The further they got into the district, the darker the clouds got above them. The rain, when it came, started all at once, in big, cold drops. It’s been raining for a long time, now, and the ground is soggy under their feet. Water is beginning to seep into Jimin’s left boot. He’s still better off than Taehyung, whose thin cloth slippers have been soaked through for miles, but when Jimin points that out, Taehyung smiles and says, “It’s kind of nice, actually.”
Jimin raises his eyebrows.
“The water warms up inside my shoe,” Taehyung explains. “And then it’s nice. And then I’ll step in a puddle and new cold water comes in, and it’s refreshing. That’s nice, too.”
Jimin finds himself swallowing down a lump in his throat. “I’m going to miss you so much,” he says.
Taehyung moves closer, so that their arms brush as they walk. “We’ll miss you, too,” he says. “But we can visit, and so can you, once the district settles down.”
“Yes, I know,” says Jimin. He doesn’t say, “It won’t be the same,” or, “Who knows when that will be,” or “What if I’m not the right fit and it never gets any better and I’m stuck here forever, or it’s so bad I die? What if I never love my husbands as much as I love you and yours?” He thinks Taehyung knows a little of what he’s feeling, though. And if he’s just slipped his hand into Jimin’s to comfort him, that’s okay, too.
They’re close now, only a mile or two from the center of the district. Jimin is having trouble concentrating on his surroundings, but it doesn’t matter. Tonight he’ll know this road and everything within view as well as he knows his own name. Better, even. People have forgotten their names, but no witch has ever forgotten their district once they’re bound to it. He’s going to love it, probably. He’s supposed to. But there’s no point in trying to like it now, if it’s going to happen anyway.
Taehyung keeps talking. He’s moved on from the weather to the soil enrichment spell he and Hoseok have been planning. Jimin was supposed to help with that. He tunes Taehyung out, just a little, letting the sense of what he’s saying pass through him, but hanging onto the sound of it. It makes it easier not to think about the rumble of thunder approaching.
“You’re late,” is the first thing Jimin’s future husband Yoongi ever says to him. He’s about Jimin’s height, with messy dark hair and a small, pale face. His gaze is sharp and uncomfortable as he looks back and forth between Jimin and Taehyung. It’s hard to tell, but Jimin thinks his eyes linger longest on Taehyung.
He steps forward. “I’m Park Jimin,” he says. “It--the journey took longer than we expected. Because of all the rain.” He hopes Yoongi takes it as a dig, because that’s how Jimin meant it.
Yoongi squints at Jimin. “You walked? If you’d flown, you would have been on time.”
Jimin breathes in slow, breathes out slower. It would be bad if he started crying now. “Seokjin-hyung told me not to deplete my magic before the ceremony,” he says. “Didn’t you--you’ve done this before, right?”
“Oh,” says Yoongi. “Joon and I did a two-day vigil. Maybe that’s why.” His voice is a little softer when he says, “It’s different when it’s an emergency, I guess.”
Taehyung squeezes Jimin’s hand. Maybe he’d done a vigil, too. Jimin hadn’t been there. Taehyung and Hoseok’s marriage was planned far in advance, and Taehyung had stayed with him for months before the ceremony.
“Well, I’m here now,” says Jimin. “Where do you want me?”
Yoongi looks back at him for a long moment, and then turns away, back towards the house. “Joon-ah,” he calls. “Where are you? He’s here.”
Three people file out of the front door, but it’s easy to identify Namjoon. He’s wearing a white robe for the ceremony, like Yoongi is. He’s taller than Yoongi, with a rounder, broader face, but his eyes are just as sharp. They get closer, and the people behind him turn out to be Seokjin and Jeon Jungkook.
“Kookie!” says Jimin. “You finished your training?”
Jungkook grins and nods and comes over for a hug. “I’m apprenticed to Jin-hyung now,” he says, and turns to Taehyung to hug him, too.
“For now,” says Seokjin. He hadn’t been the head of the council last time Jimin saw him. He looks a lot more serious now. Jimin hadn’t been able to imagine him as council head, when he heard, but Hoseok said he’d wear it well. Looking at him now, Jimin can see it.
“Do you want to change inside?” Seokjin asks. “We should start soon.”
The door opens into the kitchen. He’s the only one in the house, so Jimin decides he might as well change there. It doesn’t seem like a good time to explore.
He puts his pack down and starts pulling things out. His ceremonial robe is all the way at the bottom, crumpled and a little damp. He tries to shake out the wrinkles, but it doesn’t do much good.
Taehyung made this robe. Taehyung makes most of their clothes, except for when they need something special. Jimin wonders who does that here, and who cooks, and cleans, and takes care of the garden. The kitchen looks clean, but they have company right now, so that doesn’t mean anything.
The wrinkles in his robe don’t matter at all, because Jimin hasn’t been outside for more than five minutes before it’s soaked through. Everyone else is equally wet, except for Seokjin. Jimin can see the rain hitting him, but it’s gone before it soaks into his clothes. Jimin doesn’t know that spell, but it seems like it would be a complicated one. It’s a lot to casually have working when you don’t really need it. There’s a reason Seokjin was elected head of the council, but back when Jimin was training, he didn’t flaunt his power like this. He smiles at Jimin and gestures for him to join Yoongi and Namjoon. They’re ready to start. Jimin isn’t, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be, so they might as well go.
They walk single file down a wooded path. Yoongi, Namjoon and Jimin are in front, barefoot and shivering in thin, sodden white robes. They’re followed by Seokjin, who will be performing the ceremony. Taehyung and Jungkook, here for moral support and education, respectively, bring up the rear. Jimin’s feet hurt from stepping on twigs and pebbles, and he misses being able to hold hands with Taehyung. He misses--He wishes, suddenly, that they had stopped for a last moment together before they’d gotten to the house, or that he’d brought Taehyung inside with him when he’d changed. But saying goodbye doesn’t mean the same thing to Taehyung as it does to Jimin, so maybe it’s better that they didn’t get the chance.
Ceremonies like this always happen in the heart of the district. In some districts, it’s a cave, or a hill. Hoseok comes from a district where the heart is at the center of a huge lake. Here it’s a spring, about twenty minutes’ walk into the forest. Jimin, Namjoon and Yoongi stand side by side at the edge. The earth under Jimin’s feet is waterlogged and cold, and it’s hard to keep as still as he’s supposed to. Seokjin, behind them, recites the spell that will bind Jimin to the other two, and all three of them to the land.
Jimin has imagined this ceremony. Too many times, considering he was imagining a version of it that was never going to happen. He could have gone years and years as an unattached witch, and the council still wouldn’t have let him marry Taehyung and Hoseok, who didn’t need him. Even in his fantasies, he had to have something go wrong in their district before it would make sense for him to be permanently bound to them.
The pond at the heart of Taehyung and Hoseok’s district is just big enough to be good for swimming, and surrounded by tall grass. There’s a boulder at the edge of it, big enough to lie on and sunbathe. Jimin and Hoseok could climb to the top without help, but Taehyung, even though he’s the tallest of them, always needed a hand up. Jimin would have loved to get married there, but now he might not even get to see it again.
It’s dark here, under the trees. The rain falls noisily on the leaves above them, and Jimin’s feet sink into the mud. His skin is clammy and his robe is stuck to him with a combination of rainwater and nervous sweat. He understands now what Taehyung meant about the water in his shoes, because he can’t wait to get into the spring.
Jin’s voice stops, and there’s an expectant silence. Jimin’s body goes cold--colder--with fear for about three seconds before Yoongi, on Namjoon’s far side, says, “Min Yoongi.”
“Kim Namjoon,” says Namjoon, too quickly.
Namjoon’s nerves make it easier for Jimin to keep his voice level when he says, “Park Jimin.” Then he steps off the bank and slips into the water and under.
Jimin shivers violently, even as he enjoys the way the cold water feels on his skin. As he rises to the surface, he feels someone come up behind him and wrap warm arms around him, but when he opens his eyes, Yoongi and Namjoon are both in front of him. He twists to look behind him, but there’s no one there, and the feeling of being held moves with him. When he turns back, Namjoon gives him a knowing smile. Jimin feels cooler water running through his fingers, and when he looks down, Namjoon’s hand is in his. Namjoon and Yoongi are already holding hands, so Jimin reaches out for Yoongi on the other side and closes the circle.
Something happens, then.
When Jimin asked, Hoseok told him not to worry about the wedding ceremony. “Just let it happen,” he’d said. He’d smiled and looked at Jimin through half-closed eyes. “I don’t want to say too much about it, but it’s good. Enjoy it.” Hoseok might be the only witch alive who’s been married twice, and he didn’t like his first spouse the way he likes Taehyung. When he said the ceremony was good in and of itself, Jimin should have believed him.
Hoseok was right. Jimin has never felt connected to anything like this before. He can feel the shape of the water around him and the shape of Namjoon and Yoongi in it. The topography of the district stretches out in every direction like an extension of Jimin’s body. Seokjin is still speaking, or speaking again, but Jimin’s mind is too full to notice him until he stops.
“I do,” says Yoongi, like it’s nothing.
“I do,” says Namjoon, like it’s a real answer to a real question.
“I do,” Jimin says, not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to, and the map fills in.
They don’t have to walk back to the house in any particular order, so Seokjin and Yoongi end up at the front, talking in low voices, Jungkook trailing a few steps behind them. Jimin thinks Taehyung and Namjoon are making polite conversation, but he’s not paying that much attention. They’re all leaving him alone, and he’s grateful for that.
The rain has let up, barely more than a drizzle now. They’d heard a change in the patter of water on leaves as soon as the ritual ended, and Seokjin’s hunched shoulders had relaxed as he tried and failed to hold back a smile. Jimin doesn’t care. Even if the signs were wrong and he wasn’t the right witch for the district, there’s nothing anyone can do about it now. He’s as much a part of the district as the stones under his feet--and he knows the stones under his feet as well as he knows himself.
It’s difficult to walk when you can feel every worm and pebble and molecule of dirt down to the bedrock every time your feet touch the ground. It’s difficult to keep your balance when you keep getting caught in currents in the air. It’s difficult to listen to a conversation when, every time one of the people in it speaks, you feel the vibrations in their voice box as if it were your own. Jimin is having a hard time.
Jimin’s heartbeat synced to Namjoon and Yoongi’s in the seconds after the wedding ritual was complete. He can only tell when he focuses that it’s three beats now, instead of one. But it occurs to him, as he’s tripping over a root three feet below the surface, that he’s still alone. Namjoon and Yoongi did this five years ago. Jimin is five years behind them--more, if you count the time they were engaged--and he always will be. And he’s stuck here, and with them, for the rest of his life.
At the house, Seokjin heats up food that he prepared before Jimin and Taehyung arrived. Jimin eats what’s put in front of him, concentrating hard enough that he only sometimes feels nauseous when Yoongi or Namjoon swallows. After a few minutes, Yoongi reaches over and puts his hand on Jimin’s knee, and that helps. Jimin smiles his thanks at Yoongi before he moves his chair sideways, out of Yoongi’s reach.
He stays close to Taehyung and Jungkook, and tries to enjoy the food. He’s missed Seokjin’s cooking, and he doesn’t know when he’s going to have it again, or whether Yoongi and Namjoon are any good in the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” Namjoon asks, bending over to whisper in Jimin’s ear as he passes behind is chair. Jimin doesn’t know why he’s asking. He must know. Namjoon must be able to feel the nausea and the dread as well as Jimin can feel his nerves and Yoongi’s impatience. Jimin nods and smiles and shifts closer to Taehyung.
Soon--too soon--it’s time for the guests to leave. It’s dusk, and they all have a long way to fly tonight. Jimin hugs Taehyung hard, and doesn’t let go until Yoongi puts a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll write,” says Taehyung. “And I’ll send Hoseokie to visit, soon.”
Jimin nods and squeezes Taehyung’s hand and doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Taehyung has been his best friend since he was a teenager, and something more than that for almost as long, but this doesn’t mean the same thing for Taehyung as it does for Jimin. He has to keep reminding himself. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you, too,” says Taehyung, and hugs him once more, and joins Jungkook on the path.
Seokjin lingers, looking between Jimin, Namjoon and Yoongi. “You know you have two days to consummate the marriage,” he says. “But sooner is better.”
Jimin doesn’t know whether the flush he feels on his face belongs to him or all three of them.
“Thanks,” says Yoongi. “I don’t think we--” he looks at Namjoon.
“It wasn’t really an issue, last time,” says Namjoon.
Jimin looks at Seokjin so that he doesn’t have to look at his husbands.
“Jimin-ah…” says Seokjin.
Jimin tries to look receptive. Seokjin sighs. He steps closer and puts his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, tilts his head forwards. “Listen to me,” he says quietly, for Jimin’s ears only. “I did this. It didn’t have to be you, but I made sure it was, so if you have to hate someone, hate me.”
Jimin closes his eyes and swallows.
“But maybe don’t hate anyone,” Seokjin continues. “You need this. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but this is going to be good for you. You’re happy when you make the people around you happy. Give them that. Give yourself that. Let it be good.”
Then he’s gone, and Jungkook is gone, and Taehyung is gone, and Jimin is alone with his new husbands.
Yoongi looks abruptly freer and lighter. Namjoon smiles and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“You alright?” Yoongi asks Jimin. He makes a face. “Why am I asking? Of course you’re not.” He and Namjoon exchange a glance, a wordless conversation.
“Sit down, and we’ll clean up,” Yoongi says, pulling out a chair. “And then--we’ll talk, okay?”
Jimin nods. What he really wants is to fly away and catch up to Taehyung, to follow him home and never leave. A brief reprieve from talking to Namjoon and Yoongi sounds nice, too, though.
The kitchen is big, but Namjoon and Yoongi move around it like it’s bigger. Jimin doesn’t know if the way they move around each other is the ease of having known each other for a long time or a byproduct of their bond as spouses, but they communicate so easily that they don’t look like they’re doing it at all. Jimin’s not stupid, though. He sees Yoongi slow down halfway through wiping out the bowls, and he notices when Namjoon sweeps parts of the room he’s already swept. They don’t want to talk to him any more than he wants to talk to them.
When they finally sit down, Namjoon reaches across the table to take one of Jimin’s hands in both of his. “It helps,” he says, when Jimin tenses. He’s right. When they’re touching, it’s easier to know what’s Namjoon’s body and what’s Jimin’s. Yoongi rests his hand on top of theirs and it’s like they’re in the spring again: three hearts, six lungs, one system.
“It gets easier,” says Yoongi. “You learn to only be aware of the parts you need.”
“Touching makes it go faster,” adds Namjoon. “We think, anyway. We adjusted to each other a lot faster than…” he gestures at their surroundings with his free hand.
“You’d been together for a long time already,” says Jimin.
“A few years,” says Namjoon, with a glance at Yoongi. “We’ve lived together for eight years now.”
A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “We met when we were training,” he says. “We didn’t get along at first, but then…” his eyes are soft when he shrugs. “By the time we were ready for a district, we’d been together long enough that we were sure we wanted to stay with each other.”
“You were wrong, though, weren’t you?” Jimin says, eyes on their hands. “It didn’t work.” He doesn’t look up, even as the silence stretches out.
“The district needed more,” says Yoongi. “But that doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other, or that our relationship doesn’t work. We’re happy together.” He’s silent again, but when Jimin doesn’t respond, he adds, “We didn’t ask for you. We didn’t want you. Stop, Joon, I’m not going to lie to him.”
Jimin looks up to see Namjoon’s hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. More wordless communication, and he hopes that doesn’t keep hurting him like this, if he’s going to be seeing so much of it.
“Anyway,” Yoongi continues. “It doesn’t matter now. We need you, it turns out. And you’re here, so. We want this to work.”
“Me, too,” says Jimin, and hates how small his voice sounds. He’s stuck here; what else is he supposed to want? That doesn’t mean he has to like it.
“Good,” says Namjoon. His smile shows deep, deep dimples, but Jimin doesn’t itch to touch them the way he does when he sees Hoseok’s. “Can we, um. Do you want to tell us about yourself? Or is there anything you want to know about us?”
You and us, Jimin thinks. Us and you. “Maybe tomorrow?” he says. “It’s been a long day.”
“Oh, of course,” says Namjoon. He looks at Yoongi and then back at Jimin. “Do you want to--we can consummate it tomorrow?”
“The sooner the better, hyung said,” Yoongi reminds him.
“We might as well get it over with,” says Jimin.
They show him around first. The privy, behind the house. The garden, the greenhouse. Namjoon and Yoongi exchange glances about the greenhouse, and Yoongi says, “We’ll talk about that tomorrow.” The rain has stopped altogether, but there’s a new chill in the air.
The kitchen is the largest room on the ground floor, but there’s also a workroom and a storeroom. Upstairs, there's just a study and the bedroom.
“I’m usually up here, or in the greenhouse, and Yoongi spends most of his time in the workroom,” says Namjoon. Jimin bites back a comment about making himself at home in the storeroom, maybe in the potato bin. Their stores are clearly low, and Jimin wonders for the first time where they’re getting their food from. The seasons haven’t cycled correctly here in more than a year, and they’d been out of alignment for a few years longer than that, from what Seokjin said when he wrote.
The bedroom is bigger than Jimin expected, and so is the bed. “We made it bigger,” says Namjoon. “When--when we heard you were coming.”
“Thank you,” says Jimin. There are new hooks on the wall, too, and he hangs up his clothes. He only brought his nicest, newest things, but Yoongi wrinkles his nose and says, “I can lend you some things, if you like. And I’ll take your measurements tomorrow.”
“I don’t need anything,” says Jimin.
“Whatever you want,” says Yoongi, so relaxed about it that Jimin doesn’t think he meant to follow through on the offer anyway. He yawns. “Well,” he says. “Shall we?”
Namjoon snickers and then says, “Sorry. Sorry. This is just...really awkward.”
“How do you think I feel?” Jimin asks, so quietly that he’s not sure whether or not he wanted them to hear him.
“We don’t know,” says Yoongi. “You haven’t told us.” ‘Us’ again.
“Can’t you--feel it?” Jimin asks.
It’s dark outside now, and there’s just one the candle in Namjoon’s hand, for light. Jimin can see Yoongi’s mouth move, but he can’t identify his expression.
“I guess you’re feeling everything now,” says Namjoon.
Jimin says, “I don’t really know what I’m feeling.”
“It fades,” says Namjoon. “Or, you learn to set it aside and reach for it when you need it. We’ve had a long time to get used to it. We’re--I know I’m trying not to--I’m trying to give you as much privacy as I can.”
“Me too,” says Yoongi.
Jimin closes his eyes. “I can’t do that for either of you right now.” He can’t not know that Yoongi’s back hurts and that he’s a little hungry again, or that when Namjoon gets nervous he feels it all over his skin.
“That’s okay,” says Namjoon. He pauses. “We know this is harder for you,” he says. “We’re sorry about that.”
“Okay,” says Jimin.
“The good news, under, the, um, circumstances,” says Yoongi.
“Hyung,” says Namjoon.
“I know,” says Yoongi. “But it’s, you know, good for sex, feeling what your partner feels. Partners.”
For the last three nights, Jimin has slept curled against Taehyung in a small tent on cold mud. They huddled for warmth, and for comfort. For the three nights before that, Jimin slept in Taehyung and Hoseok’s bed, where he’s slept for the last year, far enough from them that they wouldn’t accidentally touch. The night before that, they’d touched, and done more than touch, but Jimin hadn’t known it would be the last time. He doesn’t like the idea of overlaying that experience with anything else. He doesn’t like that he doesn’t have a choice about it.
Jimin loosens the ties on his white robe and pulls it over his head. It’s dry, now, but it was soaked through for most of the afternoon, and it can’t have hidden much. Nothing about his body is hidden from Yoongi and Namjoon now, anyway.
It’s too dark for Jimin to see their faces well, but he knows they’re looking, and he likes that. “You’re still not feeling what I’m feeling, right?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “Not until--unless you say it’s okay.”
“Good,” says Jimin. He pauses. “Well?”
Yoongi takes his robe off and picks Jimin’s up off the floor. He takes Namjoon’s from him, too, and folds them all neatly and puts them by the door.
“We can’t wear those again,” Jimin says.
“I know,” says Yoongi. “But we can always use rags.” He comes back to stand in front of Jimin.
He’s broader than Jimin in the shoulders, but thinner everywhere else. Skinny, not lean like Hoseok. Namjoon, standing a little off the the side, is also on the thin side, and tall but unimpressive. Jimin’s eyes move down his body impassively. His dick isn’t as big as Taehyung’s. They’re fine, both of them. Not unattractive. But--Jimin doesn’t want them.
“So,” says Jimin. “How do you want to do this? Are there...rules? I didn’t have time to study the ceremony.”
“No rules,” says Namjoon. “We--”
“Yeah,” says Yoongi. “We found that out, last time.” He sounds like he’s smiling. Everything they say is an inside joke. Jimin hates it.
“Can we just--do this?” he asks. He wants it to be over.
“We can do whatever you want,” says Namjoon.
Jimin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want, is the thing.
Namjoon, looking at him, must see some of that. “Actually,” he says. “Since you’re…” He moves behind Yoongi and slides his hand around Yoongi’s waist to stroke his soft stomach. Jimin feels the touch, or the ghost of it. He’s not feeling things as strongly as he was a few hours ago, before they all held hands at the table downstairs. It feels good, though, and he understands what Namjoon is saying.
“Okay,” Jimin says. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”
Namjoon and Yoongi sit down at the end of the bed, and after a moment Jimin follows, sitting behind Yoongi so that neither of them can get a good look at him.
Namjoon is just touching Yoongi still, his hand moving slowly up Yoongi’s thigh to his ass, over his hip to his belly, up to his chest. Jimin can feel Yoongi trying to breathe slow, and he wonder if they would usually move faster than this.
Jimin likes it slow. Namjoon’s hands on Yoongi feel good to Yoongi, and that feels good to Jimin. Namjoon rubs his thumb over Yoongi’s nipple and Jimin sighs, and isn’t sure whether it’s because he likes that, or because Yoongi does.
Namjoon leans forward a little and kisses Yoongi, and Jimin thinks, finally, and doesn’t know why. Yoongi and Namjoon kiss like people who have been kissing for a long time, and know each other down to the bone.
He’s getting sensations from both sides now, more than just gentle arousal coming from Namjoon for the first time as Yoongi kisses him and pulls him closer, fingers gently scratching through the hair at the nape of Namjoon’s neck. Jimin likes the progression of it: Yoongi nipping at Namjoon’s lip, to Namjoon’s soft noise in response, to both of Namjoon’s hands moving to Yoongi’s jaw to hold him in place as he deepens the kiss. Jimin’s hand moves to his dick without him thinking about it, and it feels better than he expected. He’s more turned on than he thought.
It’s gotten a little lighter in the room, moonbeams making their way through the clouds.
“It’s clearing up,” says Yoongi. He twists to look at Jimin. “That’s you.”
“Oh,” says Jimin.
Namjoon leans in--to kiss Yoongi again, Jimin assumes, but he comes further, his cheek brushing against Yoongi’s nose, and kisses Jimin instead.
Namjoon’s lips on Jimin’s feel better to him than they did on Yoongi’s. He’s getting all the warmth and pressure now, all the texture of Namjoon’s skin instead of about two thirds of it. Jimin sighs and lets his lips part, and doesn’t pull away when Namjoon’s tongue slides against his, or when Yoongi slides his arm around Jimin’s waist and kisses his neck.
“We need you here,” Namjoon says, in barely more than a whisper. “You’re already making it better.”
“We need you,” Yoongi repeats, moving one big, warm hand to Jimin’s hip. “Let us make you feel good, okay?” He kisses the corner of Jimin’s mouth. “Since we’re here.”
Yoongi is right. They’re here, and this is something they have to do, and--when Namjoon kissed Jimin, when he felt Namjoon and what Namjoon was feeling at the same time, he’d wanted more of that. So he nods and says, “Just this once,” because he doesn’t want them getting any ideas about him.
“Just this once,” Yoongi agrees, and pulls Jimin with him as he falls back against the bed.
Yoongi kisses him and wraps his hand around Jimin’s dick like he’s been wanting to, like all he wanted was permission. Jimin pushes into his grip and moves his hand up and down Yoongi’s back, scratching lightly when he feels the echo of the touch. Yoongi hums against his mouth.
Namjoon has come around the bed to lie behind Jimin, pressing up close so that Jimin can feel Namjoon’s dick against his ass. He rocks back against Namjoon and barely holds back a moan, the feedback loop is so good. The wave of pleasure Namjoon feels when he grinds against Jimin’s ass goes straight to Jimin, gasping as he fucks into Yoongi’s hand, and to Yoongi, whining into Jimin’s mouth. Jimin reaches for Yoongi’s dick and then it’s even more intense, all three of them moving together but out of sync, and all the better for it.
“Hyung,” says Namjoon, and then they’re kissing over Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin gets more than half of what Yoongi is feeling, and more than half of what Namjoon is feeling, and not being kissed by them is more than being kissed by any other person. Jimin’s been trying to keep quiet, but now he moans into empty air.
The sound calls them back to him. Yoongi kisses him again, stops, spits on his hand, and comes back to it--to kissing Jimin, and to jerking him off, slow and steady and smoother now. Namjoon is moving harder and faster against Jimin’s ass, and when he moves his mouth to Jimin’s neck, sucking at the soft skin under his ear, Jimin loses track of the individual sensations. Each thing happening to any of the three of them is just one good part of a larger good thing, a wave of pleasure that should crest when he comes, but doesn’t. Jimin presses his face against Yoongi’s chest as first Namjoon and then Yoongi’s orgasms build, crash, and wash through him.
They lie there in silence for long enough that Jimin wonders if they’re waiting for him to speak first. This isn’t new for them. They knew what to expect. Jimin is the one still trying to piece the world together around him.
“I’m going to get a clean blanket,” Yoongi says, shifting under Jimin.
Jimin moves off him first, and thinks second. “I can get it,” he says, even as Yoongi is getting out of them bed. He holds his hand flat over his body, an arms-length up, and calls the dirt to him--not just their drying come, but the accumulated dirt in the weave. No one’s blankets are as clean as Hoseok’s.
He gets up and pads over to their folded wedding robes to wipe his hand, while Yoongi stands and watches. “That was very neat,” Namjoon says, sleepily, as he gets under the covers
“It’s nothing,” says Jimin. “Barely a spell. Do you not--”
“We’ve been conserving our magic,” says Yoongi. He pauses. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Come back to bed.”
Jimin gestures, You first. Yoongi climbs in next to Namjoon, Namjoon’s arm coming around him right away. Jimin walks to the window and looks out. The clouds haven’t just thinned; they’re gone. The stars are bright over a landscape that’s different from the one Jimin’s been living in, woods and hills instead of Hoseok and Taehyung’s wide prairies. Home, Jimin thinks, trying it out. It feels wrong. He joins his new husbands in bed, and there’s not as much room as he’d like, but he can get a good six inches between his body and Namjoon’s without feeling like he’s going to fall off the edge in the night.
When Jimin wakes from his first sleep, Yoongi and Namjoon are still six inches away. He gets out of bed slowly, not wanting to disturb them.
He has a routine, one he’s shared with Hoseok since he went to live with Hoseok and Taehyung: meditate, stretch, dance. He’s worried about making noise if he goes downstairs, or worrying Namjoon and Yoongi if they wake up to find him gone, so he pulls on a pair of trousers and sits on the bedroom floor and closes his eyes.
Jimin has been meditating to a count of 1000 every night for more than a year. It wasn’t easy at first, but it’s not difficult now. Tonight, it is. There’s so much to think about, and Jimin hasn’t got a cushion to sit on, and it gets cold here at night.
Eventually he gives in and lets himself think about all the different things he’s feeling--the hard floor under him, and Namjoon’s arm, cold where the blanket has slipped down, and the wind outside blowing the last few wisps of cloud away. He breathes in and out in time with a frog in a pond two miles north-west.
Something is different than it was. Jimin can still feel everything, but he can feel himself, too, separate from the rest of it. There’s a point where Jimin ends and Yoongi and Namjoon and their district begin. He tries to pinpoint when that happened, and feels stupid when he realizes that this is why they had to consummate the marriage. This is how that works. He wonders if Namjoon and Yoongi would have told him that, if he’d asked, or if they were so busy fucking the first time they got married that they don’t know.
He’s lost his count, so he gets up and starts going through his stretches. He should warm up first, because it’s gotten chilly and he wasn’t doing this while he and Taehyung were on the road, but he’s still trying to stay quiet, so he just makes sure not to push himself too hard.
When he hears movement from the bed--Namjoon, stretching his legs and pointing his toes, the bond supplies--Jimin stops moving and looks over. Namjoon’s hand moves to Yoongi’s face and Yoongi tilts his head forwards and they kiss, slow and comfortable. He can feel the heat between them, building slowly. The love, too, he guesses, a steadier burn. He watches them for a couple of minutes before Namjoon says “Wait,” and reaches behind him.
“I’m here,” says Jimin, even though they’re already turning to look at him, their awareness of him obviously not as completely shut off as they had implied. “I’m stretching.”
“Oh,” says Yoongi.
“I dance,” Jimin says. “So I have to stay flexible.”
“Seokjin-hyung mentioned that you dance,” says Namjoon.
Yoongi blinks. “This is what you do between sleeps?” he asks. He seems half asleep still.
Jimin nods. “I can go downstairs,” he says. I wasn’t sure when you were going to wake up, or--”
“It’s fine,” says Yoongi. After a pause, he adds, “Use the kitchen. There are some rough spots on the workroom floor.”
“Thank you,” says Jimin. He’s at the door when he stops and says, “You two, between sleeps…”
“Sometimes we work on projects,” says Yoongi.
Namjoon giggles into Yoongi’s shoulder, but Jimin didn’t need that to know. He didn’t even really need to ask. If they’re still like this after they’ve been together for eight years, married for five, Jimin can’t really blame them for having thought that the two of them would marry well to a district together.
He can feel them go back to kissing as he walks down the stairs. He’s not sure if they can’t remember that he feels that, or if they don’t care. Either way, he’s going to have to do something--get used to it, or figure out how to shut out what they’re feeling. Especially if they’re going to be having sex while he’s trying to dance every night.
He examines his sense of the bond as he finishes stretching. He tries squeezing it, twisting it, hitting it, walling it off, but it gets harder and harder to concentrate as things get more heated upstairs. It’s only after Namjoon and Yoongi both come that Jimin figures out where to put his mental effort to push them away. He’s tired, by then, so he practices one of his shortest dance spells, one to encourage green things to grow, that Hoseok choreographed just after Jimin moved in with him and Taehyung. It’s just practice; he’s not really dancing the spell. He lets a little bit of magic slip in as he dances, though. It can’t hurt.
When he goes back upstairs, Yoongi and Namjoon are still awake, barely. They’re even closer together now than they were before, so Jimin has more room to himself. He’s grateful, but at the same time he hates it. He wishes it were Taehyung and Hoseok there in bed with him, so that he could roll closer and be held, and warm, and loved. That’s not the love Jimin is supposed to want, he knows, but he decided a long time ago that whatever love he could get from them was better than anything from anyone else.
Taehyung won’t be home yet, but he’ll be out of their district and into his own. Hoseok probably set out to meet him as soon as he crossed the border.
Jimin wakes up to Namjoon and Yoongi moving around the room as they get dressed.
“Good morning,” says Namjoon.
“Good morning,” says Jimin. He sits up, rubbing his eyes.
“You don’t have to get up right away, if you don’t want to,” says Yoongi.
Jimin shrugs. “There’s work to do, isn’t there?” He walks past them to get to his clothes. At the last minute before he follows them downstairs, he grabs his jacket. There’s still a chill in the air.
“What are you good at?” Yoongi asks when they get outside.
“What are my choices?” asks Jimin.
Yoongi looks to Namjoon, who says, “Growth. Getting rid of mold and mildew. Drying. Sunlight. Drain--”
Jimin interrupts. “Sunlight. I can do that.”
They both look at him.
“Can you, really?” Namjoon asks.
“I wouldn’t have said I could if I couldn’t,” says Jimin. “Why did you ask, if you didn’t think I could do it?”
“I was just listing things we needed,” says Namjoon.
“Well, you’ve got one of them,” says Jimin. “Growth, too, sort of. I haven’t tried the other things. Where do you need it?”
“The raised beds over there,” says Yoongi, pointing past the greenhouse. “We’ve got them draining so they don’t drown, but the plants need more sun than they’re getting.”
“Inside the greenhouse, too,” says Namjoon.
“Later,” says Yoongi. “If--they’re not as bad.” He obviously doesn’t believe Jimin is going to do anything.
Jimin’s mad now, which isn’t the right frame of mind for sunlight, but--had they expected him to be useless? Hoseok taught him sunlight. It doesn’t come quite as easily to Jimin as it does to Hoseok, but Hoseok is a good teacher, too. Hoseok has taught Jimin most of the things he knows that are worth knowing. He’s a different witch now than he was before he went to live with Hoseok and Taehyung. Maybe that’s why Yoongi and Namjoon don’t expect much of him. Maybe Seokjin told them too much about the Jimin of a year and a half ago.
Jimin walks over to the raised beds and looks back at Yoongi and Namjoon. They’re watching him, still, and it makes him want to prove himself, but this isn’t a spell that feeling will fuel. The beds are deep, and the leaves look pale and unhealthy, but vaguely familiar. Some kind of vegetable, maybe.
He crouches next to the closest bed and closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of wet, wet earth, and green things, and rot. He doesn’t know if his sense of Namjoon and Yoongi’s eyes on him is because of their bond, or if he can just feel it on his skin. He breathes in and out for a few moments. You can’t make sunshine when you’re feeling like shadows.
Hoseok taught him to do the kind of magic that runs on the brightest, shiniest feelings. When Jimin first went to live with them, and when Hoseok first started teaching him, Hoseok would give him suggestions whenever they occurred to him: “Well, actual sunlight, of course,” he’d say, in the middle of cleaning up after dinner. “And starlight, sometimes, but never moonlight.” Or, “Baby rabbits, Jiminie. Think about baby rabbits. That feeling.” Or, wrapped around Taehyung and looking at Jimin over his shoulder, “This feeling, right now.”
When Jimin has to do this kind of magic, he usually just thinks about Hoseok.
There’s a bare strip of ground in front of the raised beds, narrow and mud-puddly, but good enough for Jimin’s purpose. He takes off his boots and rolls up the legs of his loose trousers. He very carefully doesn’t think about whether Namjoon and Yoongi are still watching. He begins to dance.
For Jimin, the hardest part of this spell has always been resisting air currents. When the air around him starts to heat up, it wants to move. Heat goes up, cool air rushes in, and gusts of wind, if Jimin isn’t careful, knock his feet off-course. Hoseok always got frustrated with him, and didn’t understand why he had so much trouble with such simple steps. Jimin didn’t understand then why it was so much easier for Hoseok, but he does now, because the air here is his air, and it knows what he’s doing, and wants to help.
He stumbles a couple of times when he leans into a wind that isn’t there, but he knows how not to compensate for wind. He does it with everything else. So he makes the mental adjustment, doesn’t think about Yoongi and Namjoon standing at the end of the path, and starts again.
This time, everything works. Jimin goes through the steps slowly to start, and gathers speed on each repetition, splashing through puddles and sending bits of earth flying. He closes his eyes when he feels the heat coming off his skin start changing to light, the red glow coming through his eyelids competing with the glow of the image of Hoseok’s smile in his head.
There’s a balance to this. Too much sunlight is worse than not enough, and Jimin doesn’t want to dry out the plants, or burn his own skin. This has always been tricky, knowing the right moment to stop accelerating. Heat is so subjective. But Jimin doesn’t have to wonder here, or second-guess himself. The plants tell him when it’s right.
The plants love him. Maybe they did already, because he belongs to them now, but the more sunlight he gives them, the louder they get about it. Their joy gives him an extra kick of energy, and he dances until he can feel the plants getting a little drunk on light--not just the celeriac in the raised beds, but all the plants within range of the spell, from the herbs by the kitchen door to the rows and rows of radishes and taro, happy in the wet, wet soil on the other side of the greenhouse.
Jimin slowly dances to a stop, a little dizzy, his chest heaving. His face hurts from smiling, and he has to use his sleeve to wipe the tears from his eyes. He crouches on the ground, still breathing hard, and rests his face in his hands.
Namjoon and Yoongi walk over quickly, as if they think something is wrong. Namjoon squats next to him and says, “Are you okay? That was incredible.”
Jimin looks up, wiping away more of the tears that keep coming. “I’m fine,” he says.
Namjoon is leaning in close, his eyes wide, his lips parted. “Are you sure? I have--” he digs into the pocket of his vest and pulls out a kerchief. Jimin wipes his eyes and smiles and wipes his eyes again. “I’m really okay,” he says. “It just--it wants different things from you than most spells.”
Yoongi is standing just behind Namjoon, looking down at Jimin with an unreadable expression.
Jimin bites back what he wants to say, and then says it anyway. “Good enough for you?”
Yoongi’s brows draw together for a second as he looks at Jimin, and he says, “You don’t know how much that just changed things for us.”
“Oh,” says Jimin.
“Yeah,” says Yoongi, and then his face breaks into a smile much too big for him. It’s--Jimin resents Yoongi, doesn’t really like anything about him. But when he sees Yoongi smile, his first thought is Hoseok saying, “That feeling.”
Jimin is exhausted, but he pretends he’s not, and Yoongi and Namjoon can only see about halfway through him, so instead of making him sit down and drink something restorative, they bring him into the greenhouse and show him though it.
“You said you could do growth?” Yoongi asks, hopefully.
Jimin shakes his head. “I can, but--it’s a dance, like you saw. I’d have to wait a little while.”
“Ah, no, save your energy for the sunlight,” says Yoongi, and smiles at Jimin. Jimin smiles back, mostly because he thinks he should.
“You’ve been forcing growth without that, though?” says Jimin, looking around. The plants in here are well-grown and healthy, as far as he can tell.
“Namjoon has,” says Yoongi. “I’m not good at that. More effort, worse results. But--something’s always missing. They get vitality from the sun that they can’t get anywhere else. Except you, apparently.”
“What do you do?” Jimin asks.
“Odds and ends,” says Yoongi. “Fix things that are broken. Heal things that are sick.” He gives Jimin an assessing look. “You’re still a little out of it, aren’t you? You should sit down. Take it easy for a little while.”
He points Jimin at a bench and goes off the the other end of the greenhouse, where there are a number of plants in pots sitting next to a workbench.
Jimin watches Yoongi for a little while, more to see how he works than to figure out what he’s doing. After the second time Yoongi glances back at him, visibly uncomfortable, Jimin gets up and wanders over to Namjoon.
Namjoon has his hands resting above a table of plants, and at first Jimin thinks he’s doing a spoken spell, but when he gets closer he can here that he’s murmuring encouragement: “There you go; that’s right,” and “Come on, just a little higher,” and, “Wow, your pods are getting so big.”
Jimin smiles, his first real smile since he got here. “Hi,” he says. “Is it okay if I watch?”
“Of course,” says Namjoon, but he doesn’t start talking to the plants again.
“Does it help, talking to them?” Jimin asks.
“What?” says Namjoon. “Oh. No. I don’t know?”
Jimin smiles at him again and waits.
“They like it,” says Namjoon. “I don’t know if it helps them grow, but--they like it.” He gives Jimin an unsure little smile, and when he turns back to the plants, he starts talking to them again.
“Why aren’t you using a spell?” Jimin asks. It took him a while to be sure, because he doesn’t know much yet about how much of his spouses’ magic use he can feel, but Namjoon isn’t doing anything--just pushing power into the plants.
Namjoon makes a face. “No time,” he says. “I don’t have the right spell and I can’t take a week off and build one, so it has to be this.”
That makes sense. You can do anything with magic, more or less, as long as you have enough of it. Some things take a little; some things take a lot. Some things take more for some witches that for others. Spells make magic go farther by giving it structure. Jimin can’t even conceive of the amount of magic it would take for him to just push sunlight out of his body, but with the structure of the danced spell, it doesn’t even take that much out of him, magically. It’s the emotional energy that makes it so draining. Jimin could probably even dance the growth spell now that he’s got his breath back, but he’s not sure he wants Namjoon and Yoongi to know that yet.
Jimin follows Namjoon around the greenhouse as he works, getting to know the plants a little better, getting to know Namjoon through them. The plants love him, something like the way the plants in Taehyung and Hoseok’s district love Taehyung. Maybe the same way, only Jimin couldn’t hear it directly from the plants there. When he talks to them they’re happy; they want to grow for him. Jimin feels that, and warms to Namjoon a little bit more.
Yoongi leaves the greenhouse for a little while sometime in the third hour and when he comes back, he says, “Food?” and heads for the house without waiting for an answer.
Their meal is leftovers from their wedding supper yesterday--Just yesterday, Jimin thinks, and shivers, overwhelmed by the idea of years and years of days that feel as long as this one has.
“Oh, eggplant,” says Namjoon, oddly reverent.
Yoongi smiles. “I kept some back for you,” he says.
“Thanks,” says Namjoon, his smile primarily composed of dimples.
Jimin takes a little of everything, and Yoongi watches disapprovingly. “We don’t eat like this all the time,” he says. “Side dishes, and pork belly, and all.”
“Oh,” says Jimin. “Should I not--”
“No, eat,” says Yoongi. “Just don’t expect to get anything like this again. Jin-hyung brought it all.”
“And extra,” says Namjoon. “I saw those sacks of flour.”
“That’s going down to the village later,” says Yoongi.
Namjoon puts his chopsticks down. “Yoongi-hyung.”
“What?” says Yoongi. He spoons some stew into his bowl.
“That was for us.”
“Hyung didn’t say that,” says Yoongi.
“So?” says Namjoon. “You know how he meant it.”
“Well, if it’s ours, we can do what we want with it,” says Yoongi. “We don’t want to keep it to ourselves when people in the village are going hungry, do we?”
“No, but…” Namjoon deflates. “Was it just flour, or--”
“Flour, beans, doenjang, some squash. Walnuts. A jar of kimchi.”
“Walnuts,” Namjoon says dreamily. “We could make hotteok. And use the flour for noodles, too. Hyung, please.”
“No pleas for the beans?” Yoongi asks, smiling a little.
“Shut up,” says Namjoon, but he’s smiling, too. Another private joke.
Suddenly, Namjoon says, “What about Jimin? Doesn’t he get a vote?”
They both turn to look at him, and Jimin realizes that they’d entirely forgotten his existence for a few minutes. “People in the village are going hungry?” he says. He hasn’t even seen the village yet.
“People all over the district are going hungry,” Namjoon says, in a tone of voice he might use to talk to a small child. “But the villagers have to buy from the farmers, and the farmers are holding on to what they have for their own families.”
Jimin picks a piece of pork out of the stew and puts it in his mouth. He chews slowly. He swallows.
“I didn’t know that anyone was going hungry,” he says. “You haven’t told me anything.”
They both have the grace to look a little ashamed of themselves. “Ah,” says Yoongi. “I guess we...Seokjin-hyung didn’t tell you anything?”
“His first letter said that you needed me to marry you, and I had until yesterday to get here,” says Jimin. It had arrived in the late morning, and he, Taehyung and Hoseok had been practicing spells. They had all three been shocked, and worried about Namjoon and Yoongi’s district, and then Taehyung and Hoseok had been happy for Jimin, and Jimin had felt sick at heart.
Seokjin’s letter had been couched in terms that made it impossible to refuse. Jimin had started packing his things right away, and pretending as well as he could that he was, if not excited, okay with having his life torn away from him. At first he’d pretended for Hoseok and Taehyung’s sakes. Then he realized they were only sad because he was, and pretended even harder.
The second letter arrived the day before he and Taehyung left for his new district. “The second letter said you’d let the problems here build for a long time,” Jimin says. “He said the seasons went wrong a few years ago, and that they’d stopped altogether, and that there had been some flooding.”
“Two valleys,” says Yoongi, nodding. “We were able to use some of the flooded fields for rice.”
“That’s good,” says Jimin, wishing he sounded more positive. “He didn’t tell me that. He didn’t tell me anything else, except--things that weren’t about the district at all.” Seokjin, as a council witch, can never have his own district. He gets a little bit funny about it sometimes.
“Then Hobi-hyung told me a little about you,” Jimin continues. “You used to be friends, he said? But that’s all. I really don’t know anything.”
“Yes,” Namjoon says, drawing it out. “We were friends.” He and Yoongi exchange a look. “I’m sorry. We didn’t--we should have explained more. But--it’s pretty obvious, that we would have a food shortage.”
“I did wonder where your food was coming from,” Jimin says.
“We’re growing a lot of it ourselves,” says Namjoon. “Hyung, do you want to--”
“No,” says Yoongi. His eyes are on his food.
Namjoon makes a wry face. “Fine.” He leans back in his chair. He’s already wolfed down most of what was in his bowl. “We’re lucky, in a way, because the seasons stopped changing at a time when things could still be growing. But plants need the change in the seasons. And it’s been so wet, and this isn’t a wet district. It’s too hilly. We’ve got a lot of small farms, but the people here don’t grow much more than they need.”
“And their regular crops don’t do well with so much rain,” says Jimin.
“Exactly,” says Namjoon. “So we’ve got them growing rice in some of the flooded areas, and vegetables that grow well in wet soil, but it’s not enough, so we’re forcing things here as quickly as we can. It’s been hard, but...well, things aren’t good, but they could be a lot worse.”
“That’s sort of the problem,” says Yoongi, looking up from his bowl. “We let this go on for much too long because we were managing things. But it was only going to keep getting worse.”
Jimin drinks the last drops of broth from his bowl and puts it down. He could eat more, but, given the subject of their conversation, he feels uncomfortable about taking a second helping. “So you got me,” he says, finally.
Yoongi frowns. “So when Jin-hyung asked if things were really okay, we--”
“Told the truth,” says Namjoon.
“For the first time in a while,” agrees Yoongi. “And then we got you.”
“And the rain stopped,” says Jimin.
Namjoon smiles at him, “Yes, and that made me feel really hopeful. Things might finally be moving forwards again.”
Jimin nods. “And things will get--easier?”
Namjoon has his mouth open to speak for several seconds before he says, “Eventually.”
“It’s going to get harder before it gets easier,” says Yoongi.
“But…” says Jimin. “It will be spring soon, won’t it? And things will grow more easily, and the warmer weather will dry things out?”
Yoongi blinks at him. “Well, no,” he says. “Not yet. We have to get through the winter first.”
“Oh,” says Jimin. “I don’t know why I thought--”
“It’s spring in Hoseok’s district, isn’t it?” says Namjoon.
Jimin nods. “Maybe that’s why.”
Yoongi leans forward. “It’s going to be hard,” he says. “Now that you’re here--it’s already colder. We’re going to have to work fast to stockpile food before everything freezes.”
Jimin nods again, but doesn’t trust himself to speak. It’s not his fault, exactly, that the seasons seem to be moving forward again, but it feels like it is.
“This is why we deserve to have some hotteok while we can,” says Namjoon. “Hyung, can’t we keep just a little of everything?”
Yoongi looks to Jimin, who says, quietly, “You know how badly the villagers need it. I don’t.”
Yoongi nods, like Jimin has given him new information, and says, “We can keep a little of everything. Enough for your noodles, Joon-ah, and some hotteok. And I’m keeping the kimchi.”
“All of it?” says Jimin. “Why?”
“Jin-hyung made it for us,” says Yoongi.
“Ah, hyung,” says Namjoon.
Yoongi frowns at him, and picks up his spoon. “It wouldn’t be right, giving it away.”
Yoongi sets out for the village with the supplies after lunch. Jimin hopes to be invited along, but he’s not, so he goes back to the greenhouse with Namjoon and dances his growth spell for the plants there.
“If I do this every day, can you take some time to write a growth spell?” Jimin asks.
“I was just thinking about that,” says Namjoon. “I don’t think so. You can cover so many plants at once, but using straight magic is so much faster. And it’s still not fast enough. This dance is good, but it won’t substitute for straight magic, or a real spell.”
It is a real spell, and it does what it sets out to do. Jimin is annoyed that Namjoon would say something like that after the sunlight spell, which is some of the most powerful magic Jimin knows, but he’s not surprised. People who don’t dance spells never take danced spells seriously.
When Yoongi gets back, they make their evening meal from the last of Seokjin’s leftovers. Namjoon and Yoongi both have projects they’re working on, Yoongi downstairs and Namjoon upstairs. Jimin is going to have to figure out what to do with these evening hours soon, but not tonight. He’d thought his wedding day was long, and tiring, but today he’s as exhausted as he’s ever been. He goes straight to bed, staying all the way to the side closest to the window, like he did last night.
He doesn’t know when Yoongi and Namjoon join him, but they’re there when he wakes from his first sleep, Namjoon’s face pressed against Yoongi’s neck, Yoongi’s hand in Namjoon’s hair. Jimin keeps finding himself thinking about the marriage bond when he looks at them. He’s always wondered about Taehyung and Hoseok, how much of it was the bond, and how much of it was just them. Namjoon and Yoongi make Jimin think it must be just them, because Taehyung and Hoseok weren’t like this. Taehyung and Hoseok had room for him.
Jimin goes downstairs for his nightly routine right away this time. He’s already working on changing the steps of the growth spell to make it more powerful when he feels Yoongi and Namjoon wake up and reach for each other. It’s a little easier to push away what he’s feeling from them than it was last night, but they’re still distracting. Every time he gets his mind firmly on what he’s doing, a noise from upstairs will draw Jimin’s attention back to his husbands.
Part of Jimin just wants to let himself feel it. He could make it a part of his routine, since it’s a part of theirs. He could interrupt what he’s doing to jerk off while they have sex, and go back to stretching or dancing afterwards. But if they thought to check on him, they would know what he was doing, and he doesn’t want that. They might think it meant something.
He’ll get better at blocking them out, anyway. He’ll have to. But, as he climbs the stairs to go back to a bedroom that doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, the prospect looks dreary.