Work Text:
Jungkook doesn’t see the point of owning a cell phone.
He has one, of course. An iPhone, even. It’s smart! It says so right there in the marketing! He doesn’t know what model but it’s probably not recent; it’s a replacement gift for the original gift that was stolen out of his bag on the subway, and replacement gift phones shouldn’t be looked in the mouth, or whatever Seokjin had said when Jungkook had opened it.
Its case (also a gift) is scuffed-up and sticker-heavy: skull on fire, skateboard on fire, variety pack of wildflowers, glow-in-the-dark moth, My Melody as a cupcake, guitar on fire. Its charging port is unreliable because his wired headphones (not a gift, very cool, very retro) have wiggled the connector loose. The only time the iOS has ever updated is when the phone got frustrated with Jungkook constantly forgetting and did it itself overnight.
His bag zipper has betrayed him so now he keeps it in his pocket, and the weighted pressure against his hip is comforting when he remembers to check for it and anxiety-inducing when he realizes it could be taken away from him again. A fun little recursive loop of blissful ignorance ➝ surprised relief ➝ fearful anticipation ➝ back to start. Whatever keeps his brain entertained, he supposes. Up there acting like a toddler making castles in a mud puddle and then crying because they’re dirty.
So yes. He has one. A cell phone. Most people do, and when most people do, most people assume you’re also most people, which makes being not most people very difficult. And sure, to say he’s never seen the point of one might be a bit of an exaggeration. He does actually like having a camera that’s also an mp3 player that also lets him watch VODs of Games Done Quick when he’s trying to pump himself up. But on bad days, when the chime of an incoming message makes his heart sink instead of sing, he thinks the negatives might outweigh the positives.
The worst part of having a cell phone is the “cell” (cellular, small and unavoidably transportable, part of an infinite network) + the “phone” (telephone, constant reciprocal communication, twenty missed texts and Hoseok would like to call him every other Friday, please.)
The best part of having a cell phone is Jimin.
Today’s first picture is of a tree. Yesterday the only one Jimin had taken was of a bucket of paint and so Jungkook had expected today to reveal what had been painted, but he should have remembered that Jimin rarely completes the narratives he sets up in his photos. Jungkook is full of questions he won’t ever have answers to: how was the cod roe you had on June 17th? What was the name of the dog you met on August 4th? What were you painting yesterday, September 21st, that needed to be that shade of green? Actually, maybe that’s why there was no followup. Jimin came to his senses.
The album they share, the one linked across two phones by Jungkook’s single iCloud account, is full of Jimin’s seemingly disparate snapshots, loose puzzle pieces divorced from the context of the illustration on the box. One day, an earring collection. The next, a stick of yellow modeling clay. Blurry floorboards (an accident?). The discounted price tag on a beige hoodie, size M. An empty cup of ramyeon. Painted toenails. Acoustic foam. A single movie ticket. Stars.
The only reason Jungkook knows this person on the other end is “Jimin” (male, 29, Busan) is because Jimin had once saved a photo with some sort of official document barely out of focus in the background. After curiously zooming in and then hastily zooming out, Jungkook hadn’t been sure what to do about his ill-gained knowledge. He’d briefly considered sharing some equally compromising information—if he’s fine giving away his full legal name every time he orders toe socks online then it can’t be that precious to him—but Jimin’s photo had disappeared within seconds of Jungkook noticing it, saving Jungkook from himself.
Nine days later, on an impulse, he had snapped a picture of his food delivery bag with the receipt stapled to it, name in view but address carefully just outside of frame. Jimin’s lack of response had been disappointing. The chicken even more so.
Honestly, whoever had stolen Jungkook’s phone and hadn’t completely wiped the data did him a solid. Jungkook thinks it can’t have been Jimin. Not because he’s in Busan while Jungkook’s in Seoul—thieves have access to KTX like the rest of the population—but because nobody who takes twenty skewed, grainy pictures of the same cat and deletes none of them is capable of serious crime. Getting yet another phone all set up had been annoying, and he’d been worried for a hot minute about the security risk of the old one being in someone else’s hands—especially as it had soon become clear that the new owner wasn't going to do a factory reset—but that worry had evaporated when he’d realized that the most nefarious thing this mystery person wanted was to eat up his cloud storage.
More than anything else, the biggest shock had been that first intrusive wave of pictures. Seeing a stranger’s photos appear in an album that was supposed to be for him alone had felt like a violation of some personal boundary he hadn’t known existed until that moment. Maybe it was a damning indictment of his conflation of digital paraphernalia with his sense of self (as Namjoon had hypothesized) but it really had seemed like a whole other life had suddenly been grafted onto his own. A gallery of memories he could no longer be sure were his.
Ever since he’s gotten over that initial alarm, though, the influx of photographs with subject matters completely out of his control has been almost shamefully titillating: all the exhilaration of voyeurism with none of the drawbacks, any outstanding guilt assuaged by the knowledge that he’s being voyeured right back. Mutual defanged perversion.
Which isn’t to say that Jungkook’s been getting his rocks off to Jimin’s pictures—outside of the obvious moral considerations, artfully posed LEGO dinosaurs don’t exactly do it for him—but there is a certain sort of intimacy in being given Jimin’s tacit permission to share in personal, private, even vulnerable images of his daily life, and the rush of gratified excitement this makes Jungkook feel isn’t entirely dissimilar from arousal. He’s not gonna shout about it from the rooftops, granted, but he figures it’s a natural response. Hence, you know. The almost-shame.
And as days, weeks, months have gone by, Jungkook and Jimin slipping into a new routine of parallel existence, Jungkook’s nervous preoccupation with the trespasser in his phone has settled into a growing fondness for the person whom he can’t help but form from the substance of his imagination, charmed as he is by the assortment of oddities and minutia Jimin decides are important to hold onto. Now every time he taps on their album he gets giddy with the anticipation of adding something to his mental jar labeled “Jimin”.
It’s kind of like opening a set of free loot boxes or being gifted bonus gacha pulls. He’d tried that metaphor on Yoongi once, who’d looked confused and asked, Jungkook, isn’t that just the concept of “surprise”? But it’s not only about the surprise, hyung. It’s about the surprise plus the satisfaction of collection, of gathering to yourself another part of the whole. Also, perhaps more importantly, it’s about the pleasure of looking at something cute. And Jimin’s pictures are always cute.
Naturally, cute pictures make Jungkook wonder if the picture-taker is also cute. On the one hand, cuteness is a state of mind, an ephemeral quality of being. Someone who takes pictures of inappropriately funny typos and interesting museum placards and smudged, empty plates and scraggly, greying dogs is acting cutely. Therefore, Jimin is cute, because Jungkook thinks him so. On the other hand, Jungkook is a curious man who, as established, likes to look at cute things, and if Jimin is as cute to look at as he is to experience then Jungkook would like to be the one looking, please.
Because it had been almost immediately obvious what was happening as soon as Jimin’s pictures had popped up, mixed in amongst Jungkook’s own, neither of them have chanced anything more identifying than a stray hand or foot, or, if they’re feeling particularly daring, the tops of their heads. One time, the flushed, rounded edge of Jimin’s cheek had made its debut, coyly peeking in from the side of the frame. (Do not ask Jungkook what the main focus of that photo had been. He cannot tell you.) Just the rosy plumpness of it had provided enough exponential fodder for his Cute Jimin Theory that he had felt ready to deliver a verdict right there and then.
This unexpected selca hiatus has taken its toll on Jungkook, who’s never met a gym mirror he didn’t like, but he only knows the level of restraint he’s been exercising because he is Jungkook. Where he looks at their album and sees a faceless drought, maybe Jimin sees a hydroponic array of photos, unsullied by the visual grime of the men who took them. He can’t help but wonder, though, if this self-imposed restriction is equally taxing for both of them… Jungkook may be Jungkook, but Jimin is Jimin, and despite the uniquely accelerated ridiculous borderline crush sense of closeness he feels for him, Jungkook has to admit he doesn’t actually know what “Jimin” means beyond what he’s tried to extrapolate from things like earrings and modeling clay and pink cheeks and paint buckets and cats.
And, apparently, trees.
He enlarges Jimin’s newest photo. It’s very pretty, blue sky daubed over by splashes of orange leaves and lacy, winding branches. The angle suggests that Jimin had taken it directly from below, as though he’d been passing underneath and had been struck, urgently, by the need to capture the view above him. Another Jimin fact clicks into place: he is someone who remembers to look up, not just forward. Jungkook can appreciate that.
The longer Jungkook stares unblinkingly, the more shapes emerge. This tendril the whorl of a seashell, that twig the blade of a sword, those buds the ridge of a stegosaurus’s spine. As his vision blurs and the borders between individual objects begin to melt together, he finds it. He switches over to edit mode and clumsily sketches in semi-opaque ink with his finger. From where moments ago was an amorphous conglomerate of things, plural, a single shark takes form, the sharp edges of the leaves becoming the jagged peaks of its many teeth. He adds gills and nostrils for realism’s sake, and a hint of blush for whimsy’s.
Satisfied, he makes sure to save his sketch as a copy so that the original isn’t overwritten and closes the app. He’d been planning on making a grocery run this afternoon, but now he’s in the mood to draw… He should have time for both before the sun starts to set, as long as he finishes within the next two hours.
Four hours later he resurfaces from a cloud of charcoal dust, vaguely aware of his stomach rumbling. Ah, how annoying! But that’s fine. It’s not the end of the world that he overshot his estimate. He’s never without food; he’ll just have to make a first dinner before going to buy ingredients for a second dinner. He snaps a couple pictures of the sketchbook pages he’d filled, then thumbs over to single out his favorite so he can post it. The instant the album loads, however, his attention is snared by a third variant of Jimin’s tree photo, and he hurries to inspect it.
In the smaller, scattered blue fragments of sky surrounding his shark, Jimin has added a school of smiling fish in a brilliant rainbow of colors. No two fish are the same, as though he’d used multiple species as references. All of the fish are blushing. Three are wearing hats. A sequence of letters spans the bottom of the frame in black, slanted handwriting, and Jungkook registers it as a KKT ID at the same time as he reads the speech bubble that curls from one of the fish’s mouths:
Text me?
jk
album-nim?
jm
Bob Ross? Is that you?
jk
yes
it’s me
bob ahjussi
jm
I’m not so sure…
Say something only he would say.
jk
i love painting, bro
mountains let’s go let’s get it!
jm
Hmm…
Okay. Checks out.
Sorry for doubting you, my hero.
jk
i forgive you!
oh
i liked your fish, album-nim
so cute~
jm
Thank you!!
I worked hard on them.
Did you like the blush?
jk
yes!
also cute!
jm
And their hats?
jk
cute!
jm
And their little faces?
jk
mm
not cute
jm
…what the hell.
jk
hehe
jm
This is bullshit.
Sabotage. Conspiracy. Deceit.
jk
hehehe
jm
Stop with the hehes.
No more hehes.
Who are you to judge me and my art??
jk
i’m bob ross :(
jm
And what do *you* know about fish, Bob Ross?
jk
i know how to cook them!
jm
Oh really…
How interesting. Because I know how to eat them.
Destiny! We match!
jk
it does seem that way
i need to run tho
i’m supposed to be grocery shopping
thanks for the chat jimin-ssi :) you’re funny
jm
Eh? You’re not even gonna pretend?
But okay! It’s getting dark out, be safe.
It was nice to finally talk to you, Jungkook-ssi!!
I’d love to hear from you again!
jk
we’ll see~~
jm
Oh my god.
“Jungkook-ah? Jungkook.”
“Hm? Ah, sorry, hyung.”
Jungkook raises his head from where he’s been sat staring intently down at his phone, tucked as it is under the lip of the kitchen island and wedged within the tight framing of his legs so he can keep the screen facing upward. He’d thought he’d been subtle about it, only sneaking peeks when Seokjin had been busy with whatever’s simmering on the stove, but nothing escapes the gimlet eye of a man primed to exploit the smallest weakness in a dongsaeng’s armor.
“Is your lap really so fascinating? What, do you have a TV down there?” Seokjin complains through a pout, lips shiny with grease from homemade gimmari. “You like it that much more than me?” The words are asked with the air of someone is both sure of the answer and desperately wants to hear it said aloud.
The trick to dealing with Seokjin lies in correctly guessing whether the answer he expects is the truest one or the funniest one and then saying the opposite, stunlocking him into blessed, gobsmacked silence. Jungkook has half a second to make a decision before he gets whacked.
“Alwa—”
He breaks off to glance down again as the thick of his thighs buzzes with the vibration of an incoming message.
nj
Hey, have you thought any more about Saturday?
Jungkook’s stomach drops. He knows he needs to respond, if not now, then soon. But the problem is that Namjoon wants him to suggest an activity, and in order for Jungkook to give him a suggestion he needs to know what that suggestion is.
If Jungkook was trying to come up with something to do on his own then he’d just wing it, but if he wants to propose something worthy of his hyung’s precious time, he really should: check if there are any special events scheduled for the weekend, research the areas they’ll be in, look up the weather on Saturday to avoid potential cancellations, make sure whatever he picks is within walking distance of a restaurant or a subway stop, figure out what he’s doing on Sunday so he can plan around a curfew, etc. He’d gotten a head start on a few of those steps yesterday but then somewhere along the way had ended up learning the choreography and drum routine to Bang! by After School instead.
Maybe he could suggest staying in and marathoning girl group compilations. Of all his hyungs, Namjoon might be the most likely to say yes.
What makes him feel even worse is that his first reaction to seeing Namjoon’s name, before the dread, had been disappointment. He should be happy that his hyung is clearly eager to hang out with him, but he can’t help but wish the message had been from someone else. Someone who Jungkook had been up until two in the morning texting back and forth with, interrupted only by the necessary nuisance of sleep. Someone who, ten minutes before leaving for Seokjin’s, Jungkook had sent a picture of his full tattoo sleeve (tank top: on, bicep: flexed, pec definition: noticeable. Arguably thirst-trap adjacent? Sure. But only arguably, your honor.)
So this is someone who Jungkook really wants a reaction from.
Because three weeks ago, Jungkook had messaged Jimin again. Of course he’d messaged him again, and then again, and then again. He’d wanted to from the jump, pretty much as soon as he’d said goodbye that first time, but it had taken him a while to figure out how to break the ice. He’d wasted time looking up hat facts and fish memes, but finally he’d settled on an awkward hey that had flooded his body with an overload of such embarrassed adrenaline that he’d sprinted out his apartment’s front door for an impromptu jog around the block. Jimin had instantly responded with open, unreserved delight at hearing from him, though, gracefully blowing right past the awkwardness, and for every subsequent text Jungkook has sent he can’t seem to get them out quickly enough to satisfy either of them.
And now, best of all, Jungkook doesn’t need to go looking for Jimin for him to appear, doesn’t need to greedily hope every time he opens their album that Jimin has seen something worth photographing so that Jungkook can clutch at proof of his existence. Traces of Jimin show up on his lock screen, in his notifications, his chat history, his YouTube algorithm, his most recently used emojis. He has unfiltered access to him, Jimin on tap, a real live person who sends him stupid-funny TikToks and texts him commentary during dramas and calls him a bastard every time Jungkook makes him turn to Naver to decode yet another trendy acronym.
Of all the variations on Jimin that Jungkook had composed from the discrete notes of what he’d learned from his pictures, the full, real melody of him is so, so much funnier, and lovelier, and smarter, and warmer than anything he could have dreamed. And in himself, Jungkook is starting to realize, lies the harmony.
“New boyfriend?” Seokjin interjects, taking a careless, clumsy hammer to his fantasies. He crunches down on another roll, looking unimpressed.
“W-what?”
“That’s the only reason I can excuse you ignoring me this whole time. Have you finally embarked on the romance of the century, like young Jungkook always wanted?”
Heat rushes up the back of Jungkook’s neck; it’s undoubtedly visible, but he tries to play it off. “No, it’s just— just— I’m just— Someone texted me!”
Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Well, obviously.”
“Oh my god, it was just Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook huffs, aware that he’s coming across as defensive. He needs to tone it down; that’s Seokjin-bait for escalation. “How would I have started dating without you noticing until now, anyway? You know everyone I know. Usually before I know them.”
“And everyone we’ve ever known isn’t good enough for my Jungkook, that’s true,” Seokjin says. He turns to tend to the steaming pot, giving it a few stirs. Seemingly pleased with whatever’s happening in there, he turns back and stands across from Jungkook, bracing himself against the island counter.“Speaking of people we used to know, I ran into Kang Sumin a few days ago. She was happy to hear you’re doing well, said to tell you she’s around if you ever want to catch up.”
Jungkook slumps forward until his chest and cheek are pressed into the countertop. He does miss Sumin—a friend from university whom he hasn’t spoken to since graduation, years ago—but only in an abstract sense. More than “misses”, even, he holds a tender nostalgia for a very specific time and a very specific place, and a very specific person she was and a very specific person he was.
If he could visit that time like a movie set, slip into and out of that “Jungkook” like an acting role, then maybe he’d be more eager to get in touch with her. He’s aware that if they were to meet again as they are now and did their best to remove the pressure of recreating the exact alchemical formula that made their friendship work so well the first go round, then it’s possible they could make something just as nice. But enough has changed for it to be equally likely if he reestablishes contact with her that he runs the risk of turning her into a chore, and he doesn’t think that’s fair to either of them.
“You didn’t promise her anything, did you?”
“Why would I do that? I’m not your secretary.”
“Ugh.” He grunts into the counter. He’s loath to give Seokjin more ammo for his Let's All Baby Jungkook agenda, but he also loves a good sulk, so he really draws that grunt out. “Uughh. Would it be mean if I didn’t text her?”
“Do what you want,” Seokjin says mildly. “Of course be kind about it, whatever you do, but I know you’ll be kind. Sometimes people fall away and it’s nobody’s fault. That’s how life goes.”
Jungkook reaches out, upper body still prone, to wrap his fingers in the sagging arm of Seokjin’s sweatshirt. He’s not going to think about how long it might have been since it was laundered; the texture of it is too nice under his fingertips, fabric worn smooth by use and age.
“Don’t fall away from me, hyung,” he mutters.
Seokjin's ears go so red Jungkook reckons he could fry an egg on them. He stares at a blank spot on the wall as he gingerly pats Jungkook’s wrist. “Ah, Jungkook-ah. Not even if you pushed.”
jm
Would you rather…
Play volleyball against Hinata
Or…
Spar with Saitama?
(Saitama is actively trying not to kill you, if that helps.)
I feel like the answer is obvious but I want to hear your thoughts.
jk
ooh okay
easy
saitama
jm
What??
I know you box, but aren’t you a little ashamed?
jk
?
jm
You really think you could beat him?
jk
ohhhh no
listen
i’d lose against saitama
and i’d lose against hinata
but with hinata it would feel like i *could* have won
you know?
it’s volleyball but it’s not magical volleyball
so if he had an off day? and if i trained?
i might think it's possible
anyway
i’d rather lose decisively than be left with what ifs
jm
Wow.
You’re so wise, Jungkook-ah.
I don’t know anyone who thinks the way you do.
jk
are you calling me weird
jm
No?
I know we talk about how similar we are.
Scarily similar…
But aren’t I really boring in comparison?
jk
that’s not true hyung~
you’re definitely interesting~
jm
Are *you* calling me weird?
jk
:)
jm
Aish.
What am I going to do with you?
jk
keep texting me
jm
Oh? You like my texts that much?
jk
no
jm
You like *me* that much?
jk
no
jm
You don’t like me?
jk
no, i like you
jm
Good.
I’ll keep texting you if you keep liking me.
jk
ok
like me too hyung
jm
I already do.
Not long after his chat with Seokjin, in the dead of a freezing near-winter night, the fear that every single one of his friendships has an active, ticking countdown to an expiration date suddenly occurs to Jungkook. He hadn’t thought about it like that before, but at midnight it makes a scary kind of sense. For each person he’s still in touch with, there’s another person whose last day of him ever speaking to them has come and gone.
He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize it—or maybe he can, he’s always been bad at noticing stuff like this—but the only way to keep extending those impending deadlines must be to engage with everyone he wants to keep hold of as much as possible. As he remembers Seokjin putting it, it’s as though Jungkook’s been heedlessly trampling on the hands of people clinging to a cliff when he should have been spinning rope to lash them closer.
Or, put another, less morbid way, what is friendship if not a series of fragile glass juggling-balls that will shatter into sparkling debris if he drops his guard for even a moment and lets them touch the floor? And when it takes over a month for him to respond to someone, what is he doing if not allowing one of those juggling-balls to lower dangerously close to the ground? Oh, and why does something so simple sometimes feel so insurmountable? Inaction is action, isn’t it? Is that basically the same thing as him doing it on purpose?
Perhaps he needs to take his hyungs’ frequent (kind but slightly patronizing) advice of putting himself down for a nap, but Jungkook is a man driven by pure instinct, and on the rare occasions where he gets worked up into this state, he operates in one of two modes: shut out and ignore, or commit as hard as he can. So he does the first logical thing he can think of and messages every friend and family member in his contact list who has been waiting on a text back from him. All at once.
Regret finds him at three in the morning when a few responses have already started trickling in from his fellow night owls. Four messages sit right on top of each other in his chat log, four different people now expecting yet another reply, and this one sooner than the last because they’ve just heard from him. And he’s waiting on eight more! What was he thinking? He can’t hold twelve conversations at the same time! Can anyone??
He’s beginning to panic when a message from Jimin comes through and supplants the one currently sitting at the peak of Mt. Mistake.
jm
[link]Make this for me?
The link brings Jungkook to a recipe for grilled eel that includes an experimental spicy sauce, which Jungkook mentally starts modifying with substitutions he thinks would punch it up. Jimin has been doing this as a running joke ever since he found out that Jungkook actually can cook: he finds dishes he wants to eat but that, in his own words, he’s too “lazy” to try making, and he pretends Jungkook cooking them for him is as easy as it would be if they were neighbors. Jungkook plays along as if he finds it exasperating, but he has every recipe bookmarked. (And maybe he’s been practicing a few of them. Just in case.)
Jimin’s text is a godsend; Jungkook can’t think of a better distraction than testing his hypothesis about that sauce. But he needs something else, too, something more all-consuming that will engage another of his senses so that his inner stream of consciousness doesn't run wild in the silence of his apartment. He could play music, but instead, without letting himself second-guess it, he presses the call button next to Jimin’s name.
“Jungkook?? Are you okay??”
The first impression he gets from Jimin’s voice is worry.
The second is: “Oh, hyung…your voice is so pretty….”
And it is. Like sweet, whispering silk warmed by a sunbeam. Jungkook wants to wrap himself up in it.
“What?” Jimin asks, flustered. “That’s— That’s not relevant.”
“How do you know what’s relevant? You haven’t asked what I called for.”
“Is that what you called for?”
“Well. No.”
Bright, shimmering laughter bursts from Jimin as though it’s taken him by surprise. “See? I knew it!”
Jungkook smiles absentmindedly at Jimin’s joyous cackling as he scans his cupboards for sauce components. He finds a couple promising bottles at the back of a drawer and reaches for them with a celebratory chortle. Oh-hohohoho. Whistling, he lines them up next to a pair of chopsticks and a small dipping bowl. The tap of glass against the countertop clinks a bit louder than expected, and he winces.
“What was that?” Jimin asks, breaking off mid-laughter. The worry has returned. “Are you drinking?”
There’s a hundred reasons why Jungkook might be drinking at three in the morning, and he supposes quite a few of those could be cause for concern.
“No, no,” he hastens to reassure Jimin. “I’m making your sauce.”
“My sauce?”
“For your eel.”
“My eel? Oh, for the recipe? Jungkook, I didn’t mean you should make it for me right now.”
“You didn’t?” Jungkook feigns confusion. “Then when should I make it for you?”
“Ummm….”
“Jimin-ah. Should I make it for you tomorrow? Will you be here to eat it with me?” He lets a little flirtatiousness, the teensy-tiniest bit of satoori, creep in and turn his voice low and raspy.
There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then: “Ahh, you brat,” Jimin fusses, breathless. “You really are a menace, huh. Don’t play with me.”
“Who’s playing? You’re the one who keeps acting like he’s going to come visit and then never does.”
The sound of a long, winding groan comes from Jimin’s side, ending in a resigned snicker. “It’s too late for this!” he grumbles. “Be good and go to bed. Maybe I’ll come over tomorrow.”
Jungkook’s smile drops as he remembers exactly why he can’t go to bed. He starts measuring out different liquids and pouring them into the bowl to give himself something to do with his nervous hands as he pleads, “No, hyung, don’t hang up.”
“Jungkook-ah? What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t really know how to answer that; he tries to find the words that will perfectly encapsulate this feeling of crushing helplessness that he’s brought upon himself, but the longer he tries the more upset he feels, and what ends up coming out is a thick, snotty sniffle and the warm drip of a tear rushing down the side of his nose. Overcome canaries in the coal mine of his emotions.
His sniffling must be audible enough to hear over the phone, because Jimin’s tone softens. “Hey. Hey, you’re all right. Oh, Jungkook… Take a deep breath for me?”
Jungkook tries to inhale but ends up stutter-snuffling on air, choking on mucus, which makes the tears start flowing in earnest as he coughs and sputters. At that point he gives up any pretense of control over what his body is clearly fighting to do: he rests his elbows on the countertop, buries his face in his hands, and lets himself cry. His ribcage jitters, wracked by painful hiccups that punctuate deep, breathy sobs as he tries to bear through the worst of it.
“Baby,” Jimin says sadly, achingly. “Oh, honey. You’re breaking my heart.”
“S-sorry.”
“Don’t apologize!” Clattering, thumping, rustling noises start coming through Jungkook’s speaker, as though Jimin’s hurriedly moving around. “Would it help to have someone there?”
“W-what? N-now?” Jungkook asks, bewildered. His tears come to a faltering stop, shocked straight back into their ducts. “A-are you coming here? Wait…now?”
“I mean, I’m not going to bust through your front door, but yeah. I’m getting ready to if you need me.”
“N-no! I’m fine!” Jungkook exclaims. The knowledge that he’s scared Jimin so badly that he’s offering to make a four and a half hour drive in the middle of the night acts like a thick blanket over a small fire—every other concern is completely extinguished. “D-don’t go out on the roads this late, Jimin-hyung, you must be exhausted. It’s not safe.”
“Jungkook-ah... I won’t if you say I shouldn’t. But the offer’s there.” The noises settle into a subdued nothingness, only broken by Jimin’s unsteady sigh. “Can you…can you turn your camera on, at least? You don’t have to, but I’d like to see you’re alright.”
“Will you turn yours on too?”
“Of course,” Jimin promises, then hesitates. “Ah. As a warning, I’m looking really sexy right now, so…prepare yourself.”
“Me too.” Jungkook’s grin wobbles through the sticky remnants of his snot and tears. “This is probably the best I’ve ever looked.”
“It’s not gonna hold a candle to what you’re about to witness, trust me.”
“Really? Wanna bet?”
He flips his screen into a video call. In the few seconds it takes to connect, he messes with his bangs and wipes his nose. His kitchen doesn’t have great lighting in the first place, but definitely not in the wee hours of the morning, so as he waits for Jimin to load in, he switches on the overhead lamp and grimaces when his camera adjusts to show a clearer picture of his face: shiny, reddened, puffy. It’s not exactly how he would have chosen to present himself to Jimin, but he thinks they’re past vanity at this point.
Although he reconsiders that thought when Jimin’s image blinks into view.
“You tricked me!” he whines in accusation, only half-joking. “You don’t look bad at all!”
The man on the other end—Jimin—has fluffy, glossy black hair mussed into incredible feats of sculpture by bedhead, and there are shadowy bags forming under his sweetly drooping eyes. His pink, full lips look chapped, dehydrated. The plasticky curling edges of a few acne stickers dot the curve of his chin, and his skin glistens like it’s been recently moisturized. From what Jungkook can tell he’s shirtless and sitting up against a pillow—he must have gotten back in bed after Jungkook rebuffed his offer to come over—and the slopes of his shoulders are narrow and strong, hinting at a thick, solid body lying underneath. Jungkook wants to…well. He wants to touch it.
(Jungkook also feels quite pleased with himself, because he loves being right. Jimin is cute. And sexy, and gorgeous, and a whole other host of adjectives Jungkook isn’t sure he’s ready to say out loud.)
“You’re one to talk!” Jimin chides him, and it really is something else to see his whole being glitter with the same mischief and indignation that his texts do. “Jungkook. Jungkook.” He sucks in air through his teeth lowly, salaciously. “If this is you at your worst…damn.”
“Damn,” Jungkook repeats. His cheeks hurt from how widely he's grinning.
“Damn!” Jimin echoes, then explodes into squeaking giggles; Jungkook can’t help but join in, buoyed by the thrill of seeing his Jimin, as close to tangible as he’s ever been able to imagine him. That’s his Jimin!
When finally, eventually, they manage to stop setting each other off and fall silent, Jimin scrubs a shaky, elated hand across his eyes and says, “Okay. Okay. Explain to me what was going on. You seem good now?”
“Good now,” Jungkook confirms, without stopping to check if that’s true. It must be; how could he not be good, right now? “But I don’t know. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“I love embarrassing.”
Jungkook does his best to outline the circumstances that have led them to where they are. He tries to be fair to himself, and he tries even harder when walking Jimin through the events of his conversation with Seokjin to ensure that Seokjin doesn’t come off as an insensitive villain. He doesn’t want to influence Jimin’s opinion of his hyung (especially because by now he’s convinced it’s only a matter of time before they meet someday, and he doesn’t want them starting out on the wrong foot.)
When he’s done, he notices that Jimin looks more tired than he had when Jungkook had started speaking. He hopes Jimin doesn’t feel pressured to stay on the line with him after Jungkook had basically begged him not to leave. Maybe he should let him go.
But the first thing Jimin says isn’t an excuse to sign off.
“…should I stop texting you?”
Jungkook, horrified: “No! What? I told you not to, remember?”
“Jungkook. You just said that too many people texting you at once makes you anxious.”
“I said I’m bad at keeping on top of things and that makes me anxious, not that I don’t want anyone to text me in the first place,” Jungkook tries to clarify. “The problem is on my end. I like that my friends want to talk to me!” He swallows before murmuring, bravely, “And anyway, you’re special.”
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m not joking!”
Jimin grips his hair with one hand and sighs again, a shuddery, wispy thing. “Be honest. If I’m too much…I-I’d hate to know I’m being a burden to you.”
“You’re not a burden! If anything, you’re not texting me enough!”
Jimin continues as if he can’t hear a thing that Jungkook is semi-shouting into his receiver. “I know I can be a lot to deal with.”
“What are you talking about?” Jungkook asks, desperately. He can hear the hysteria start to bubble underneath his words. “A lot? To who? Who said that? You’re perfect.”
“Crying in the middle of the night because I’ve overwhelmed you is not my idea of perfect,” Jimin shoots back.
“You don't overwhelm me. Why aren’t you listening? I’m saying it’s different with you!” Jungkook’s voice falters. Fuck. How did they get here? What has he done to break them so suddenly?
“For how long?” Jimin’s breaths are coming faster. His jaw is clenched and his lips are pinched together, turning a pale, sickly white. He hasn’t looked at his camera for the last minute; is he about to cry? Has Jungkook made him cry? “When will I stop being different and special and p-perfect and become just some random guy in your phone who's too dumb to realize you’re too nice to ask him to leave you alone?”
“Hyung…you’re not being fair…that’s not what I was saying at all….” To his dismay, Jungkook can feel mouth start to tremble. Jimin must catch it when he finally looks back at his screen, because his expression melts into something not far from anguished, and he thumps his forehead onto his knees.
“God. Sorry,” Jimin mumbles, muffled. “I’m making this about me. Hang on.” He laughs mirthlessly then sits up, throwing his head back against the pillow and rolling his eyes at the ceiling. One arm is crossed over his chest as though he’s shielding himself; Jungkook can see that his fist, resting on his shoulder, is screwed up tight. He wishes he could reach through the screen and loosen it, weave their fingers together until those poor tendons relax and the sting of his nails stops biting.
“It’s a little about you,” Jungkook admits timidly. “I don’t know what to say to make you believe me. Don’t you feel like we’re special?”
“That’s not on you to make me believe,” Jimin insists, though his voice is too weary to sound anywhere near as assertive as he probably hopes. “You’re right. I’m not being fair. I’m— Well. You said it, I’m exhausted. And I’m lonely, and I guess I’m the one who’s overwhelmed because it’s finally you, Jungkook. You know? I’m so sorry.”
Something sharp wedges its way under Jungkook’s ribs and zips through him, lodging itself in the unguarded underbelly of his heart. “You’re lonely, hyung?”
Jimin cocks his head and chews on his lower lip for a moment, lost in thought. His eyes glisten as his face changes angles; he’d definitely been on the verge of tears. Could still be. “If I'm being honest…I’d give anything to have the problems you’re having.” He laughs at himself in frustration. “Which I know sounds so fucking insensitive. But listening to you made me realize, I don’t think anybody but you or Taehyung has texted me in months. Real texts, not like. Alerts from my bank.” He glances at the camera nervously. “Isn’t that pathetic?”
“No, no! Never. But, um. Who is…who is Taehyung?”
“My best friend,” Jimin says. “He moved for an art residency about a year ago. Long before we started talking, you and I. I’m much better about it now but I think I kind of lost it when he left me. No! Not left me. Left. Meeting you was—um. Fuck.”
“Okay, I understand,” Jungkook replies, after taking a second to mull it over. This "Taehyung" must be Jimin’s Seokjin, which means Jungkook needs to make a good secondhand impression…well, Taehyung won’t be hearing of any jealousy on Jungkook’s part, that’s for sure. Jungkook can rein it in if he has to.
“Are we okay?”
“We’re okay.”
Jimin smiles faintly, his distress gentling into mellowed contentment. Then: “Wait. That quickly?” A bit of his impish sparkle comes back to him as he scolds Jungkook. “Don’t forgive me so fast! Make me sweat! I was supposed to be the one comforting you, not dumping more problems at your feet.”
“But I’m happy you shared your problems with me. Share more. Share everything.”
“I don’t think you want everything.”
“I do! Stop saying what I do or don’t want! Y-you have to promise to trust me!” Jungkook exclaims. His emotions are still dizzily tottering around after the rollercoaster they’ve just gone on, so he doesn’t have the oomph left in him to be mad, but he’s a little steamed. A tad heated. “I mean it when I say you’re special and different, but you’re acting like that’s nothing. What if…What if I said I think you’re only texting me because you’re lonely? And so I don’t believe you when you say I’m fun and interesting and h-hot, and that you must be lying when you say you like me because you’re just lonely?”
Jimin jolts in surprise at Jungkook’s increase in volume. “Fuck, Jungkook-ah! That’s not it at all!”
“I know that. I do. But see how it feels?”
“I see, I get it. Let’s not fight, please, not during our first call,” Jimin says. “I don’t want to remember your voice angry when we hang up.”
“I’m not angry. Are we fighting?”
“No? I’m not fighting with you, at least.”
“Good. That means we’re not fighting.” Jungkook fidgets with a bit of his hair that’s escaped from being pushed behind his ear, discomfited by how scraped open he’s feeling. “Um. I told Seokjin-hyung this, too, but…I don’t want you to fall out of my life, hyung. Maybe…maybe ever. So stop trying to let go when I didn’t even ask you to.”
Jimin stares at him, eyes huge. “God,” he says on an explosive whisper. “Is it too soon for us to be saying stuff like this? I feel crazy.”
“Am I really the only one, though? Am I imagining things?”
Jimin flexes his clenched fist, stretches it out like he’s just registered what's been paining him and that he can make it stop.
“No,” he says firmly. “You’re not. I don’t want you to fall either. Or I do, but in the way I’m falling; do you get me? Hyung thinks you’re special and different, too. I think you could be my favorite person, Jungkook. It feels like that’s possible.”
Jungkook flushes. A giddy tornado of butterflies whips up in his chest, flapping and twirling, and he can barely catch his breath around the beating of their wings long enough to say, “I don’t think it’s too soon to say that. If not now, when?”
“Is it really that simple?” Jimin laughs. “Maybe it is.”
“Don’t ask me about simple. You think too much and I don’t think at all.”
“Ah, is that so? Does that mean…destiny?”
“It means we match.”
jm>outgoing voice memo
Hello Jungkook-ssi, who said he liked my voice. I hope you like it enough to listen to me ramble on with nobody to stop me. Um. I wanted to say that I feel the same as I did last night. Or five hours ago, I guess. The way I’ve been feeling for a while now. I wish I didn’t say it like that—you deserve a better confession, more romance—but it wasn’t the delirium talking. I really— I really like you. I like talking to you, and hearing from you. It’s the best part of my day. And that’s not because I’m lonely or because I don’t have other options. Give me a hundred options and I’d pick you every time. Honestly. I know we keep joking about destiny because of the whole phone thing, but if it’s not destiny then it’s crazy fucking luck that we found each other. Also, I didn’t say it enough because we were too busy with, you know, my drama, but... You’re so fucking beautiful. So. That’s…great. Okay. Bye. Wait. My neighbor heard me say that last part and now he’s giving me a weird look. This is your fault. Okay. Bye for real now, baby.
jk>outgoing voice memo
Hello Jimin-ssi, who said he’d cross the nighttime to be with me. Was that not romantic enough for you? You must have really high standards; my friends all call me a sap so I’m basically an expert, and I say you crushed it. And your voice is just as pretty recorded as it is over the phone! I hope I can hear it in person soon. Hyung, I meant everything I said last night. I really think you have a shot at being my favorite person, too. So if you want that, it's yours. Take it. Also, you liar. You said you’d come over today if I went to bed. Well, I went to bed. Why didn’t you come to me? …are you blushing yet? You’re really easy to tease, you know that, Jimin-hyung? You should put up more of a challenge. Also also, ask your neighbor if he can fight. I don’t like that he overheard a confession meant for me… Ahhh, you’re so cute, hyung, and handsome, what am I supposed to do? Send me a billion selcas asap. Okay, gotta go, my bus is pulling up. Lo-? Woah. Not that! Bye!
“Let me get this straight,” Hoseok says, his serious, patient expression at odds with the fluorescent orange, oversized bobbly hat nodding sagely from its perch atop his head. “Seokjin-hyung freaked you out and made you think everyone hates you when you don’t text us back. And now you have a boyfriend.”
“Well,” Jungkook says. “It could be straighter.”
“Knowing you, it could always be straighter.” Hoseok giggles to himself, brilliant popping-candy sparks of merriment, and then resumes his designated role as Jungkook’s most sensible, most organized hyung by smoothing a hand over his own face to reset his mouth into a neutral position. “But okay. Explain it to me again. Don’t tell him this, but hyung’s analogy stunk.”
Jungkook can’t remember if the analogy was actually Seokjin’s in the first place or if he’d embellished it, but he’s more than happy to let his hyung take the heat. He has a better one, anyway. “It’s like this. Imagine our friendship is a juggling-ball.”
Hoseok makes a buzzer sound. “I am not a juggling-ball,” he scoffs. “I’m one of those pretty scarves they throw around.”
“That would screw up the whole metaphor, hyung…”
With a dainty flap of his hand, Hoseok gestures for him to carry on.
“Our friendship is a juggling-ball. And when I don’t text back, it doesn’t drop immediately, but it gets close to it. Like I’ve fumbled it, and now my hands are sweaty so the next time I fumble it, or— or don’t text back, I guess, I will drop it. Eventually I will. And then it'll break. Right! It’s a glass juggling-ball, that’s important. And if it drops, it breaks, and we won’t have it anymore.”
"What won't we have?"
"The ball."
“And the ball is our friendship?”
“The ball is our friendship.”
“Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok says, exasperated but not without a measure of affection. “Your obsession with these balls will do you in.”
“Please don’t say it like that.”
Hoseok pauses to reflect and then erupts into another peal of laughter, tipping over to the side with glee. “No, but!” he says, composing himself. “Really, it should have been scarves from the start! Scarves make so much more sense than balls!”
“Scarves don’t juggle well,” Jungkook argues. “They’re for beginners.”
“Exactly,” Hoseok says. “So when you toss them up they take a while to float down. And they’re soft and easy to catch, and they don’t break if you do drop them. They can wait for you to pick them up and be just as much of a scarf as they were before. And they’re happy down there, being a scarf, so if you have to leave them until there’s space for you to add them back in, then that’s fine by them! It only takes a little attention from you, when you’re ready, for you to start juggling with them again.”
“Huh.” Jungkook blinks. “So you’re a scarf?”
“I’m a scarf!” Hoseok dances in his seat, wiggling happily. “But also, Namjoon is a scarf, Seokjin-hyung is a scarf, Yoongi-hyung is a scarf…everyone you’re worried about? We’re all scarves. I guess you might know a glass ball or two, but juggle them as long as you can and don’t feel bad about any breaks. Nobody can juggle forever without something dropping now and then.” He nods, pleased with himself. Then, “Wait, why are you juggling with something made of glass, anyway?” he asks, confused. “You’re not a master juggler. You have to work your way up to that.”
“Give me your napkin,” Jungkook demands. Hoseok complies without question, and Jungkook crumples it up along with two he’d grabbed for himself to accompany his meal. (He likes to be extra prepared to be neat, so sue him. Hoseok is the same—he definitely has spares on him right now, not to mention his purse full of wet wipes, so it’s fine that Jungkook took the one.) He tosses them up individually to get a feel for their weight, then gets them all going in a pretty, whirling cycle.
Jungkook carries on like that until he feels he’s proved his point, momentum coming to a rest with each napkin placed in front of Hoseok in an orderly line. He raises an eyebrow.
“Not all of us find juggling easy,” Hoseok sniffs. “As you know.”
And that—coming from Jungkook’s most outgoing introvert of a friend—is something he can believe.
“I don't understand how this ended up with you getting a boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” Jungkook cries, mortified. Thank god they’d taken their food to go and are sitting in a relatively secluded area by the river. He’s not eager to come out to all of Seoul.
“Details,” Hoseok says in English, clicking his tongue dismissively. “It sounds like it’s only a matter of time. This is the guy in your phone? The one from June?”
“Yes, that’s him,” Jungkook admits in defeat.
“Spicy! And you finally got to see his face?”
“Yes!”
“And?”
“It’s…good. It’s a good face.”
“So what’s the problem? Why aren’t you dating?”
“Huh? You only want to know about his face?”
“What more is there?”
“How about what’s in his heart?” Jungkook shakes his head, disgusted. “What kind of hyung are you?”
“Aigoo, Jungkook-ah, my little romantic. I trust your judgement about that sort of thing! Come on. Mysterious stranger messaging you out of nowhere? Two lovers kept apart by different cities? A passionate midnight phone call? That’s fucking sexy!"
Jungkook squirms at hearing it described like that, so straightforwardly. But Hoseok is right. It is fucking sexy, and romantic. “Well, he’s gorgeous. We haven’t met in person yet, though. We only talked on the phone for the first time a week and a half ago.”
“So? Meet up!” Hoseok claps his hands together. “Have him come to Seoul, or you go to Busan. Problem solved!”
“But how do I make that happen?” Jungkook asks. “We’ve joked about it a few times, but how do I let him know I mean it? I really want to meet him, hyung.”
“Why wouldn’t he believe you mean it?”
“I don’t know. We had a not-fight because he thought he was overwhelming me,” Jungkook says. “I think the glass ball thing scared him. But he’s not a glass ball! I don’t think he’s even a scarf! Is that possible?”
“Sure,” Hoseok says with all the confidence of a man who, having solved one problem, is about to solve another. “Scarves don't have to be scarves all the time. Maybe instead of being juggled he’s standing right next to you, shoulder to shoulder. Partners! Like one of those juggler’s assistants!”
“…are you thinking of magicians?”
“Details,” Hoseok says again. He must have picked it up from somewhere; he likes to gather sonically interesting tidbits to himself like an eclectically-dressed magpie. “Anyway, you know what Yoongi-hyung says. You’ll make yourself sick trying to categorize everything in this life.
“And if you want to meet up, that’s easy,” he continues. “Say you want him here. Straight up: Jimin, please come visit me.”
“That’s how you’d do it?”
“Are you nuts? Ugh, no. Imagine.” Hoseok shudders. “But you should. That fits my sweet Jungkook-ah to a T. If he likes you, he’ll love it.”
jm
Jungkook-ah!
When can I come visit?
jk
nooo
hyung you’ve ruined it
jm
What??
jk
i was going to ask you :(
jm
Ask me what?
jk
hyungggg
jm
Ask me what, baby?
jk
come visit me? :(
jm
Oh! What a thought!
I’d love to!
jk
ok good :)
when?
jm
This weekend?
jk
hmm
jm
What is this, a game?
Am I supposed to guess?
jk
no, this weekend works
i was thinking sometime in december
but this weekend means i get to see you sooner
let’s do it
jm
Why December?
I can wait if you need me to.
jk
because you got my old phone in june
i know we can't match six months exactly but
jm
Jungkook-ah…
You really are a sap.
I love that.
Okay, first weekend of December?
That’s good, gives me time to prepare.
jk
what are you preparing
don’t prepare
you’re coming to me, that’s my job
jm
I can’t make any suggestions?
jk
you can make suggestions
what do you want to do?
jm
I want to eat.
jk
i know lots of restaurants and markets
or i can make you something
eel??
jm
Eel! With my sauce!
I want to walk around, see the sights.
jk
we can do that
the city looks really pretty in the winter
i know you like snow hyung
but make sure you pack warm!! it’s so cold here
jm
Busan is also cold…
Okay.
I want to…go to Lotte world?
jk
shouldn’t we do that in the summer?
jm
Oh!
Yes. :) Summer it is.
jk
:) ?
we can do go-karts this time
what else?
jm
Ooh, go-karts, yes.
A museum?
It’s indoors.
jk
ah
ok
jm
Wow. You must really like me.
jk
i do
jm
Then how about this?
I want to kiss you.
Jungkook-ah?
…
…hello?
jk
YES
sorry, i didn’t know how to respond
obviously yes to that
jm
Oh my god, you’re so cute.
Yes to kissing. I see.
jk
please kiss me hyung
jm
Will you kiss me back?
jk
yes
i’ll kiss you back
jm
Where?
jk
jimin-hyung…
jm
My cheek?
jk
yes
jm
My forehead?
jk
yes
jm
Where else?
jk
your mouth
your mouth, hyung
jm
Good.
jk
your neck
your hand
your nose
your ear
your stomach
jm
Jungkook.
What are you doing.
jk
hyung can I touch you
please
jm
Fuck.
Yes, baby.
You can touch me.
jk
i will
when i saw you in bed
that first time
i really wanted to touch you
jm
You did?
Where?
jk
your chest
i couldn’t see it because of the blanket
but i know it would feel so good under my hands
and also i want
you know
lower
jm
Lower?
You can say it.
Are you shy?
jk
no
i’ve just never done this before
over the phone
it’s new
jm
It’s new to me too.
Say whatever you want.
You’re not going to scare me off.
I want to hear it.
jk
your cock
ah it looks weird written out
it’s not too much?
jm
No.
I want to touch you too.
I want to make you feel good.
jk
i feel good right now
jm
Yeah?
Jungkook.
I want to get you wet with my mouth
Stroke you slow until you cry for me
I want to kiss you while you ride my thigh
Scratch up my back because you can’t fucking hold it in
I want to be full of you
Your fingers
Your tongue
Your cock
I want you to fuck me full of you
Can you think about that for me? Would that feel good?
jk
yes
so
so good
i’m bad at this sorry
i’m getting hard
i can’t think
jm
Bad? Are you kidding??
You have no idea.
Jungkook.
I’m hard too.
jk
i want to see
can i see?
jm
Actually…
Let’s stop here.
jk
why? :(
did i cross the line
forget i said anything!!
jm
No!
It’s killing me to say this, but.
The first time I make you come I want to be there.
I want to hold you through it.
I want you to hold me.
jk
ok yes let’s stop
i want that the most
jm
Good thing you let me make suggestions, haha.
So I’ll see you in December? For real??
jk
holy shit
yeah
for real
jm
See you soon, baby. For real.
jk
see you, jimin-ah~
jm
Don’t push it.
The morning Jimin is due to arrive in Seoul—coordinates of a café hashed out a week prior and then re-confirmed during a phone call last night—Jungkook finishes getting ready at seven am. They’re supposed to meet between ten-thirty and eleven, but his excitement has him buzzing to get there now, as if the sooner he arrives the sooner the next part of his life can begin. The hours will pass, regardless of where he is, but he heads out anyway, unable to corral the restlessness coursing through his limbs. At least if he walks it’ll eat up more time.
A cold fog blankets the streets, turning looming apartment buildings into pale, friendly ghosts. The snow is still mostly fresh on the sidewalk, periodically broken up by dragging footsteps, reluctant trails left by weekend commuters on their way to an opening shift. Jungkook is one of the few people out and about. He can see some dark dots bobbing in the distance, silhouettes made round by winter coats, but his block is essentially deserted.
It would make a nice picture. He grabs his phone to take one, then hesitates—he’s about to see the person he wants to share this with the most. And Jimin is sleeping over…he could show it to him, the real thing, tomorrow morning. Pictures have served them well so far, but he wants to save some firsts for when they’re together.
Anyway, he’s falling in love but he has his pride—if Jimin finds out he’s awake and ready this early, when he’s the one in Seoul and doesn’t have to travel, he’ll never live it down.
So he pockets his phone and carries on his way. He reaches the café at eight and decides to grab a table inside after making sure it’s not one of those ones that comes with a limit on your length of stay. He orders a hot chocolate while he waits. Jimin must be getting on his train by now; he’ll give it another fifteen minutes before texting him. He figures he'll need time to settle in, take his coat off, choose his train music, finish breakfast.
jk
good morning! <3you’re going to be here soon!
The impulsive, cheesy heart he tacks on makes him self-conscious, so he keeps his phone facing down on the table as he continues to slowly sip his drink. A bit more time passes before he’s unable to stop himself from checking the lock screen. 8:22. Okay. Seven minutes isn’t long at all. Maybe Jimin’s seat partner is talkative, or maybe he’s taking a nap so he’ll feel more awake for their date. Jungkook can be patient.
Another twenty minutes. Nothing. Jungkook wonders if he should call him, but that’s pushy. Especially if he actually is napping! Or maybe he was napping and now he’s going through a dead zone or something. Jungkook shakes his head to clear it. His nerves are obviously getting to him.
Another forty minutes. Jimin is due within an hour. Could his phone have died? Did he forget to charge it overnight? That happens to Jungkook more than he likes to admit… He’ll call now, to see. Surely that’s not pushy. But the call rings through and he gets Jimin’s voicemail. (Automated. He doesn’t even get to hear his voice.)
Another hour. Another call.
Another hour and a half.
Another…ten minutes.
Just one more minute. One more call.
Come on Jimin.
Two and a half hours after they were supposed to meet, Jungkook is at a loss. Should he be scared? Should he be angry? Should he call again? Should he block Jimin’s number? He doesn’t have anyone he can contact to ask if he’s all right, if someone can check on him. What was his friend’s name, Taehyung? Maybe Taehyung could get in touch with Jimin’s neighbors. Well, not the rude one. But Jungkook doesn’t have any more information to go on to find him…
What he needs is to get out of his head and into his body. Otherwise he might say or do something that he’ll regret. He’s a thousand times more concerned than he is annoyed, but concern begets rash behavior like anything else, and there’s nothing he can do right now that will give him answers. He cleans up his table and nods, embarrassed, at the cashier who’s been there the whole time and who’s been watching him gradually dissolve into a puddle of fretful bewilderment.
He calls a taxi to take him to his regular gym, uncaring of the price of cab fare at the moment. If everything still goes to plan, he’ll be spending a lot more this weekend, anyway. Once he’s arrived, he tosses all his personal belongings into a locker and goes to hit a treadmill. Feet pounding, forehead sweating, thighs burning…he pushes himself to his limit to drown out the nasty, insidious doubts that try to snake their way into his heart. Jimin does like him, he does want to see him, he is coming. He is.
Jungkook showers there. A part of him wants to shower at home—because a part of him wants to go back, climb into bed and write the rest of the day off—but he’s stubborn and resists the temptation. If he goes home, then he’s admitting he was wrong. And he really, really doesn’t think he was wrong.
When he’s done showering he goes to collect his things from the locker. An overhead clock tells him he’s been there for an hour; it’s past time for a late lunch.
Well. There’s no more avoiding it. He picks up his phone.
Waiting for him are five missed calls and a deluge of texts:
jm
I overslept!!Jungkook, please pick up.
I’m *running* to the station right now, oh my god.
I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this.
I’ll explain when I get there! I’m on my way, I swear!
Okay, I’m on the train now. Can you meet me at the station instead? Two hours. I promise.
Please.
The last text was sent only a minute ago, so Jungkook has more than enough time to get over to the station, but already that electric restlessness from this morning is back. Quickly, he types out:
jk
yes!!as long as you’re ok, we’ll be fine
i’ll see you then
He gathers the rest of his belongings to him excitedly, but not before he catches sight of one more text that comes in:
jm
<3
Once outside, he flings himself into another taxi and does his best to remain polite as he rattles off his destination. The driver must think he’s in a hurry—he’s really not, the train will get there when it gets there, but he understands the confusion—because he zips along through traffic, cutting a few lights recklessly close. By the time they arrive Jungkook’s muscles are tense and achy, not from the anticipation of seeing Jimin, but from the number of hairpin turns he’d been sure he wasn’t going to make it through. Disoriented, he stumbles out of the cab with a frazzled thank you.
Unsure of how else to kill the remaining ninety minutes, he orders a second hot chocolate at a nearby café. This one tastes better. He’s not sure if that’s an omen.
As he sits at the bartop, anxiously jittering his leg and attempting to soothe himself with videos of birds whistling anime themes, his phone vibrates. Once, twice, three times.
jm
I’m here!I was going to do something really cute and take a picture of my location so you could find me but I’m too impatient, haha.
Where are you?
Jungkook leaps to his feet. Uncaring of the other patrons' potential judgment, he lightly jabs at the air in front of him, exhaling harshly. Okay. This is it. Go time.
Entering the station, it doesn’t take long to spot Jimin. His hyung stands like a meerkat, wobbling on his tiptoes as he searches the crowd for something. (For Jungkook!) Dressed in an emerald green peacoat, thick black frames, and a black baker-boy cap, he looks straight off the runway. Except Jungkook doesn’t think he’s ever seen a model look so lost.
“Jimin-ah!” he bellows. Several people turn in his direction, aghast at the disruption. He bows, bobbing in apology, then calls out again, slightly softer. “Park Jimin, over here!” He waves above the crowd.
Jimin’s head whips around frantically until his gaze finds Jungkook's. The second their eyes meet, his face erupts into a blinding smile. “Jungkook-ah!”
The throng between them is too thick to have a proper movie-scene reunion, but Jungkook tries his best to match the passion of it. He certainly feels the way a romantic lead must, sprinting down the curiously empty hallways of an airport. Whatever it takes to get to Jimin, he’ll do, so he gently nudges a couple chattering teens out of the way, sidesteps around a gaggle of toddling babies, and waits for a parade of ahjummas to finish crossing in front of him before sweeping Jimin up in his arms, twirling them both in a circle.
“Jungkook-ah!” Jimin repeats, still beaming. His cheeks! They’re here, right in front of Jungook! And they’re pink! Jungkook presses a kiss to each of them, helpless, making Jimin splutter and slap his chest until he backs up.
“You’re really here.” Jungkook can’t seem to stop touching him, hands running down his sides, petting the hair that peeks out from under his cap, wrapping around his lower back. Each touch more proof that this is actually happening.
“I couldn’t believe it,” Jimin says. “I was up all night! I was so nervous I couldn’t sleep, and then I finally did and slept right through my alarm. Oh, Jungkook, and you called so many times!”
“Not...that many...”
Jimin narrows his eyes, suspicious, then laughs when he realizes. “Like a hundred times you called me,” he teases. “But I slept through them!”
“That’s okay,” Jungkook says. He can't stop tracking every little movement Jimin makes, heart-shaped laser beams blasting out his pupils. “You’re a heavy sleeper. Now I know.”
“Now you know,” Jimin confirms. “God, I’m so sorry. You did so much planning! Do we still have time for anything on your list?”
“We can do whatever you want,” Jungkook says. “Fuck the list.”
“Well. I know what I want to do first, but—” Jimin peers around cautiously; they’re surrounded by people coming and going, but it’s not thick enough of a crowd to provide them anonymity. And after their dramatic display, there are a handful of people still staring at them.
Jungkook’s fairly certain he knows what Jimin’s getting at.
“I kissed you earlier,” he mutters. “I think we’re made.”
“On my cheeks, though,” Jimin hisses back. “We could be from abroad.”
Jungkook yanks the hood of his jacket up until its fluffy lining blocks his peripheral. Tugging on the brim of Jimin’s cap, he bats his eyelashes, asking for permission that Jimin grants with a slightly apprehensive squint. Jungkook removes the cap from Jimin’s head—making sure to smooth down his hair—then holds it out vertically to the side to block any onlooker’s view of their faces. With his other hand, he taps his lips.
“All clear."
“Are you joking? They’re gonna know!”
“Know what? You’re just leaning in to whisper something to me.”
“Into your mouth?”
“That’s how we whisper.”
Rolling his eyes, Jimin tips his face up and smacks a quick kiss on Jungkook’s lips. It feels amazing, but it’s over too quickly to be anything close to what Jungkook wanted for their first kiss. He’s not going to count it, he decides.
“Another,” Jungkook pouts. “A real one. We’re doing real things, now.”
“It was all real,” Jimin snaps, but this time his kiss is fuller, sweeter, clingier. He pulls away for a second than returns, pressing another kiss to the tip of Jungkook’s nose, one on the corner of his lips, one a little further down—on his mole, Jungkook guesses—and finishing with one to soft skin of his cupid’s bow. He holds there, running a pair of slow, adoring thumbs over Jungkook’s ears; Jungkook goes hot and cold all at once, legs turning to jelly as he loses his balance and teeters forward. Jimin steadies him, then steps back. He licks his lower lip, his eyes hooded.
Jungkook flushes and coughs heavily.
He replaces Jimin’s cap. “Thank you,” he says, his voice rough.
“Cute,” Jimin says tenderly. “Thank you, baby. Okay. Shall we get out of here?”
“Café? You thirsty? Hungry?”
“I could eat,” Jimin says. With their mission established they begin walking to the exit, elbows bumping and knuckles brushing, shyly, covertly. Before the doors swing open, though, Jimin suddenly yelps, “Wait!” and grabs Jungkook’s hand.
“What?” Jungkook asks, alarmed. “What is it?”
“Sorry! I meant— Can we take a picture?” Jimin blinks up at him. “Our first one?”
“Here? Not at the café? The background will be nicer.”
“No,” he says, determined. “I want it here. This is our place.”
And how could Jungkook deny that?
They snug up for the selca until there's no room between them, politely waving away a kind stranger who offers to take it for them, and Jungkook lets himself be bold enough to wrap an arm around Jimin’s waist to pull him closer. It won’t make it into the frame, but he's sure that years later when they look back at this picture, they’ll remember.
One snap and it’s done. There, at the bottom of their album, below hundreds of photos detailing two separate lives that became intertwined by accident: JiminandJungkook. Together.
“Can you—?” Jungkook breaks off, catching the words before they spill out. Jimin cocks his head in confusion. “Ah, I was about to ask you to send that to me!"
“I can,” Jimin says. “But you know where to find it."