Chapter Text
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊˚☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊˚☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ
There once was a heart that feared the light,
That flinched from stars and silent nights.
It hid from songs and holly’s gleam,
And built its peace away from winter’s dream.
But Love, as patient as the snow,
Will find the cracks where candles glow—
And melt the frost, so slow, so true,
Until the world feels warm and new.
And maybe, just maybe...
it’ll hum Mariah too.
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊˚☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ
“Shit !”
“Fuck—!”
❆ ❅*ִ
If Jungkook were the type to believe in karma, he’d assume this is divine retribution for... well, everything he’s done in his past lives and the next five.
In this life, though, he’s standing frozen in the doorway of the bathroom, steam curling around his naked body, hair damp and tied in a tiny, frankly pathetic, knot atop his head while water trails from his collarbones down his chest, over his abs, and lower.
Much, much lower.
Which would be perfectly fine, if he weren’t staring straight into the wide and horrified eyes of a man halfway through making his bed.
A very pretty man.
Golden hair and pink bitten lips, cheeks flushed and dressed in a navy uniform with—gods help him—a monstrous snowman-knitted cardigan thrown over it and earpods still leaking out some of the worst Christmas jazz Jungkook’s ever had the misfortune to hear.
For a long and objectively mortifying moment, they both stand there, unmoving until they’re not and the housekeeper, he must be that, blinks rapidly while his mouth opens and closes and again like a startled goldfish.
Slowly, and that’s to say agonisingly slow, his gaze drops down the length of Jungkook’s naked body and his cheeks go from pink to violently red in half a second.
“Oh my gods,” the man breathes, voice embarrassingly deep and warm for someone caught in such a disaster. “Fucking hell—I—”
Jungkook panics, and don’t blame him because anyone would. He glances around for anything to cover himself with but, because the universe has decided today will be “fuck you, Jeon Jungkook” day, the nearest item he finds lays there, on the vanity shelf : a small plush reindeer the hotel left as a welcome gift, complete with a knitted scarf and a jingle-bell collar.
❅*ִ
Perfect.
Fantastic, even.
He grabs it anyway, slaps it in front of his crotch, and glares over the top of its felt antlers.
The housekeeper’s eyes widen even further, now darting from Jungkook’s flushed chest to the stuffed reindeer barely covering anything at all and back to his face.
“Sorry—sir—I didn’t—shit—” He yanks his earpods out, drops them to the floor as his voice rises an octave, and bows so abruptly Jungkook genuinely fears he’ll concuss himself on the bed frame. “I thought the room was empty ! There was no Do Not Disturb sign and I knocked and I called and—fuck—”
Jungkook’s heart is pounding so hard it makes him dizzy. He tightens his grip on the reindeer, which jingles in response, because this is what Murphy’s Law is all about.
“I can come back later—oh my gods, I’m so sorry—Is there anything I can do to—”
Anything he—
Nope. That’s it.
Jungkook cannot survive this.
With a strangled noise, he pivots on his heel and flees into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the reindeer jingles again against the marble walls, before he presses his back to the cool wood, pride dead and dignity six feet under.
He squeezes his eyes shut and clutches the plush to his chest.
Brilliant.
Incredible.
Every fucking adjective you fancy…
Four hours into this stupid trip and he’s already flashed and traumatised the staff with a stuffed plushie as his only ally.
Godsdamn it, Jeon.
Get a grip.
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊˚☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ
After half a second of reflection, and if you were foolish enough to ask him when things truly started going wrong, Jungkook would tell you plainly : it wasn’t the naked humiliation or even the fucking cardigan.
No, no.
That was merely the incident.
The consequence.
If you want to track the rot, the original sin, you’d have to go back three weeks, back to the moment the snowball began its frosty descent toward what he now describes as physical catastrophe, emotional confusion, and, worst of all, seasonal cheer.
But first : introductions.
After all, if you’re going to watch someone spiral, it’s only polite to know who’s doing the spiralling.
He is, regrettably, Jeon Jungkook.
Age twenty-eight. Second son of the Jeon Group—yes, that Jeon Group, the one that owns half the skyline and most of Gangnam’s hotels, and possibly the air you’re breathing. Real estate, luxury resorts, global developments, an obscene number of elevators named after his grandfather... If you’ve stayed in a five-star hotel in the last twenty years, chances are his family either owns it, owns the parent company, or owns the glass manufacturer who made the windows.
He oversees innovation and digital ventures, which is essentially a fancy way of saying he spends his days talking to start-ups and pretending to be enthused by AI-powered mattresses.
The rest of his life is... fine.
He is objectively attractive, though he refuses to take accountability for that ; it’s hardly his fault people get weird over long hair and tattoos, especially when he goes out of his way to keep it all muted for the sake of the family image—not that his parents care. His mother once offered to get matching third-lobe piercings.
He has a dog named Bam, a deep and well-earned aversion to brunches, and hobbies that include fencing (to keep his rage elegant), sketching (to process said rage), and losing at video games to his two oldest friends, one of whom communicates exclusively in memes and both of whom flatly refuse to video call.
He does not like crowds.
He does not like noise.
He does not like, above all, Christmas.
Tagic, given the people who raised him.
His parents are lovely. Fun, stylish, emotionally available, and worst of all : festive.
His mother, Jeon Ara, is an ex-ballerina turned art patron who stages her holiday centrepieces with the flair of someone curating the Met Gala of pinecones ; his father, Jeon Hwan, wears elegant grey jumpers, drinks mulled wine as if it’s medicinal, and displays an original copy of A Christmas Carol “for energy.” They’re the kind of couple who kiss in the kitchen while arranging gingerbread towers and still believe their sons might meet their soulmates over a cup of hot chocolate.
They’re filthy rich.
He’s filthy rich.
But his proudest achievement ? If you googled “Jeon Jungkook,” you’d find two blurry press photos from his high school graduation and one cursed image from eight years ago, taken during his brief and sad gelled-hair era, when he mistakenly believed he looked edgy instead of like a sleazy magician.
He is, by all accounts, a man doing his very best not to be perceived, and unfortunately, has a brother, or as he prefers to call him : his greatest lifelong burden, collecting perception and handwritten notes from talk show hosts the way other people collect houseplants.
Taehyung.
Age thirty. Older by two years, louder by several galaxies, CFO and reigning public face of the family empire, media darling, and devastatingly handsome in that classical-sculpture-meets-Prada-runway kind of way.
If Jungkook is the brooding side character only Tumblr aficionados appreciate, Taehyung is the male lead who gets cast opposite Zendaya in a Netflix holiday rom-com.
People adore Taehyung.
They call him witty. Magnetic. They meet him once and start drafting wedding vows. Jungkook, on the other hand, considers him a chaos demon in designer clothing, with receipts to prove it. This is, after all, the same man who once called him “Kookie” in front of shareholders, and who thought it was hilarious to change his ringtone to Let It Go minutes before a board meeting.
Now.
The dinner.
Early November at the family estate in Samseong-dong, where even the driveway has a doorman and the dining table is so long Jungkook is fairly certain there’s a timezone shift at the other end, polished to an offensive shine, and set with silver flatware that probably predates the Joseon dynasty, and that’s barely an exaggeration.
Sadly, and as they do every year the moment temperatures begin to dip and the first snowflake is still a rumour, his parents had gone for full Christmas prelude : a floral arrangement running the entire length of the table, all white roses, baby’s breath, gold-dusted pinecones, sprigs of juniper and cinnamon sticks and dried oranges nestled in between them ; a small chorus of ceramic carollers perched by the bread basket ; and a twinkling piano playlist in the background—tasteful and tragic and something French, probably something about dying alone with champagne, but Jungkook was already halfway disassociating.
His father was sipping wine, smiling faintly as he listened to Taehyung proselytise about some green start-up that planned to revolutionise algae as a construction material.
His mother looked radiant, hair swept back, jewellery minimal but worth more than a building in Hongdae, swathed in cream cashmere she was almost certainly born in.
Jungkook was about to butter a roll when she began, her voice gentle in that specific way people use when they’re about to ruin your life politely.
“So. Your father and I were talking, and we’ve decided to do something special this year.”
There it was.
The snowball’s first roll.
Jungkook immediately glanced at Taehyung, who was chewing a bite of duck confit and already smirking, because of course he knew. Of course he was in on it.
“Different how ?”
“Well... We thought,” she continued, as she folded her hands in front of her, “it’s been so long since we truly spent Christmas together as a family.”
“We spend it every year.”
“Yes, but not together-together. Not in one place. Not somewhere festive.”
“We literally spent last year in a penthouse surrounded by staff dressed as elves.”
“Exactly ! Which is why this year, we’re going to the Gangwon-Do Resort.”
“...Our resort ?”
“Mmh,” she nodded with a smile. “It’s so lovely this time of year… and it’ll be good for your image, baby. The press loves a wholesome family holiday.”
“What press ? I’m not even public-facing.”
“I’m just saying a little organic visibility wouldn’t hurt… It’ll be fun, I promise ! Fireside cocktails. Spa days. The company Christmas Eve banquet. A very charming market we helped sponsor. There’s even a ball !”
“There’s a what.”
Taehyung snorted into his wine. “Oh yeah. Forgot to mention that. It’s going to be amazing—I already sent my tux measurements.”
“You’re both unwell,” Jungkook muttered. “Clinically.”
That’s when his father finally spoke, and if you’ve ever wondered where Taehyung’s insufferable charm came from, it’s here. “You don’t have to do anything, sweetie. Just come and relax. No pressure… It’s only one month.”
“And you love the snow ! Remember how you used to make snowmen and cry when they melted ?”
Jungkook closed his eyes and may or may not have prayed, which he doesn’t usually, but some situations call for divine intervention, and this was one of them. “Please never say that sentence in front of Taehyung again.”
“Too late,” came the immediate reply. “Snowman Jungkookie. Going straight in the company group chat.”
“Try me and—”
“You work so hard,” his mother insisted, tone suddenly softer and more pointed. “You barely let yourself enjoy anything.”
“I enjoy not being dragged into events where I’m forced to small-talk with strangers and risk my face being posted on a Christmas newsletter.”
Useless.
His mother has always been the sort of woman who listens with grace, nods with kindness, and gets exactly what she wants. “It might be nice for you to meet people, though.”
He blinked. “People ?”
“You’re twenty-eight, Jungkook,” she said, as if he were lying about his age on a dating profile. “You’re very handsome. And entirely too private.”
“I am literally just trying to exist.”
Taehyung, again, laughed so hard he nearly dropped his empty glass. “You are alarmingly single. Manifesting at least three mistletoe incidents and one shirtless snowball fight.”
“Shut up.”
“Taehyung, be nice. Don’t bully your brother.” His mother waved a hand. “Jungkook, baby, I’m just saying—it would be lovely to see you with someone.”
“Anyone,” his father agreed from his throne in hell. “We don’t care about gender or background. We just want you to be happy.”
“...You are not matchmaking me,” Jungkook argued flatly. “This isn’t Regency.”
“But darling...” A motherly sigh. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see you walk down the aisle someday ? Preferably before your father needs a cane ? In the snow ? ”
“I am begging you to stop talking.”
“Oh, come on,” Taehyung grinned. “You could have an all-white theme. Picture that : turtlenecks, candlelight, vows under the stars.”
“I swear to the gods—”
“Hot cocoa bar at the reception—”
“Bam as ring bearer !”
“I’d cry at your wedding,” their father murmured, already misty-eyed.
Jungkook covered his face and wondered if he could legally emancipate himself from this narrative.
“We’ve invited a few other families. Some guests from the company’s outreach programs. A few church groups. It’ll be lively. Inclusive. Intimate.”
“...I am not getting married. I am not falling in love. I am not celebrating Christmas... Now, excuse me while I go bury myself alive in the garden.”
But even as he rose to help their butler clear the plates, despite the man’s loud protests, it was over.
He could see it in their eyes.
His parents had planned, Taehyung was opening another bottle of wine like it was the best decision the family’s ever made, and Jungkook, in all his defensive glory, already knew he was going to lose this battle.
Because he loves his parents.
Because he has a heart buried somewhere beneath the aesthetic black layers.
Because there was something tender about the way his mother hummed along to the piano, clearly picturing them wrapped in blankets and sipping mulled cider under twinkling lights.
Because even if he complains, he always goes.
Even if he’s emotionally constipated and allergic to declarations of joy, he’s still their son.
So he sighed, loud and dramatic.
“I’m not wearing any reindeer antlers,” he groaned over his shoulder.
His mother beamed. “Of course not, baby.”
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊˚☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ
He’ll give the guy this much : he’s committed.
Eleven—no, twelve—minutes and counting, and the stream of frantic apologies hasn’t let up once, not for breath, not to collect himself, not even for water, which is frankly required at this point given how tight and anxious his voice is getting. Jungkook is starting to suspect the housekeeper’s lungs are powered by holiday guilt and peppermint syrup alone.
Every few seconds, a new variation of “I’m so sorry, sir,” or “I didn’t mean to intrude,” floats through the door, and with each one, Jungkook’s temples throb—equal parts shame, second-hand embarrassment, and… more shame. He drags his forehead against the bathroom wall and tries not to feel like a villain in a festive drama special.
Thank the gods the guy clearly has no idea who he is, because if he did, this would’ve been on a gossip blog already : Jeon Jungkook Caught Nude at Luxury Resort, Uses Plush Reindeer as Modesty Shield.
Iconic, Taehyung would call it.
Fucking horrifying.
Their PR team would probably hold an emergency séance.
Still, the kid—man ? elf ?—outside clearly thinks he’s seconds away from losing his job, which, to be fair, isn’t an unreasonable fear. Whether Jungkook is a pampered chaebol heir or just some dude who blew his entire savings on a snow-covered suite, one complaint to the front desk would be enough to get the poor guy written up… or worse.
Guilt is creeping in, soft and stubborn and wrapping around him the way the steam still curls from the shower tiles, because yes, the guy barged in, but Jungkook also forgot to hang the damn sign. He didn’t respond to the knock, didn’t answer the call, and the words outside are definitely worsening, cracking with the edge of someone who’s been working back-to-back shifts just to pay rent, who can’t afford to piss off the wrong guest, who is probably imagining a horror-movie version of his future where he’s sued for public indecency trauma.
Gods.
It’ll be fun, huh ?
He’s going to have a very firm conversation with his mother about her definition of “fun.”
Jungkook grimaces, exhales, and steadies himself with the kind of gravitas usually reserved for job interviews or funerals.
Time to be a functional adult, and a half-decent human being.
He reaches for the plush bathrobe folded on the commode, all plush and pristine white and embroidered with the resort’s crest over the heart, slips it on, and tightens the belt with resolve.
The reindeer’s still in his hand.
He considers putting it down, thinks better of it, and clutches it tighter instead.
“You can do this,” it says. “You are composed. You are—”
Oh, fuck it.
He opens the door.
❆ ❅*ִ
And—shit.
Yeah. The situation is worse than he thought.
The housekeeper is kneeling right in front of the doorway, head bowed, and babbling into the carpet. His cardigan has slipped off one shoulder, his hands are wringing the hem of his shirt, and the entire scene screams penitent sinner at the altar of corporate doom, and to make it worse-worse, now that Jungkook is seeing him properly, without panic clouding his vision, he can confirm the devastating truth :
He’s his type, and painfully so.
❅*ִ
This has to be a joke.
Someone, somewhere, is writing his life like a bad holiday rom-com, and Jungkook is the unwilling lead with a tragic allergy to mistletoe.
“Sir—”
“You—uh—hey.” His voice is awkward, rough from the tension, and so he clears his throat, crouches slightly, and nudges the guy’s elbow. “Hey. Please. Don’t bow like that. It’s... it’s really not worth the carpet burn.”
The man jerks upright so fast Jungkook almost steps back. His eyes are glassy and wide and bloodshot at the corners, and Jungkook feels something in his chest physically shift.
This isn’t cute-and-flustered guest service panic... this is genuinely distressed and mortified and possibly about to cry in front of you energy, which he absolutely cannot handle.
Nope.
Not built for it.
He can withstand a hostile boardroom, a leaking tech partnership... even Christmas with Taehyung, but not this.
“I—I’m so sorry, sir—I didn’t mean—I swear I didn’t mean any harm. I had no idea anyone was here. I would never—I thought the room was empty and—”
“It’s okay, really.” Jungkook lifts a hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Just—stand up, please ?”
“I walked in on you—naked !”
“Yeah, I noticed. You and the reindeer both.”
The man makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I’m going to get fired.”
“You’re not.”
“I wasn’t paying attention, and I completely—violated your privacy ! It’s—it’s entirely my fault. I should’ve double-checked—I should’ve—”
“I forgot to hang the Do Not Disturb,” Jungkook cuts in, remarkably calm considering the situation. “So technically, this was a team effort.”
“But I’m staff. I’m supposed to be—professional. Presentable. And I—I was wearing earphones. We’re not supposed to, I know, it’s against the policy. I just—sometimes folding towels for five hours straight makes me feel like my soul’s leaving my body—”
Jungkook chokes on a laugh. “Honestly ? Valid.”
“—and I thought just one song wouldn’t—”
The sentence fizzles out, but he finally accepts Jungkook’s outstretched hand. He sniffs, then lets himself be pulled up.
“Look. I’ve had a long day. You’ve had a weird one... Let’s just—reset.”
“...Reset ?”
“Yeah, reset. You can just... step out. Knock again. I’ll sit on the bed like a normal person, you come in, clean, and we pretend none of this ever happened.”
“...You want me to... sorry, what ?”
“Roleplay a do-over,” Jungkook deadpans.
There’s a moment of silence, followed by a shaky laugh.
“You’re weird,” the guy says, with a half-smile, a bit reluctant but there.
Jungkook counts it as a victory. He doesn’t usually make people laugh ; he rarely even tries. This feels medal-worthy.
“You were the one serenading me with holiday jazz while I stood butt-naked in steam... Let’s call it even.”
“...Okay. Fair.” He smoothes his uniform, squares his shoulders as if he’s about to audition for Broadway, and steps out of the room.
Jungkook sits himself on the edge of the bed, reindeer on his lap and gaze fixed on the door.
A second later, there’s a knock.
“Housekeeping.” The voice calls, barely shaking now. “Here to tidy up. Is anyone inside ?”
Jungkook coughs. “I’m here. But you can come in.”
The man re-enters, shuts the door, surveys the room like a battlefield he intends to reclaim, and raises an eyebrow.
“This might be the worst idea I’ve ever gone along with.”
“Probably. But at least you’ve stopped apologising.”
He glances at Jungkook, and now the spark in his eyes isn’t from tears, it’s tinged with shy wit. “Only for now. I’m banking the next round for later.”
Silence settles, not entirely awkward, but strange.
Jungkook watches him fuss with the sheets for a moment, smooth creases that don’t exist, adjust the rug that hasn’t moved since he came, then says, “I think there’s been a mistake. The room doesn’t need cleaning... I just checked in. Took a nap. Everything was immaculate.”
The housekeeper hums. “Yeah, I wondered. Some guests are naturally tidy, but this was too clean. Suspiciously clean... Serial killer level.”
“Appreciate the implication.”
He looks around, then back at Jungkook, head tilted. “I just assumed it was empty because... well. No Christmas décor. Every suite gets a tree, garlands, a wreath. Yours is the only one without.”
Jungkook shrugs. “That’d be me. I requested no festive theme.”
The guy pauses. “You did ?”
“I did.”
“...Can I ask why ?”
“You already did.”
He winces, then bows again. “Right. Sorry. That was rude—and nosy.”
“It’s fine,” Jungkook snorts. He picks at the hem of his robe, then mutters, “I just... don’t like Christmas. Too loud, you know ? Too many people pretending things are fine. Too much pressure to be happy. ”
“...”
The silence stretches.
Stretches.
Stretches.
Stretches.
Longer than it should.
Long enough to become a presence in the room.
Longer, still.
❆ ❅*ִ
“That’s... fair. I’ve never heard it put like that. Most guests who come this time of year pay a small fortune for the full package. But I suppose… you could just come for the mountain quiet.”
Jungkook hesitates. He doesn’t usually offer anything personal, he’s cautious in work, in friendships, in dating… but there’s something about this housekeeper, his creepy cardigan and his golden hair and the slope of his tired shoulders, that makes words slip out anyway.
“My family kinda dragged me here.”
Not untrue. Just... not the full truth.
Because yes, the suite is obscenely expensive, but the Jeon Group also runs a lottery every year—an internal PR stunt disguised as generosity. Employees, contractors, even the people who shovel out the snow dams or supply the wine cellars get tossed into the hat, and among the champagne baskets and free cooking classes, a few very lucky families get month-long stays in five-star suites worth upwards of seventy million won. Taehyung had suggested it years ago, and Jungkook still remembers the press frothing about the idea. Good image, sure, but also one of the rare Jeon schemes he thought actually gave something back.
Right now, it’s the perfect excuse, and the perfect cover story.
“They won two suites in the lottery,” he adds aloud, casual like it’s nothing. “And they’ve always been too into the whole merry-and-jolly thing to pass it up.”
“...I see.”
Another pause. This one smells of pine and cinnamon, and sounds of distant carols and falling snow.
“Still, it can be wonderful. Sometimes,” the man adds with a soft smile. “Would you still like me to finish the room ?”
Jungkook stares at him, at his red cheeks and redder lips, at his pretty fingers and the gentle furrow in his brow. He’s absurdly beautiful in that low-watt, everyday magic sort of way, and his eyes are darting back and forth, searching for approval, for permission. For safety, too.
“...Yeah. Please.”
He grabs his clothes, sets the reindeer on the table with comical reverence, turns to go, and pauses at the side door to look over his shoulder.
“Hey. Wait for me, yeah ? ...Don’t just run off the moment I’m gone. Please ?”
The man looks up from the bed, startled again, but this time, there’s something warm in his eyes, and it glows.
“Of course, sir.”
And gods help him, Jungkook nods, steps back into the bathroom, and blinks at himself in the mirror, heartbeat still stupidly high.
Snowball’s out of control now, and suddenly, he wants to know its name.
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊˚☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ
Maybe that’s why he takes a little longer than strictly necessary to get dressed, and it’s not vanity, at least not entirely, but more that dignity doesn’t rebuild itself in under three minutes.
He towels his hair again, drags a comb through the mess for good measure, pulls on his softest jumper, the one that hugs just enough to suggest gym hours without screaming thirst trap, and a pair of wool trousers tailored enough to whisper “I have taste but I also hate trying” as he walks.
❆ ❅*ִ
Okay.
Not terrible, and at least he’s not naked anymore.
He opens the door, for the third time in under an hour, and thank the gods, there’s no jingle this time.
Inside the suite, the housekeeper is still there, now fluffing the last thrown pillow on the lounge sofa near the terrace, with his back to Jungkook, his ears dusted pink, and his silhouette outlined in late afternoon gold.
It’s the kind of scene you’d see in a holiday advert that ends with a kiss in the snow and a tasteful fade-to-black on a cashmere rug.
Jungkook does not envision any of that, of course, he’s merely... narrating, thoroughly, for documentation purposes. Once his internal monologue has humiliated itself sufficiently, he steps further into the room and says, as casually detached as he can manage : “All tidy ?”
The man turns with a small nod. “Yes, sir. All done... There wasn’t much to do, if I’m honest.”
Jungkook nods back, then shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and immediately regrets existing, because now he doesn’t know what to say, which is deeply annoying.
He is, by nature and nurture, a quick thinker. Strategic and careful. Words usually come to him when he needs them.
Wanting them though ? That’s new, and apparently the whole articulate-and-wrap-it-up-quickly skill set only functions when he’s not nursing unexplainable crushes on pretty housekeepers at the end of November.
❅*ִ
The gods, to their credit, seem to take pity on him, as the guy fidgets for a second, like he’s debating something, then taps the little plastic plaque clipped to his chest pocket and gently straightens it.
“Park Jimin,” he says, a small, nervous flourish in the gesture. “In case, you know... next time you see me, I’m not attached to a hoover or, mmh... a rogue reindeer.”
❆ ❅*ִ
Jungkook’s gaze hovers on the curve of his lips before dragging, belatedly, to the nameplate.
Park. Ji-Min.
It sounds warm and soft and fits him far too well for his already strained nervous system.
“I—uh...” Jimin picks up the linen spray, closes the cap with a quiet click, then hesitates again. “I know we don’t usually ask, but... would it be alright if I asked yours ?”
Shit.
He should’ve seen that one coming : people exchange names all the time. Is not that deep... unless you’re secretly a chaebol heir hiding from your own surname in a resort your family owns, which in that case, is very, very deep.
Mariana Trench-level.
There are a lot of Jeons, sure, and his face isn’t exactly plastered all over the lobby, but still, what if ? What if he recognises the name ? What if someone in housekeeping knows someone in PR who knows someone in finance who’s seen Taehyung’s interview from last quarter and went, oh, right, the younger brother’s name is Jungk—something ?
What if he connects dots Jungkook would rather keep scattered ?
He doesn’t want to watch Jimin’s expression shift from you’re a cute and strange guest I accidentally walked in on to oh, you’re the heir to the carpet I’m hovering.
So he panics, which is, at this point, already tradition.
“Just,” he blurts, far too fast, “Jungkook. Just Jungkook.”
There’s a pause.
Jimin’s brows lift. “Just... Jungkook ?”
Shit shit shit.
“Yeah—no—I meant Jang Jungkook. It’s... common. I think there’s a Jang Jungkook who plays badminton on YouTube or something—”
To his immense relief, Jimin laughs. Full and real, and the kind of laugh that lights the whole room and lodges in your chest. “Well. Nice to meet you then, Jang Jungkook.”
There’s something in the way he says it—teasing, sing-song, like it’s already a nickname—that makes Jungkook’s ears burn.
Thank the gods Taehyung isn’t here. If his brother sensed this interaction through the ether, he’d materialise just to make it worse.
As he imagines the horror of it, Jimin starts packing up his trolley again, folding towels and rolling cables, methodical and swift, and something within Jungkook wishes the moment would stretch a little longer, but the cart’s almost full and in a blink, it’s slowly rolling toward the door.
“Thank you for not... you know. Reporting me,” Jimin says, glancing back. “Really. I’m still not sure how I’m going to live this down, but you’ve been very kind... Most guests would’ve had me fired before I even made it to the hallway.”
Jungkook scoffs. “You think I’m that petty ?”
“No. But I’ve learned never to assume.”
As the words echo through the room, right as Jimin’s almost at the threshold and almost gone, Jungkook feels it : that sudden and inexplicable pull, that instinct that something sparkling and terrifying is about to slip through his fingers.
“Wait.”
The cart stops, a hand rests on the doorknob, and a pair of eyes lay again on him, watching and waiting, and patient.
“Would it be terribly inappropriate if I...” Jungkook breathes in and tries to quiet his heart, only to feel it stammer harder, “...asked for your number ?”
“...”
“Please ?”
“...That’s, um,” Jimin mumbles and shifts. “Not... really allowed.”
Of course it’s not.
Jungkook knows the policy, read it cover to cover before he could legally drink, and that’s barely an exaggeration, but he also knows it’s not strictly forbidden either. Not unless it’s exploitative, coercive, inappropriate.
“Not even for friendship ?” he asks again, not pushy but gentle enough, just in case this is something Jimin might want too. “Is there a specific rule that forbids... I don’t know... making friends with someone who flashed you by accident ?”
Jimin lets out a delighted sound, part-laugh, part-choke, and Jungkook knows, instantly, that if he’s lucky enough to hear it again, he’ll never be able to say no to it.
“I guess there isn’t. It’s more of a... grey area.”
“I like grey.”
“You don’t seem like someone who wants Christmas friends,” Jimin counters, with a fresh chuckle in his voice. “Didn’t you literally ban tinsel from your room ?”
“Maybe you’d make me like it.”
That earns him a look, full eyebrow raise and crooked grin and parted lips, and then, damn it, a sigh too soft to be anything but fate.
“Alright then,” Jimin murmurs, and fishes his phone out of the side pouch on his cart. “But if you start complaining about carollers or glitter, I’m revoking your privileges.”
Oh, no.
Dangerous.
Dangerous, the things that come out of this man’s mouth.
Still, Jungkook holds out his own phone in return, and still he answers, “...No promises.”
Jimin types in the number, hits save, then hands the phone back with another little flourish that would put Taehyung to shame. “There. Call me if you get lonely... or if you need a crash course in holiday spirit.”
Jungkook shoves it back into his pocket very carefully, because now it’s made of snowflakes and magic.
“I will,” he says and means it more than he probably should.
The door swings open, Jimin pushes the cart out, and just as he’s about to disappear, offers a final glance from the frame.
“Enjoy your stay with us, Jungkook-ssi.” A wink, wicked, teasing, and entirely unfair. “See you around... friend.”
Then he’s gone, and the suite is suddenly too quiet.
❆ ❅*ִ
Jungkook stands in the middle of his over-fluffed, garland-less room, staring down at the new contact glowing on his screen and the tiny reindeer that’s been added beside it for reasons he’d rather not interrogate.
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
In case you forget who I am later :
Hoover guy
Witness to your reindeer moment
Nice meeting you. Twice ;)
He glances over at the actual reindeer, still perched smug and bell-collared and innocent on the table.
“...You’re the worst wingman I’ve ever had,” he mutters, just before collapsing face-first onto the bed, groaning into the mattress as his heart hammers behind his ribs like someone just lit a yule log in his chest.
It’s only the 23rd of November.
Merry Fucking Christmas.
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊˚☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
In case you forget who I am later :
Vacuum guy
Witness to your reindeer moment
Nice meeting you. Twice ;)
Later that day :
[Jeong-Guk]
hard to forget someone who entered my life like that
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
I do enjoy making an impression
But fingers crossed I’ll eventually be memorable for something other than interrupting bath time chaos
[Jeong-Guk]
tbh
if that hadn’t happened i’d still be dodging eye contact
and drowning in overpriced mistletoe
so no complaints here
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
You do realise I’m part of the holiday décor cult, right ?
Card-carrying member. Glitter in my lungs. Jingles on arrival
[Jeong-Guk]
yeah
but not all festive fanatics are this easy to talk to
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Wow
I’m honoured
Anyway—gotta run
Front desk summoned me
Talk to you later ?
[Jeong-Guk]
sure
they should keep u stationed at the front btw
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
...
Why ?
So I can suffer under fluorescent lights without cookies ?
[Jeong-Guk]
might offset the psychological warfare that is this resort’s decorating scheme
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
I knew the peppermint garlands would break you
You poor thing
I’ll smuggle you a non-terrifying candle later as emotional support ❆
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊˚☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ
24th of November :
[Jeong-Guk]
is absolutely everything here santa-themed
A few hours later...
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Hello, Jungkook-ssi
Christmas exile going badly ?
Where did you unsuccessfully try to avoid joy this time ?
[Jeong-Guk]
spa
apparently even the ambiance music is curated
playlist is called “nordic sleigh serenity”
which feels like a hate crime tbh
also
just call me Jungkook
no need for the polite stuff
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Noted
Though
Didn’t know the spa was on-theme
Now I kinda want to go hear it
[Jeong-Guk]
if u go
i’ll consider giving it another shot
under protest
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Wish I could
Spa passes are way out of my pay grade unfortunately
But I can treat you to the supermarket
Big Christmas candy aisle
[Jeong-Guk]
for sugar canes ?
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Bet you’d secretly love it
I see you. Deep down
[Jeong-Guk]
I like savoury things better actually
sugar makes my teeth hurt
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Shame, really
You’re missing out on a whole bright world of colour and joy
Marshmallows. Fudge. Candy snowflakes
...
But I suppose someone has to keep the salt industry alive
[Jeong-Guk]
maybe u could show me
one of these days
if you have free time
we could hang out
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Sure :)
I’m off rota this Friday. No rooms
Laundry most of the day but free in the evening
Unless they throw me into kitchen backup again
I’m a man of many talents
[Jeong-Guk]
great
i’ll try not to ruin ur bright world
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Do your best to enjoy yourself a little, yeah ?
It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity...
[Jeong-Guk]
i’ll do my best
to not
After dinner, that same day...
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Hey !
Tell me if I’m overstepping...
But has your family arrived yet ?
[Jeong-Guk]
not yet
they’ll be here soon
Jungkook’s thumb lingers over the screen, considering whether to type anything else, but before he can decide, a voice cuts straight through the quiet.
“Bro.”
Taehyung calls from his armchair, leaning into the doorway between their suites, a doorway that has been unreasonably open for an hour already, despite Jungkook’s many protests and threats, and yet... open it remains.
“Who’ve you been texting non-stop ? ...You look like someone just handed you a serotonin-soaked puppy. It’s weird.”
Jungkook frowns and immediately locks his phone as if the shit holds national secrets and not his conversations with a very charming snowman. He slips into his default uninterested expression, the one his brother has never fallen for.
“How is that your business ?”
“Because you’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“If that subtle twitch at the corner of your mouth isn’t a smile,” the devil answers, flipping on yet another set of decorative lights with villainous glee, “then I don’t know what is. I’m just trying to figure out what miracle—dog video loop or unlucky human being—is behind this sudden burst of emotional range.”
Jungkook sighs and casts a look around his brother’s suite. It’s just as obnoxiously large as his, but it somehow manages to feel warmer, and flashier, and drowning in festive chaos, only because Taehyung requested it all in advance : extra fairy lights, enough garlands to stage a winter opera ; mistletoe so enormous it probably isn’t even natural ; a Christmas tree tall enough Jungkook’s fairly sure it has its own structural engineer.
❆ ❅*ִ
His phone buzzes again.
[Ji-Min 𐂂]
Hope you’re not too lonely
This time of year can be a lot
Even surrounded by people
Jungkook stares at the message for a second longer, and he swears, his chest feels... weird.
Tight.
Floaty.
Something in between, maybe ?
He’s either catching a cold... or annoyingly charmed.
[Jeong-Guk]
it does get lonely around
but dw
just met an old acquaintance
and I’ll be seeing u soon, right ?
He hits send.
And for some reason, even as Taehyung hums a terrifying rendition of “All I Want For Christmas Is You” in the background, the room feels a little less suffocating than it did ten minutes ago.
❄️ . .
. . .
. . ❄️
. . . .
. .
. . ❄️ . .
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･‧₊˚☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ