would go easy on him tonight, but he thrust into him hard, desperate, deeper than he ever had. He squeezed Yoongi’s hips, and insecurity came rushing back, but Namjoon saw it in his face right away, and bit his neck hard to get his attention back where it should be.

“Feels so good to squeeze you,” he said, words warm with sincerity when he moved his hands up to Yoongi’s soft waist and squeezed him hard, and why did it have to feel so good? It was hard to know what to feel ashamed of like this, fucked within an inch of his life.

“Joonie. Joonie, Joonie.” All Yoongi could do was moan his name, over and over again, squeezing his strong back, crying out whenever it felt especially good, like it did when Namjoon hit his prostate.

That pathetic little yelp is what drove Namjoon over the edge. He bit into Yoongi’s shoulder with a groan, sucking hard as he fucked him hard, his whole, big cock inside. Yoongi felt the cum inside him before he saw the orgasm in Namjoon’s face, and he thrust into him gently while he came, touching Yoongi’s face gently, not breaking eye contact after the initial strong wave.

“My baby. So fucking good. You felt so fucking good.” He sucked Yoongi’s nipples, still inside him, and Yoongi let him, knowing it was at least partially to distract him when Namjoon pulled his dick out.

Yoongi couldn’t talk yet, couldn’t say a thing beyond Namjoon’s name. He wiped tears he knew ran down his face, overwhelmed by the pleasure and by the emotions, in that order.

He whined crying when Namjoon pulled out, but Namjoon grabbed his face again, and he knew he had to listen to be good, let himself stop trying to communicate.

“I’m going to make you come now, because you made me feel so good. I want to make you feel good, too. Okay, jagi?” Yoongi nodded, and Namjoon didn’t make him speak before he finally wrapped his lips around Yoongi, his cock so desperate to come that Yoongi was shocked when he didn’t blow his load at the first touch of Namjoon’s mouth.

Joonie took care of him, getting so good with his tongue, driving him absolutely wild. He tried to tell him, but even Yoongi could tell that he wasn’t speaking anything close to Korean, just moaning while his lips moved, until Namjoon let him come and his mind went, briefly, completely blank.

His entire body relaxed, and he couldn’t remember the last time some of these muscles hadn’t bothered him with their tightness and knots, to the point where he had a hard time pulling Namjoon to him, a little too floppy and unused to the feeling.

Namjoon kissed him, and it tasted like his cum. He whimpered into it, hands on Joon’s chest, sticky with sweat.

“I love you so fucking much,” Namjoon muttered.

“I love you, too,” Yoongi said. He was in another dimension. They were both disgusting, he knew. He could feel the cum dripping out of his ass, still hoping for more, and there had been so much lube and spit and general ass happening.

But Namjoon was on his chest, eyelids so heavy that Yoongi knew he wouldn’t make it through a shower. Between his desire to be clean and his desire to hold the man he loved, so solid and warm against him, there was no doubt in Yoongi’s mind which would win, and he stroked comforting circles into Namjoon’s back, knowing that was probably as emotional for him as it had been for Yoongi.

“You were perfect, yeobo. I can’t remember feeling that fucking good, ever,” Yoongi whispered. Namjoon smiled into his chest, sleepy, and held him a little tighter.

“So pretty. You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. Oh, he was out. Yoongi smiled, tried not to laugh, and kissed his head.

“I’ll set a phone alarm. Get some sleep, Joonie.” Namjoon kissed his chest, lazily but sincerely, all over.

“Perfect.” The last thing Namjoon said before he fell asleep in Yoongi’s arms. Yoongi thought of their first time together–Namjoon’s first time, period–and thought about just now, about how much confidence had grown in Joonie in that time. Even though it was a strange feeling, seeming to Yoongi almost inappropriate, he couldn’t help but be proud of his sweet, sweet Joonie.

Chapter Text

Namjoon returning home affected Jin in a way he hadn’t expected. Maybe he was feeling a little delicate right now, but Jin suddenly wasn’t sure how he’d survived three days without him. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself he was being clingy. He just couldn’t force himself to stop, but Joonie at least didn’t seem to mind.

“What’s on your mind, hyung?” Namjoon asked, holding Jin close to him, a big hand on the back of Jin’s head like his personal anchor to reality. Jin took a deep breath, smelled Joonie’s clean, woody cologne.

“Sibelius.” He knew it was crazy to be thinking about music right now–Well, he thought. Is it that crazy? It was then that he realized that nothing particularly bad was happening right then, except his own steadily failing relationship with the love of his life. He blinked, adjusting to this entirely new reality.

Namjoon paused before he spoke. The dichotomy of his Joonie, the way he could be so careful or so rash with his words, with so little in between those polarities, had never escaped Jin’s attention, though he was never really sure how to feel about it.

“Maybe it’s time to do something for yourself…Like, for once in your life.” Jin interrupted even though he could tell Namjoon wasn’t finished.

“I’ve done plenty for–”

“No, you haven’t,” Namjoon said. He spoke with such plain certainty that it threw Jin off.

“And I think it’s time that you stop sacrificing things to give them to other people–” A flash of anger across Namjoon’s face and a quick, nearly imperceptible pause told Jin that Joonie had held something back here. It would be better to try and figure out what later.

“I just want you to think about what you want, and to try your best to run after that.” Namjoon pulled Jin closer to him, but Jin didn’t move. Dread filled his chest.

“I only have what? Four or five days?” He’d already blown it by passing out and then needing to recover, like an absolute idiot. Namjoon nodded.

“It’s true. So you’d better start now.” Jin blinked at him.

“I’ll have to tell Jungkookie,” he insisted. Namjoon looked at him like he was crazy.

“Shoot him a text, hyung.” Jin stared ahead of him, waiting for another reason he couldn’t try this to float into his brain. He couldn’t find one.

“Will you read in the room while I practice?” Why was he fucking like this? Clingy, clingy, clingy. There was no way anyone–

“Yeah. I’ll grab a book and meet you in the practice room. I’ll boot Yoongi hyung out.” He smiled his sweet koala smile and ran to pick out a book, and Jin had no other choice but to get his violin case.

***

Jungkook popped his head in the practice room, let in by Tae. He looked good, in a way that tore at Jin’s heart. He kept picturing losing him, was even a little sniffly right now. Maybe he hadn’t fully recovered from his fall yet after all.

Jungkook smiled at him bright and sweet, holding up a white plastic bag. Jin put his violin down and hugged him. He hadn’t expected Kookie to come by, though he had texted his practice schedule. Well, the schedule he would try to keep, anyway.

Jungkook’s hug was as sincere as it had been at the start, tight and warm. It reminded Jin of everything he loved.

“I thought you might need some caffeine and snacks,” Koo said, kissing his cheek. Jin tried to peek into the bag.

“Banana milk has caffeine now?” he asked, genuinely curious if they’d released a new line for students. Jungkook blushed and rifled through the bag.

“Uh. No. Those are for me and Eomma.” Instead, he took out a bottle of iced americano, an energy bar, and a tupperware full of beautifully arranged cut fruit.

“I’ll put the other coffees in the fridge before I go. The fruit is from Appa.” Jin looked at the bottle of iced coffee and started to cry. Jungkook’s eyes widened and he looked around frantically for a free surface to set the rest of the bag on.

Not finding one, he kept it in his hand while he pulled Jin back into a hug, the bag rustling between them.

“What’s wrong? It’s okay.” His hands on his back–too much. So much–everything. Everything he wanted. He was selfish.

“You’re so good to me and I’m being so–I’m sorry I’m–”

“Don’t you dare apologize. Hyung, you spent weeks helping me. If I have a chance at all, it’s because of you. My parents are making sure I’m okay practicing. It’s fine. Okay?

“I’ll bring you snacks and caffeine whenever you need. Eat and get back to work. I’ll stop distracting you.” He played with Jin’s hair and kissed his cheek, and Jin closed his eyes.

“Give Appa my love and thanks,” he said. He kissed Koo’s cheek back, and it felt almost forbidden again. Koo’s skin was so soft, so lightly freckled you could only see them if you were close.

“I will. You’re making me proud. I love you,” Jungkook said. Jin squeezed him and calmed when he was squeezed back, safe.

“I love you, too.”

He downed the coffee, ate a bit, and got back to his work. He knew everything well. He just had to polish it all up.

***

Taehyung was nervous as hell despite the pep talk from Jin, and he was already starting to shut down because of it. That was just about the worst thing he could do right before his first date ever.

“Are you sure I look good?” he asked Jin one more time, swaying from side to side on one leg. Jin smiled kindly and put his hands on Taehyung’s shoulders.

“You look great. You look so Tae Tae. It’s how I always want you to look.” Hyung fluffed up his hair tenderly, but Taehyung frowned.

“Shouldn’t I try to look less like myself?” He knew he dressed kind of weird, everything thrifted, less clean and expensive than the trend.

Today he wore baggy beige slacks, belted with a flowing, creamy collared shirt that made him feel pretty, and a brown sweater vest layered over it for the chill. That wasn’t thrifted. Halmeoni had made that for him, and bought him his long wool coat.

Jin frowned back at him, touched his cheek.

“No, they’re our friends and they already like you for who you are. Plus, they’d know you were lying,” he grinned. Taehyung grinned back. It felt a little lame to have Jin drive him to his date, but none of them could drive even a little bit.

Jin gave him another pep talk–his fifth that day–before he dropped Taehyung off at the dorms to meet Jimin and Hoseok. He geared up to knock nervously the whole way up, but they had left the door cracked open like they always did when they knew Tae was coming. That threw him off a moment–he’d thought today would be different–but he entered shyly.

“Jimin,” he gasped. Jimin blushed so beautifully, the way a doll blushed. He wore black skinny jeans with a black turtleneck and a big, fluffy pink cardigan. But what had blown Taehyung away was his face–he’d styled his hair up and done his makeup, dark around the eyes with shining pink gloss.

“Sorry. Is–is the makeup okay? I should have asked.”

“You look beautiful,” Taehyung said, mouth still hanging open. Jimin smiled as prettily as he blushed, so perfect.

“You look really nice, too. Hobi hyung always takes forever to get ready, sorry.”

“Do not!” came a voice from the hall, coming back from the bathroom no doubt. Hobi popped into the room, saw the two of them, and laughed.

“We look like we’re going to three different events,” he said–ripped acid wash jeans and a lined green and red windbreaker for him, and a bright green knitted beanie. Jimin looked worried, but Taehyung smiled.

“I hope we can get someone to take our picture there. I like it. I think it makes us look like we all go together somehow.”

They started their walk to the jazz club. He’d second guessed the choice of date at first, since everyone was frankly a god damn hater, but they all already knew each other.

The point of the dates they chose was to know something deeper than before, another side. In short: to show something that would grant certainty.

Taehyung wanted to hit himself to get some of the tension out, but while he was trying not to do that, he noticed Jimin shiver. The wind was still pretty cold, even though it was technically spring.

“Here, take my coat,” he offered, stopping enthusiastically to take it off.

“Oh! Oh I–” Taehyung wrapped it around Jimin’s shoulders and was trying to help ease his arms in. Jimin stared at him, still, then smiled and helped pull his arms through.

“Thanks. That’s much better. But aren’t you cold now?”

“Oh. No. I’m really nervous, so I’m really warm,” Taehyung said. Hoseok and Jimin looked at each other, and Taehyung had that left out feeling again. But Hoseok took his hand.

“You don’t need to be nervous, Tae Tae. You planned a really nice date. We’re excited,” he said. Taehyung sure hoped so.

The club was a shady little neon hole in the wall from the outside, and the bouncer smiled at Taehyung and waved them in without checking the others’ ID. The inside is where Taehyung felt alive, the only club or bar he ever went to regularly.

Inside was dimly lit, and warm, the tables were intimate. He’d always wished someone from their friend group would come have a drink with him here and enjoy the music, but he’d never asked, because they didn’t like jazz, so they wouldn’t like it here.

“It’s so different inside,” Jimin said, smiling as he looked around. The trio warmed up on the little stage, a pianist, a drummer, and a saxophone. Taehyung was glad it was a trio today–easier for the others to get into, and easier for him to handle with his nerves. Loud sounds could really stress him out, especially when he was stressed.

“Can I order you guys drinks?” Taehyung asked. He was usually very good with his money, conscious of the fact that it had belonged to Halmeoni, her final gift to him. He could treat his loved ones every now and then without feeling guilty. Theoretically. In practice, he definitely still felt a little guilty.

“Rum and coke for me,” Hoseok said.

“Gin and tonic with an extra shot of gin and diet water if they have it. If they don’t have it, don’t tell me please,” Jimin smiled. Taehyung nodded and ordered the drinks, the bartender smiling at him.

“Your usual?” she asked as she made Hobi’s. Taehyung shook his head.

“I’m going to try drinking today. Can you make me an old fashioned?” She nodded, lifting her eyebrows. Taehyung usually just got a ginger ale.

“Is this your first drink, hon?” Taehyung nodded.

“On the house then. Have fun with your friends.” He smiled at her before balancing all three drinks over to his table, hoping it made her smile.

Taehyung tried not to be obvious about watching them as the music started and they sipped their drinks, seeming to enjoy it. He was glad the music was a little safer today, more standard and less modern–not a given with the trios.

Hobi leaned over to ask if you were allowed to talk during the music, and Taehyung and Jimin both laughed and told him yes, but that he should try listening.

The alcohol loosened something in Taehyung, a deep mental block that told him to be less, and soon he stood and moved backwards toward the dance floor, a beckoning motion to his dates as he shuffled away from them.

Hoseok hyung laughed hard, face red and his drink only mostly empty, and they both joined him, the only people on the dance floor under 50 years old.

Taehyung loved how Hoseok was willing to try new things, to not worry about dancing in the same way as everyone else, expressing his sincere movement to the music.

And he loved how easily he could lead Jimin with a confident hand on his waist, how Jimin would effortlessly follow whatever he tried, the way he looked at Taehyung with something like innocence, sweet and vulnerable. He was a damn good dance partner; Taehyung would have to talk him into making it regular.

The song ended in a hauntingly romantic chord, and Taehyung touched Jimin’s face. They stared into each other’s eyes too long as the rest of the audience applauded around them, Hoseok three times as loud to make up for their silence.

“That was fun.” Hoseok stumbled, and Taehyung caught him, giggling.

“Hyung, you didn’t even finish your drink,” he said. Jimin looked pretty unaffected by the double strength drink.

“He can’t hold it. That’s the only reason he doesn’t get invited to club night,” Jimin said. Hoseok waved away the explanation.

“He wants to dish with his girls. None of the other boyfriends are allowed.” Jimin held in laughter, and probably something else about who was one of the girls. They danced a few more numbers, the vibe of the entire club getting looser the longer the night had gone on, the more time for drinks to kick in.

On their way out, Taehyung faced the bouncer who had waved them in.

“Wait wait wait,” he demanded, even though no one was moving.

“Kyungho-nim, will you take our picture?” He handed the large man his phone. He knew the bouncer well, because he had to leave to take a break from loud music pretty frequently some nights. The bouncer smiled and took a few shots for them, and then they walked back to the dorm, giggling.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Taehyung asked. He was starting to feel a little dizzy from his drinks.

“Of course, baby,” Jimin said, stripping. Taehyung and Hoseok both stared as he took off each layer, clumsily stepping out of his tight pants. Jimin bent down and revealed strong, thick thighs, not to mention that ass. Taehyung watched with his mouth open, just a little. Jimin noticed them ogling as he slipped into his warmest pajamas.

“I kind of thought you’d both also be getting ready, and that you might avert your gaze,” he said, hand on hip, obviously flattered despite the attitude.

“Sorry! Sorry, yeah.” Jimin gave Taehyung some of his pajamas for the night, and they all stared at the beds, wondering who would sleep with who.

“Superbed again?” Hoseok asked. Jimin giggled and kissed him. And then he moved to Taehyung, and he kissed him, too, on the mouth, a tender, happy kiss. His mouth remained parted after, staring at Jimin as he tried to remember his first kiss forever.

Hoseok moved in, gave him his own kiss to cherish alongside Jimin’s, and he closed his eyes and tried to remember that one, too.

Hoseok’s lips hesitated more than Jimin’s, even though Jimin was the one hesitating about dating him. That confused him, but he liked the feeling of both of their lips on his, the different way they tasted. Both their kisses made his heart squeeze in his chest.

“Let’s get some sleep. Hoseokie darling, drink some water before you get into bed.”

Taehyung slept between them, two halves of a whole heart on either side of him, and he finally felt like he really belonged somewhere, that maybe they hadn’t been lying to him or pitying him. Maybe they all just really liked each other.

***

Jin looked with wide eyes up at the house where so much had gone wrong in his life, a soulless McMansion he associated only with death, loneliness, and pain, the house where he was going to meet his mother he barely knew.

He sighed as he walked in. Namjoon had been right. He needed to get this over with, or he’d be anxious about his future forever. At least if he was being cut off, he’d know about it with plenty of time before he ran out of money, and could ask Uncle for some help thinking up solutions.

Eomma waited for him in the living room, a sight so rare that it startled Jin. He thought he’d have a few more seconds to prepare. She looked so small, so pretty, and he realized that no matter how done with her he’d thought he was, he still loved her in some way, despite everything.

“Hi, Eomma.” He approached her, going in for a stiff hug. He wasn’t sure it would be accepted. But she hugged him back, equally as stiffly; she’d never been a hugger.

“My Seokjinnie. I thought we should talk about some things, but I don’t want you to look so anxious. Everything will be okay.” Eomma’s voice had never been comforting, and the business-like tone also threw Jin off.

He felt a little sick. What did she want to talk about then?

“What do you mean?” His ears got hot when his mother brushed some hair out of his face, and he felt like something was wrong. She only really did that when he was sick, if she was the one there. Often, it had been Doyoung or Uncle.

“I don’t care that you’re gay, Seokjin. I didn’t care that your brother was gay, either. I’ll talk to your father. He’s been worried about you, so I haven’t brought it up yet.” Jin blinked. None of this made sense.

“What do you mean he’s been worried? Neither of you came to see me after the first day.” Again, he added privately. It was like he’d been smacked in the face, but his mother frowned.

“I think it’s a little too late for that, don’t you? Sanghoon-ssi texted us and I called him to check on you,” she said, blinking at him as though he were stupid. He knew that they were making the exact same face at each other right now, and the resemblance bothered him.

“Who’s Sangho–Uncle? What do you mean ‘too late?’” Whoever had smacked him before was punching him in the chest right now.

“Jinnie,” Eomma said, more tender. The house looked so dark and soulless behind her, the lights mostly off or dimmed, and Jin got the sense that it would eat him alive if he didn’t get the fuck out of there.

“I don’t think our relationship is very good, do you? And you’re grown now. I don’t think we’re ever going to be very close.

“But I am your Eomma, and I do love you and I want to take care of you as best I can.” She touched his face, her eyes shining with sadness and love. Jin put his hand on his Eomma’s.

“It wasn’t too late until I moved out,” he said, desperate for her to understand, and equally as desperate to understand why she wouldn’t even try to fight for something with him, who had loved her for so long.

“It was too late after–” She closed her eyes, and so many awful things had happened here that Jin didn’t even know which one signified the end of their relationship for his mother. But this seemed like the only time he’d ever get any answers, so if they were going to do this, he wanted to really do it.

“Why did you get rid of all his things?” Jin asked so, so quietly. He hadn’t seen Eomma cry since the funeral, but she took her hand away from his face to hold her own now as she cried.

“Seokjin–” She took a deep breath, regaining the composure she usually showed, when she wasn’t royally pissed off.

“Seokjin, I–we did that for you. You really almost–we didn’t want you to come home and see something that made you so sad.” He didn’t know why this answer humiliated him so much, but he knew why it made his chest tighten with anger.

“I was hysterical about it. It was like he never existed. And don’t pretend you cared so much about me when you never visited me in the hospital and left me home alone constantly,” he snapped.

Expressing his resentment should have brought catharsis, closure–something, but watching his Eomma cry in front of him wasn’t satisfying, and his hope of healing fell instead into a guilty flatness.

“I cared. I’m–I’m sorry. I’m not set up to be a mother, Seokjin. I was too hysterical to see you. I couldn’t bear to think–but I didn’t take care of you, and I understand that. And your Appa was scared to see you. He avoided you for–I’m sorry.

“We should have let you move in with Sanghoon-ssi.”

Something clicked in Jin’s head, and his jaw fell open, glad that his parents didn’t hit him for manners.

“You’re why he said no?”

He pictured what things might have been like, if he’d gotten to finish high school in a home where someone loved him and took care of him, cared if he was sick or sad or if he’d done his homework, with someone who liked to hear him practice, didn’t set up a room to drown out the only way he knew how to express his emotions.

“We wanted things to be better. But it just got worse. I’m–all I can say is that I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can do.”

“No,” Jin said, voice strained. “I guess there isn’t.” He watched his mother put herself back together again, and it was actually scary, like watching an exorcism film, except that the creepy exorcist snapping bones around was entirely internal.

“I saved some things from your brother for you. You should take them before you leave. Wait here a moment.”

He looked around when Eomma ran upstairs. Everything was exactly the same. He bet that if he looked in the kitchen, none of the spices would have been touched since he left.

The front door opened, and Jin made eye contact with Appa as he closed the door, and was immediately overcome with the sense that he should run. But he stood there, frozen in place while Appa stomped toward him with his shoes still on and grabbed him by the hair.

Sharp pain ran around his whole head. Jin screamed, flailing to get away and making the pain worse. He knew from Namjoon that the hair pulling was meant to scare more than to hurt, but it was doing a good job of both on him right now.

“I’ve never been so fucking asham–” He heard a sound, and it took him a few seconds to realize that he was let go because Eomma had hit Appa. Not thinking about it, Jin sat on the floor and cried. He wondered if this was how Doyoung had felt that night he was hit, so shameful and disgusting and hated, and it made him want to fucking throw up.

“Apologize to him,” Eomma snapped. Nothing could have prepared Jin for his Eomma kneeling down next to him and pulling him close. She wore the same perfume she always had–Jin would recognize it anywhere–and that was his signal to cling to his mother and cry, honestly frightened his Appa would kick him.

“Apologize. You can’t speak to my son that way. He just hurt his head. How could you do this?” Jin could hear Appa’s hesitation when he answered.

“He’s a hom–”

“Do you want him to be gay or dead, Insu?” she snapped, holding him closer. It wasn’t even comforting, but it was the best he had, so he buried his face in Eomma’s embrace. He didn’t want to see.

Slowly, his Appa squatted down to their level on the floor, and Jin only knew because he felt the movement around him, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to get the requested apology or a face full of spit like his hyung had. A shaking panic was trying to work its way out of his body, an intruder, and he realized that he probably looked like Joonie always had.

What would I want for Joonie right now?

He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and then he pulled himself away from Eomma to look at Appa. He wasn’t going to be able to leave this behind him if he didn’t actually face him.

What he saw made him uneasy. It was a terrifying thought, that who he was looking at was himself in twenty or so years, and his eyes–Jin couldn’t describe the resignation and sadness in them.

“Seokjin. I’m sorry,” he said. It was a lackluster apology, but Jin could at least tell that he really meant it.

“You don’t have to accept that, Seokjin. Shameful. If you ever touch him again, I’m leaving, Insu. I swear.” Eomma was resolute.

Appa looked crushed by this in a way that Jin couldn’t have predicted if he’d tried. He’d kind of assumed they were both having affairs, for years. They didn’t seem to like each other much and never had. The thought that there was love there had never even occurred to him, and even considering it now baffled him.

Still, he thought about what Eomma said, and he finally understood that his relationship with his parents could change, and that maybe his relationship with himself and his past could change, too.

“I don’t accept,” he said, a little unsure. He looked between them both, heart steadying but loud in his ears.

“I don’t forgive either of you.” The uncertainty lifted from his voice, more firm now. He didn’t forgive them and he didn’t need to pretend. He didn’t fucking care that they were sad. Jin was sad, too, and it had been their job to take care of their children.

“I want hyung’s things, and then I want to leave, and I don’t really want to come back.” He turned from Appa’s shocked, tearful face to look at Eomma. She made eye contact, making sure they were both sure, and she nodded and stood, helping him up.

“Everything will be fine. Don’t worry about the money. Insu, leave him alone.” She ran back up the stairs, and Jin and his Appa stood together in awkward silence.

When Eomma returned, she was crying again, controlled tears this time. First, she handed him a thick, black folder, matte and scratched up.

“These are the pieces he was working on,” she explained, voice choked. Jin opened it, saw his hyung’s Chopin with notes from both hyung and Uncle. He closed it quickly and hugged it to himself. He wanted to go through it with Uncle, and with Jungkook. He paused for a moment to consider that. Yeah, he realized. I want to show Koo.

Next, she handed him a small, black circular lacquer box with a gold hook closure.

“This is a lock of his hair,” she said quietly. The last thing she handed him was a small notebook. She didn’t explain, so he didn’t open it. He at least understood Eomma.

“Thank you. I’m going to go now.” She nodded. Appa kept up his stare, growing sadder and sadder, but Jin knew that was his own problem. If he’d wanted to have been there, he would have been. And he could have been, at any point, this whole time.

Jin would have forgiven him almost anything even a year ago. He made his choice, and now Jin was making his.

He kissed his mother’s cheek, grateful at least for her honesty and support–not a given–and he walked out the door into the sunshine, feeling like a free man. He called Jungkook in the car on his way home.

“Can I come over there this weekend? There’s something I want to show you on a real piano.”

***

Jimin burst through the dorm room door and frantically searched the room for Hoseok, one hand covering his nose and mouth, a desperate attempt to hide the tears that had finally won their battle against him the moment he stepped inside the building.

Hoseok stood up instantly, rushing to him and pulling him close, and it was only then that Jimin noticed Taehyung was there on the couch, and had a brief, guilty flash of jealousy.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Hoseok asked, wiggling him, trying desperately to make whatever it was better. Jimin wasn’t worthy of that kind of love. Taehyung walked over and stood to the side, watching them both without moving forward, but frowning. He cared. Of course he did.

“What were you two doing? Mr. Yun said I was looking too round in–in front of everyone.” He hiccuped, embarrassed, and sank into his boyfriend’s tightening grip.

“Jimin, you need to drop out of that class. Honey, look at me.”

“Why is that always what you say?” His voice was hoarse, throat sore. He didn’t want to tell Hoseok what he’d done after nodding and dancing through the rest of that class, a serious student. Jimin had to make sure everyone knew he belonged there. Hoseok sighed and stroked his back.

“Yagi, because I love you and you’re more important to me than some class or degree.” Jimin pulled away from the person he loved more than anyone in the world, and he looked at Taehyung, took in the way he looked so worried and sad–always too sad for someone so young.

“Tae, what do you think?” he asked. Hobi hyung joined him in looking at Taehyung. Tae blushed.

“It’s not really my place probably. I don’t know the dance program like you two do,” he said shyly. Jimin touched his arm.

“Tell me what you think as someone who cares about me. I won’t be mad,” he assured. Usually, that was what Tae needed assurance of. Jimin was pretty sure someone had blown up on him for no reason before, with no explanation.

It worked, and Taehyung relaxed a little and looked between them, first at Hoseok and then Jimin.

“Well,” he said. “I think Jimin should be able to keep dancing. I don’t see why he should have to quit just because a few teachers are assholes.

“And Jimin, I think your teacher is crazy, and you’re finally starting to look good again.” Hoseok’s eyes widened in horror, but Jimin laughed, the usually light sound too hoarse, and hugged his friend–-his boyfriend–their Taehyung.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that, Tae Tae. Thank you,” Jimin said, rubbing his nose on Tae’s chest. Tae didn’t wear cologne, but he still always smelled so nice. He turned to Hoseok.

“I’m sorry. I’m shallow. It makes me feel better to hear how good I look,” Jimin half-joked, embarrassed by how true it was.

“I made myself throw up after class,” he admitted, then turned to look at them both. “But I think I can pick myself back up if you both eat with me tonight.” He was trying to be better about not letting every shitty day be a huge mental breakdown, to just let it be a shitty fucking day.

Hoseok pulled him into a deep hug and kissed his forehead, and then Taehyung’s warm body pressed against his back, hugging Hoseok, rocking all three of them until they were all laughing.

***

Jin looked at the judges and noticed his breaths were shaky. He wished that Uncle was one of them–not because he wanted him to judge him, but just to find his face in the background like he used to in his competition days when he’d sit in the audience. He remembered finding Doyoung, finding Joonie, finding Uncle–all or one depending on the timing, but always someone–and feeling like he could take on whatever he needed to.

Still, he wanted to work with Uncle on this concert. He wanted to play Sibelius more than anything, and for his first real solo with someone he cared about so much conducting was a dream. So when the judges told him where to play from, he nodded calmly, took a deep breath, and poured his entire soul into the piece, the fingerings pure muscle memory at this point.

When they asked him to switch to a different section, he stayed calm, so calm that he shocked himself, playing it through without pause until they thanked him for his time and dismissed him, writing notes. It had felt natural the entire time.

He bowed and left the building–he and Jungkook had both decided it would be best if they didn’t wish each other well while they were at the actual stage that served as the audition space. Instead, they’d given each other a hug before they drove separately.

It seemed fairer to them both not to make anyone’s emotions run high right before the audition and, Jin was realizing, they didn’t have to be glued at the hip, crying to support each other. They could meet up after the auditions and de-stress together. That was better than fine–that was great.

Jin had worried about all the lost practice time, both from his fall and from prioritizing Jungkook, but he needn’t have. He’d practiced as hard as he could and done the best he could have, but more than that, he’d prepared his whole life for this, and he felt good walking out the auditorium doors.

A few moments later, someone else ran through and threw their arms around Jin. He laughed, recognizing the hold anywhere: Uncle.

“Jinnie, you were fantastic. I’m so proud of you.” If anyone knew how much this meant to him, it was his Uncle. Jin remembered the talk with his Eomeoni and looked at him with new understanding that felt less helpless, more adult.

He hugged him back, tightly. Not clinging–loving.

“I looked for you like the old days,” he joked. He pulled away smiling, and it made his Uncle’s face light up, too, just to see him really happy, not faking.

“I listened in the back. I didn’t want the judges to feel like I was staring them down,” he grinned. Jin wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and they walked to their cars, planning what they’d have for dinner together that week.

***

With such tenderness that Yoongi hadn’t known was inside him, he put his hand on Joonie’s wrist and pulled his book down. It had been four hours now reading some book by Foucault in bed. Enough was enough.

“Why do you need to make every moment of your day productive?” he asked gently, kissing Joonie’s cheek, enjoying the blush that colored his cheeks.

“I’m not doing anything else,” Joonie frowned. Yoongi kissed him again, hoping to pull him back into joy. He leaned his shoulder against their pillows alongside him, facing him, and wrapped his arms around him from the side.

“That’s fine. You took time off to rest. You should rest, Joonie. Your brain needs a break every now and then.” The last thing Yoongi wanted was for Namjoon to stress about taking a semester off, not take the time to reset, and then go back to classes next semester just as stressed as he had been.

Namjoon hesitated, a little unsure, but closed the book and put it on the nightstand. He looked at Yoongi as if for reassurance that it could really wait, and then he tangled himself in Yoongi, wrapped around him with his head on his chest, legs pulled up strangely so they were linked with Yoongi’s.

He laughed quietly and pet Namjoon’s head.

“I wrote you a poem. It’s really simple, but I like it,” Namjoon said. Yoongi smiled, knew his face was red and still hoped Namjoon wouldn’t see just how giddy it made him, how he still got butterflies. But Joonie looked up at him and saw, and it made him smile with his teeth and dimples, and Yoongi didn’t mind so much that he saw anymore.

“Can I read it?” Namjoon nodded, untangled himself just enough to take that little hardcover notebook with the FIELD NOTES cover out of his back pocket, and put himself back where he belonged once it was in Yoongi’s hands.Yoongi was pretty sure only he and Jin got to go through these notebooks, and he wondered again how many nearly identical ones Namjoon had.

He flipped through to the most recent pages and saw a poem:

Resonance
For Yoongi

Silence, then silence
Then waves, then you.
The standing waves of my cello in your hands–

My breath resonating in your hands–

Everything undulates when you’re near
Like waves, then you–

Then you again.

Yoongi kissed his head and closed his eyes. He loved this boy with his entire heart.

“I liked it so much, Joonie. Thank you–so much.” Yoongi kissed his head again and again.

***

Jungkook answered the door, smiling, but Jin saw the anxiety in his eyes, in the way he was actively trying not to bounce around nervously. He was in the same modern, casual hanbok set his father often wore, in a dark grey this time, his long bob pulled up into a half bun. Jungkook was gorgeous. Jin kissed his cheek.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not bad. It’s intimate. Can I come in?” he grinned. Jungkook exhaled deeply in audible relief, playing it up to lighten the mood, but Jin didn’t take the bait. He knew that move–that was his move.

So he did what he secretly hoped for sometimes, and put his hand on Jungkook’s waist, so small he wondered if he could wrap both his hands around it, and he didn’t laugh while he came in and took off his shoes.

“I told my parents to try to leave us alone. What did you want to do with the piano?” Koo’s face was so round, so trusting, that Jin had to kiss him on the mouth before he answered or it would have driven him crazy.

“My Eomeoni gave me hyung’s sheet music. I mean, the folder of music he was working on when he died. I wanted to go through it with you. I don’t know if you can play any of it…

“I don’t really know what I wanted. I guess I just wanted to show you,” Jin realized. Jungkook rubbed his arm.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Jungkook always knew how much everything meant to Jin. He never had to worry about that.

They sat together at the piano bench, and Jin opened the folder and showed him the pieces, sheet music held inside by little plastic corners that left room for all of the notes in hyung’s and Uncle’s handwriting.

Jin touched the first pages softly, imagining hyung scribbling down something Uncle had told him to, or something that he hadn’t played as well as he thought he should, something that had driven him nuts.

“He was working on a lot of Chopin, because he was going to do the competition in Poland.” He couldn’t imagine his brother in a huge international competition, to be honest. Of course he’d been good enough. I guess I don’t know why I can’t picture it, he thought, calmly, before a sense of dread overwhelmed his chest, threatening to spread.

He squinted his eyes shut, tried to remember what his hyung looked like.

“Hyung, it’s okay. It’s okay. Breathe,” Jungkook said. Oh yeah. He took a deep breath, too gasping, but by the third, the dread settled into something more manageable.

“Sorry,” he said. Jungkook whacked him, subdued but playful, not wanting to ruin the feelings.

“Don’t apologize. This is emotional. I guess I didn’t realize he was that good. That’s crazy.” Jungkook was encouraging him to talk more. He should talk more. He nodded.

“He was really good. I think probably not technical enough of a player to get too far in that competition maybe, but Uncle thought he’d do very well and catch some eyes at least. He had a whole career ahead of him.”

Jin stared at that first page again with shaky breath. Keep talking. He had to keep talking. He couldn’t shut down. He pointed at the pencil.

“The scribbles are hyung. The old man handwriting is Uncle’s–you’ve seen it,” he said. Jungkook gave him a chuckle.

“I have. Do you want me to try it? I can’t play it like him for sure, but I can sight read it slowly,” he offered. Jin nodded, relieved he didn’t think that was weird.

“Scoot over. This is a full keyboard situation,” Jungkook smiled. Jin moved to the side of the bench, paused, and moved to the floor, looking up at him like he’d looked at Doyoung.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than to watch me play?” Doyoung asked, at the big piano in the living room when no one else was home. Jin, twelve, shook his head.

“Not really.” Hyung looked so much bigger up there, and he liked to watch hyung’s face while he concentrated on something difficult. Doyoung laughed and reached down to ruffle his hair.

“All right. I hope you like hearing this one line about five hundred times.”

Jungkook was right: his playing was not hyung’s. But it was Jungkook’s, and that was beautiful, too, and Jungkook’s face stared at the music with the same drive as Doyoung’s had, and for a moment, he felt transported to another place, a colder, lonely place, but a place that held in it someone he missed very, very much.

“Thank you,” Jin whispered when Jungkook finished the piece. He’d played quite awkwardly–Jin suspected he’d never tried this one at all, and that his first time with it had been with his hyung’s music, and that made him so much happier and sadder than he thought possible.

“Sorry it was–”

“It was perfect,” Jin insisted. He pulled Jungkook to the floor instead of getting back onto the bench. Jungkook joined him there easily, liking to sit on the floor anyhow, like Tae. The floor here was such a beautiful, natural wood, too. Jin leaned his head on Jungkook’s shoulder. Start talking. Now. Okay, now for real.

“I feel a lot better,” he began. “Having something of his, I mean. It makes me feel safe knowing there’s something. But it’s also really hard. And I didn’t mention this because I didn’t want you to worry right before your audition, but I did kind of have to fight for it.”

Jungkook kissed his temple, frowning. His hands played with Jin’s hair lightly, the touch so soothing.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you it went okay with Eomeoni? That part was true and everything. But my Abeoji came home and flailed me around by my hair yelling about me being gay. And I realized he hadn’t learned anything.”

“He hurt you? Why didn’t you–” Jungkook was horrified.

“I knew I’d tell you,” Jin assured him. He sighed.

“But I wanted the timing to be good. I didn’t want to tell you that over the phone.” Jungkook nodded.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Jin nodded.

“I think we’re not going to be involved in each other’s lives unless we need something. Eomeoni understands. I feel better. It’s the same as the Chopin. It’s really hard, but I feel better.”

He turned to look at Jungkook, to show him he was okay.

“I guess I always felt like only they could give me what I needed. But I realized–you guys are all my family.

“I mean, we always say that, and I meant it, but I didn’t really know what it meant until now.” Jungkook nodded. He leaned his head on Jin’s shoulder, and Jin held him close from the side, his fresh scent engulfing Jin in the best way he could imagine.

“I feel the same. I mean–it’s like you said before. Someone has always loved me. I know I don’t have it bad here at all.” Jungkook’s prelude broke Jin’s heart–he’d had a hard time, too–but he knew better to interrupt, so he just kissed his hair.

“But having you all around–it’s been really nice. My Eomma said how nice it was to see me with so many friends who loved me so much. And I realized that you all really do love me.” His voice got small at the end, so Jin’s hand squeezed his upper arm.

“We do,” Jin said. “I think they’d all die for you.” Jungkook frowned.

“Namjoon hyung doesn’t like me,” he said, voice lower. Jin shook his head.

“You don’t understand Namjoon, but he loves you. You know how I know?” He grinned. Jungkook lifted his head to face him, shaking it no.

“I’ve seen him when he doesn’t like my boyfriends. He wouldn’t try so hard if he didn’t like you. He asked me if you wanted to join our book club–we started it so we’d just have something for us.

“Things have changed a lot for us. It really hurt him. For him to invite you–I told him I wanted it to stay just for us,” Jin admitted. Jungkook frowned.

“He invited me?” He bit his lip.

“I guess I don’t try very hard with him.” Jin kissed him again, and he wanted to stay on the floor here with him forever.

“I don’t expect you two to be best friends. Just to be nice to each other.” He reached his hand under Jungkook’s armpit for a surprise tickle attack, butterflies fluttering in his stomach when Jungkook giggled, so unabashedly joyful. He was able to move through emotions so fluidly.

“God I love you.” His voice sounded sadder than he meant it to, but Jungkook looked up at him smiling, didn’t let it ruin his mood.

“I love you, too. And I do want to try harder with Namjoon. Maybe he can help me with my math.”

A soft knock on the entryway to the living room. Eomma smiled at them down on the floor, and once they saw her, she took their picture.

“Look at you two.” Her voice was loving, and both of them stood to kiss her cheek, Jungkook having to help Jin up.

“It’s late. You need to take your medicine, sweetheart. And you should both get some sleep. Jinnie, you can stay with Jungkook tonight.” He smiled at her gratefully, but Jungkook blushed and took Jin’s hand. Jin didn’t know why, but he sensed he needed some strength and squeezed it.

“Eomma, I want to take my own medicine now. I mean–thank you. I couldn’t have taken it without you before. I’m really grateful–I just mean that I think I can take it now.” Jungkook looked up at her with big eyes, so scared to offend, but she smiled maternally and held her hand to his cheek.

“That’s fine, baby. Appa will give you the bottle in the morning. He’ll want to explain it. I know you know. Just sit through it for him, please.” They smiled at each other, and Jin bit his lip. He was proud, but a little guilty he hadn’t helped Jungkook to get there.

He took his pill, and Jin texted Namjoon not to worry, and then he took Jungkook’s hand and followed him down that beautiful hanok hallway, to his bedroom. Once they were inside, he looked behind him suspiciously.

“What changed with your parents?” he whispered. Jungkook whacked him playfully and turned on his mood lights. Two air purifiers were running–all day? Jin wondered–and Jungkook turned the other two on. He undressed as he spoke, Jin still staring with admiration.

“I told them I’m an adult now and it made me feel weird that I couldn’t have you sleep in my room when we’re dating. And they said they understood, but that it was hard to look at us over breakfast in the morning when you were marked up like that.” He pulled off his underpants and pulled on fluffy pajama pants with cute pastel stars and moons on them. Jin’s ears burned and he tried not to make any embarrassed sounds that would give him away.

“And I said, ‘Yeah, that’s fair.’ And they said I can have you over and do whatever as long as I promised they wouldn’t have to know about it, and I thought that was a nice compromise.” He held the matching pajama top in his hands, grinning at Jin.

Jungkook took Jin’s hand and touched his chest with it. Heart pounding, Jin touched his firm pecs, then reached his other hand to touch his arm. Strong. His brain short circuited.

“You look hungry,” Jungkook teased.

“We should talk about our sex before we do anything.” Jin’s voice was weak. He wanted to get quietly railed. But Jungkook nodded, a little upset. Jin didn’t think it was that he had to talk. He thought it was probably the memory as to why, so he held his waist and kissed him.

“I’m not upset,” Jin said. “I just think we need to reset. Leave the shirt off.” Jungkook giggled.

“Okay. I have a confession,” Jungkook said. Jin raised an eyebrow. Jungkook went to his dresser and threw a set at Jin.

“I stole your Mario pajamas. I’m sorry. They smelled like you.” Jin snorted as he undressed, conscious that he was watched, too, and oddly comforted by the fact that his boyfriend thought he looked good.

“I forgive you.” Jin wore the shirt, covering up his chest. He knew he was hot, but he wasn’t as confident in his body as Jungkook was. He crawled into bed first, and Jungkook turned the electric duvet on before he joined him, facing him.

They sat in silence for a full minute, neither of them in a rush to start, first of all because neither of them wanted to, and secondly because they were both happy to touch each other’s faces in bed together after so long.

“Okay, I’ll go,” Koo said. Jin sighed in relief, and Jungkook whacked him.

“You were really waiting, huh? Okay. Um.

“I want to start prepping you more again. I know you like it. But I like to spend time prepping you–it makes me feel good. And the more I read about people who do it like we do online, the more crazy it seems that I haven’t permanently ripped your asshole out yet.”

Jin snorted, and Jungkook giggled, relief in the way his eyebrows relaxed, in the way he looked Jin in the eye.

“I’ll miss it, but I understand,” he said. He would miss it. He loved that pain more than anything. But Jungkook was right: he needed his asshole to stay inside. Jungkook leaned in to kiss him, lips soft, and his hand moved to Jin’s face. It was warm, like he’d put it between his thighs. Jin kissed it.

“I’ll still go in really fast for you,” Jungkook said. “Okay. Your turn.” Jin kissed him back. He touched the soft cover of the duvet, told himself he could do this. He could say no to what he didn’t like.

“I know I like things fucked up and you might not get why certain things bother me,” he said.

“But I don’t want you to call me names anymore. I don’t like it. Even if I like it at the time, I feel bad about it later.”

Jungkook nodded, looking down again. He was remembering that night again. Jin had really shocked him saying it then, he knew. Here, in bed with his sweet Koo, he didn’t think that had been entirely fair to bring up right then. He tickled Jungkook lightly, just enough to show him he wasn’t mad.

“Back to you, chief.”

“If you’re crying, I’m stopping whether you safe worded or not. I don’t mean a little teary–like you can’t get deepthroated without crying a little. I mean like, if you’re crying. It’s like you said: even if it’s okay while we fuck, after I feel awful.” He looked up at Jin, a little less confident about this one.

Jin nodded. He couldn’t be upset. It was another reasonable one, and honestly probably for his own good, too.

“No more anything sexual in public, please. I’ll hold your hand more and be more affectionate. I promise. But it makes me feel bad, to be honest.” Jungkook nodded.

“One more from me. You aren’t going to like this one. But you said you’ve had bad sexual experiences. I wish you would have–I mean, I’d like to know what happened. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. But I think I should know.”

Shit. He was right–the guy who choked him regularly should know about what happened. But he was also right about Jin not liking it. He stiffened, and Koo touched his waist, trying to soothe.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” he whispered. Jin weighed it. He didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted to get fucked.

“Joonie doesn’t know some of it. It’s not that bad. But it’s hard. I’ll tell you later but–but it’s hard. Not now.” Jungkook shushed him, kissed his mouth.

“That’s fine, honey. I just sprang it on you. I have some things I maybe left out to tell you, too.” He kissed him again, then slapped his ass over the Mario pajamas, grinning. Jin laughed, but his ears burned from the attention.

“Are we good?” Jungkook asked. Jin nodded.

“Then turn around.” Jin snorted, turning so he was being spooned, held close. Jungkook grinded on his ass, his dick getting harder quickly. He kissed Jin’s neck briefly, then switched to nibbling his ear.

“I want to mark you up, but it’s got to be where my parents can’t see,” he said, a little embarrassed sounding.

Jin pushed his ass into Jungkook’s dick, moving his hips in circles, savoring the quiet hiss in return. Jungkook forgot his earlier mission and pulled Jin’s pants down just below his ass. Jungkook touched him with wet fingers, and he turned his head to face him, confused.

“How did you already–”

“Listen,” Jungkook said, teasing a finger around his rim.

“I jack off a lot, okay? I have a big bottle by my bed.” Before Jin could do more than smirk, he put the first finger in. It always felt so strange to Jin when someone bothered warming him up, made him feel kind of awkward, self-conscious.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Jungkook asked, halting the embarrassing single finger inside him. Jin thought about it.

“I just don’t understand why anyone would want to do this.” With me. He didn’t want to say the quiet part aloud, but Jungkook instantly picked up on it, heard it in the silence and stuck the finger further into him.

“Because you’re my boyfriend and you’re really hot and I dream about sticking things into you, and I want you to feel good when I fuck you out of your mind?” he offered.

“Oh,” Jin said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you hate it that much?” Jungkook asked, worried. Jin thought about that, too. He didn’t hate it at all. It was just–

“I just don’t want you to be bored doing something just for me. And it feels kind of embarrassing that it doesn’t hurt, I guess. I don’t hate it. I just don’t want to like…inconvenience you. Especially if my ass is weird.” He knew his ears were bright red imagining Jungkook staring at him.

“Hyung. Jesus Christ.” Jin turned to face him, saw his mouth hanging open. He must have looked like he wanted to die, because Jungkook put his hand on his face, still lubey, and kissed him. Jin would excuse the lube.

“I’m sorry, that just really–honey, most people think foreplay is hot. I think it’s hot.”

“Oh,” Jin said, rather dumbly. He was worried he wasn’t getting railed tonight, but Jungkook moved to straddle him, unbuttoning his fuzzy Mario shirt. He opened it without taking it off, running his hands on Jin’s chest.

Jin liked the attention even though it made him a bit shy, so he looked away while he squirmed around in a way he hoped would get Jungkook hard again.

Jungkook moved his face down to Jin’s chest quickly, and he hissed with the surprise of the mild pain of Jungkook biting his nipple, then sucking around his pecs.Marking me up, he thought, shivers running down his spine.

Jungkook’s right hand awkwardly pulled his pants down, Jin helping. He assumed he’d get a handjob, but Jungkook bit his nipple again and stuck his finger back inside him, then another, pulling them apart inside to stretch him. He whimpered from the bite, hoped he’d be marked for days.

“Better?” Jungkook asked, looking up at Jin with big, dark eyes. Jin just nodded, worried if he spoke that he’d make too much noise. Jungkook fucked him with a third finger, then turned him on his side and slapped his ass. Jin flinched, his dick brushing against the mattress.

Jungkook got back on his side, and a moment passed before he spooned Jin again, his dick wet now. He pushed Jin’s face into the pillow, held it there by his hair hard, and he groaned, knowing no one would hear.

Jungkook kept his promise, pushed into him fast and deep, all at once, and Jin’s body convulsed in pain and pleasure, always unused to sex after even a few days. Jungkook’s hand squeezed his hips hard, and the other hand gave up on quieting Jin, reaching around to press against his neck lightly.

Jin was already lost from the small touch there, grinding his own ass into Jungkook with embarrassing enthusiasm.

“Touch yourself,” Jungkook grunted quietly. Jin obeyed instantly, happy to rub his own cock that ached. When Jin’s breaths got shorter and shorter and the warmth in his stomach overwhelmed him, his back arched away from Jungkook, the grip on his hip tightened, and the hand wrapped around his throat.

Jin’s body moved in ways he couldn’t control, the lack of air bringing a beautiful empty clarity, only sensation remaining–in his ass, on his hip, his dick so close–and he came all over his hand, panting.

Jungkook’s thrusts slowed, and he felt the warm cum inside him, wanted more, wanted Jungkook to stay inside him forever to keep the warmth inside him, and he was too happy to wonder if that made him a pervert until later.

“Love you. Love you,” Jin slurred, turning his head and kissing where he thought Jungkook might be. Jungkook laughed, and when he opened his eyes he saw he was kissing the air.

Before he could state his intention to end it all in embarrassment, Jungkook leaned over, still inside him, to help him reach, and kissed him himself. He tasted extra salty today, and Jin remembered that he’d kissed him all over: that was him.

“I love you, too. You okay?” Jungkook smiled, pretty sure he was fine. He pulled out, and Jin winced. He was so fucking sticky so many places.

“I’m covered in cum,” he complained. Jungkook hopped out of bed, on a mission, but Jin whimpered–he wanted him there, god damn it. The bed was cold without him.

Koo returned with a hot washcloth and some wipes, and first took Jin’s hand and wiped it off with a baby wipe. He tossed it in the garbage, then lifted Jin’s legs and wiped off what was dripping there with one.

“Koo, it’s fine, I can–” Koo put the now pleasantly warm washcloth on his ass and cleaned the rest off tenderly, soothing.

“Shut up. Will you just let me take care of you?” He asked lightheartedly when he put Jin’s legs back down and pulled his pants up for him. Jungkook leaned over him to kiss him, then looked over his chest to inspect his handiwork.

Satisfied by what he saw, he buttoned his shirt.

“That’s a surprise for you in the morning,” he said, extremely pleased with himself. He giggled before he hopped back into bed, holding Jin close like he couldn’t imagine being anywhere better than this in the whole world. Jin fixed Jungkook’s bangs with a soft touch, and hoped Jungkook knew that Jin couldn’t imagine anywhere he’d rather be, either.

Chapter Text

Jimin tried not to sweat as the three of them stopped at a street food cart for some hot sweet potatoes. Well. Jimin was technically stopping, but only hyung and Tae were buying the sweet potatoes. Not for the usual reasons, he reassured himself. This time, his stomach was in nervous knots, and he didn’t think he could eat anything.

His date idea seemed juvenile now that they were there, uninspired and boring. Anyone could walk along the Han River at night any time–he’d been such a damn idiot and–

“This is really nice. I haven’t felt this calm in ages,” Taehyung said, tensing his shoulders up to his ears as he inhaled, then letting gravity run its course on the exhale. Steam rose from where Tae held his potato at his chest to his face, curling around his soft curls that Jimin was starting to really lose himself thinking about. He wanted to hide his face in Taehyung’s soft hair, or run his hands through it.

“The first walk of the year always feels so good,” Hoseok added, stretching. Jimin watched anxiously, worried his sweet potato half would fly out of his hands. He smiled at his Hoseok.

“Your cheeks and nose get so red in the cold. You look like an elf,” he giggled, delighted despite the thoughts racing through his head.

“What about me?” Taehyung huffed, indignant. The lights from the city reflected on the river behind him and shone all over him so he glittered like a star–or like the sea, Namjoon would probably say. He also had to check in on Namjoon soon.

“You,” Jimin said, walking closer. He took Tae’s face in both his cold hands, feeling Taehyung’s smile growing under them.

“You look like you were made for winter. Like a sweet baby bear.” He kissed Taehyung’s nose while he laughed in his palms. Jimin wondered if it was real to Hoseok hyung and Tae Tae like it was for him. Whether this was forever to them, or something less serious.

Taehyung’s face drooped, the movement traced in Jimin’s palms before he noticed the worried gape of his mouth with his eyes.

“Jimin-ah, what’s wrong?”

That did nothing to help the problem. Why do I always cry when someone asks me that? Hobi handed Taehyung his potato and hugged Jimin, and Taehyung, frustrated to be left out, wrapped only his upper arms around them, holding out the potatoes. Jimin hoped they warmed his hands up.

“We can split a potato, honey,” Hobi offered. His sweet, sweet Hoseok. Jimin shook his head.

“It’s not that,” he said, then took a deep breath.

“I love you.”

Jimin spoke softly, wanting the words to barely reach both their ears. He looked between their worried faces and saw immediately that they didn’t understand.

“We love you too,” Taehyung said, blinking at him with completely unveiled bafflement.

“So much,” Hoseok added. They exchanged a glance, like they were wondering what to do about whatever the fuck was wrong with him. Jimin sighed.

“No,” he insisted. “I love you. And I’m the one who–I don’t fit.” He looked at them both pointedly, hand reaching for his hip reflexively. How could they not get it?

“Oh,” Taehyung said, his face lighting up. He smiled, his reactions hardly ever lining up with what anyone would expect. Jimin, though–somehow he knew that Taehyung would smile.

“Let’s walk while we talk,” Taehyung suggested, handing Hoseok his potato back, taking a bite of his own, and then putting the remainder into Jimin’s hand. Jimin knew better than to argue, knew it was about the warmth more than anything.

So he nodded, and they walked down the path of the river, Jimin looking at the lights on the water tearily. All those lights were people, people who were all living such beautiful, precious lives.

“Well,” Taehyung began. “I thought I was the one who didn’t fit, but I feel like I belong here now. Hyung, how do you feel about your place?”

Jimin was relieved to hear he knew how loved he was, how much they both wanted him with them, but hadn’t really expected Hoseok to step down as emotional leader for a bit, letting Taehyung take over.

“...Maybe this is my ego talking, but I’ve always felt pretty good about how you both feel about me.”

Jimin and Taehyung laughed, some of the tension gone–like Taehyung knew it would be, Jimin realized. He was better at reading people than he would ever give himself credit for. He just saw a different side to people, the core of the person instead of the person they projected into the world. That’s why Jimin felt so vulnerable right now: he could see everything.

“You planned a nice date, and I–”

“Showed us a different side to you,” Hoseok finished, firm. “I see why you slip out at night sometimes now. It’s beautiful.”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Taehyung blurted out before Hoseok had even quite finished. He stopped walking and looked out thoughtfully at the moon.

“Sorry,” he said. “Was that too blunt?”

Jimin looked at the way Hoseok smiled so widely and shyly, so happy, and he wrapped himself around Tae Tae’s solid back, his arms meeting at his stomach. He leaned his head onto Taehyung, warm and safe, and let himself sniffle.

“No. You’re perfect. I want to date you, too. How about you, darling?” he asked, knowing the answer. Hoseok threw his arms around Taehyung’s front, more playfully, hands resting on Jimin’s waist.

“I love you both. I knew for sure at the jazz club.”

“Can we sit on the bench and just watch the river a while?” Tae and Hoseok nodded, smiles peeking out through wind blown hair. God, he loved them. It still turned his stomach–there was a whole life to figure out, after all–but it seemed a little easier now that he knew he wasn’t a lovestruck fool.

He still had to protect his heart, after all.

After they’d found a nice bench and sat together, thighs touching from squeezing the three of them onto the seat, Jimin reached out a hand to give Taehyung a bite of sweet potato, which he took greedily–poor thing was probably hungry.

Tae Tae scrunched up his face and spit it out.

“It’s cold,” he said moodily. Hoseok’s laughter came so violently that he almost fell off the bench they’d just sat on, and Jimin’s chest muscles relaxed, heart eased.

***

Namjoon had opened and closed his mouth three times, never finding a good place to interject, before he finally stood up and walked to his bedroom. Taehyung frowned. Hoseok and Jungkook didn’t seem to be worried, and kept on rough housing.

Kookie liked when Hobi hyung picked him up and wrestled, and Hoseok was always delighted to get raucous laughter out of Jungkook, but the two of them alone together without Jin or Jimin to moderate got too loud for Taehyung sometimes.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he said, standing abruptly and following Namjoon once they’d given their nods and a ‘kay; it wasn’t unusual for Taehyung to need a break.

Slowly, he creeped into Namjoon’s room without knocking, instantly preferring the relative quiet. It’s shitty to be relieved when he’s so sad, he thought. Namjoon sat on the edge of his bed, turned from Taehyung, staring out the window. It was a gloomy day, one of those days where it might pour any second.

Taehyung sat next to Namjoon awkwardly, unsure if he was welcome or if Namjoon had even noticed he’d entered. Namjoon looked down, and Taehyung saw he’d been crying. His eyebrows pushed together reflexively, and he looked back out the window; he’d hate it if someone watched him cry when he stepped away.

“I like days like this,” Taehyung said, unsure of where he was going with it.

“I think it’s the anticipation. Everything’s in this awful limbo, and then suddenly there’s a release, and it feels less lonely.” He moved his knees in and out, smiling a little at the window.

Namjoon looked at him, eyes still sad but a cautious smile sprouting.

“Yeah. I think of it like a friend tapping the window once the rain falls. It makes it easier to sleep,” he said. Taehyung laughed with delight, swaying his knees wider.

“I like that. That is what it feels like. Did you run away because no one was listening?” Taehyung knew he asked too suddenly, too frankly, but he didn’t know any other way to get it out. Namjoon’s face fell and Taehyung regretted asking, wished he could tone himself down a bit.

“I guess. I just–I guess I know I was only invited because I live here.” Taehyung laughed again, and Namjoon looked at him–sharply? Curiously? Taehyung couldn’t read his face at all. He wasn’t like Hoseok. He couldn’t tell if it was neutral or angry.

What do I do? He realized he could only really do the thing he always did: be honest.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just–I thought they wanted to hang out with you, and that they only invited me because I live here.”

Namjoon looked at him with pure confusion. He always wore that expression very plainly, at least–his eyebrows lowered, like it seemed to drive him nuts whenever he couldn’t understand something. Taehyung thought it must be rough to be a smart guy like that sometimes. He probably wasn’t used to not getting it.

“But you’re at least kind of dating Hoseok hyung, and you and Jungkook are practically really family.” Taehyung shrugged.

“I guess brains are dumb sometimes, right?” His gaze made Namjoon drop his own stare to his hands.

“I know nobody but Jin and Yoongi really likes me. It’s fine. Everyone is nice and everything.” A flash of clarity–Taehyung understood now. He understood so fucking well.

“Wait here a sec, okay?” he said, resolute. Namjoon nodded, confused, and Taehyung ran back out to his room and fished around for something.

“Tae, where–”

“Hold on one sec!” he shouted back at Jungkook. He found it–his previous sketchbook, all filled, and ran back to Namjoon, still sitting there confused. Taehyung waved his book at him with a smile, running back to the bed and falling next to Namjoon.

“I found it. Look.” He opened it up to a page near the beginning of the book, a little embarrassed that Namjoon saw so many of his shitty sketches finding the right page.

Two pressed flowers, a rose and something orange Taehyung didn’t recognize but thought was beautiful, were taped to the page with a black pen sketch of Taehyung playing the trumpet. His sketch persona was surrounded by a crowd with a speech bubble that read “WE HATE JAZZ. (AND MAYBE YOU).”

The tone of the drawing was obviously supposed to be funny, but there had seemed an element of truth to it at the time, too. Beneath that was a tiny gouache painting of Namjoon holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Tae–”

“You have no idea how much those flowers meant to me. And when you wanted to learn sax I was so excited, because you liked it so much I changed your mind and then you wanted to play with me, too, and then you bought one.

“And I had so much fun teaching you, and it’s okay that you wanted to stop–I’m not mad or anything. Sometimes things don’t work out. But I really missed you when you stopped, and I was worried maybe I said something or you didn’t really like me.

“But I still think about those flowers all the time.They’ll always be the most special flowers I’ll ever–sorry. I just talked a really long time.”

Namjoon pulled Taehyung into a tight hug, so tight it reminded Taehyung of when he’d tried to kill himself and Namjoon had been afraid to let him go.

“Tae, I didn’t want to stop the sax. I was just worried I was a pain in your ass. I’m sorry.”

“So we can start again?” He hated how excited he sounded, but Namjoon laughed and swayed them both a few times.

“Yeah. I’d really like to. Thanks.” The way Namjoon hugged him, Taehyung understood that he shouldn’t let go right now.

“You know, every time you’ve ruined the sax–or anything else I guess–it’s been for the same reason. Stop thinking you’re annoying.”

Jungkook knocked at the open door and poked his head inside, bouncing impatiently.

“Are you guys all right? We’ve been like, super bored without you.”

Namjoon pulled away, and he and Taehyung looked at each other and laughed.

***

“I mean…it’s not like the thoughts have stopped. They still really bother me,” Jungkook admitted, looking at Jin for reassurance. Jin frowned and kissed his round cheek, fucking hating the thought of this sweet boy being upset so often.

“I don’t want to say something stupid,” Jin said, already embarrassed by his lack of knowledge.

“But you don’t do…all those things anymore.” He watched Jungkook think about it like it wasn’t a stupid question.

“I guess like…therapy and meds made things a little more separate sort of, so I can deal with things a little better. Does that make sense?

“Like I count every step while I walk to eighty and then start over again like, every day. But if I don’t stop walking at eighty, I feel a little uncomfortable for a minute and can sort of push through it. But I’m not worried anyone will die.

“Sorry. I know this is kind of embarrassing.” Jungkook looked back down away from Jin in the dark of Jin’s bedroom. It was only lunch time, but Jin had closed all the blinds and lit some candles for Koo.

They sat cross legged next to each other on the still-made bed, and Jin leaned his body weight into Jungkook’s side, increasing the force of his weight until Jungkook giggled. His laugh–Jin would do anything to hear it, all the time.

While the giggles still floated through the air around them like music, Jin took the opportunity to kiss his cheeks several times each.

“It’s not embarrassing. Stop saying that. I just want to understand. Is there any time you don’t feel it?”

Jungkook thought some more, the giggles replaced with a thoughtful frown, not sad, just focused.

“Not really. Always a little. The closest is when we fuck. I think the physical stuff feels so good it kind of wipes the thoughts away.” He grinned at Jin, who could feel the blush in his cheeks.

“Why the closest?” The question sat in silence for too long.

“In the back of my mind, I worry I’ll lose control of myself and–and really really hurt you.” His voice was too small, too weak. Jin pressed his lips to Jungkook’s and admired the way they opened so softly for him.

“I’m not worried about that at all. I trust you with my life. Always. You probably care about my best interests more than me.”

They both smiled, and Jin opened his arms for the brick of a man that slammed into his chest, an oof hit out of Jin’s lungs. He hugged Jungkook tightly.

“We should talk while we’re in the mood. About…the other stuff. You said you lied to me,” he teased. Jin didn’t want anyone to feel too heavy today, even if what they talked about was heavy.

Jungkook groaned and left his lap to get a pillow just to hit Jin with it, Jin laughing a little too much.

“Not a lie. Just like a really key omission that you’ll be upset about. Promise you won’t be upset.” He waved the pillow threateningly at his hyung.

“I might be upset,” Jin answered honestly. “But if I am, you can beat me with the pillow if you want.” Jungkook considered.

“Deal. Okay. So I told you about the bad time I had in high school?”

Jin frowned and nodded. He reached out his arms and grabbed Jungkook’s, pulling him close again. He should be held.

“Well. Sorry. I haven’t actually told anyone this. Not even my parents or therapist.” Jungkook’s completely fake nonchalant energy seeped into Jin and put him on edge.

“Um,” Koo continued, voice cracking just a bit.

“After my ex told his friends—like some people knew, but not the whole school yet–he sort of…made me bottom.

“Um. I mean I’d bottomed with him before. He liked to switch it up sometimes. I didn’t really, but that was whatever. I agreed to it. But this was different. You know?”

Jungkook picked at his sweatshirt sleeve, like it was covered with pilling even though it was smooth and soft.

Jin pulled him closer as gently as he could, sniffling into Jungkook’s hair. Everything was so fucking unfair. Someone so perfect could do nothing wrong, could just be himself, and people would hurt him for that, in so many different ways, over and over again.

“Hyung, it’s really fine. It’s–”

“Don’t pretend it’s fine with me. It’s not. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry he did that and that you couldn’t tell anyone, and I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

Jungkook’s face crumpled then, and he released a tearless sob and tried to burrow himself into Jin’s chest.

“It was so fucking awful. It hurt so much and I loved him.” His voice strained, quiet and tight, and his hands gripped the chest of Jin’s pink sweatshirt tightly. Jin kissed the top of his head again and rocked him, crying softly with him.

“No one you trust should ever do that to you. Ever. Jagi, are you–are you really okay to have the sex we have? Do you need anything from me?”

Jungkook pulled himself up using his arms wrapped around Jin’s neck and moved his face from Jin’s chest to the crook of his neck, seemed calmed by the move. My cologne, Jin realized with a pang. That was where he dabbed the cologne leftover from his wrists.

“That’s fine. I always liked it like this–I hated that people might think that was why I like what I like. I just really don’t want to hurt you for real.”

“You won’t.” Jin’s voice came softer than he even intended, tenderness overwhelming him.

“You smell so good,” Jungkook whispered, eyes closed and tears stopped.

Jin saw the sadness written on his face and pictured it on a younger version of himself, a version that had been betrayed and hurt and couldn’t even tell the people who mattered the most to him while his life collapsed around him like a burning tower.

They sat like that in silence for a long while, Jin rocking Jungkook when he got teary again until he knew he was safe again.

“Your turn,” Jungkook said with a sound Jin was pretty sure was supposed to be a playful laugh but came out too choked. Jin shook his head.

“Soon. Today I’m taking care of you. Do you want a bath? I’ll make whatever you want for dinner.”

Jungkook looked at Jin’s face with eyes that sought an answer–maybe reassurance. Jin wondered if his ex had ever taken care of him and couldn’t decide which option was worse: either he had made Jungkook feel safe and then betrayed him, or he hadn’t and he’d never been taken care of by a partner. Jin wanted to help in either scenario.

“I know this is really stupid, but–will you rub my back?” Jungkook sounded so ashamed to ask that Jin was a little offended. He kissed Jungkook’s cheek.

“It’s not even a little bit stupid. Take off your shirt and lie down,” he said, getting up to get his bottle of lotion. Jungkook almost didn’t let him get off the bed, hanging on to his shirt, but he did as he was instructed, and Jin straddled him from behind.

Jungkook’s back was beautiful, so muscular even with his reduced gym time. Before he reached for the lotion, he let his hands trace along his spine and fan out to caress his little waist, grateful to be allowed to touch and cherish him.

But Jungkook needed him to get a damn move on, so he pumped some lotion into his hand and worked it into his skin, starting at the shoulders and working down to just above his ass, just getting his body used to the touch.

When he really started on the shoulders, he frowned.

“Jesus, Koo. I’d be giving you one of these every day if I’d known how tense you are.” How could he not have realized? Jungkook didn’t actually look tense most of the time, he realized. This was the kind of tension that sat deep, deep in the body. He pressed a little harder, determined to force it to leave, to let Jungkook feel relaxed for even a few moments.

Jungkook moaned gratefully, wincing and stiffening whenever Jin found a knot and sighing heavily in calm bliss when he worked it out. Jin didn’t want to be one of those boyfriends, so he spent a solid half hour on the rub, only stopping to crack his fingers a few times. I have to practice so I can go longer, he thought as he shook out his hands and Jungkook sat up and stretched while Jin watched his muscles dance under his skin.

“That feels a lot better. Thank you. Can I still pick dinner? Can you make ramen?” Jungkook asked little of him–at least compared to what I ask of him, Jin thought–but he was clearly in one of those moods where he still worried he was asking too much. That was a fixable problem.

Jin tickled Jungkook’s bare skin, aiming just below the armpits for that sweet giggle.

“Ramen it is. You rest while I cook,” he added, knowing Jungkook would jump to help. Jungkook’s uncertainty was waning like Jin wanted, most the hesitation gone.

“Can I nap on the couch with the TV on?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Jungkook hesitated, squirming.

“Can we switch shirts?” Jin took his sweatshirt off before he thought about the request at all. The confusion didn’t even hit him until he had Jungkook’s dark green shirt pulled over his own chest. Today, they both wore them so huge that it didn’t really matter whose they wore, but why?

Jungkook saw the pause before Jin pulled his arms through.

“Smells like you,” he mumbled as he reached for Jin’s, wrinkled from his death grip. Jin’s chest ached, tight with care. He remembered, suddenly, that Jungkook liked to smell the people he loved, that he’d been so embarrassed about it he’d cried. Jin didn’t want to ever contribute to that.

He pulled his sweater paws up to his face and breathed deeply and smiled kindly at Jungkook.

“You’re right. It smells just like a hug from you.” Jungkook blushed, smiling back at him and looking like a kid with a big crush.

***

Hoseok waved Jin away and made a sound like an old man telling a kid to get off his property.

“Hyung, you’re the guest. Sit your flat ass down. I’ll make the popcorn. It’ll take two minutes.” The dorm room was so small–even though they’d gotten lucky on the size–that Jin could still have a normal conversation with Hoseok while he microwaved a bag of popcorn.

He sat his ass down on the couch, a little antsy.

“Wait,” he frowned. “My ass is flat?” So he was right all along–his ass was at least kind of weird. Hoseok waved a spoon at him while they chatted, scooping something goopy from a pink plastic mixing bowl into green plastic bowls.

“All of us except for Jimin and Yoongs have a flat ass. Jimin works for his. Yoongi was just blessed I guess.”

Jin tried to picture everyone’s ass and then groaned, leaning back into the sofa and finally relaxing.

“How do you remember what everyone’s ass looks like?”

“I guess I’m just a conn-ass-sseur.” Hoseok laughed at his own shitty joke for so long that Jin finally had a taste of what everyone dealt with with him. I’ll understand the next time they throw something at me, he thought as he unclipped the Mario Super Star plush keychain from his bag and threw it at Hoseok. Everything on the table was too hard–he deserved to be punished, not killed.

It bounced off Hoseok into the mixing bowl, and he laughed harder pulling it out. Jin’s poor little star was covered in–

“Did you make that pudding stuff your Eomeoni made us last year?” he asked. He knew he looked like a dog with his ears perked up in excitement and didn’t care. Hoseok nodded, smiling proudly.

“She sent me the recipe and said that even I could make it.” He brought Jin a bowl–even their fucking spoons were plastic–and Jin dug in, his mouth in heaven from the sickly sweet combination of Oreos, pudding, Cool Whip, butter, cream cheese, and–you guessed it. More sugar.

“You sound like you’re getting a complimentary blowjob. Calm down,” Hoseok laughed. He took a bite too and made a similarly vulgar noise.

“See? Jungkook is going to yell at me if I eat too much of–Hoseok, the popcorn! How long did you set it for?” Jin’s voice grew louder when he smelled the burning popcorn. Hoseok’s eyes widened and he opened the microwave quickly, the scent of very burnt popcorn filling the room. Jin got up to open the windows for him.

“Thanks, hyung. I always set it to ten minutes and just listen for the pops,” he admitted. Jin stared at him and snorted, and then Hoseok laughed again too.

Jin was possibly the only friend in their group who took pride in making Hoseok laugh. It wasn’t hard work, but it was honest work.

“Well. That was the last bag. Jungkookie is going to have to understand,” he said with a smile, bringing the big bowl over before he sat down next to Jin and nuzzled his head on his shoulder.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked. Jin blushed. He didn’t mean to look like so much of a mess in front of all of them.

“I’m fine. Sorry about…all that.” His ears burned, and if he was being honest he wished Hoseok hadn’t brought it up.

“Are you crazy? You really just think you were being dramatic, don’t you?” Hoseok frowned now, tenderness all over his face. Jin shoved a spoon of the pudding mix into his mouth.

“Well. I was maybe a little dramatic,” he replied, looking into the bowl. The plastic was scratched to hell. He’d have to gift them some real dishes.

“Hyung, you had a pretty gnarly concussion. The doctor cooed at you and called you a ‘poor baby’ in the hospital.” Hoseok’s worry injected guilt directly into Jin’s brain, but what could he say when he was right?

“I’m better now, really. Thanks for helping so much,” he mumbled. Hoseok smiled and nuzzled him again, and Jin wrapped an easy arm around him.

“You help all of us all the time. It was no problem.”

“How are things with you?” Jin asked, eyebrows raised. It was petty, but he sort of hoped throwing it back would make Hoseok realize how unreasonable it had been of him to ask normal questions about Jin and his health.

But instead of balking, Hoseok blushed prettily, oddly demure when he looked down for a moment. When he looked back up at Jin, his eyes sparkled with happiness that made Jin’s own smile widen just to witness it.

“Well,” Hoseok said. “Don’t tell everyone. But you can know first–we’re all officially dating.” Jin pulled Hoseok into a tight, lingering hug, squeezing him.

“I’m so happy for you. Take care of my Tae Tae. But let me know if he hurts you and I’ll kick his ass.”

The sound of Hoseok’s laugh was muffled by the hug, but Jin loved it anyhow.

“Your loyalties seem pretty split. How does Jimin fit into your allegiances?” Hoseok asked. Jin didn’t have to think about it for a moment.

“If either of you hurt Jimin, I’ll kick your asses.” Jimin himself probably didn’t know it, but he had such a prominent place in Jin’s heart. Jimin understood him so well–he took care of everyone too, just in a different way. Time and again, Jimin had dropped everything to hold Tae when he was overwhelmed, or to tend Hoseok’s sore knee.

Whatever Jimin was struggling with never seemed to matter to him more than everyone else; he simply always set it aside for others. They understood each other in that way, and Jin admired the strength Jimin helped with, a strength he himself knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he lacked.

And what he was most grateful for–Jimin cheered up his Joonie. Jin knew it wasn’t a coincidence that Jimin texted Namjoon to check out a gallery or go on a walk in the park right when he was feeling the most lost. Joonie may not have thought Jimin liked him when he was gone, but when they were together, there couldn’t be any doubt: Jimin was simply too attentive and caring to leave room for that.

Jin sniffled and wiped his face, and Hoseok took his wrist gently in his hand, worried.

“It’s okay–neither of us is planning on hurting him. Don’t worry,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Sorry. He’s just so–he’s really special, isn’t he?” He looked into Hoseok’s eyes and saw that he understood, deeply. He nodded, then looked a little sad.

“I got really lucky. They’re both really special.” He looked down guiltily. Jin sniffled harder, hiccuping.

“You’re special, too!” he practically yelled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“We can’t all be special,” Hoseok giggled.

“Shut up. Special people want to date other special people.”

“Oh, so you think you’re just as special as Kookie?” Hoseok raised his eyebrows. Jin tried to look dignified.

“That’s differen–” Hoseok shoved a big glob of pudding in Jin’s mouth, and it was honestly shameful how quickly it calmed him down. He let the sugary mush slide down his throat.

“Start the game. I’m Peach, don’t even think about it,” Jin demanded, competitive already.

“I wasn’t, bro.”

***

Yoongi stood behind Joonie’s desk chair and rubbed his shoulders before kissing the crown of his head. Joonie put down his pen and leaned his head back, a goofy look on his face that made Yoongi chuckle softly.

“Working on a poem?” he asked, still rubbing. He’d felt extra tenderly toward Namjoon lately–a tenderness he really hadn’t known was inside him. Namjoon shook his head.

“I have so much extra time now. I thought I’d try a novel. It’s a hist–sorry. Do you want to hear about it?” The goofy expression fell from his face, and Yoongi had to try not to be hurt by the fact that Namjoon thought that he of all people, who had first connected with him over yapping about what they were reading, wouldn’t want to hear about his boyfriend writing a damn novel.

He had to remind himself that Namjoon was still not feeling well, that he was taking time off to feel better and recover from that kind of mindset.

So Yoongi reached down suddenly to tickle Joonie’s armpits, his arms now strong enough to pin him to the chair from his position behind him while he squirmed around laughing, the smile brought back. Thank god.

“I cannot believe you would say that to me. Me! Tell me all about it.” Yoongi used his best fake angry voice, the one he used to mess with the others–his new family. He concluded the tickling by moving to Namjoon’s lap, planting a lingering kiss on his dimple.

Joonie’s hands wrapped easily around Yoongi’s waist, like he simply belonged there.

“Well. It’s a historical fiction story. I’ve been thinking about Bach a lot. He died at such an extraordinary time, don’t you think? To be so holy right before the Enlightenment period.”

Yoongi nodded, looking interested even though, truly, he could spend the rest of his life not thinking about Bach. He thought of Bach as fussy, but he loved the way that Joonie’s face lit up when he played his Suites, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about the way he was absolutely convinced that Bach had written a concerto for cello, too, lost to time.

He’d have to write a cello concerto for Joonie in the style of Bach. That might be a fun challenge for him.

“Anyhow, I thought about what it might feel like to be at that precipice, and I came up with this whole story, about a young musician taken up in a new way of making music, in the tradition to classical, and how sad it would be to see everything change, but how exciting, too.

“But then I got discouraged because–well, this is stupid. But I thought it was really depressing that I couldn’t write that story and write about a Korean man.” He looked at Yoongi in the way he did when he wanted his input–his ideas, and maybe his encouragement, too.

Yoongi wanted to joke about how he still didn’t know what the story was about, but Joonie usually yapped about the things closest to him, so maybe those specifics weren’t so important right now. He thought about the problem.

“Why can’t you?” he asked finally. Namjoon looked at him with true surprise that almost made Yoongi laugh.

“The Europeans didn’t make contact with Korea until well after Bach died–and it didn’t go well. We thought they were pirates and killed everyone on their ship.” His eyebrows furrowed, but Yoongi snorted. Namjoon slapped his thigh.

“Hyung.”

“I’m sorry–it’s a little bit funny, come on. It’s not like it’s too soon.” Namjoon hit his thigh again, but he smiled and squeezed after, hand settling there rather possessively. Namjoon had started touching him even more often since he’d had to shape up with the jealousy; Yoongi certainly didn’t mind this kind of possessiveness.

“Anyhow. I think if you want to make it Korean, you should. It’s a story. You can make anything happen. I bet you’re stressing over every detail and researching like crazy already. Maybe it doesn’t have to be about European music–music and science changed here, too.”

Namjoon considered this, and Yoongi waited for what he knew was coming. After a few moments, it came: Joonie’s face brightened, the glint in his eye sharpening. Yoongi moved the hair out of Namjoon’s face, so incredibly fond.

“Hyung, you’re a genius.” Namjoon kissed him, and Yoongi pulled him closer to keep the kiss longer when he tried to pull away. Joonie wasn’t getting away that easily–not on his watch.

“That’s what they say.” It was a joke, but he realized just how good Namjoon had been for his confidence–he never would have dreamed of even joking about that a year ago.

Shyly, he shifted his position on Namjoon’s lap, straddling him with his arms wrapped around his neck. Joonie looked up at him almost frightened, but so, so hopeful, so trusting with his heart. Yoongi leaned in and kissed him, moaning when Namjoon’s hands tightened around his waist.

Yoongi kissed his jaw and spoke softly near his ear.

“Let me give you everything.” He didn’t know how else to put it, blushing, worried that his heart’s desire was cringe, but Namjoon got a feral look in his eyes when he leaned in to kiss Yoongi again.

***

Jin was so fucking happy. That was all there was to it–happy. The first truly beautiful day of the year, he’d called everyone personally: it was bubble tea time. They sat in their usual park at a picnic table surrounded by cherry blossom trees, a pleasantly chilly breeze occasionally blowing petals onto his friends, landing on fluffy hair. They all looked so beautiful.

Jimin was even drinking boba again–a small with almost no sugar, but it made Jin so emotional that he had to hold back happy tears. Jimin kissed Tae Tae’s cheek, and Hoseok laughed and kissed the other cheek, Tae scrunching his face in delight. Jungkook snapped a photograph of the three of them and sent it to the group chat.

“Hyung, you’re going to make yourself sick with that abomination,” Jungkook nagged lovingly. He nuzzled his head on Jin’s shoulder, and Jin kissed his head. It was still nerve-wracking to kiss his boyfriend in public. But these were their friends, and boba was a safe space. He could be brave here, and maybe it would train him to be brave everywhere else.

He took Jungkook’s hand, taking a little too much pleasure in their matching bracelets side by side.

“Aish, you always say that, and I never get sick,” Jin lied with confidence.

“Literally almost every time,” Namjoon quipped, deadpan.

“I think we have video of the first time,” Taehyung added. Yoongi had been oddly quiet this whole time, looking down and hanging onto Joon’s hand for dear life.

“Enough about me,” Jin waved them away. “How’s your boba, Yoongs?” Yoongi looked into Jin’s eyes, shocking no one more than Jin, but he understood immediately. He mouthed gibberish and looked at Yoongi quizzically, met with a small nod that made him look so sweet and small and shy.

“Hey guys, Yoongi has something he wants to say,” Jin said with his big loud mouth. It would have gotten him groans usually, but because it was for Yoongi, everyone smiled amicably and turned to listen. Jin watched sympathetically while Yoongi’s soft face turned a deep red.

“I just–I–Thank you all,” he said softly, then sniffled and wiped at his eyes. Namjoon frowned and kissed his hand.

“It’s okay, Joonie. I’m really happy. I just mean. I didn’t have anyone before, and I love you all a lot. Thank you for being my family–” He hid his face in his hands, and Jimin hopped out of his seat to wrap himself around him in that tender way he had before the thought had even occurred to Namjoon.

“We love you too, darling. I don’t even know how we got on without you before,” Jimin said. That’s what made Jin start crying, too, and then he looked at Taehyung, and he started to cry.

As if to not feel left out, Kookie joined in, hugging Jin. Jin squeezed him. Everything was perfect, exactly the way it was right now. Even if things continued to get better–and he knew that they would--Right now, everything was perfect.

“You’re all happy crying, right?” Hoseok asked. Jin laughed and nodded. Taehyung nodded too, then joined in Jin and Jungkook’s hug. They both held him close, and he closed his eyes peacefully.

Namjoon smiled at Hoseok–the only two not crying–and Hoseok laughed and pulled Joonie into a hug, too. Namjoon’s cheeks turned as pink as the cherry blossom petals, but he accepted gratefully and kept the hug for a long time.

Jin reached his boba arm closer to his mouth without breaking their hug and chugged some more–the boba balls got weird if you left them in the liquid too long. It hit him too fast.

“I think I’m going to be sick–”

“Trade with me, old man,” Jungkook said with a bright smile. He drank from his matcha bubble tea, then put the straw in Jin’s mouth, giggling with a shy blush. Jin understood it was meant to be a public kiss on the mouth and blushed back at him knowingly.

“It’s not the boba. It’s all these mushy feelings. You all make me sick,” he joked as he switched cups with Jungkook. His 30% sweet matcha really wasn’t bad.

“We love you too, hyung,” Hoseok said. When Jin looked away from the label on Jungkook’s tea, Taehyung’s face still on his shoulder, he saw the rest of them smiling at him fondly. He rubbed Taehyung’s back. Things would be okay.

Chapter Text

Yoongi squatted down to level with the eight year old girl who was desperately trying to stop crying. He was nervous on his first day on the job–if he fucked this up, it would reflect poorly on Conductor Lee–but he was here to help, and, well. This seemed like an opportunity to help.

“Is it a hard day?” he asked sympathetically, handing her a tissue. Her tears slowed as she considered him, deciding whether he was going to tell her to get over it. She nodded, black bangs stuck to her forehead from tears spread across her whole face.

He introduced himself and got her name–Park Jisoo. She had scared eyes, which didn’t surprise Yoongi. Most the kids in this music program were here because they had a reason to be scared.

“Kim Seonsaengnim won’t let me p-play the oboe because I can’t get it to make a sound.” She barely made it to the end of the sentence, tears picking up again. Yoongi nodded sympathetically.

“I play the oboe. That’s what I’m here to help with. It can be hard. What made you want to play it instead of the other instruments?” If he was going to go against his supervising teacher, he’d need something to work with. Jisoo sniffled, and he handed her another tissue. She put the dirty one in his hand like it belonged there, and he had to try not to laugh at how funny kids were.

“Because I asked my teacher at school what plays the duck in Peter and the Wolf. Ducks are my favorite and it sounded so pretty.” She eyed him suspiciously, and Yoongi knew someone had laughed at that before. He nodded seriously instead, even though he wanted to crack a knowing smile.

“I think that’s a great reason. I’ll tell you what, Jisoo-ssi. We’ll work together on getting a sound out. If you can get a sound out before all the other kids find their instrument, I think we can talk Mr. Kim into letting you play oboe. Deal?”

He extended a hand, and she shook it with determination. He started her on a regular single reed on a clarinet head, and after about fifty seconds of instruction, she blew it perfectly. Yoongi frowned, confused.

Oboe was harder, of course, but usually a kid this young who was going to have trouble with a double reed would also be having trouble with a single. He grabbed Mr. Kim’s demonstration oboe and immediately saw the problem: a medium-hard reed. A kind of gross one too, Yoongi lamented.

“Can you give me one sec, Jisoo-ssi?” He waited for the nod before he dug around in the closet for a reed appropriate for a seven year old and plopped it in his glass of water in the back. He’d been making his own for so long now that holding the hard plastic case transported him back in time. Fighting his way back to the present–a kid needed him–he tapped Mr. Kim, who was busy helping a boy make a sound out of the trumpet.

The day where everyone chose their instrument was even more chaotic than Yoongi had remembered from his own childhood, and he remembered it as being pretty damn chaotic.

“Mr. Kim? Can I have a few extra minutes for Jisoo? That reed was too hard. I think they borrowed it from a high schooler. Like, a good one.”

Mr. Kim looked at the crying girl and then at the students he had left to try.

“Reeds are so gross for this. You’ll have to play it in.” He sighed. “Yeah. That’s fine. I think all the reed kids chose already, so do what you like. We don’t have an oboe. Isn’t she young for it?”

Yoongi smiled and bowed.

“I started around her age. Thank you, sir.” Mr. Kim, only a few years older than Yoongi, looked amused to be called “sir,” when he clearly thought they’d have a friendly relationship. Yoongi shook out the reed and swapped it out, playing it in while Jisoo perked up, giggling at the exaggerated faces he made for her.

“This should feel better.” He handed her the instrument.

“Now, it’s a little trickier, but you did a great job with the single reed so I think you’ll be just fine. Remember, old man lips–” He demonstrated, to the girl’s delight. She laughed and mimicked.

“--and use your tongue to start the note like we talked about.”

She blew a horrible honking sound on her first try, and Yoongi beamed at her.

“Jisoo-ssi, you’re our new oboist.” She tackled him in a hug, thanking him and babbling about the duck, and Yoongi finally knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what his calling in life would be.

***

“I think we should spend some time together alone.” Jimin blushed when he suggested it to Tae, wondering if he looked as vulnerable as he was in his heart.

Sex with a new person had been hard for Jimin. It had taken him so long to get comfortable with Hoseok. Taehyung was understanding, but Jimin could tell it hurt him to see that he reacted so well to Hoseok and so poorly to him.

Jimin could kiss Taehyung just fine, let him hold his waist under his shirt, sending shivers down his back. But his ass was still–as embarrassing as it was, he still imagined it if he wasn’t careful, before his clothes were even off. And despite what absolutely everyone who loved him had said, he still thought it was stupid of him to be so upset by a rape that really wasn’t that much different from the sex he’d usually had.

Now, Taehyung was staring at him, pondering, and Jimin wanted to cry, wondering if he’d already blown it with his best friend, this sweet boy he loved so much. Maybe he’d been too impatient.

“I don’t think that’s what we need,” Tae finally answered. Oh. He’d just been thinking.

“I think what we need is a supervised playdate.” He smiled at Jimin, boxy and sincere. Jimin blinked, confused.

“Um, what?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Taehyung said cryptically. Jimin knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with it tonight.

***

Jungkook bowed nervously after he took his shoes off in Uncle’s apartment, which made Jin grin. Koo had tried to dress nicely, too, even though Jin had told him they usually both wore sweats. Jin had worn his usual sweatpants and sweatshirt, but had paired it with his couples bracelet, privately thrilled that Koo had worn his, too.

Uncle grinned too, and pulled Jungkook into a hug, which Jungkook melted into easily; he was so used to being loved.

“It’s good to see you, Jungkook-ssi. Thanks for coming. Your Appa and I made the kimchi we’ll have tonight,” he said proudly.

“I helped,” Jin insisted. Uncle looked at him skeptically.

“You helped the last batch. This batch you fell asleep before we even started making it.”

“I was moral support,” Jin mumbled. Uncle pulled him into a hug, too, and Jin wished he could let himself be loved as easily as Jungkook. But he could love even if he had a hard time accepting it from others, so he hugged back with all the love in his heart.

“Wash up, Jinnie.”

Jungkook hesitated.

“Sir? Can I help, too?” He looked up with those big doe eyes, and Uncle smiled at him warmly. He must have known that Jungkook was nervous because he was the real adult Jin loved the most. Jin wasn’t nervous at all, which came as a comfortable surprise.

“Of course you can. You can talk casually here, Jungkook-ah,” he tried. Jungkook’s shoulders relaxed so visibly Jin almost felt bad about it.

“You can get the carrots,” Uncle said, handing him a walnut cutting board–a present from Jin–and a knife after he’d washed up, too.

“Careful, it’s sharp.”

Jungkook looked studiously at the carrots and chopped expertly, quick and even.

“Your Appa taught you so well,” Uncle said proudly. Jin’s pounding heart made him dizzy, constant and deep in his ears. He knew–

“Appa actually likes to cook alone. Jinnie hyung taught me how when we made ramyeon.” He looked up at Jin with a small, shy smile, and Jin kissed his temple, overwhelmed by the emotions swirling around him.

Jungkook looked at Uncle, and then positively beamed when he realized Jin had kissed him in front of someone he loved, someone who he had plans to continue to love for the rest of his life. He wasn’t a secret. He never was with Uncle, but now was different, and Jin sensed the change, too, eyes falling to Jungkook’s bracelet again.

“You remembered really well,” Jin reassured him. He cut the onion, dicing it for the soup with a sniffle.

“Jin-ah, it’s okay–”

“It’s the onions, Uncle. I’m fine,” Jin whined. Uncle gave him a loving squeeze anyhow, and Jungkook giggled.

Jin loved Jungkook, but that giggle–he knew now that Jungkook was home, that comfort and love and Jungkook were all intertwined in his mind and heart forever.

***

“So, why do you want to date my boring little brother?” Jiwon looked at Yoongi sharply, and Yoongi caught on immediately that she may have thought Namjoon was boring, but if he dared to think that she’d kick his fucking ass.

“I guess I’m pretty boring too,” he mumbled, so nervous he wanted to throw up. He didn’t know why–it was Joonie’s noona, not his dying great-grandfather.

“He’s–well. He has this–” Namjoon had run to the bathroom, and Yoongi was scared to say it, what he meant. Jiwon raised an eyebrow at him, and he knew he was speedrunning his own ass kicking if he didn’t spit it out.

“I guess what I first liked was–I liked that he seemed like the opposite of me in a lot of ways. He seemed like he had a lot of reason to be sad, but like he kept this sweetness and openness that I never could keep.

“And then we had a lot in common. On our first date we were both reading Jung. He took out his notebook and read me a quote.” His words wandered aimlessly, smiling remembering even though he was scared out of his mind.

“He doesn’t annoy you?” she tried. Yoongi looked at her with open shock.

“No. Of course not. I mean, I don’t like Bach that much, but I can put up with that.” He didn’t mean to be funny, but she laughed with genuine delight, and when Namjoon walked back to their table, he eyed her nervously.

“Noona, are you playing nice?” he asked. He sat next to Yoongi and wrapped an arm around him, which Yoongi leaned into as discreetly as he could.

He didn’t know how much was too much in front of a sister. He’d never been in a real relationship open enough to figure things like that out. They’d have to learn how together.

“No, sorry. But he seems sweet. He really likes you.”

Namjoon’s dimples came out to play when he looked down at Yoongi and back at his noona.

“I know. I like him too.”

“The worst thing I could get him to say about you was that you’re too into Bach.”

Yoongi’s face burned in horror, Jiwon taking amusement in his panicked terror. Namjoon looked down at him swiftly with a frown.

“You don’t like my Bach?”

Yoongi waved his hands desperately while Jiwon tried not to lose it. I’m glad she’s having fun, he thought, no real bitterness behind it. She was funny and loved her brother and wanted to protect him. He understood that.

“I like your Bach,” he clarified. “I just…think maybe there have been better things written for cello since.” His voice trailed into a mumble at the end, and Namjoon’s hand squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s okay. We can talk about it later,” he said. Yoongi wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Aw, Joon. He’s so cute when he goes red. You should embarrass him more.”

The grin on Namjoon’s face told Yoongi that he intended to, possibly later that night.

***

Jimin moaned under Taehyung’s grip, lips pressed together greedily. He knew Taehyung must be getting impatient to lose his virginity, knew that he was the holdup, once again the weak link in their trio.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Taehyung mumbled, intimate and caring. Jimin opened his eyes to the boy in front of him. He had to stop thinking like that. Taehyung was more understanding than just about anyone else in the world.

Jimin turned to kiss Hoseok, but he shook his head.

“I’m going to hold you and make sure you feel safe, but tonight is just for you two.” He smiled and kissed his cheek softly. Jimin frowned.

“But–” He stopped himself. He didn’t actually know what he wanted to say. But what? Taehyung knew before he did.

“I thought it would be a nicer way to spend time getting used to each other with Hobi hyung here. And nice to know it won’t go too far. It just felt wrong without Hobi,” Taehyung explained.

Jimin hugged him, tightly, so grateful that he understood, and that he wanted his first “real” time to be with them both, and then he hugged Hoseok, too.

So they kissed again, and kept kissing until Taehyung was trying to rip his shirt off. Jimin giggled, and regretted it when Taehyung looked up with scared eyes.

“I’m sorry. Was that weird?”

“Sh,” Jimin assured with a smile, putting a hand on his cheek. “I just thought you were cute. You’re doing fine.”

To prove it, he pulled off Taehyung’s shirt and waited. Tae Tae didn’t have the muscles he and Hoseok had from dancing, but he was beautiful, soft and lean and boyishly pretty.

Still uncertain, Taehyung pulled off Jimin’s shirt too, then blushed when his dick got hard just from that. If it had been Hoseok, Jimin would have teased him, but he understood that Taehyung was a virgin, that everything was new and exciting and a little frightening, so he kept his flattered amusement inside and went back to kissing until Taehyung pushed him to the bed.

A bolt of fear jolted down his spine, but then Hoseok was there beside him, clothed and calm, smiling. He kissed Jimin’s cheek.

“Everything’s okay, baby. It’s just Tae Tae.”

Jimin closed his eyes. It’s just Tae Tae. He hadn’t realized how hard it would be. When he opened them again, Taehyung hadn’t moved, still hovering over him, but he was looking at Hoseok, waiting for a sign. Jimin was so glad that Hoseok was here to guide Taehyung when he couldn’t. They weren’t going all the way today, but this was still important.

Jimin took a deep breath and put his hands on Taehyung’s soft, small waist, admiring, pulling him closer until their lips met again. God, he wished he could tell Tae how cute it was when he started to hump him, grinding against his dick. He must have still been a teenager the last time he was dry humped like that.

Dry humping was cute, yes, but it also piqued his arousal, reminding his body of what they were doing, and Jimin reached for Tae’s slacks, unbuttoning them and pulling them down along with his underwear, planning on blowing him, but Taehyung froze, all the muscles under Jimin’s hand stiffening.

“I’m scared,” he blurted out before Jimin could ask if he was okay. His heart squeezed when Taehyung scrambled to stand, body rigid. Jimin had been so worried about himself he hadn’t thought enough about how scary it must be for him. Hoseok left Jimin’s side to hug Taehyung while Jimin cooed at him lovingly.

“It’s okay to be scared. I was so scared the first time I was naked in front of a guy that I couldn’t get it up. He didn’t call me back,” Hoseok grinned, kissing Tae’s cheek.

“We can stop whenever you want. We can stop now. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Even if it sounds silly, it’s okay. We both understand.” Jimin stood to kiss his other cheek, horrified to taste a tear against his lips.

“I’m sorry. I just–I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I want it really bad but it’s–” Hoseok and Jimin both nodded, not making him finish. Hoseok pulled him close, hand gripping his naked waist.

“Do you still want to try today?” Jimin said, an idea popping into his head. Taehyung thought about it–with anyone else, Jimin wouldn’t have even asked and would have insisted on stopping, but he knew Taehyung would really think about it and answer honestly.

So when Tae nodded, Jimin trusted that nod, and he took off his own pants and underwear, hoping that he’d feel better if someone else was naked first. Taehyung stared with a blush, dick hardening again, very visible despite Jimin’s efforts not to look.

Tae looked at Hoseok for reassurance, and Hobi nodded and kissed him.

“I’m right here.”

Jimin wondered if hyung was having a hard time not getting horny, mentally noting how sweet he was to do this. Taehyung took his own pants off slowly, blushing and looking at Jimin to make sure he wasn’t making a face.

Jimin licked his lips, and Hoseok couldn’t prevent a small moan from escaping, answering that question. Everything about Taehyung was so perfect, like a statue of a Greek youth in a textbook. His cock was so pretty, pink and perfectly sized for easy fun, average but satisfying.

Jimin approached him and kissed him, holding his waist, not touching anywhere else just yet. Not until he was more comfortable.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, pushing a soft curl behind Taehyung’s ear. Taehyung relaxed, eyes darkening as he took in Jimin’s face. Even Hoseok had never made him feel quite as pretty as the look of unfiltered, dizzy want in Taehyung’s eyes.

“Not like you,” he said, leaning in for the kind of kiss that Jimin loved more than anything, the kind so intense it was almost like sex in its own right, deep and probing.

“Can I blow you? I’m not ready for you to touch me, but I want to touch you,” he explained, not wanting Tae to feel rejected if he wanted to try, too. Taehyung nodded like a man experiencing bliss in an opium den, moaning when Jimin sank to his knees, before he’d even been touched.

Jimin watched Hoseok approach Taehyung from behind, arms firm around his waist. He smiled, glad he had someone to steady him if his legs wobbled, or if he leaned back instinctually. Hobi smiled at Jimin, too. I love them both so much. Jimin let the thought dance around him like plum blossom petals in the wind, beautiful.

He took Taehyung into his mouth, again pleased by the comfortable size. Tae jerked back into Hoseok with a gasp the moment he was really touched. Jimin started slow, the way he teased Hoseok when he still wanted to get railed, but Taehyung’s head was thrown back, gone. Every time he looked down at Jimin, he gasped again, twitching.

“I-I’m–I know I’m not supposed to yet. But I think–” He was interrupted by another gasp. Jimin moaned on his cock more for his benefit than his own, though he did want to taste Taehyung. Hoseok kissed Tae’s cheek.

“You can come whenever you want, sweetheart. We just want you to feel good.”

Almost immediately, Taehyung looked down at Jimin and came with a moan that sounded almost pained, though his face reassured Jimin that pain wasn’t the reason. Tae panted hard, legs shaking, and Jimin really was glad Hoseok was there while he swallowed, licking his lips. He actually tasted a lot like Hoseok, just a little saltier.

“I love you,” Taehyung said, voice almost solemn. Jimin had to really fight back the giggles, heart warm and full.

“I love you, too. Very much.”

Taehyung leaned his head back to kiss Hoseok, looking almost drunk.

“Is it okay that I’m the only one who came? I can leave if you two want to come,” he said plainly, a little slurred.

Jimin couldn’t help it this time, letting the laughter out.

“Hyung and I get to come all the time, darling. We’re just fine.”

Hoseok’s smile turned so tender, and he leaned forward to kiss Jimin, pulling Taehyung with him. They ended up in a group hug with Taehyung in the center, Jimin naked, and Hoseok fully clothed still. They always looked so dumb together–Jimin loved that.

***

Jin knelt at Doyoung’s grave and fussed over the small vase of flowers before he lit the incense–sandalwood, his hyung’s favorite. He sniffled, biting his lip, but Jungkook hugged him from behind, and Namjoon knelt beside him, looking emotional himself.

“This is Jungkook,” Jin said, talking to the person buried beneath him, hoping Jungkook and Namjoon didn’t think he was embarrassing to look at.

“You would have really liked him,” he added. “We’re dating. I really love him. I hate that you’ll never meet him.”

He wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. It was a warm, sunny day, and it seemed so wrong. The last memory he had here had been so cold and dark that it seemed like it should stay like that forever.

Namjoon’s hand reached his back under Jungkook’s stomach, and he stroked it in loving circles.

“We miss you. You’re still everywhere around us, every day,” Joonie added quietly, making Jin feel a little less stupid.

“You’d be so proud of Jinnie hyung, hyung. He tries so hard still,” he finished. Jin wiped a tear from Joonie’s cheek.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. I wish you could play your Chopin for me. Hyung loves your Chopin,” Jungkook said, seemingly a little unsure if he was allowed to talk. Jin leaned against him to tell him he could.

Jin broke away from them both and lay on the grave, closing his eyes and imagining he was sleeping next to his brother again, that he was with him.

“My Sibelius got really good,” he whispered so that it was totally private. He wanted hyung to know, though he couldn’t say why exactly, or why it should be private. There was something else.

“Eomeoni gave me your diary, but I haven’t read it yet. I’ll bring it here some day, and we can read it together, I think.” Jin didn’t even know he could be this quiet, but he knew that his hyung heard him.

Slowly, Jin stood. Namjoon and Jungkook were already standing, uncertainty on their faces. Jin stretched and looked back at his brother’s grave, the incense dying out. He’d spent too long away, too afraid to face it. He’d wasted so much time away from hyung.

Jin turned away from his brother and took Namjoon’s hand first, and then Jungkook’s.

“Thanks for coming with me. It means a lot to me,” he said, uncomfortable with the lack of joke. They both seemed relieved and a little shocked that they were walking away from the cemetery, back to the land of the living.

***

Jin had forgotten the audience was even there until he finished that last note, stuck in place for a moment, breathing heavily before he lowered his violin. Everyone clapped so loudly, snapping him back into reality disoriented.

The recital hall was intimate enough that he could still see everyone sitting despite the stage lights, so he knew that Uncle was the first to stand, before any of his friends even, and that the whole audience stood shortly after.

He took his bows, shaking out the tension when he walked backstage before returning for a final bow.

It didn’t matter if he was the best violin player in the world anymore. That was a child’s dream. His dream was right here, right where he was–playing his favorite music and playing it well, everyone he loved rushing to meet him after the show with flowers and hugs and kisses on the cheek, with pride in him.

Jin looked down at his violin like he was in a lucid dream that he wanted to extend forever.

He hadn’t known he had it in him, and he wondered what else there was to discover.