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The Fine Art of Being Fine

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The worst night of Jeon Jungkook’s life begins with the words We’re terribly sorry, but there’s been a mix up with your reservation.

At first, it doesn’t faze him. He thinks maybe they’ve been given the wrong rooms, or maybe they’re all on different floors, or maybe they won’t have hot water available. But it’s all things he can live with for a few days. So, it’s fine, really.

Until Jungkook realizes that the mistake is they’ve forgotten to book a room for him. Which means he has to share. Which is fine. They all sleep together all the time anyway. But when he asks Namjoon if he can bunk with him, he turns away with a muttered excuse about keeping him up with his snoring.

Okay, fair enough.

Hoseok and Yoongi send him away too, claiming they want to stay up late writing together.

Alright, there’s more people to ask. He’s still pretty optimistic. 

Seokjin tells him to ask Taehyung, and Taehyung straight up walks away when Jungkook tries to approach him. Which is odd. Taehyung always wants to cuddle.

By this point, Jungkook is no longer optimistic.

He takes a deep breath, and resolves himself to sleeping in the hotel lobby or something, international celebrity status be damned, but then Jimin’s excitedly waving him over.

“You can sleep with me, Jungkookie,” he says, all smiles and sunshine, and Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to say no. He likes seeing Jimin happy. He’s seen him unhappy long enough to know for sure.

“That’s—uh, great. Thanks, hyung. You’re a real lifesaver.” The words come out clunky, and they sound off even to Jungkook’s own ears, but Jimin keeps smiling brightly up at him, so Jungkook doesn’t think about it too hard.

It’s really not fine, though.

The few hours between their arrival and bedtime are pretty uneventful. Dinner’s noisy, like it always is, with chopsticks making semi-clandestine trips into everyone’s plates, no matter who those plates belong to—Jungkook’s particularly proud of the fact that Taehyung only manages to steal a piece of his meat once—but that’s just one more thing Jungkook’s grown used to over the years. It makes him feel at home, in a way, knowing that no matter where they are, no matter how many screaming fans come to see them perform, no matter how much fan-mail they get, he can always count on Taehyung trying to steal his dinner, even though his own plate is still full.

At some point, Jungkook notices Jimin has barely touched his food, so he takes his plate away from him and brings some food up to his mouth. “Say ah,” he says.

Jimin looks slightly startled, but then he smiles, and opens his mouth. “You spoil me,” he says, but he doesn’t look unhappy about it.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” Jungkook says easily. It’s too much of a truth, and the tips of his ears turn punk.

“Yah, stop joking around,” Jimin says, swatting playfully at his arm.

“Who says I’m joking around?” Jungkook asks, grinning and holding some more food up for Jimin to eat. “Have another bite, hyung.”

Jimin obediently swallows another mouthful, and neither of them really says anything anymore. Before dinner ends, Jungkook manages to make Jimin clean his plate, and even sneaks in a few bites from his own before he notices.

All in all, it’s not exactly terrible.

To his credit, Jungkook does not try to run away when faced with the reality that there’s really only one empty bed in their room. It’s barely big enough for two, and the crisp white covers seem to be mocking him, plain as day.

“Um,” he says, a little helplessly.

“Is there anything wrong?” Jimin asks, poking his head out the bathroom, toothbrush hanging off his mouth.

He’s in a worn tank top and boxer shorts, and Jungkook’s gaze drags down from the tip of his slowly-fading pink hair all the way to his bare feet. He’s overwhelmed at just how adorable Jimin looks. His traitorous mind goes as far as to make him think that he’s lucky, being so casually intimate, sharing these little moments, getting to see Jimin like this day after day.

His face grows warm.

“Nope, everything’s totally fine,” Jungkook says, just a little too saccharine to be entirely believable. He makes a show out of carelessly plopping down on the bed, and doesn’t think about how the pillow next to him will probably smell like Jimin in the morning.

Jimin’s eyes narrow a bit in suspicion, but he doesn’t say anything. “Alright, then.”’ He’s about to go back into the bathroom, but then his gaze shifts somewhere near the foot of the bed, and he takes the toothbrush out to say, “Oi, take your shoes off!”

Jungkook laughs, and reaches down to untie his laces.

One very cold shower later, Jungkook’s convinced he can handle it. He’s slept with Jimin before. He’ll just—pretend Taehyung’s also in bed with them, or something. That’s not weird, right?

“You’re dripping on the floor.” Jimin’s voice shakes him out of his reverie.

“What? Oh—sorry.” Jungkook quickly grabs the towel hanging limp around his neck and dries off his hair.

“It’s fine. Just get in here,” Jimin says, patting the empty space next to him on the bed.

Jungkook’s very glad he put on a pair of boxers before getting out of the bathroom, because he can’t say no when Jimin asks like that. Actually, if Jungkook’s being honest, he’s got a little trouble saying no to Jimin in general. His throat feels uncomfortably dry.

“Okay,” he says, stilted.

“I missed you,” Jimin tells him the minute he settles in, wrapping an arm around Jungkook’s waist and pressing himself close.

“We’ve been together all day,” Jungkook says with a laugh. And it’s true. They had even sat together during the bus ride. Taehyung’s pouting had been enough for him to remember it his entire life. Both my best friends have abandoned me, he’d wailed. Of course, five seconds later he’d excitedly marched over to sit next to Yoongi,

“I know,” Jimin says, entangling himself around Jungkook even more, feet hitting his shins. “I still missed you.”

Jungkook’s heart stutters and swells and aches. It’s—it’s what he’s used to. Jimin is always like this. With everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.

“I always miss you, Jungkookie.”

It’s nothing.

“I—I miss you too, hyung,”

Still—Jungkook can hope a little.

They stay up late, talking about everything and nothing, until a yawn stretches Jimin’s mouth wide, and he falls asleep with his head resting on Jungkook’s shoulder, Jungkook’s hand tracing lazy patterns along the inside of his forearm.

Jungkook, overcome with fondness, imagines this is as perfect as he’s ever going to get. Jimin lying right next to him, close enough that, if he wanted, Jungkook could count his eyelashes, or every single one of those marks that he covers with make-up onstage. Jimin, in his bed. Jimin, his.

He reaches, on instinct, and brushes away the hair falling on Jimin’s sleeping face.

Jungkook’s tired, and it’s too easy to dream, so he closes his eyes and does.

In the clarity of the pale-blue morning light, Jungkook realizes three things. The first is that at some point during the night, they’d both shifted, and he’s now spooning Jimin. Him. Spooning. Jimin. The second, even more horrifying, realization is that there’s no way Jimin can’t feel Jungkook’s serious case of morning wood poking at his backside. The third is that, despite realizations one and two, he’s currently doing nothing to move away from Jimin.

His predicament grows even direr when he feels Jimin slowly shift awake. He stretches, accidentally pushing back against Jungkook’s growing—problem. Jungkook lets out a little whine.

Both of them go very still when they realize.

“Um, hyung,” Jungkook says, bright red.

For longer than is strictly comfortable, Jimin says nothing. Then, he whispers, so quietly Jungkook wouldn’t even hear it if he weren’t pressed against him, “Do you need me to go so you can—take care of that?”

“No,” Jungkook blurts out, way too quickly.

From the way Jimin tenses, he knows he’s messing up.

“I mean,” he hurries to clarify, “I just—I just don’t want you to go anywhere, Jimin.”

Jimin loosens a little bit, but he still doesn’t say anything.

“I,” Jungkook says, wracking his sleep-muddled brain for a way to put the mess in his chest into words, “We’ve never gotten to wake up like this before. Together. Just the two of us. And I don’t want you to leave, even though this is—,” he pauses, glancing downward, “less than ideal.”

“Oh, Jungkookie,” Jimin says finally. “I don’t mind—that.”

“Really?” Jungkook asks. “Because if you think it’s gross and never want to sleep—I mean, share a bed—with me again, I’d get it.”

To his surprise and eternal confusion, Jimin laughs.


Jimin rolls around so they’re eye-to-eye, barely a breath between the both of them. “I don’t mind that you’re hard, Kook,” he says, the way he’s looking at Jungkook too soft to match the words. “I mind that—that I’m not strong enough not to want to do anything about it, when you’re in my bed.

Oh, Jungkook thinks, then a little more hysterically, oh. This can’t be real. There’s no way this is his life right now.

“Well, say something,” Jimin says, and only then does Jungkook realize he’s been silently gaping at him,

“I’m sorry. I’m just—uh, processing.”

“Process faster,” Jimin says, and Jungkook knows that he’s trying to be annoying on purpose, but it just makes him laugh and want to pinch his cheeks. So he does.

“You’re so cute,” he says.

“Thank you, Jungkook. That’s what every guy wants to hear in bed,” Jimin deadpans.

“But you are though. You’re so cute, and I just wanna kiss you all over, like, all the time.” Jungkook doesn’t think, just lets the first thing inside his head rush out of his mouth at full speed, but it’s true. It’s so, so true. “Can I?” he adds, sheepish.

“You don’t have to ask,” Jimin says, and then he’s somehow even closer. Too close. Too far, still.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since forever,” Jungkook confesses, and then there’s no more space to say anything between them.

The kiss is soft, slow, too careful at first. But then he nips at Jimin’s lower lip, mostly on accident, and the little pleased sound he gets in response makes heat rush through his body. He wants to know all the sounds Jimin can make, just for him. All the breathless pants and all the ways he can laugh and all the surprised yelps and everything in between.

He wants Jimin.

And, when Jungkook feels the gentle press of Jimin’s palm against his cock, it dawns on him, that this isn’t him, alone in his room at sixteen, jerking off to the thought of Jimin’s mouth. That’s Jimin’s now real and warm and solid against him.

“I want,” he says, a bit clumsy and a bit breathless too, because Jimin’s apparently very good with his hands. “I want to do everything with you, hyung.”

Jimin laughs against his mouth, a sound filled with delight. “We have time,” he says.

Then he’s kissing the corner of Jungkook’s mouth, his neck, his collarbone, trailing further downward, pausing to teasingly bite at one of his nipples—sheer force of will is the only thing keeping Jungkook from coming like he’s sixteen again, right then—and then he stops, pressing a kiss just above the waistband of Jungkook’s underwear and says, “Wanna suck you off.”

A strangled sound, sort of like a whine, is all the leaves Jungkook’s mouth. He nods.

He probably comes too fast. It’s all too warm and everything Jimin does feels too good, and before he knows it he’s coming, pulling Jimin up for another kiss, hungry and wet and messy.

Later, after they’re both laying sated next to one another, after Jungkook’s found out a few more of the sounds Jimin can make just for him, just because of him, he will look over at Jimin’s smiling face, kiss the tips of his fingers one by one, and think that this really is fine.

It’s never been more fine than this in his whole, entire life.