fate keeps getting jealous of us | 운명이 우릴 자꾸 질투해서

by past_the_moon

Summary:

You almost fall on the train, but someone catches you: Park Jimin. He tells you, "I won't let you fall," so what are you supposed to do but cling to him? And let him rub against you and take you back to his hotel and fuck you and share you with Yoongi, and and and... and maybe keep you?

Notes:

• For JeniPenny.

You are running late — you stayed in the office too long, trying to finish up a stupid reconciliation spreadsheet. The fundraisers cannot seem to keep track of the money they bring in — every time you have to compare your general ledger to their books, they come out either very far ahead or very short, and you have to find the mistakes.

Your boss keeps telling you to use AI, but you would rather die. Your meticulous excel formulae work perfectly fine, thank you, they just need human oversight — exactly the way AI does anyway.

Usually you get out of the office before rush hour properly starts, and today you just couldn't make it. You're surrounded on every side by tired humanity, quiet and sweaty and rumpled, just like you. But you do manage to catch the bar above a seat. You bump the knees of the guy sitting below/in front of you, and he apologizes and you apologize and then you freeze. He's wearing a black mask but you would know those eyes and that long blond hair anywhere.

He definitely realizes you recognize him, and his eyes crescent — you can picture his bright smile under his mask perfectly — and he lifts a finger to his mask. Shh.

Then he looks at your cane and makes a gesture like he's going to stand up, but you wave him off. The train is the train and you're used to it. Plus the crush of people means it would be tough to switch places, and someone else will probably slide into the seat before you can.

He raises his eyebrows at you, but you nod and look away. It's too crowded to do anything but stand, you can't even look at your phone. You actually wish you'd folded up your cane for this — you just know your legs are going to get caught in it somehow. Ugh. A stupid decision in a series of them today.

And then the train slams to a halt and everyone is tossed around. It's been a long time since you've been on a train that stopped so abruptly, since you started avoiding rush hour. You're thrown, just like everyone else — maybe even a little more, since your ankles are so weak, and you do trip over your cane — but a strong arm grabs you and steadies you.

Park Jimin!!! is standing, legs apart, holding your waist, keeping you from falling the way the man next to you had fallen. He holds your eyes for a moment, then taps the woman standing next to you and gestures to his seat. She sits gratefully, and he stays… pressed against you. Arm wrapped around you.

He ducks his head a little, and you feel him tug his mask down. He puts his mouth against your ear and you shiver.

"I'll hold you, okay? You won't fall," he promises as the train jolts again and starts moving. You lose your balance a little again, but he does hold onto you and you don't fall or even stagger much.

You pull down your own mask to your chin. "Thanks," you murmur into his ear. "I appreciate it."

He makes a soft noise, and pulls you to him more tightly. You aren't sure where to put your head, so you … you rest it on his shoulder. You knew he'd gained muscle, no one who watched the Netflix documentary could miss it, but this… He's so strong, and hot under your cheek, and his shirt is soft. He smells like citrus and sweat and is slightly damp the way you all are in this heat and humidity.

It's nice. And you shut your eyes to hopefully imprint this moment on your brain forever. Park Jimin?? Is holding you?? On the train?? So you don't fall?? And his body is pressed against yours.

He keeps you standing through every train bump and stop, so incredibly strong and stable, and you just keep breathing in his scent and focus on not turning your ankle the few times you do lose your balance.

"Fuck," he mutters into your ear, and you figure out why next time you're both jostled by people getting off the train, because he rubs against you, and his dick is… maybe not hard, but definitely there.

You just got laid earlier this week, your FWB who came over for wine and a movie, or Netflix and chill as you used to call it; you fisted her until she came and then she fucked you, and then she kissed your forehead and went home before the movie was even over. It was pretty satisfying, and you aren't thinking about calling her again until the weekend, or maybe next week.

Anyway, despite that — you get wet immediately.

"Sorry," he says, breath hot and damp on your ear. "It's, you know, it's —"

"Proximity," you supply, but when you move your head to say it into his ear, you're jostled again, and he rubs against you again, and your mouth touches his neck. You're close enough that you can hear his sharp little moan before he cuts it off.

Your hips are pressed together, and you can feel his dick pressed against your pussy through your skirt. What the fuck, god, you thought this only happened in porn.

You can't keep it in, you whimper a little, "Fuck, Jimin —"

"When's your stop?" he asks — growls, really, right in your ear, runs his mouth over your earlobe.

"All the way at the end, another half hour at least."

"Fuck, fuck — my hotel is — uh —" He thinks for a moment then tells you the stop.

"Two more stops," you tell him, and his hand, where it's holding your waist, squeezes tightly.

"You want to come to my hotel?" he asks. His voice is an accented murmur that gets lost in the train noise, but you can hear him well enough. "I swear I'm not usually... creep."

"This isn't creepy," you tell him, because it's not. You've never hooked up with someone you met on a train before, but it doesn't feel weird or upsetting. It feels... exciting. Not just because it's Park Jimin, but also because you don't do things like this. You like sex, but you're usually hooking up with sweet people you meet at libraries and animal shelters and the zoo. You tend to catch feelings before you fuck someone, FWB not withstanding. This is new, kind of wild, but it feels good.

You rub your cheek on his shoulder. "Yes, I'll come."

Neither of you make a come joke — you're both quiet for the last several minutes of the ride, but you stay pressed together, letting the jostling rub you up against each other. He's getting harder, you're getting wetter. The thin material of your summer weight skirt gives you no protection against the friction, and your legs and ankles are weak for a whole different reason now.

You tug him through the train at his stop, and when you stumble getting off, he catches you again. You get caught in your cane again, so you click it apart and tuck it in your bag before you keep walking.

"Do you mind if we take the elevator?" you ask, and he shrugs, so you lead him over to the accessible part of the station. You both tug your masks back up. He keeps your hand in his while you wait.

"Um," he says, when you get out of the elevator. He looks around a little desperately.

"What's your hotel?" you ask, although you're pretty sure you can guess — and sure enough he tells you the name of a fancy hotel that only celebrities and rich people can afford. "It's this way." You point and start walking, then realize it's going to be a few blocks.

"Ugh," you say, and pull him toward a storefront so you're out of the crowd of commuters walking quickly to their destinations. You tug your hand away from his and reach into your tote bag, and carefully unfold your cane and click the sections together. Again. You probably shouldn't have even put it away in the first place. Yet one more bad decision today!

"You okay?" he asks, watching you.

"Hurt myself a while back and now I have to be careful," you say apologetically. You're always sorry, can't talk yourself out of feeling like your cane and injuries inconvenience everyone around you the way they inconvenience you. "Can you walk on this side of me?"

You gesture to the side without the cane and he moves there without comment, and then holds out his arm to you. You tuck your hand into the crook of his elbow, and you start walking again. Quietly.

Usually you find the noise of the city comforting. Now it's annoying, because you want to talk to him. Part of you wants to gush — I love your band, I love your solo work, I love your hair, you're my bias wrecker, I wish I'd been able to get tickets to the show but I did go to all the live viewings…

Part of you wants to say, hey, here's what I like in bed and here's what I don't and here's the parts of me you need to be careful with. By the way I'm hot and thirsty and I can smell my deodorant failing, and I'm going to need to eat dinner and take a muscle relaxer soon. Also what do you like? Let's make this really good for each other…

That way if what you like isn't compatible or he doesn't want to feed you, you can separate at his hotel and not have an unfulfilling or disappointing experience. That wouldn't sour you on BTS forever, but it would kind of leave a bad taste in your mouth and you'd prefer to avoid that if possible.

He does keep glancing over at you, which you notice because you keep glancing over at him too. Is he really this tall? Or is he wearing boots with platforms or what? You've never thought of him as tall and broad, but maybe that's because he's always with Taehyung and Namjoon, who are both huge.

The hotel is dim and cool, a relief when you walk inside. You could feel your skin burning through your thin shirt as you walked east. You've never been in this hotel before — you are neither rich nor famous, and even though there's a pretty well-known public bar on the ground floor, you'd rather pay a normal price for a cocktail than $100 for a glass of mediocre white wine.

Even the elevator is fancy — but when you turn to Jimin to say something, he shakes his head and gestures to a corner, and then to the buttons. "Cameras," he says, barely audible.

You nod, and keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself as the elevator comes to a stop. It's gentle so you don't even feel unsteady. You follow him out, and down the hall. He keeps his pace slow for you — no rushing. You have all the time in the world.

The floor has other people on it — security, people in jeans and t-shirts, people carrying boxes. Jimin raises his hand at someone, and you look over — Taehyung.

You swallow hard. Oh, this is real. This is really happening.

He swipes his keycard to get into a room — a suite — and it's even darker and colder than the rest of the hotel.

You make sure the door shuts behind you, and then turn to him, pulling off your mask and wincing.

"I hate the ear straps," you tell him.

"Me too," he agrees, and shows you that his are adjustable.

"Nice," you say inanely, and put down your tote bag and lean your cane against the wall. You kick off your shoes, and watch him untie his boots. You strip out of your socks at the same time, and you laugh softly when you both flex your toes and go up and down a little to stretch your feet. You have to hold the wall, but he just… does it.

"Um," he says, and your heart sinks, but then he steps closer to you. "Still okay?"

"Still okay," you assure him. "You still okay?"

He lets out a long breath. "Still okay. Water?"

"Yeah, please."

"Here, sit," he says, and puts you on one of three couches. Just this room is bigger than your apartment. You sit, stretch a little, let your head fall back against the cushion and shut your eyes.

"God, it's fucking hot out," you murmur, but you shiver as you say it because the air con is cooling the sweat on your skin, and now you're going to be cold until Jimin heats you up again.

"I hate this weather," he agrees. "It makes my head sweat and then itches." He actually scratches his head after he hands you the bottle of water. In his other hand is another bottle of water and a plastic bag. He puts the bag down on the little coffee table in front of the couch, and sits down next to you.

You open your water — he brought it to you still sealed — and watch as he opens his. You drink in silence, and then he reaches out for the plastic bag.

"Leftover tacos," he says, "Hungry?"

"I could eat," you say cautiously. "I don't eat pork or shellfish."

He pulls out two foil-wrapped tacos and hands them to you. "Ah… some kind of fish? Salmon? And mushroom." Then he pulls out two more. "Steak and chicken." He offers those to you too.

"You don't eat fish usually, right?" you check. He shrugs. "I'm okay with these. I don't think I've ever had a mushroom taco."

"It's good — spicy." He grimaces. "Really good, but really spicy. I'm not supposed to."

"I love spicy." You do. "Can't have it often anymore, but I love it. Can I wash my hands first? Subway hands." You waggle your fingers.

"Oh, yeah — yeah." He jumps up and leads you to a bathroom, one of four doors in the room. Four doors. You don't have four doors in your apartment.

You wash your hands, pee, wash your hands again. Then you trade places with him so he can… do whatever.

While he's in the bathroom, you unwrap the first taco. It's a corn tortilla folded around… you poke through it. Cheese, corn, mushrooms, and — you dip your finger and lick — avocado crema.

"Okay?" he asks worriedly as he comes back over.

"Really great," you assure him. "And I'm starving — I worked late tonight." You take a bite. It is great.

He frowns and looks down at his wrist. One of the slim bracelets must be a watch. "It's not late? What do you do?"

"I work in an office, so I start early and end early so I can skip rush hour." You gesture to your legs. "So that what happened today doesn't happen."

"Can I say I'm glad you ran late today?" He smiles at you and then takes a bite of his taco. It looks like literally just steak.

"I'm glad too." You take another bite of mushroom taco and watch him eat. You swallow another bite and say, "Can I tell you what I like?"

He nods. "Please," he says around a mouthful of steak.

"I like it rough or gentle but I don't like switching between the two. I like to get fucked, and I like to be held down. Or I'll fuck you and hold you down." You gesture to your cunt. "I don't have a dick but I'm really good with my fingers. And fist, if you like that kind of thing."

He raises his eyebrows and you raise yours back, and he grins.

"I'm not the biggest fan of receiving oral," you continue, "but if you like it, I'm open to it. I won't come without something inside, though. I can't do some positions anymore because of my feet and ankles, but face down is fine, and so is on my back. Can't be on top — too much pressure on my ankles when they bend."

He nods, takes another bite of taco.

"Hm." You search your mind. "I like anal, although I don't usually do it my first time with someone, and I like kissing. I really like having my fingers and palms touched." You pause and put down your taco to show him, drawing teasing lines on one palm with the pads of your other hand's fingers. He nods again. "And… I don't know. What am I missing?"

"I like oral — I like having my dick sucked," he says frankly, and it's your turn to nod.

"I really like sucking dick," you tell him. "Any kind of dick." You laugh a little. "I'm, you know, a giver."

"You like to do," he translates for himself.

"Yeah, but I also really like to be done."

He nods. "I like to be done." He grins at you, and pushes his hair out of his eyes. "A lot. But I also do. I like rough or gentle too, but it's okay to mix. I like to have my back scratched — sex or not sex, doesn't matter. I like marks — get them, give them. Ahh… but no marks right now, not on tour." Now he stops to think and take another bite of taco. Then he makes a face at himself, and looks down.

"Just say it," you suggest, "and then we can decide if we want to do it."

"I like it to hurt," he says, not looking at you. "I don't really do that with strangers. Can't trust they won't really hurt me. But..." He takes a deep breath. "You don't feel like a stranger, do you?

"Mm," you hum. "You kind of don't either. It's an odd feeling."

"I've felt it before," he mumbles. "But only once or twice."

You try to shake off the swoop in your stomach. He doesn't feel like a stranger, but you've been listening to BTS for a long time, so you can't tell if it's really an instinct or if you're just... thinking about all the personal things you've learned about him over the years, and feeling close to him because of that.

So you say: "Tell me: hurt how?"

"Any way," he says to his taco.

You put the foil from the first one on the table and check in with yourself. Maybe a few bites of the fish, but more than that and you'll want a nap instead of sex.

"Sharp like biting or pinching or scratching? Dull like punching? Burn like not enough lube?" you ask. "Slapping?"

He looks up at you, a look of disbelief on his face. "You like to do that?"

"Yeah. I'm not, you know, a professional or anything —" He laughs. "— but I can bite and scratch with the best of them. Short nails, though." You show them to him. If you had long nails, it would be harder to fist your regular hookup, and you wouldn't want that.

"Slapping," he admits. "Face, ass, but I can't bruise right now. Biting — chest, arms…" He shrugs. "Balls, thighs."

You start to salivate. "I won't hurt you if you don't want it, but I want to bite your thighs please," you tell him. "Let me suck your dick and bite your thighs?"

He puts a hand over his face for a moment. You worry a little that… that something. This whole conversation has been very blunt, so you don't think you were too forward or anything, but he looks weird.

"This feels strange," he tells you, without taking his hand down. "Usually — new person? Just fuck, move on. Maybe backstage or after dance practice. You know? Not much talking about it."

You nod. "I usually stick with the same few people who I'm comfortable with," you admit. "I don't do this very much. Like this."

"I'm special?" He looks up at you and smiles kind of slyly.

"I think you know you are," you tell him. "Finish your taco so I can bite you."

He shivers a little, but takes a big bite of his second taco.

You watch him, mentally composing a twitter post, and then realize —

"NDA? Or whatever you have for me to sign that means I won't talk about this?" you ask.

"Do you need one?" he asks around a mouthful of chicken.

"Yes?" you say disbelievingly. "What's wrong with you. Of course I need one."

"Do you really?" he asks. "You're not really a stranger."

"Please get me an NDA," you say, putting a hand over your face and shutting your eyes. "I think you know you need to. Do you do this with everyone you fuck like this?"

"I don't really fuck people like this," he says, and from behind your hand you see him shrug. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types a bit. "Okay, at some point, managernim will bring one over."

"Can I assume that means we're going into a bedroom?" you ask dryly. "I'm not actually an exhibitionist."

He winces. "I am but not with employees," he says, and you laugh.

"I was teasing," you assure him. "Remember, I know you're not a creep."

He sticks his tongue out at you. "I'm a little bit creep," he corrects.

"I think our creep is compatible," you point out, since he wasn't the only one rubbing up against a stranger on the subway.

He laughs and finishes his water, and you do too, set the bottle down.

"I gotta pee again," you say, wrinkling your nose. "Oh — I should warn you if you get something big enough inside me, I'll squirt. It's not pee."

He raises his eyebrows. "Sounds hot. And, uh, sometimes —" He breaks off.

You can absolutely tell what he was about to say. "Agree, pee can be hot sometimes," you say, nodding. "Like a naughty puppy? Did that once, although I wasn't the puppy."

"Naughty puppy…" he says slowly, and you feel like you can see something inside him rearranging. "Hm."

"Not this time, not in a fancy hotel room," you tell him. "Which door?"

He points to the one all the way to the left.

"Okay, lemme pee. And wash. I'm all sweaty."

"I don't mind sweaty if you don't."

When you stand, he stands, and he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close — but very gently, so you can just follow the pressure and step to him. You wonder briefly how many times he's been hurt, that he knows how careful to be with someone whose legs and ankles don't quite work right.

Professional dancer? Probably a lot.

You kiss him — it takes a few tries to get it to feel right, get into each other's rhythm, feel the way each of you like to kiss. His mouth is plush, so you sink your teeth — slowly, gently — into his bottom lip, and he sighs.

"Oh —" You pull away. "Where do I need to be careful?"

He frowns.

"Any place to not touch?" you clarify. "I don't want you to touch my ankles or knees. Like, not a lot."

He nods. "Right ankle. I have to… careful with my left wrist. Here on my neck." He touches a spot on his neck, next to his spine at his hair line, and drags it down his back past his shoulders. Shit, that's probably disc problems. "And here." His sacrum. "Don't push on it."

You realize: some of these are injuries you've never heard about, ones army doesn't know about, ones he's probably supposed to be keeping secret.

Well, you would much rather be trusted to keep his secrets than accidentally hurt him when it could be avoided. Not just because he's BTS Jimin who wouldn't be able to dance if you hurt him, but also because it's always shitty to accidentally hurt a partner, and it feels shittier when they knew they could be hurt but don't disclose the weakness or injury. Ugh, it sucks.

"Anywhere else for you?" he asks. "Ankles, knees, and…?"

"Don't touch my throat with your hands," you say. You don't always mind it, but... he may not feel like a stranger, but you're not exactly comfortable with him yet.

"No throat." He nods. Then he grins and looks down. "Uh, don't pull my hair," he adds. "It's still extensions a little bit on top."

You grin back. "I like it, the long hair is really… really fucking sexy."

He kisses you again, squeezing you tightly, but lets you go when you step away.

"Pee," you say apologetically, and head back toward the bathroom. He'd said he doesn't mind sweaty, and from the look on his face and the way he had said it? You think he actively likes sweaty.

So you don't wash up, just your hands, and splash some water on your face. He's waiting by the door when you exit and he says, wrinkling his nose cutely, "I have to pee again too."

You laugh. The mechanics and logistics of sex are always kind of funny. You like it though. Some of your friends really like it quick in bar bathrooms — or alleys, or corners at parties, or… whatever, you've seen them fuck in all kinds of places and then just walk it off. But even if you're having a one night stand, you enjoy the human connection. Hey, we both have to pee, and we want to do specific things, and our breath stinks like garlic, isn't it funny how we're both human beings coming together like this?

You've pulled off your shirt and you're folding it when Jimin comes into the room. You've left the lights mostly off — only put on the one on the desk, which provides enough light to see what you're doing, but isn't bright and doesn't illuminate the corners or anything.

"Oh," he says, and comes right to you and puts a hand into your extremely plain, boring bra. "Nice."

"Boob guy?" you ask, and reach behind you to unclasp it.

"I can see your nipples through it," he says. "Hot."

He helps you slide your arms out of the straps, and then takes you by the waist, and urges you to bend a little backward.

"Okay?" he asks, and doesn't wait for your answer before he bends his head and sucks a nipple into his mouth. Your nipples get hard, especially when you're anticipating sex. They don't always stay hard through the sex, but they poke out when you're excited, anticipating — which you are right now. And he seems to like it. And then he bites down — not hard, just chews a little, and a groan is punched out of you.

"Fuck," you breathe out. "Like that." You slide your fingers into his hair — not pulling, and close to his scalp where he's still a little damp with sweat.

He pulls off and nuzzles down. He bites under your nipple and then uses his nose to move your breast and bite under it, lick there — where you're sweaty; you called it — then down. He steadies you, and sinks to his knees, and tugs off your skirt and panties, looking up at you the whole time. He tosses his head to get his fringe out of his eyes, and you take your skirt and panties from him and drop them on the desk.

"Just for a minute?" he asks, and you nod, and spread your legs. It's not bad, and you steady yourself pretty easily on the desk.

He sighs when he gets his tongue on you, rubs his face against your thigh and then licks you again with the flat of his tongue, and then… rubs his face into you, getting your slick all over his cheeks and chin and nose, groaning.

"You smell… amazing," he says, and does it one more time. You probably smell sweaty, and you're glad he likes it.

"That feels good," you sigh, because the tongue doesn't really do much for you, but the way he's trying to bury his whole face inside you? It feels good to watch, it's hot and it's making you so wet.

He says what you're thinking: "You're so fucking wet."

"I get wetter," you tell him. "But I can't fuck standing up."

"Come to bed," he says, and makes sure you're standing up solidly before he backs off you. He strips all the blankets off the bed that had the covers a bit messy and leaves them in a pile on the floor, then starts taking off his clothes. He drops them on the floor too — but of course he has clothes here while you have to put these specific ones back on once you leave. You don't hide that you're watching him, looking at his nevermind tattoo.

You crawl onto the bed and pile the pillows up and lean against them, then get one under your hips and another under your back, and snuggle in, making sure you're comfortable. You tuck your hands under your thighs to lift your knees up.

He comes and settles himself between your legs, kneeling, looking down at you.

"Your knees?" he asks.

"Bending is okay, being too straight for a long time hurts." You wiggle around again. "This is fine."

"Fuck," he breathes, and puts a finger right onto your slit, petting it. "Beautiful."

You moan when he gets his finger inside you — it goes in easy. "Hm," he says. "Like this?"

You're suddenly much fuller, like he put at least three fingers in you, maybe even four, and then he crooks them up, like he knows exactly where your g-spot is and is gonna make sure you know he knows.

"No," he says to himself, and pulls back.

"What?"

"Rings," he tells you briefly, and you watch him start tugging them off, and leans over you to pile them on the table next to the bed. He stays over you as he takes off his bracelets and watch and necklaces, and you can't help but tilt your hips up to try to catch his dick.

"Come on," you moan, when he moves his hips back, and he laughs darkly.

"Wait," he orders you, and, well, he did say he likes to have done to him, not just do, so you grab him by the hips, digging in your fingers, and jerk him back to you. You don't think you could if he didn't let you — he is so strong — but he lets you, moves with you, and you reach between you to grab his dick and guide it in.

You both sigh at the same time. He comes down on top of you, onto his elbows, and kisses you while he shoves the rest of the way in. You're wet, you're open, you want it, you —

"Condom?" you gasp out as he thrusts hard.

"Vasectomy," he says into your mouth, and then bites your lip. Your lips are much thinner than his, but he seems to like that.

And he tastes like you.

"Negative for everything?" you check, with the last bit of your human brain, even though you're pretty sure he would have said something. Or maybe not, how would you know? But someone so careful with your physical limitations is surely thoughtful about other stuff, right?

You dig your fingers into his hip, move to his ass cheek. It's so… not hard, but maybe resilient? Bouncy? So fucking muscled, so nice.

"Yeah, fuck, you too, I know."

"Yeah, yes, okay, fuck me," you say, and dig your fingers in harder, then scratch, as hard as you can, and his hips jerk and he groans.

"Just like that, like that," he says, and fucks into you hard, deep. He doesn't have a monster cock or anything, but it's long and has a curve, it fits nicely inside you, and he keeps a rhythm really well — of course he does, but, god, it feels different when he's fucking into you than when you're watching him dance on stage.

You get one of your legs over your arm again, but let the other fall so you can keep your fingers scratching at his ass.

Then you hear something.

"Jiminah?" calls a voice, and then a torrent of Korean. It's way too fast for you to follow.

Jimin's hips stop abruptly and he hisses ssibal.

"Hyung," he calls out — there's a shadow in the doorway and then it resolves into a person, still unrecognizable, holding an envelope. His manager? Would he call his manager hyung?

"Hyung," groans Jimin again, and lets his head fall against you. You let your other leg fall and tuck your head next to his, as far into his neck as you can get. He's still inside you, and you can't help clenching down on him, god, you're so wet, and you were almost there, and now —

He lifts his head again and they talk in Korean — more slowly this time, so you can understand: Hyung, I'm fucking busy; Jiminie, seriously, in our bed? ; Hyung, come on, just let me — ; oh, Jiminah, go ahead, I'll watch. Or you could share.

Then Jimin sounds scandalized when he gasps, "Hyung!" and you laugh at his tone.

You realize you never told him you speak Korean — you've been speaking English this whole time. Now… doesn't seem like the right moment. Instead you just ask, sticking to English, "Should we stop?"

"He wants to know if I want to share," Jimin mutters. He leans down again to kiss you.

"Do you want to share?" you ask.

The other guy laughs darkly.

"Sometimes," admits Jimin.

"Not today?" You raise your eyebrows. Do they share? Is this an outlier, one on one? That pulls a lot of sexy images into your head. Did he say our bed? But he's obviously not pissed, Jimin is clearly not cheating. You push it away.

"You didn't say share," he tells you. "I didn't say it either, so…"

You run your hand over his head — not through his hair, just barely skimming it. Maybe hyung is one of the members? And… well… "You want your hyung here? It's okay if you do."

He goes back up on his knees but manages to keep his dick inside you.

"You don't mind?" he checks.

"She doesn't mind," drawls the voice from the door in English.

"I don't mind," you confirm. "It wasn't in my plan, but…" You shrug and grin up at him. "Been a while since I had a threesome."

When you look over, the other guy tosses the envelope on the desk, and then is taking off his shirt, and kicking out of his shorts at the same time.

The shirt comes off and you can see his face and short, messy hair. Min Yoongi.

He comes over, and stands next to the bed with his arms folded over his chest. His dick isn't hard yet, but he's flushed in the dim light.

"Show me how you're making her cry out like that, Jiminah," he says in English. Not in perfect English, but in really good English. God, what a little shit.

"Hyung," he groans, but drops back down on top of you and starts fucking into you again. "Ssibal," he says again, and then fucks you faster.

So he really is an exhibitionist.

You ignore Yoongi and focus back on Jimin, scratching at his ass with one hand and shoulder with the other.

"That's it, come on," you encourage, and he goes harder, but keeps the rhythm — until Yoongi speaks.

"Good boy, Jiminah," he says in a low voice, and Jimin's hips jerk and — and he's coming.

"Sorry, sorry, fuck," he says, sounding almost desperate, "fuck, hyung, why," and then there's a loud smack —

Yoongi leans over and is hitting Jimin on the ass while he comes inside you. Hard. Loud.

You dig your fingers in and scratch them as hard as you can all the way up Jimin's ass and back, and then down again, while you say, "That's it, Jimin, good boy, come inside me."

When he's done coming, he collapses on you and groans. "This was a mistake," he says, but he sounds drowsy and happy, not upset.

"Nah," says Yoongi. "You love it."

You laugh; he clearly does. You bring your other hand up and scratch your nails lightly over his shoulders.

"Didn't make you come." Yoongi tsks. "Disappointing, Jiminah."

"Hyung," he groans again. "You did that."

"I did," Yoongi agrees. "Want me to show you how to make a woman come?" His eyes flick to your face, and you smirk at him.

"Jimin was doing a pretty good job before you showed up. Think you can do better?" you ask.

"Who taught him?" He smirks back at you. God, that's hot.

He pushes Jimin's side, until Jimin rolls off you, still panting.

"I wanna switch positions," you announce, and push yourself up. "Jimin, you get under me, I'm gonna bite your thighs while Yoongi fucks me." Then you look over at Yoongi again. "Not in my ass."

"Not in your ass," he agrees, and nods. "Jiminah, condom?"

He grunts, and rolls over until he rolls himself right off the bed. What? Then there's a sound of rummaging and when you look over at him you realize he's going through a suitcase on the floor.

"No vasectomy for you?" you ask, and he shakes his head.

"I want kids some day," he tells you, and then catches the rubber when Jimin tosses it to him. "But not right now."

"Makes sense," you say, nodding — you can't imagine anyone wants kids at the peak of their career, when they're on top of the world almost literally. You move the pillows that had been under you. "Come on, Jimin, bring those thighs to me."

"Demanding," he croons, and settles himself against the head of the bed. "No marks on my stomach, okay?"

"Mn," you agree. "Army would be sad if you stopped showing off your belly button." You kiss it while he and Yoongi laugh. Well, Jimin laughs. Yoongi snorts.

Condoms always feel a little weird — you can definitely tell he's wearing it as he rubs his dick against you.

"Wet," he comments, and before you can say anything, he shoves in. Well, he had said he'd taught Jimin, so that must be where Jimin learned it from, just go in and hit you just right the first time. He's just as long as Jimin, but thicker, thick enough that you really feel it, the stretch and pressure, and you drop your head. You keep your forehead on Jimin's thigh while you get used to it.

Yoongi goes slow, dragging himself in and out, and once he's in, he grinds, does some kind of body roll, hits you deep, then drags himself out before you can — before you can come or before it hurts, you can't tell which is going to happen.

"Fuck fuck," you breathe, and then sink your teeth into Jimin's thigh, hard enough that he cries out and convulses under you.

He's completely hairless — hairless everywhere as far as you can see. No hair at all on his arms, or groin, or stomach, or thighs.. Not even the little baby hairs that waxing sometimes misses.

It's really pretty. He is really pretty.

You're sure Yoongi is too but you're not looking at him, he's just fucking your brains out. You keep your teeth set in the same spot on Jimin's thigh, not letting go while he writhes under you, letting Yoongi make your teeth deeper or not as he fucks into you and moves you over Jimin.

You groan when he gets you exactly right, and he laughs and stays there, doing body rolls against you, grinding into you, moving against your g spot exactly. You pull your teeth out of Jimin's thigh and get it on his dick, and as soon as he realizes what you're doing, he puts a hand on your head and one on his dick, and fits it inside your mouth.

His dick is soft, tucked inside his foreskin. It fits right into your mouth perfectly. As careful with your teeth as you can be with Yoongi pushing him deeper and deeper, you swallow around him, and he groans.

This is so perfect. You get lost in the sensations, letting Yoongi grind you onto Jimin's cock. Jimin says something and you think for a moment that you're floating away because you can't understand him — but then you realize, duh, it was in Korean, and there's no way you can access your second language when your brain is like this, all mushy jelly.

Yoongi says something back and then reaches, and tucks fingers inside you, stretching you, pushing his dick harder against your g spot, and you come. You moan around Jimin's cock, and his hand tightens on your hair, keeps you in place while you moan and gasp, and it feels perfect.

When you get your breath back and you're a little more aware, you realize Yoongi is still hard inside you, he's just not thrusting anymore.

"Mmph," you say around Jimin's cock, and he uses his hand in your hair to lift you up off it. You look up at him and he's looking down at you. His eyes are so bright, even in the dim light, he's just… so pretty. You could look at him forever.

"I could look at you forever," you say, and sigh, and he smiles, shows you his teeth, his little crooked tooth, his round cheeks.

"Me too," Yoongi says, and leans over you, grinding his dick deeper into you.

"One minute," Jimin tells you, and then he's moving, leaning over you, and you hear — you hear them kissing.

Oh.

Oh.

Of course, you should have guessed. He had said our bed.

"Hey," you say, adding a little whine so they know you're not really complaining. "Don't do that where I can't see!"

"Ha," says Yoongi, and slowly pulls out of you. Oof, empty. "C'mere."

You have no idea who he's talking to, so you just go where he puts you — strong, you think to yourself. He rolls you onto your side, and crawls on top of Jimin, holding him down with hands on his biceps (not his shoulders, you notice, so did he leave something out in his litany of injuries?).

They kiss and kiss, Yoongi apparently not in a rush to come or even have anyone touch his dick more. You watch, put your head down on a pillow and watch, get a hand between your legs and watch. God, it's beautiful, they're beautiful, this is art, this is the kind of thing people draw and sculpt and also jerk off to, because it's so fucking hot.

Yoongi moves so he's in Jimin's lap, and gets a hand on Jimin's throat, uses it to tilt his head back. Jimin's dick is tucked under Yoongi's ass, and Yoongi strips the condom off his dick while they kiss, tosses it to the side where it lands on top of Jimin's rings. He moves his hips in little jerks against Jimin's perfect stomach, and Jimin lets him, passively sitting back and letting Yoongi control everything. Maybe even when he gets to breathe.

A finger on your clit isn't going to make you come, not until you're at least three in, but it feels good, keeps you wet and ready.

When Jimin's mouth is wet and red, Yoongi pulls back and licks his lips — and then goes back in, licking Jimin's cheeks and chin, even his nose. Licking you off Jimin's face, you realize, from before when he'd put his whole face into your cunt.

"Mmm," says Yoongi. Then he looks over at you. "You taste good. Mind if I…"

You roll over onto your back and spread your legs — then sit up and grab a pillow, tuck it lengthwise under your neck and upper back. "Not too much," you tell him. "I don't like it a lot, especially when I've only come once or twice."

He moves from Jimin to lying on his stomach between your legs — his legs up in the air, ankles crossed like he's about to text his crush or something.

"How many times can you come?" he asks, and uses his thumbs to separate your pussy lips, rub your slit, pull back your clit hood. He's examining you almost clinically. You realize — he must not just be seeing how red and swollen you are, he must also be seeing Jimin's come seeping out of you. Aww… fuck… that is so hot.

Before you can answer him, he runs his fingers into your slit and says, "You're really wet." You watch him lick them off, and then he smiles darkly — not at you. At Jimin. "Mm, Jiminie flavored."

"Hyung," Jimin whines, and rests his head on your shoulder like he's embarrassed, but you hope he's just playing it up, because this is the hottest thing you've ever experienced and you don't want him to be embarrassed about being part of it.

"Yeah, I —" You gasp when he leans down and licks you — not your clit at all, but your slit, gets his tongue inside right away. Does he do everything at 100 mph?

You arch backward and flail a hand out — you don't know if you can touch his head — but you don't have to worry, Jimin grabs your hand and holds it tightly.

"I get wet," you gasp out, and squeeze Jimin's hand.

"Come again," Jimin murmurs into your ear, and starts to suck on your neck, moving down your throat to your collarbone, scraping his teeth over your skin and then kissing, sucking, chewing, scraping his teeth again as he moves. Marking you up, you figure, the way he can't be marked up right now, while on tour.

You let Yoongi make you come, fingers inside you with his tongue, everything pressing up into you, and his other hand on your stomach pressing down, practically touching the fingers inside you. You clench down hard and go over, your hips jerking, but he's holding you down like it's easy, like he's not even using his strength.

You blink teary eyes open to see Yoongi sitting back, watching you; he looks satisfied, cat who got the cream, all those metaphors combined into one pretty flushed face and dark eyes and pink mouth.

Jimin leans over to kiss you, gentle and soft, then harder when you open your mouth for him and tilt your head back.

"Will you come again?" Yoongi asks curiously.

"Yeah," you say into Jimin's mouth, not pulling away. "Just get something in me bigger than a few fingers.

"Hm." And then thoughtfully, "My whole fist?"

Jimin pulls away from you, eyes wide. "Hyung!"

"Yeah, although." You stop to consider. "I haven't done that since I got hurt, I don't know if I could do it on my back, and I don't think I can put too much more pressure on my ankles."

"Where are you hurt?" he asks, squinting at you. His dick is so hard and so dark and so thick. You are ready for it to be back inside you with more of his fingers. Damn. Especially if Jimin is going to give you more perfect kisses while it happens. This is an excellent threesome so far.

You point at your ankle where there's a big scar going up the inside. Same with your other ankle. "Screws, plates, all kinds of fun hardware."

"She can't fuck standing up," Jimin supplies. "She can't balance."

You pat his thigh.

"Hmmm," he says again. "No fist…" He looks at you, all sly cat eyes, and you're willing to bet you're going to love what he says next. "Think you can fit me and Jiminie in you at the same time?"

Oh yes.

"Hyung!" yelps Jimin.

"Jiminie's never done that," he adds. "You could sit in his lap and watch his face while he does it for the first time."

"Fuck yes," you say, and sit up. You struggle a little, your stomach muscles protesting, and Jimin notices immediately and puts an arm around you to help push you up.

"You are so thoughtful," you tell him, and kiss his mouth gently. He said he likes to go back and forth from gentle to rough — sure enough, he sighs into your mouth and lets you be in charge of the kiss, lets you move him where you want him to go. "You are such a good boy."

Yoongi snickers, but doesn't sound teasing at all when he says, "That's my Jiminie. He's so good."

"Hyung," he moans into your mouth, and grabs his dick. When you pull away and look at him, he's squeezing his dick at the base, and it's all purple.

"Do you come every time Yoongi calls you a good boy?" you ask curiously.

"No," he says, at the same time Yoongi says, "yes." Now he sounds teasing.

You move away from Yoongi and turn almost entirely toward Jimin. "Do you want that? To be inside me at the same time as your hyung? We didn't talk about it. If you want to be on the bottom, we can put you between us — hyung's dick, my fingers?"

Jimin shivers, but shakes his head. "No, let's do you — if that's really okay?"

"It's really okay," you assure him. "I'll love it." You glance over at Yoongi. "I've never done it before, either, but I've taken a fist with a few extra fingers, and I'm pretty open right now. Might be a tight fit but…" You shrug.

"I can make you," says Yoongi darkly, and you let one side of your mouth curl up.

"You can try," you say challengingly.

Jimin giggles and kisses the side of your neck, then bites down a little. When he pulls away, he asks, "Squirt when we do it? That's cool."

"Squirt?" asks Yoongi hopefully.

You shrug. "Maybe — maybe not." You think about it. You squirt every time you're fisted — or, at least, you used to. "Yeah, probably, if you can fuck me long enough. We should put down a towel or something first."

"We'll sleep in a different bed," Yoongi says dismissively, and you raise your eyebrows at him.

"And the poor housekeepers who have to deal with it?"

He sits back, looking kind of abashed and off-balance for the first time. "Oh, yeah. Of course. I'll get it."

"How does he just keep going with his dick that hard?" you murmur to Jimin, who giggles again.

"He likes to feel it," Jimin tells you, and rubs his face against your shoulder. "Want some water?"

"Yeah, definitely, thank you."

The bottle he brings you this time is already open, but you watch him drink from it as he walks across the room, and then he offers it to you so you take it and drink about half of what's left and hand it back.

When Yoongi comes back in with two towels bundled in his arms, Jimin takes the towels and hands Yoongi the water. He sips it and makes a face.

"I hate water," he grumbles. "I can taste my own mouth."

You snicker. He sounds five.

"It's good for you, hyung," says Jimin, spreading two layers of towels out, and appraising the bed. "How do we do this?"

Yoongi shrugs, and then gives Jimin instructions in Korean — put your legs there, help her get here, make sure your legs are like this and hers are like that. You take the time to stretch and roll around, tuck your arms behind you to crack your shoulders, bring them in front to stretch your back, roll your neck.

"Ready?" says Jimin in English, and you look over at him. "I sit here." He gestures to where he had been when you'd been sucking him off, and then clambers over, puts pillows behind his back.

"Jiminie," says Yoongi, and he sounds almost… disappointed? Jimin looks at him for a long moment and then takes another pillow and tucks it behind his sacrum — hm — and then one more for his neck. Maybe so his head can't fall back too far?

"Okay?" you ask. You put a hand on his thigh, right over your bite mark. You appraise his face, and then push your fingers into the bruise. Hard. He gasps and his hand flies to be over yours. You think he's going to pull your hand away, but instead he presses harder, and his dick jumps. It's starting to drool, and you lick your lips and start to bend over, but Yoongi grabs you by the hair.

"Uh-uh," he says. "Sit on it."

"Sit on it," repeats Jimin breathlessly.

You suck in a breath. Yeah. Yes. You want to sit on it.

You swing a leg over Jimin, rub your cunt on his dick, and then realize — you're fucking on top and your ankles have too much pressure.

"Fuck," you say, and bang your head against Jimin's chest, then pull away. "I can't like this, with my ankles."

God, these fucking bones. You miss being on top.

"Fuck," grits out Jimin, but helps you back off him.

Yoongi watches you both, a distant look in his eye.

"Okay," he says finally. "There's not enough room here for your feet, but, Jiminie, you can sit on the other side and I'll be against the wall, but only —" He breaks off and continues in Korean: If you sit there and do this, you have to take your painkillers tonight and you have to do your stretches properly tomorrow and you have to take it easy, no dance practice.

Jimin looks first pissed and then resigned. Like he doesn't want to follow Yoongi's conditions but knows he should.

Well, you know how that fucking feels.

Yoongi adds: You have to ask her to take care of you tonight.

Which, obviously you would? You don't sleep with a lot of people who want aftercare of any kind, but you almost always do. Some of them indulge you and some of them don't.

Jimin turns to you, and says, totally out of left field, "`Do you like to cuddle?"

You frown at him. "Like… right now?" Then you feel so foolish. Of course not right now, he means after.

"Like after," Yoongi unknowingly echoes. "If he takes some medication and lies down, will you stay with him for a while?"

"Oh — yeah, of course. Aftercare."

"Aftercare," repeats Yoongi.

"I'll need to take my own pills, too, if I'm hanging around," you tell him, rubbing Jimin's knee with your thumb. "I'll need more food, and —"

"We'll feed you, I promise," says Jimin, and he puts his hand on yours. "We'll take care of you. You can stay?"

"Yes, I'll stay." You lift his hand to your mouth and kiss it. "I call big spoon."

Yoongi laughs. "Jiminie's always the little spoon. You couldn't be the little spoon even if you wanted."

Jimin flushes, and you kiss his knuckles away. "You're a cutie," you tell him. Then you turn to Yoongi. "You are not a cutie."

He laughs again. "No, I'm not."

He kind of is, though. Just… also… hard. Not hard. But not soft like Jimin. You don't know.

"Okay, so —" Yoongi instructs you both how he wants you, the same stuff that he had told Jimin in Korean, mostly. He sits where Jimin was, against the wall, and reaches down for another condom, puts it on and throws the wrapper on the floor. Then he pulls you to him and just — just sits you on his cock like it's nothing.

It feels incredible and you can't keep it in, let out a long moan while he settles himself inside you. Then Jimin comes up, and Yoongi tells him in Korean — kneel like this, let her legs go around you.

"How many times have you done this, hyung?" pants Jimin while he puts fingers inside you, rubbing against Yoongi's dick.

"More than you," says Yoongi serenely, like he hasn't been hard for so long, like his dick isn't an angry flush, hard like a steel bar inside you — like when he'd kissed you earlier his face hadn't been pink, chest flushed —

"Hyungnim," whines Jimin, but he slides closer, facing you and Yoongi both. You let your head fall back against Yoongi's shoulder — and you make sure it's his good shoulder, not the one with the 7 and all the surgical scars.

"Okay, now take your dick," instructs Yoongi, speaking in English again. Then he stops. "Shit, do you mind if we talk in Korean?"

A little late for that question. "Go ahead," you say, and rub your face against his neck. You add in Korean: "Whatever is easiest."

"You speak it?" he asks, sounding surprised. Maybe you should have told them earlier.

"A bit, from my mom." You clench down on his dick. "Come on, fuck me. Don't make me wait."

He twists a bit to look at you for a long measured moment — no eye contact, but maybe he's looking at your nose and eyes? Your mom is half Japanese, so you don't even really look half Korean, but that's how you think of yourself. No one in your family acknowledges the Japanese part.

Whatever he sees, he's okay with, because he grips your waist tightly and doesn't let you move. You feel his chest against your back moving evenly — god, what the fuck, what kind of locked down self control does this man have?

What happened to "one percent battery"?

You aren't taking even breaths, you're sucking in air like you can't get enough. The more you clench down on his dick, the emptier you feel.

Jimin tucks fingers into you, pulling toward himself. You watch him through lowered eyelids, the concentration on his face. Yoongi's giving him instructions in his beautiful deep voice, your beautiful shared language, and you aren't following, too caught inside your own mind to focus. You don't think you'd understand if he spoke in English either.

"Come on," you beg. "More, more, make me come again."

You're desperate for it suddenly, twice isn't enough. You're not tired and sweaty and uncomfortable anymore; you're not worried about what they see when they look at you or what your ankles are doing or — anything.

You're just worried that you're not full enough and they aren't going to make you come and then you're going to be stuck here, on Yoongi's dick, whining and crying. Forever.

"Okay?" Yoongi says, and it takes you a moment to realize he's talking to you.

"More?" you finally get out, but Jimin's dick is rubbing against you, all over you — your clit, sending little sparks through your hips and lower back, and then down against your hole, where Yoongi is inside you. It feels like he's rubbing against Yoongi's dick, and doesn't care about trying to get inside you.

"I'm gonna lift you a little," Yoongi says, and you huff a laugh.

"I doubt it," you tell him, since you're bigger than him, and bigger than Jimin, who is also bigger than him. And then you're moving, Yoongi's fingers hard under your thighs. "Oh my god — what?"

"These muscles aren't for show," he tells you, even though he hadn't looked like he had any muscles at all when he was stripping down. He must, obviously, but — they're all hidden under smooth pale skin and you were distracted by how pink his nipples are, anyway. He bites your trapezius. "Just stay still, you're okay."

His dick is coming out of you, he's literally lifting you off his dick, and then he's talking to you both in Korean again. Jimin's dick presses against you, and — and slips inside. Pop. You feel the pop, you could have heard it, you think, if you could hear anything besides the blood rushing in your ears.

The tip is in you, and you are so deliciously stretched and full. The pressure is unbearable, immense, Yoongi's dick pulling you back and Jimin's dick pulling you forward. Now you're grateful Jimin's dick isn't as thick as Yoongi's, because if it were, you're doubtful it would fit at all.

"Now," Yoongi says, all throat and darkness, "you fuck her."

Are you a little too dry for this? Maybe you should have asked for lube, none of you had thought of it. You'd never fist someone without lube, but this is…

Then you can feel yourself start to loosen up around them. You let your head loll back and just… take it. Jimin goes slowly at first, but never pulls all the way out, just frots up against Yoongi's dick, but… inside you. You're literally sitting on Yoongi, so he's slightly deeper than Jimin, but not by much. Just enough to make you feel like your vagina is splitting open, pulling apart. It burns a little, but mostly feels incredible.

You feel so powerful in this moment.

All you hear is your own blood, and their breathing. You force your eyes open — you do want to see Jimin's face. His first time for this. He looks… exquisite. His eyes are squeezed shut and his lips are pink and swollen and open.

"Hyung," he mewls, barely vocalizing, but it's clear what he's saying. "Hyung, hyung."

Yoongi murmurs to him in Korean, his voice all soft and gentle: you're so beautiful, Jiminie, you're perfect, you're doing good, you're my perfect sweetheart, just keep going….

You let it go and focus entirely on how you feel, how inside yourself you are, and how when you clench down they both cry out. Yoongi is still, sitting behind you, arms wrapped around you. One of his fingers is playing with one of your nipples — pinch, pull, roll, almost like a stim, you think, like he's not even paying attention.

Jimin keeps moving, shallow thrusts. You get closer and closer to coming with every thrust inside you, every time you clench.

Finally you reach out to touch Jimin, smack him on the shoulder because you can barely see through the tears clinging to your eye lashes, and you groan, "Please, please," and try to suck in air.

"Please," he repeats, and it sounds like he's smirking.

"Just — stop — moving —" You try to grab him but end up hitting his biceps. "Just — stay in — stay in —"

He grunts and shoves inside you, farther than before, as far as he can, given the way your bodies have to be positioned.

"When this is over I'm gonna bite you so hard," you say, feeling wild, and clench hard, push down like you're trying to pee, force yourself into orgasm.

"Holy shit," you hear Yoongi say as you gush all over them.

You lift your arms and lean back against Yoongi to wrap them around his neck, and beg them: "Touch my clit this time, touch me now, please, please —"

And you keep begging for it until Yoongi's hand goes down and his calloused fingers start rubbing your clit. Jimin goes back to thrusting, and leans in to suck on your nipple, and you come again, and then one more time, this time just little aftershocks, but it makes you tremble, and you can't stop yourself from shaking.

"Fuck," moans Jimin, but from behind you, Yoongi says, "No; wait," very sternly.

You're being lifted again, and you can't help or anything, because you're trembling and crying and soaking wet, and now you're empty, both of them out of you. You think you hear yourself crying out but you aren't sure.

They lay you down on your face and then someone's inside you — Yoongi, you think, his weight on your back, your legs pushed apart. He tucks his fingers under you, but doesn't move them — as he fucks you hard and fast, his hips jackrabbiting to push his dick inside you, your body moves and rubs your clit over his fingers. Little shockwaves go through you like electricity. He bites the back of your neck when he comes, and you can feel him sucking on it.

You're only empty for a moment when he pulls out of you, because then you're being turned onto your back and Jimin pulls up one leg and gets inside you. You're so stretched and loose, you feel boneless; you can't feel him push in, but you feel when he stays to fuck you, when he leans in to kiss you — right, right, your gentle boy.

You wonder briefly what he meant when he said he liked it rough, since every time he's had the chance, he's gentled the encounter, slowed you down. Sweet missionary — but you're not complaining. You like it.

"You're so beautiful," you slur into his mouth. You switch to Korean: "You fuck me so good. Come, Jiminie, come inside me, my good boy."

And he does. Just like when Yoongi had said it and he'd popped off, you say it and he comes inside you, grinding deep inside you. You're so wet — your slick, your squirt, his come from last time — but you can still feel him come. He stiffens in your embrace, his mouth going slack against yours, and then he whines a little. It's the prettiest sound you've ever heard.

You stroke his hair as he relaxes against you. You feel Yoongi moving, and then he's literally pulling Jimin off you. You moan in protest, but he says, "I'm not taking him away, it's okay."

He doesn't — he just tugs Jimin off you to the side. You are so stretched out you can't even feel him slip out of you. Then Jimin is curled up next to you, head on your shoulder, and when you blink your eyes open, you can see Yoongi on his other side, spooning him, holding him.

"Ahh, Jiminie, you're perfect, aren't you," he says in English, and then switches to Korean.

You turn a little so you can run a hand over Jimin's head, his hair, his face. You brush his bangs away from his forehead, tuck his hair behind his ear, trace his ear with your fingertips.

"He's so beautiful," you say to Yoongi.

"Mm," Yoongi agrees. "My Park Jiminie, my pretty baby, hm?"

"Hyung," he mumbles. And then his eyes open and he looks at you, alarmed. Kind of hilariously alarmed. "I don't know your name."

"Oh," you say blankly. What? This whole time and you hadn't introduced yourself?

Yoongi starts laughing, his forehead pressed to the back of Jimin's neck.

He says something in Korean that you feel like you're missing words from: "Supposed to be one, huh?" and Jimin frowns and says, "Stop, hyung", and Yoongi only laughs harder.

You just grunt, and go back to stroking Jimin's hair.

"Do you wanna know my name?" you finally say, when their squabbling seems to have paused.

"Kind of," says Jimin. "Would that be okay?"

"Are you a fae?" you ask teasingly. "Would you take my name and keep me forever?"

Yoongi snorts. You ignore him.

"Shut up, hyung," Jimin says, and leans in to kiss you.

You whisper your name into his mouth and feel him smile against you.

"Not worried I'm going to keep you forever?" he teases you back.

"Well, how much longer are you in town?" you say reasonably. "It's not like you're gonna take me with you."

"Trust me, he would if he could," says Yoongi, snickering. "He gets ----."

You raise your eyebrows and Jimin shrugs. You shake your head. "What's that word?"

"Attach," Yoongi clarifies in English.

"Hm," you say, and kiss him again. You don't really believe that's what he said; you know attach. Plus it's probably Yoongi teasing Jimin about something completely unrelated to you, maybe something that happened in the past that he won't let go like an annoying big brother.

Or an annoying boyfriend, whichever they are. Both, maybe.

You kiss Jimin one more time and say, "I gotta pee. Unless you wanna play with all the come inside me?"

It's not Jimin who responds this time, it's Yoongi, who groans, and says, "Fuck," under his breath, and it's Jimin who laughs.

"Hyung wants to," he says, almost confidingly, almost like he's telling you a secret. Maybe he is. "Would you mind?"

You wiggle a little and take stock of yourself. "Mmm… I'm kind of sore, I think? I can't tell, I'm also a little numb." You wiggle again, trying to figure out how you feel. "Maybe a little?"

Yoongi doesn't wait, just clambers right over Jimin and lands on you.

"Hi," he says breathlessly, and looks — much younger. Less tough. More eager. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"I guess you don't get a lot of opportunities since you use condoms, huh?" you say to him, and run your fingers through his short hair.

"Come in a cunt is different," he agrees. You push gently at his head.

"Go on. Don't suck my clit or anything, okay? Just inside."

"Just inside," he agrees, his face already between your legs.

He does what Jimin had done earlier, rubs his face all up in your pussy. Then he goes in tongue first again, tongue and fingers, then more fingers. You're still open and stretched — and, yeah, a little sore, but this is worth it, Min Yoongi four fingers and a tongue deep inside you, eating Park fucking Jimin's come out of you like he's starving to death. He slurps.

"Kiss me, Jiminie," you say, turning your face back to him. You leave one hand in Yoongi's hair, though, running his soft, spiky hair through your fingers. It feels good, feels good on your palms, and you sink into kissing Jimin. Earlier he'd tasted like steak, and you were garlic and spice flavored. Now he tastes like come, and you're positive you taste like come too.

You like it, it's good.

It's great.

"Oh, shit," you gasp out, and your hips jerk. "Is that your fucking fist?"

"Fits easy," he says smugly. "Look what we did to you."

You flop backward and try to get your breath back. You've never been fisted on your back before.

A night of good firsts to replace your day of bad decisions.

"Hyung," says Jimin concernedly.

"She's fine, Jiminah," he says. "Go kiss her."

"Kiss me," you echo, "kiss me, kiss me —"

His lips are so soft. You bite into them and he cries out, moves closer and bites you, then moves down, biting as he goes, biting hard, leaving marks on you, sucking bruises into your skin while Yoongi moves his fist incrementally and licks the come that, you assume, is squishing out of you around his fist.

There's going to be a long line of bruises, right from your mouth down your throat, your chest, your belly, and then he gets to Yoongi and they kiss.

"God, that's hot," you sigh, and it is, even though they seem to have forgotten about you for the moment. You just watch — until your hips make their discomfort known.

You pull Yoongi's hair. "Heyyyy," you say, and prop yourself up on one elbow. You tug again. "Fist out please, I gotta stand up and walk around."

He groans into Jimin's mouth, but pulls back and slowly, slowly loosens his hand. You know exactly what he's doing even though you can't see — stretch out the fingers, pull them together tightly, tuck in the thumb, and carefully pull out of the body. It's the same no matter what hole you're fisting.

You groan when you're empty again, and then you bend your legs up to your chest and tuck them in, roll back and forth a little, and then onto your side to slide out of the bed.

"Need help?" asks Yoongi, and when you shake your head, he goes back to pushing his fingers inside Jimin's mouth and kissing him around them.

Beautiful.

It takes you a little bit to get to the bathroom — you hug the wall, even though you don't feel too unsteady. No point taking chances. Once you're there, you clean yourself out a little — not much to do since Yoongi had done a pretty good job eating Jimin's come out of you and squishing the rest out around his fist. You pee, and thankfully it only burns a little, not even enough to really bother you, but you feel… ugh. The shower has excellent water pressure and sluices all the sticky yuck feeling off you quickly. And there's a grab bar, so you can hold on the whole time and not worry about losing your balance.

You dry yourself with a really big soft hotel towel. The towel is big enough to wrap around you almost twice.

The rich live different.

When you get back into the room, they're making out, smack on top of the towels that are wet with your squirt. Yoongi is holding Jimin down by one wrist — the right one. He is clearly the one in charge here, and Jimin very clearly likes that.

You lean against the door jamb and watch them for a while. Neither of them are hard but they're both whining and grunting. Every few moment, Jimin moans out, "Hyung, please, hyung," and that is also hot.

If you got to have a next time, you'd want this. Double team Jimin with Yoongi, hold him down, make him beg. You think about what you talked about with him before you fucked, and realize you didn't really… stick with that. His dynamic when Yoongi is involved, the things he wants when his hyung is there, are clearly different than when it's just him and another person. A stranger.

Well, that's fair; the things you're willing to do with your regular partners is different from what you're willing to do with strangers, too, even if they don't feel like strangers (although you've never quite felt that before). Get hit, anal, do the hitting — real hitting, not just slapping someone's ass or face. You think about the things you do with regular partners that you might like to do with Park Jimin and Min Yoongi, all kinds of things, but… that's for fantasies once you're home with your collection of Bad Dragon dildos.

Anyway, double penetration and fisting and come play and… it's not nothing. It was really really good.

You're getting stiff and really starting to feel it in your limbs — you don't just need a muscle relaxer, you need a pain pill and your neurontin, too, and you prefer to take those with food.

They finally slow down when Jimin mumbles something in Korean, and Yoongi starts to pull away. You hear your name from Yoongi, then Jimin, but you don't know what they're saying. You just clear your throat and say, "I'm over here," and wave.

They both look over at you. Jimin has a soft, dazed smile, and Yoongi has a grin.

"You wanna come to bed? I can match those bites."

Your hand flies to your chest, where the most vivid bite is, right on top of your breast, below your chest, where your skin starts to get thinner and bruise more easily.

"I would love to, but I need my pills and I need some food." You shrug. "I'm at the mercy of this dumb human body."

Yoongi laughs. "We know how that goes."

Jimin yawns and stretches under Yoongi. "Food," he says, almost dreamily. "Hyung, I want a whole American pizza all to myself."

Yoongi snorts and rolls off him, stands and stretches. "Good luck with all that dairy, Chim."

Jimin yawns again, so you yawn, and then Yoongi yawns. Daisy chain of yawning. "I could eat all that dairy, hyung, you don't know my life."

Yoongi looks over at your and rolls his eyes.

"Have you ever had salad pizza?" you ask. "It's like a caesar salad on top of pizza, with the dressing and everything. Sometimes chicken. It's not… it's not real pizza, but it's good."

"That's what we're getting," says Yoongi decisively, rubbing his dick a little. Now that his dick is soft, it's… cute. What? It's not your fault you like dicks.

"I don't want salad, hyung! American salad? Cold lettuce!" Jimin kicks out his feet like he's throwing a tantrum, but he's smiling.

"Then we're getting meat," Yoongi says, and winks at you. You grin at him.

"She doesn't eat pork," Jimin informs him before you can.

"Sure," he says easily. "You want steak, sweetheart?"

It takes you a moment to realize you're sweetheart in this scenario.

"Love it," you say. "Any cut with the bone in, medium rare, no sauce or anything."

"My kind of woman," he says, and disappears. You hear the bathroom door shut a moment later, and the shower turns on.

You turn back to Jimin. "Come, get up," you say, and hold out your hands. "You wanna come cuddle me on a clean surface until it's time to eat?"

"I do." He yawns again. "I.. uh…" He lets you help him off the bed, but doesn't look at your face, keeps his eyes down. "I definitely need, uh…"

"Pain meds?" you ask. "Yeah, me too. Getting old sucks, huh?"

"Getting old is fine," he says, but you know he got your meaning.

He squats next to his suitcase, and starts pulling clothes out, tossing them to the side, until he reaches a little bag that he unzips. Inside is a whole mess of small plastic pill packets, and he digs into it, pulls out two different ones, then zips it again and tosses it down. He does not clean up the clothes.

He's so cute. You watch the way his back muscles move and make his moon tattoos ripple.

"Where's yours?" he asks.

"Bag out there," you say, waving your hand at where the couch is.

"You take yours with beer?" he asks. "I take mine with beer sometimes."

You wince. "Not anymore," you reply. "I got out of the habit."

You pulled yourself out of the habit with sheer fucking grit, and also the help of one of your best friends who literally flew across the country to spill every single bottle of vodka and tequila out into your sink and then stayed with you for three weeks, until you stopped reaching for a shot of hard liquor in the morning when you woke up.

Recovering from multiple surgeries had sucked so much.

You're drinking again, but you've got rules now. And one of them is not with a muscle relaxer, and another one of them is not when you're actually in a lot of pain. Which… you are now, even though it's not the usual kind of pain that you would want to medicate with alcohol.

He tilts his head and looks at you like he heard everything you didn't say, and nods.

"You like American lemonade?" he asks. He's back to speaking English. "They make it here. Not a lot of sugar, just…" He smacks his lips together. "Like this." He purses them and makes a face.

"Tart," you supply, and he points at you.

"Tart," he repeats, and nods. "Lemonade and steak."

"Sounds perfect."

You watch as he rips open the packets and takes the pills dry, then rolls his neck the same way you do.

"Sounds like Yoongi is out of the shower if you want to jump in," you tell him as you walk out of the room, hand in hand.

"Hyung, take her?" Jimin says, and you're startled for a moment before you realize — he means help you to the couch so you don't lose your balance.

You can walk to the couch, but that's really sweet.

Yoongi's in basketball shorts and nothing else, and you're still naked. "Um," you say, as he slides an arm around your waist and Jimin slips into the bathroom. "I should actually go get my skirt."

"Nah," he says. "We like you like this."

You snort, and he squeezes your waist just like Jimin had earlier.

"I'm not sitting my naked ass on a hotel couch," you inform him. "Especially when I'm all sore and bleh."

He studies you for a moment, then nods. "A moment," he says, and kind of tucks you against the wall before he walks away. You stay where he puts you — arguing about being told what to do when he's doing you a favor is petty.

He'll learn that you don't usually do what you're told… or he won't. What's it matter in the long run?

He comes back out of one of the other doors with a big long shirt and a pair of boxers.

"Joon's," he says, and holds them up to you one by one. "Hm, he doesn't have your… uh…" He stops, and just gives you the shirt. "This should fit."

"My what?" you say, raising your eyebrows. You slap your own ass. "My birthing hips?"

He runs his hand over his face. "I'm polite."

"Cute," you tell him, and pull the shirt over your head. It comes down to your thighs. "Will you get my panties from the bedroom?"

He nods, but brings you over to the couch first. You lean on it until he brings you your panties, and you balance with a hand on his good shoulder while he crouches to help you step in. He tugs them up, and then pats your ass.

"Water? Soda? We have some soju," he offers.

You shake your head. "Water, and Jimin wanted lemonade," you tell him, and he snorts.

"He always wants lemonade. He likes the —" He makes the same face Jimin had.

"Tart," you tell him too.

"Yes, tart," he says and nods.

"Your English is really excellent," you observe, and he looks at you out of the corner of his eye while he pulls bottles of water out of a mini fridge. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"I got tired of not being able to understand they were insulting us," he says, and hands you a water. "Jiminie and me both. Tae and hyung still won't, not more than they have to."

You shrug. "If it were me, I wouldn't either. Just to be a petty bitch."

"Why do you think no one knows I can speak?" he asks dryly, and you laugh and sip your water.

He sits next to you on the couch, and you say, "Can you hand me that bag?"

He gives it to you and watches as you pull out your pill bottles, shake out your pills. You do not dry swallow them, you wash them down with water like a person who saves their lack of a gag reflex for important things like sucking dick.

When he keeps watching, you tap one bottle: "Neurotin for the nerve problems from surgery." The next bottle. "Muscle relaxer." The next bottle. "Narcotics." Last bottle. "Tylenol."

"You can't get a bottle like that in Korea," is all he says.

"What? Tylenol?"

"Yeah. You can't buy more than twelve at a time, and it's pretty — uh — fuck."

"I love that you know all the sex words," you comment.

"I know the important words," he counters, and you both grin at the same time.

"It's regulated," you tell him. "I think the word you want is regulated." You don't know it in Korean though.

"Yes, regulated." He nods. "It's dangerous."

You shrug. "It helps."

You dump the bottles all back into your bag, and set it down. You're gearing up to ask him something — anything — just keep the conversation going in a hopefully non-awkward manner — but Jimin comes out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

"He's cute," you say to Yoongi confidingly as Jimin disappears into the bedroom. For clothes, you assume. "You wanna know how we met?"

Yoongi nods his head.

"I fell on him on the train and he caught me," you tell him. "It was extremely cute."

"He is cute," Yoongi agrees. "Aish, my Jiminie. They grow up so fast."

You laugh. "You'll always be the hyung, though."

"That's right," he says in satisfaction. He brings his legs up and crosses them tailor style, and examines you. You examine him back.

You still don't see all the muscles, but he did lift you. So they must be there, under the layer of softness, the little pudge of his belly.

"You're cute too," is all he finally says, and then Jimin is sitting down in front of him, crossing his own legs and leaning his back on Yoongi's chest. Yoongi's arm comes up around him — it looks like automatically. Like they sit like this all the time, pressed against each other.

Now you're examining both of them.

Then Yoongi puts his hand over Jimin's throat, and digs into his pocket. He slaps two horse pills into Jimin's mouth, then grabs the bottle of water he'd been sipping from off the table and holds it to Jimin's face. Jimin just shuts his eyes and sips and swallows. Yoongi puts the bottle down and sticks his fingers into Jimin's mouth and moves them around.

Your eyebrows feel like they are going to crawl into your hair and off your head.

Jimin sighs, and looks over at you, and Yoongi says, "He doesn't like it."

Jimin winks at you. Maybe he doesn't like taking the pills but it sure seems like he likes that.

Fair. You're much more dominant than Jimin, but if Min Yoongi wanted to hold you down and make you take the pain meds that you try to avoid because they make you fuzzy? You'd let him. You kind of like the idea of it, someone strong enough to dominate you, while you're still more dominant than the other person involved.

You're not exactly a bossy bitch, but you're not not a bossy bitch. Most people don't even try to fight you for dominance; you rarely meet someone you'd want to give control over to anyway.

"I wanna know everything about you," says Jimin, and Yoongi raises his eyebrows at you, like he's reminding you of what he said before — Jimin gets attached.

You don't often get attached until you know someone really well; or, at least, you try not to get attached until you know someone well. You think you could make an exception this one time for a little while. Play pretend with him that it could be anything but this one night.

"So," you start, "My parents wanted me to be an investment banker —" Yoongi and Jimin both nod; unsurprising since they both know exactly how Korean parents can be. "— and to their endless disappointment, I work in nonprofit accounting…"

You tell them a little about your job, and then about your six cousins and their huge brood of children — "I'm a disappointment to my parents, but I'm a cool aunt," you say, laughing, but Yoongi doesn't laugh, just says, "I bet," and Jimin nods.

The steak comes and you trade stories with them about your first threesomes — Jimin's was with, unsurprisingly, Yoongi, but kind of surprisingly (although maybe it shouldn't be) also with Jeongguk; Yoongi's was in high school with one of his rap crew buddies and a girl and the buddy had no-homo'd him hard.

"Never slept with another guy who wasn't already out," he tells you, and Jimin looks at you and shakes his head.

"Oh?" you say.

"I wasn't out," Jimin tells you. "I wasn't ever going to come out to anyone."

"That's a story I'd like to hear some time," you say, "because I had a similar experience. But then I met an amazing girl and couldn't keep telling myself I didn't want it."

"Hyung is amazing, too," Jimin says, and grins that sly smile at you.

Yoongi clicks his tongue and says, "Aish, Park Jiminie, finish your steak."

But he's blushing.

Jimin eats off his own plate and off Yoongi's, and gets his hand slapped every time, but you notice he still gets the bites of steak and sweet potato he wants.

You do drink extremely tart "American lemonade" — you assume the distinction is because in England lemonade is a kind of soda, or maybe it tastes different in Korea? You tell them about your first trip to England (you were seventeen and one of your aunts took you and a cousin to see Fall Out Boy in London and let you get your navel pierced), and Yoongi tells you about how after his accident — he tilts his head when he says that and you nod — he needed something, so he got his ears pierced and Big Hit fined him, and then pierced everyone else's ears too.

"They fined Jiminie for his tattoo, too," he tells you, his hand on Jimin's left side, right over the NEVERMIND tattoo. "But no one's been fined since, because of the new contracts."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter. "I guess letting you all get tattoos was better than you quitting." You don't even want to say the word disbandment, lest you speak it into existence like a curse.

Yoongi shrugs, but has a tiny little smile.

When Jimin slows down and starts listing to the side, Yoongi stops right in the middle of telling you about the first time he got fucked in the ass, and says in Korean, "Ahh, my baby, bedtime, huh? It's been a long day."

"No," says Jimin, but he rubs an eye and sighs. "Yes."

Yoongi looks at you, and you realize he actually hasn't been making eye contact this whole time, just looking over at you and expecting you to be looking back so that he can make a face or roll his eyes or…

This time he does make eye contact with you, which is how you know it's different.

"Are you staying?" he asks. "No cat to feed?"

"What? I don't have a cat," you say, feeling flustered. "Do I just seem like a cat person?"

"You do, but I meant, do you want to lie about something and leave?"

You frown at him. "No, I promised to cuddle." Then you change your wording. "I was promised I would be cuddled."

Yoongi nods at you, face solemn.

"You could have just checked in," you add. "I'm still okay. Are you both still okay?"

"I don't cuddle," says Yoongi, and you raise your eyebrows.

"No?" you ask, and nod your head toward where he's wrapped around Jimin.

"In bed," he amends. "I sleep alone."

"Hyung sleeps alone," confirms Jimin sleepily.

You nod. "I want to be cuddled," you say firmly. "Let's go. I need a toothbrush."

"I'll call down for one," says Yoongi, as he detangles himself from Jimin. Once they are separated, Yoongi just… hands him over to you, and Jimin curls into your lap.

"Oh hi, sweetheart," you croon, smoothing your hand over his hair. "Look, a pretty darling, a good boy."

"Mmn," Jimin says, and his eyes close. "Gon' lose English soon."

"That's okay. Cuddling is an international language."

He laughs, and rubs his face against you. You wonder if one of the reasons Yoongi really likes him is because he's like a kitty like this.

He's sleepy and seems like he'll drift off easily, but he still wraps his arm around your waist and is solicitous as you get across the room and into yet another bedroom. This one has two beds, too.

"No, no," says Yoongi, and then he's steering you both out of the room and toward the bathroom, and lecturing Jimin in Korean about, you think, his skin. He pushes Jimin gently to the sink, and holds you.

"I can stand by myself," you tell him quietly, and he shakes his head.

"Let me please?"

"Okay, as long as you know," you agree.

"I know. I…" He makes a face, but not the same face he makes when he can't think of a word. Finally he says, "I like it."

"Any time, then," you say. "As long as you like it."

You both stay there quietly and watch Jimin brush his teeth. He flosses, he uses mouthwash, and then he looks over at you and Yoongi. Yoongi stays where he is, so you stay where you are, and Jimin sighs and turns back to the sink. You watch him go through a million steps of skincare — he washes his face three times with three different products, and only then starts opening fancy tubes and tubs.

"Exhausting," you comment. "You do that too?"

"No, I just wash and mask and moisturize," he says, "but Jiminie's skin gets angry."

You lean a little more of your weight onto Yoongi, just because you want to, and he… takes it. The way Jimin did. Doesn't sway, doesn't stagger, doesn't even readjust his stance, just takes your weight and holds you.

Your toothbrush comes and you brush your teeth, and Yoongi nudges a bottle of cleanser and a tiny pot of what looks like incredibly expensive moisturizer toward you; when you start to rub the moisturizer in, and he clicks his tongue and slaps your hands away, and pats it in gently.

Jimin laughs softly from behind him.

"No pressure, just checking, but am I staying overnight?" you ask. "If not, I need to set an alarm to catch a bus. If I am, I need to take more pills."

"I —" Jimin breaks off and looks at Yoongi kind of desperately. Hm.

"Okay," you decide, "I'll go. Let me hold you a little while and then I'll take off once —"

"Can you really stay? Nothing to get home to?" Yoongi interrupts.

"Yes." You want to snap about it — you wouldn't have offered to if you couldn't. But they don't know you and it's a fair question and he'd already given you one out, and…

"I'm single," you add. "And I live alone. No cats. No kids either." You smile at him. "I can stay as long as you want."

"Don't say that," Yoongi warns but Jimin smiles happily. "Do you have to work tomorrow?"

You shrug. "I can call in sick if extra cuddles are required."

"They're required," says Jimin sleepily, and puts his arms around you and tucks his head into your neck, the way you've seen him do to Yoongi.

You look over at Yoongi, who doesn't meet your eyes but does shrug. He looks up, a little past you, and says softly, "He gets attached. We really don't do this very often."

Jimin just grunts. Yoongi comes up to you both and carefully runs his fingers through Jimin's hair. It's been loose this whole time, hanging down his back, almost to the middle of it already. It went from just past his shoulders to the middle of his back overnight a few months ago — extensions, you remember him saying.

Yoongi separates Jimin's hair into three pieces and quickly braids them, and ties it off with a black band from around his wrist. He hadn't been wearing that earlier — not while he was fisting you anyway. He must have picked it up specifically to do this before Jimin goes to bed. A ritual for them that he's letting you see.

You sway a little with Jimin once Yoongi is done— even though he's kind of leaning on you, he's also holding you steady.

"You're so fucking strong," you murmur to him, and stroke the shell of his ear with just one finger. "Come to bed, I want to lie down."

You aren't actually sleepy, but you're kind of tired. You think about your phone, tucked in your bag, and your nighttime routine of phone games and Tumblr and sometimes a few pages of a book, but give it up.

"I just need that blue bottle again," you tell Yoongi.

"How many pills? I'll bring them," he replies, so you tell him and while he goes into the room with your bag, you tug Jimin toward the bedroom.

"Oh, and my phone," you call out, since actually you need it to email in that you're going to be out tomorrow.

Maybe they were just joking about that, but it can't hurt to be on the safe side. The side of what you kind of really want.

What does it mean that Jimin gets attached? He wants to cuddle? He wants a sleepover? What else?

You put the thoughts out of your head immediately, because it could be anything and there's no way for you to know, and they only have a few more nights here anyway, before they're off to their next stop.

Jimin curls right up next to you, his forehead pressed into your hip, one hand under your thigh and the other — his left wrist, you notice — pulled protectively into his chest. You put your hand on his head.

Yoongi brings you your phone, your pills, and some water, and watches you while you swallow them. You wonder if he's considering sticking his fingers in your mouth to make sure you've swallowed, and suppress a smile. You tap your phone.

"Want to watch me type the email?" you offer. It's only be polite.

He takes a step back. "What?"

"Watch me type the email so you know what it says," you say patiently, and click on your phone screen. "Come here."

He steps toward you, and you tilt the phone toward him a little, open your gmail, write to your supervisor that you won't be in tomorrow because you aren't feeling well; you read it out loud while you type, since you don't know how good his reading English is. Then you hit send, go into your alarm app and turn tomorrow's off, power the phone down, and hand it back to him.

He looks at you for a long moment.

"You didn't have to do that," he finally says.

"I wanted to," you tell him. "Especially since Jimin's manager never showed up with the NDA."

Yoongi makes a face like an angry cat. "I brought it. That's why I was here. He just told me it was paperwork for Jimin, not what it was, or I wouldn't have just walked in."

You touch his wrist gently. "I'm glad you walked in. This was good."

He turns his hand over and squeezes yours for a moment, then lets go and steps back again.

"Yes, I agree." He nods. "Goodnight?"

"Goodnight," you say, and you nod too.

"Goodnight," mutters Jimin in Korean, very sleepily. You scoot down under the covers and turn on your side.

"Come on, little spoon," you encourage, and he turns too, and you pull him tightly against you.

He says something, slurring it, and you can't tell what — like it? like you? like this?

Doesn't matter.

You squeeze even more tightly and coax yourself into sleep.

You wake up a few times in the night — a strange bed, a strange sleeping partner, and one time someone is pulling a blanket over you and when you say, "Mm?" he says "It's okay," and kisses your forehead, and you drop back off.

When you wake up for real, you have no idea what time it is because the room is so dark. You're sweaty where you're pressed against Jimin — and it takes you a moment to remember where you are, but your sore pussy reminds you pretty quickly. And when you turn your head, the other bed in the room has a small figure sleeping on its back — Yoongi.

As usual, you're extra off balance when you wake up, and your ankles and lower legs hurt. You hold the wall and do a deep squat, then stand and walk your hands down the wall to a 90 degree angle so you can stretch out your hamstrings. You can't hold this position for more than a few seconds, because your knees are particularly hypermobile and will bend backwards — one of the very exciting things that contributed to the accident that made you need ankle surgeries.

You take a few deep breaths, stand back up, and head out to the bathroom. There are towels on the floor — wet — and open bottles next to the sink, and the toothpaste is leaking. Not Yoongi or Jimin. You wonder who else is here.

You don't have to wonder very long, because when you exit the bathroom and head for the couches so you can take your first dose of pills, Kim Namjoon is sitting there. There's room service on the low coffee table in front of him, and he's got a coffee cup and a paper book.

And when you get closer, you can see he's got a head in his lap, but the body is turned toward the back of the couch so you can't see a face.

You would have said you'd know any tannie with your eyes shut, but you can't tell who it is. Soft floppy hair and broad shoulders. Oh — toe socks with bunnies. Jeongguk.

Namjoon looks up at you, over the tops of his glasses. "Hey," he says. He doesn't look surprised to see you. Then he nods over at the food. "There's plenty if you're hungry."

You touch your stomach and nod. "Thanks," you say, feeling so off balance in more ways than physical. You're still wearing just your panties and Namjoon's shirt.

You grab up your purse from the floor, and make your way to one of the other couches, and dig for meds. You always keep extra doses with you, since you've been caught out before — cousins getting home late while you're babysitting, a late night with your dad, a couple of times you've ended up staying over with a friend after bar hopping.

Pulling out your bottles, you check in with yourself. Minimal sharp pain, so you skip your painkillers. Minimal nerve pain, but to keep it that way you take your full dose of neurontin. As always, your brain is on fire first thing in the morning; you never skip your effexor. You roll your neck; half a muscle relaxer.

As you do every morning, you think briefly of how nice it would be to follow it all with a shot of vodka, and then shake it off.

When you look over at the table for a cup or a bottle of water, you see Namjoon watching you. You point down at your feet. "Screws and plates," you tell him. "Nerve damage. And I'm hypermobile, so everything hurts all the time. And." You gesture to your head. "Brain."

"I wasn't going to ask," he says mildly, and you raise your eyebrows.

"No?"

Now he looks kind of uncomfortable.

"I was wondering," he admits, "but I really wasn't going to ask."

You shrug. "It's not a secret, it's okay. Yoongi and Jimin know."

"Your cane, then?" he asks, tilting his head toward the door and your black glittery cane. You nod. "It's cool."

"Thanks. I have to bring it everywhere, so I wanted a fun one." You pause, then figure what the hell, and keep going. "My insurance paid for a plain, stainless steel, incredibly ugly and heavy cane. I hated it, and was miserable, and then one of my friends was like, why not just get a cool one? I hadn't even realized… I hadn't thought about it. Why not?" You shrug. "Now I have four. That one folds up and fits in my bag."

You pat your tote, and then set it down. "Do you mind — is that coffee?"

"Yeah — oh —" He moves as though he's going to pour for you and then remembers Jeongguk is in his lap and sits back again. "Uh —"

"I got it," you assure him. "Let him sleep."

You move carefully, putting your pile of pills on one of the room service trays, and then lean down, get yourself on your knees. You don't sit back, don't put any pressure on your ankles, and pour yourself a cup of coffee. You glance around and see milk, sugar, and a little plate of those plastic cups of half and half. You take two of those and empty them in, pick your pills up again, and swallow them down.

"Bleh," you say to yourself. You set down your cup on the floor, get back onto the couch, and pick it up again. Then you look over at Namjoon, who is still watching you. "Anyway, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too."

"Oh, sorry —" This is the third time you've met someone in the past twenty four hours and haven't introduced yourself.

So you do, and he says, "Hi," and blushes and then, "I'm Namjoon."

"Yeah," you say, aiming for kind instead of sarcastic. "I like your band."

He huffs a laugh and sips his coffee. "I like that you got Jimin to sleep before three am."

"I think that was mostly Yoongi," you admit. "He really… uh…"

Now Namjoon shows you his perfect dimples and his perfect teeth. "Stamina," he says, nodding. "Hyung doesn't look it, but he… Phew."

"Phew is right," you agree, and sip your coffee again. You think about "phew" and smile to yourself a little. You want to be like, yeah, Jimin too, dude, phew is an understatement, but he's looking down at his book again. And your brain says: He's not interested, don't be foolish, he doesn't actually want to talk to you, you should go find your clothing and get dressed and leave, you don't belong here.

You push away the thoughts as much as you can; they'll disappear once the effexor kicks in and you'll be able to make thoughtful decisions without the back of your brain trying to contribute nonsense.

You want to sit and watch him and JK, but instead you focus on the tray of food and sip your coffee. There's a lot of food. There's a table on the other side of the room that looks like it fits at least eight or ten, and it has two huge charcuterie trays on it, but all the rest of the food is piled up here. You wonder how many people slept in this suite last night, or are expected to show up today. The entire table, which stretches the full length of the couch Namjoon is on, is full of trays of room service breakfast foods. All different kinds, pancakes and eggs and waffles and bowls of fruit salad and oatmeal and french toast and sausages (with a little paper label on the plate that says "turkey sausage") and bacon (with another paper label that says "pork") and muffins.

You feel a little queasy, looking at it. You'll need to eat at some point, get something in your stomach so you can do your physical therapy exercises before you have to walk back to the subway, so that if you need a pain pill you can take one.

This shit is so fucking exhausting. Everything has to be planned ten steps ahead, otherwise you fuck yourself up and end up in bed for days.

You get lost in your head, planning your day, working from what you know you need to get done backward to how you have to prepare for it. And you're startled into spilling your coffee on your hand by someone flopping down next to you, landing a little on top of you.

"Oh!" you say, startled.

"Oh," says Jimin sadly. "Sorry."

"No, you're fine," you tell him, and kiss the top of his head. "I need a napkin, though."

He twists a little and takes your coffee cup, puts it on the carpet, then takes your hand and licks the coffee off it. You laugh a little.

"Okay, baby," you say, and kiss his head again. He's wearing just a pair of boxer briefs, all his beautiful skin on display. Including the NEVERMIND tattoo and the vivid red and purple bite mark on his thigh.

You want to bite it again and suck a bigger mark.

God, calm the fuck down, girl.

Jimin hands your coffee back to you and settles back down against you, leaning on your lap and your side. You put your arm around him and he comes even closer, draping himself over you.

Then he stiffens, and you say, "Mm?"

"This is okay?" he asks. "When you sit?"

"Oh, yes, yeah, it's fine," you assure him. "I can balance when I sit, and you're not touching my ankles, you're fine."

"I'm fine," he murmurs, and relaxes into you.

When you look up, Namjoon is looking again. Smiling again. Full dimples. He looks you right in the eyes — weird after last night with Yoongi avoiding eye contact almost the whole time — and nods approvingly.

"Are you sticking around?" he asks you.

Before you can even open your mouth, Jimin says, "Yeah, she is," and then adds in Korean, "We like her."

You just sip your coffee, and when Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, you shrug.

"He wasn't talking to me," you tell him.

"But you don't speak Korean?" Namjoon checks.

"Oh, I do. But he wasn't talking to me."

"I could have been," Jimin grumbles in English.

You rub your fingers over his biceps. "Did you want to say that to me or did you forget I would understand what you said."

He sighs. "I forgot. But I would say it to you."

But he doesn't actually, so you just rub your chin against the side of his head. What else are you supposed to do?

"Hyung," mumbles a voice, and Namjoon puts down his book to run his hand through JK's hair.

"You awake now, baby?" he asks, and JK says, "Ani."

You huff a laugh, and Namjoon looks at you sharply.

"He's cute," you tell him, shrugging. "I like cute things."

Jimin snorts, and starts speaking Korean again. Some of the words you don't know but it sounds like they're talking about their afternoon, their schedules, an interview, "blocks".

You ignore them to sip at your coffee, back to staring at the food. Once your stomach settles a little more, and your brain stops telling you not to eat in front of other people, maybe you'll have a piece of toast and one of the sausages.

How is Jimin's skin and hair so soft? Special expensive moisturizer, probably, and a team of people to take care of him, and some kind of fancy hydration liquids, you bet. You shut your eyes and remember what it felt like when Yoongi had slapped your hands away and patted the moisturizer onto your face, when he had held you up and you'd watched Jimin together. When Jimin had held you up, the way it had felt when you'd almost fallen on the train and he'd caught you like it hadn't been anything, strong against you, making sure you didn't fall the whole rest of the trip.

How it felt when he had rubbed his dick against you while you stood there together, but he hadn't pounced on you when he'd brought you back here. He'd been… thoughtful. And respectful. And kind. And sweet. You could have just fucked bent over a couch and instead… you didn't.

You'll think about yesterday for a while, maybe forever. Who's ever going to live up to this?

Jimin sighs and slides down until he's positioned like Jeongguk, kind of scrunched up on the couch with his head in your lap. You don't open your eyes, just smooth your fingers over his ear, his eyebrow, down his nose.

The coffee sucks and is already cold, but you feel yourself settling down, your brain chilling out, your feet and legs relaxing. It's nice to just sit here with Jimin warm on your lap and sip at it. Jimin and Namjoon and Jeongguk speak a little to each other a little, but you don't tune in, just let their voices flow over you like white noise.

Somewhere, a door opens, then a door closes. You keep your eyes shut and your hand in Jimin's hair. If someone wants you, they can say your name.

You don't know how long you sit there like that, sinking into silence inside yourself, but you come back out of it when someone takes your coffee cup and rubs the top of your head, the same way you were doing to Jimin earlier.

"Hey sweetheart," says Yoongi's gravelly voice. "And sweetheart." You feel him lean over you and hear him kiss Jimin. "Ugh, cold, the fuck? You drink this?"

You drag your eyes open and look at him. He's draped in layers, long pants and a sweatshirt, and a shirt peeks out from under it. He's barefoot though.

"It's coffee," you say, and he grins at you.

"It's an — an awful thing," he says in English.

"An abomination?" You laugh when he laughs. "Hotel coffee is all the same. Better than hospital coffee and gas station coffee, worse than almost anything else."

"Hospital coffee is worst," Yoongi agrees. He sits down at your feet, close to the table, and takes a clean cup and pours coffee into it. He picks up your cup and sips it again. He puts three half-and-half containers into the fresh cup of coffee, and hands it to you.

You take it, surprised. "Thanks," you say, and he waves you off while he makes his own coffee, using a splash of the milk instead of the creamer.

"When I was in for my shoulder," he continues, like he'd never paused, "they wouldn't even give me coffee, hyung snuck it in for me."

"Ooh, bad boys," you tease, and he laughs. "My favorite cousin brought me a latte every single day I was in, and that's why he's my favorite. Although he did switch up the flavors, so some days I had a regular, delicious coffee, and then some days it would be like six syrups and he would say, 'Surprise, kid!' and I would have to work pretty hard not to spit it out."

"How much older is he?" asks Yoongi. He leans against your leg, and then looks up. "Okay?"

"Okay," you say, and nod, and move your leg a little closer to him. He wraps his arm around your calf, and lets his hand rest on your ankle, over the scar. "He's about six years older — close enough in age to make fun of me without it being like an adult bullying a kid. He once told me that the black spots in food is dead bugs. I didn't eat anything with black pepper until I was sixteen."

"What happened when you were sixteen?" asks Namjoon. You look over at him, startled, you hadn't realized he was listening.

"Ah — I started dating an exchange student from Chennai, and she — well, he now, but she then — and —"

All your trans friends have different opinions about how to talk about them pre transition and you and Akash don't really talk anymore, so you don't know what he would want. You decide on he.

"Anyway, he made me help him make sambar, which is vegetarian, no bugs involved." You grin at the memory. "It was delicious."

"Put bugs in his food," mutters Jeongguk, and yawns.

"I, uh," says Yoongi and you look down as he's looking up at you. He gestures his coffee cup to the table. "I didn't know what you like to eat. No steak this early."

You blink at him in disbelief. "You ordered the whole menu for me?" you manage to get out.

"You should have a nice breakfast," he says, and looks away.

"Thank you," you say softly. The kindness and thoughtfulness is what's going to kill you, you're pretty sure.

You check on Jimin— maybe sleeping, you think, breathing even, eyes shut. When you look back at the food, Namjoon catches your eye and you realize Jeongguk is looking at you too.

"We should all eat," you say. "If anyone else does that kind of thing."

Jeongguk giggles. Namjoon puts a hand on his thigh and squeezes, and then lets go. Jeongguk wiggles like a puppy and then leans over and takes the entire plate of pancakes.

"Hey, brat," says Yoongi affectionately. "We have a guest."

Jeongguk's face falls and you say, "Oh, no, no thank you, I'm not a pancakes person. I'll probably have toast and sausages. Jeongguk, the pancakes are all yours."

His face lights up. He's so easy to read, it's charming. "Thanks, noona!" he chirps, and Yoongi sighs.

You move your leg a little, knocking it against him. He turns and kisses your knee, then leans forward and puts two triangles of toast and two sausages on a plate, then stares down at it for a minute like it holds the meaning of the universe.

Then he asks, "Do you want butter on the toast?"

You don't suppress your smile. "Sure, that would be great. Just a little."

And then he butters your toast. When he turns to hand you the plate, he sighs like he's deeply aggrieved, and puts it on the floor.

"Jiminie," he says quietly, and shakes Jimin by the shoulder. He continues in Korean: Wake up, yeobo. It's time to eat. You need food to take your pills. Sit up and eat for me.

At yeobo your eyebrows raise without your permission. In your experience that word is mostly used between married couples. Maybe it's different in Korea vs the diaspora — so much is — but… maybe it's not.

Something in your chest feels wild, and you push it down. It's not your business. You're going to eat — Yoongi ordered all this food for you — and then you'll get dressed and go home, and you'll go back to your life and they will go back to theirs. Their interviews and podcasts and magazines and sold out stadiums.

There isn't anything else for it, nothing else to think about. You had a good time, they had a good time, any residual weird feelings is just whatever chemicals are released during sex — oxytocin, dopamine, whatever — plus the fact that they were thoughtful and kind and careful with you in a way even your regular hookups mostly are not. It didn't feel like a one night stand because it's not what you're used to; once you go home and shower and calm down a little, you'll be back to normal and go back to your regular life.

And jerk off about this forever, but that's just what people do with a great sexual experience.

And maybe sometimes when you watch BTS videos or see interviews, you'll have a visceral memory of Yoongi leaning over your lap to stroke Jimin's hair and gentle him awake, and you'll shiver, but that's also normal. Sometimes you still think about the way your best friend and her wife kiss each other in the kitchen like they can't walk past each other without renewing their connection, and it gives you the same pangs this will.

One day you'll have your own person to kiss in a kitchen, and it'll be nice, and until then you'll go out and have fun, although you don't think you're going to fuck any other people you meet on the metro; you'll feel a little lonely, but mostly continue to love your nice, chill life.

Someone says your name, and then again, and you realize maybe that's not even the first two times when you look up and see everyone except Jeongguk looking at you. Jeongguk is scowling down at his plate, and chewing a huge mouthful of pancakes.

"Sorry," you say, forcing a smile. "Lost in thought. What's up?"

Jimin knocks your shoulders together, and Yoongi says, "You're not working today, right?"

"Right," you confirm. "But I figure I'll get dressed and get out of your hair once we're done with breakfast, that way you guys can do whatever you need to do without me hanging around."

"Oh," says Jimin softly, and Yoongi doesn't say anything. When you glance over at Namjoon, he shakes his head.

"What?" you ask him.

"Leave her alone," Yoongi tells him. You wish you could see his face, but his back is to you. And Jimin is against your side — you can't see his face unless you twist.

"Hyung," starts Namjoon, and Yoongi makes a sharp gesture you can feel against your legs.

"Leave her alone," he repeats. "She has to feed her cat, anyway."

You knock your leg into him — harder than last time, when you were just saying hi.

"What is with you?" you snap. You're pissed now. Fucking christ. You switch to English, because you're too angry to find your Korean: "I don't have a fucking cat, will you stop saying that? I'm not trying to make an excuse to get away, I'm trying to be respectful of your time."

"No one asked you to do that," he snaps back, and then he stands up — so fluidly, so easily, you're so fucking jealous — and stomps away. He slams the bedroom door.

You look helplessly at Namjoon again, who shakes his head again.

"What?" you demand.

"Hyung gets attached," Jimin tells you, still leaning against your side. You can see his plate — fruit, bacon, one triangle of toast slathered in jelly.

"He said you get attached," you say, feeling frustrated, and you feel Jimin shrug against you

"Hyungs get attached," confirms Jeongguk around another huge mouthful of pancake.

"I don't understand." You lean forward to put your coffee cup down on the table, and Jimin doesn't even jostle, just moves with you as you go forward and sit back. "If — whatever — why even —"

You stop yourself for a deep breath.

Namjoon shakes his head again, then elbows Jeongguk . "Come on, JK," he says, and then Korean: This isn't our business.

Jeongguk stands with his plate — he slaughtered those pancakes but there's still one left. He looks down at the table, and puts two muffins and the rest of the sausages on the plate of french toast, and takes the whole thing as he follows Namjoon into the third room — another bedroom, probably.

Once the door is closed, you take a deep breath through your nose and let it out slowly.

"Noona, listen, I —"

"Stop. Let me talk." You can tell he nods because you feel it against your arm. "I would like to stay. But I heard you talking about interviews and what you're doing today. I didn't follow all of it, but I know you're busy. I don't want to —" You have to say it in English: "'Overstay my welcome.' I don't want you to look at me and think, ugh, this girl, what's she still doing here."

"I wouldn't —" he says quickly, but you tap him on the arm.

"I don't know what Yoongi is mad about —"

"Not you —"

"— but I can be free until Sunday, and I can cancel my Sunday plans if you want me to stay — or until whenever. I like you," you say as plainly as you can. It's easier since he's not looking at you and you're staring at the food. "I like Yoongi. I liked yesterday — not just the sex, also the hanging out."

You can take off work Friday, too. You usually save your PTO for emergencies — sometimes your cousins need help with a sick kid, or you have to take enough painkillers that you can't even work from your bed, you just have to sleep all day. But even though this isn't an emergency: Park Jimin and Min Yoongi apparently want to spend time with you? Two cute men who are good in bed who seem to like you?

You'll burn PTO for that.

"Now you talk," you tell him.

"What are your Sunday plans?" he asks, which is not what you were hoping for or expecting.

"Two Sundays a month I volunteer at the nursing home where my grandparents used to live. I sit in a comfy chair and read books out loud to anyone who wants to listen." It is very satisfying. "I used to walk dogs at the animal shelter, but… you know." You gesture to your ankles, even though he can't see you do it.

He sighs, a really long exhale. The another thing you weren't expecting and didn't want in this conversation: "Are you coming to the concerts Friday or Sunday?"

"No, no... I..."

"You don't want to?" He sounds dejected.

You can't help but scoff. "Of course I want to. But do you know how expensive tickets are? Accessible seats sold out incredibly fast, and the last one I saw on a reseller site was over a thousand dollars. And a regular seat — I can't stand in line for two hours to get in, and I can't sit in the middle of a row, and I can't…" Your turn to sigh noisily. "It sucks, Jiminah, it really does."

He sits up straight and moves so he's sitting with his legs crossed, facing you. You twist a little so you can look him in the face. He puts his other hand on your palm and uses his thumbs to massage you a little.

His eyes are so soft. He's not wearing his glasses, and you don't think he put in contacts when he got up this morning. They're such a beautiful color, you could look at him forever.

"Would you really want to come?" he asks, still rubbing your hand. "If you could?"

"I mean, of course?" You laugh a little. "Jimin, who wouldn't want to come to a BTS show?"

"Plenty of people," he says, like you're being foolish. "A lot of people think we suck."

"Those people are very wrong." You lift your hand, the one he's touching, and kiss his knuckles. "You're amazing."

You're sure a hundred million people have said the same thing to him, but he beams at you like he's never heard it before.

"Would you come if I put you in a BigHit box? We have seats, we always have seats. You wouldn't have to walk a lot, or stand almost at all. I don't know how close it is to the stage, but there would be food, and drinks, and —"

You cut him off. "Jimin."

He stops, and looks down at your hands. "You can say no, it won't hurt my feelings."

You do not laugh out loud at the extremely poor attempt at a lie.

"Jiminie, I would love to come. If it wouldn't be a problem or make a problem, I would really love to be there. I went to all three live viewings." You blush, which makes you feel more embarrassed than what you're about to admit: "I went to the Tokyo one every showing at my movie theater. Four."

"Really?"

"Jimin — I recognized you in a mask with most of your face covered and your hair pulled back, you thought maybe I don't really like your band?" You put a hand to one of your hot cheeks.

He shakes his head. "I don't know what I thought."

"I like your band. I love your voice specifically." You open your mouth again to tell him he's your bias wrecker, but decide to skip that. "I would love to come to the concert and I'm not too prideful to let you put me in a good seat where I'll be comfortable." He's still holding your hand, so you squeeze it.

"I need to talk to hyung," he tells you, and looks down at your hands. "I'm sorry he did that. It's not about you, it's about other people. You hurt his feelings, but it isn't you. He doesn't like when people assume what he wants."

"That's on me, but he could try communicating his wants clearly instead of…" You wave frustratedly at the food.

Jimin lifts your hands to his mouth and kisses first one palm, then the other.

"Go talk to him. Please. I liked yesterday a lot," you reiterate, "and I'd like to stay if I won't be in the way."

"You don't be in the way." Jimin looks at you, leans forward, and kisses your mouth softly and gently. Ahh, this boy.

He had said last night that he wants to know everything about you — well, you want to know everything about him. The hair. How he got together with Yoongi. What he wants from life besides to be in BTS until he dies. What he was doing on the train yesterday besides waiting to meet you.

You want to know everything about Yoongi too, including if he'll come out of the bedroom.

"I'll be back with hyung," he says, and kisses you again before he gets up. You hear his knee pop a little when he stands, what must be his ankle or foot cracking like you'd crack your knuckles. You know how that goes.

He looks back at you twice before he goes into the bedroom; his beautiful moons disappear as he closes the door behind himself.

You scrub your hands over your face. Okay. You reach for your purse and take half a muscle relaxer.

You have to eat something, so you bite into the piece of toast Yoongi had buttered for you, and now you're actually hungry. You wrap the other triangle of toast around one of the sausages and eat it quickly, chase it with the last of the terrible cold coffee.

Then you dig for your phone in your purse, and turn it on while you lie down on the couch. You can't put your feet up on the arm rest without something under your knees to prevent them from hyperextending, but just having them up is good enough for now.

You do not want to think about Jimin and Yoongi in the bedroom, talking about how Yoongi wants you to leave and Jimin wants you to stay. You want to play a phone game.

The one where you plant flowers is really confusing, and you suspect that the fact that you're confused is preventing you from wanting to spend real dollars on it. There's a whole plot around the flower planting that you don't understand, that has to do with pearls and costumes. But what you really like is planting the flowers and then harvesting them, and then picking which ones go into bouquets that you sell to townspeople.

Today you're cultivating blue larkspur and once you have it, you can unlock a new vase.

This is definitely going to keep your mind off Jimin and Yoongi.

Your brain doesn't even participate with misfiring neurons trying to make you upset. You love psych meds.

You look up from your phone — which needs to be charged, damn — when the door to the suite opens. J-Hope says to the person with him, "And I really can't do it again, tell them, I won't, it's taking —"

He stops abruptly when he sees you. The man he's with isn't someone you recognize — meaning, he's not a member of BTS. So he could be literally anyone.

"You're here?" he says nonsensically.

"I guess," you say, and wave. "Hi."

"Hyung said you left." He trades a look with the man. "He thought you were gone."

 "Ah — no. There was a miscommunication." You have to say miscommunication in English. You wish you'd paid more attention to learning Korean the way your mom had wanted. Too late now. You tilt your head toward the bedroom. "Jimin and Yoongi are in there now talking."

It feels weird to say names in Korean without any affection or respect, like your grandma is going to crawl out of her grave to smack you with her terrifying wooden spoon. But what are you supposed to call them?

J-Hope exchanges another look with the man, and the man nods like he'd said something, and leaves.

God this is awkward.

He sits down on the couch opposite you. You can't sit up yet. Fuck.

"I would sit up but I have to stay lying down for a bit longer," you say apologetically. "'I'm not trying to be rude, I have a disability'." You've practiced saying that, but it still doesn't roll off your tongue easily.

"I know, your ankles."

What.

He reaches out to the food on the table. "Oh, bacon!"

You watch him fill a plate with bacon, and pick the strawberries out of the fruit salad. He looks around. "No pancakes?"

"Jeongguk ate them all. The french toast too."

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head, then piles it all on top of a waffle and takes a giant bite.

It feels rude to go back to your phone but also feels rude to keep watching. What is taking Yoongi and Jimin so long? This is so uncomfortable.

J-Hope swallows and says, "So, uh, I'm Hoseok. Hobi."

You nod, and say your name and he says, "I know," and you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment.

"Are Joon and Kook still here?" he asks, and takes another bite of the waffle.

"In there." You point to the third bedroom. "I —" You're going to say, "I made them uncomfortable" but it hadn't been you at all, had it. Everything had been fine until you'd talked about leaving.

"Anyway," you finish awkwardly, casting around for something to say, "Jeongguk's probably finished the french toast already."

Hobi studies you while he chews his next bite. You're not going to be intimidated by a beautiful and talented man with a heart-shaped smile, especially since he is not your bias, so you study him back. He looks like he just came from the gym, shorts and a tank top, big sneakers, glow-y sweat, floppy hair. No jewelry or makeup.

He tilts his head, but meets your eyes.

"I'm a very up front person," you tell him evenly, "so whatever it is, you can just say it."

"I'm not a very up front person," he says, and you blink in surprise at how, well, up front that is. "And I need to talk to Joon, actually. But I'm sure I'll see you later."

"Sure," you say as he stands and walks toward the bedroom. You highly doubt he'll see you later, actually.

You go back to planting flowers, but it doesn't distract you like it did before. So you send Abbe and Taraji some texts about meeting a sexy stranger on a train, and you text your mom to tell her you're practicing your Korean with native speakers today, and you text your favorite cousin to tell him that it's been suggested that in retaliation for the bug thing you put real actual bugs in his food. Then you shut your phone down, because you're at 20% battery and you'll need that for your ride home.

Even if you end up staying for days (what. What.), you'll still need to go home some time today for more meds and clean clothes. You can take the bus that's a few blocks away and it will go right to your street. You don't usually take it because it's a lot more walking than the train. You're more than halfway to it now, though, equidistant between it and the train, so you'll take it. It's always air conditioned to hell and back, too, so it will be much more comfortable than the train.

Plan in mind, you do some of the PT exercises for your ankles — you roll them and flex your feet and point your toes, all this bullshit that seems like it's too minimal to do anything, but as soon as you miss a day, you feel shitty.

You need your own clothes, so you climb off the couch, make sure you're steady, and go to the first bedroom.

It smells. That's the first thing you notice. The scent of sex is heavy in the air. There's a second bed that is completely untouched. This is where Jimin's suitcase had been — still is — but does that mean that you and Jimin took someone else's bed last night?

You feel kind of shitty about that, even though you weren't the one who made that choice.

The second thing you notice is that your clothes aren't here. Your skirt, your shirt, your bra. You even look at the pile of clothing Jimin had pulled out of his suitcase when he was looking for his condoms.

The envelope with the NDA isn't here anymore either.

You sit on the floor and start folding clothes. You might as well. You're really good at folding — your dad had made you fold over and over until you got it right. Which is why for the whole first half of your twenties, you didn't fold shit. Even when you started working in an office where you had to wear business casual — you hung everything up on a rack. But when you hit your late twenties, changed jobs, had your accident, you realized you needed to start folding your clothes and putting them in drawers.

It's less traumatizing now than it had been when you were a teenager.

When you get to the middle of the pile, your fingers hit soft lace, and you realize: Jimin owns several pairs of lace panties. Two are boy shorts, the rest look like they might be bikini style. They're made special for people with dicks — you recognize the brand.

You start to get wet. Your cunt is still a little sore from last night — maybe a lot sore, you can't tell, your pain tolerance isn't calibrated for small pains anymore.

We will think about this later, you tell your cunt, and keep folding.

Maybe they moved your clothes to the bathroom and you hadn't noticed? Maybe your clothes are in the bedroom you'd slept in? Yoongi definitely hadn't gone to bed when you and Jimin did. He'd obviously taken the time to pre-order breakfast. Maybe he moved your clothes and you were supposed to put them on when you woke up? But you hadn't seen them then, and you hadn't seen them when you'd been in there for a few moments with Jimin. Of course, you hadn't been looking.

Once you're finished folding his clothes and tucking them into his suitcase, you go to the clean bed and lie down. You pile all the pillows except one under your knees and ankles, and then just… stare at the ceiling.

When you were a little kid, hotel rooms had alarm clocks and you could listen to the radio on them. This is your first time in a hotel in a few years, but even back when you were in college there weren't any radio alarm clocks anymore. You could be listening to NPR or some pop music or the PBS radio that plays classical music instead of listening to the blood rush through your ears.

You shut your eyes and practice your meditation breathing. You drift off a little, but not really. You can't totally relax in Park Jimin's hotel suite that is also filled with four other members of BTS.

 You're jolted out of your thoughts by someone yelling "Ssibal!!" really loudly. Fuck, what happened?

You struggle to move the pillows so you can sit up, and by the time you do, Yoongi is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"She's right here, Jiminie," he says over his shoulder. "She didn't leave."

"I didn't leave," you agree. Then, louder, so Jimin can hear you wherever he is: "Jimin-ah, I wouldn't do that."

You look at Yoongi. "I know you —"

"You don't know anything," he says, cutting you off. He steps into the room and shuts the door, and leans against it.

You suck in a breath — to say what? Fuck you? But he keeps going:

"I owe you an apology."

"You don't," you tell him.

"I do. You hit a sore spot. It wasn't you, it was…" He shakes his head. "Memories. Not even recent ones. Just… a few bad experiences in a row. People who said they …" He makes a face.

"You don't have to tell me." You aren't even sure you want him to.

"Is this like you don't have to stay because you want to be respectful of my time?"

"I don't know, is it?" You don't know what he means.

"Where you want something but you're going to ----" He says a word you don't know, and you shake your head. He stops. "No Korean for that?"

"Sorry."

"Give up in advance," he says carefully. "You want it but you say no first, before anyone else can say anything."

"Ouch," you say.

"Hurts to be seen?" He raises his eyebrows at you and readjusts his glasses.

"A little bit, yeah," you admit.

"I'm the same, some. I work hard and I fight for what I want, and then sometimes I just… give up. Mostly with people," he says wryly. "Except for a certain six. But they would never let me anyway."

You nod. "I don't like to feel like I'm —" You don't know the Korean for 'an imposition', so you say, "like. That I'm a burden." You gesture to your legs. "Especially now."

"Okay. How about we agree that I let you know if you ever become a burden and until then you just believe me and Jiminie when we say we would like you to stick around?"

"Will you agree not to keep asking me if I want to make up an excuse to leave?" you challenge. "Or are you going to ask about my cat every time I feel insecure and ask if you really want me to stay?"

"Are you going to keep being insecure? Because it kind of feels like you're calling me a liar." The words could have been sharp or cruel, but he's casual and smirking at you.

"It turns out you can speak excellent English, so maybe you're lying about lots of other things, Shooting Guard," you counter, and he laughs out loud.

You feel a huge sense of relief, a lightness.

"Hyungnim!" calls Jimin from the other side of the door. "I'm being very patient!"

"Just a moment, Jimin-ssi," Yoongi calls back. Then his attention is back to you: "I'm sorry I lost it."

So mature. You don't feel that mature, you just want to hide, but you still say: "I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. Namjoon was talking about your schedules for today and I kept thinking, god, they're so busy, I should get out of here so they can do their jobs."

Yoongi nods. "Jiminie said you can stay until the show on Sunday. Still can?"

"Still can," you confirm. "But I'll need to run home for more meds and clothes."

"We can send someone," he says dismissively, and you cock your head.

"You'll send someone to my apartment to go through my things?" you ask, trying to keep the amusement out of your voice.

"Uh," he says, and looks just as awkward now as he had when you'd pointed out that housekeeping would need to clean the room. "That is. If you want. Or — I bet Jiminie would love to see your apartment. He'll want to go through all your drawers and cabinets."

"Nosy," you comment, and Yoongi nods.

"The nosiest. He just likes to know things." Then he adds, thoughtfully, "I think just to tell them to Tae."

You laugh. "Okay, well, he's welcome to go through my cabinets and my drawers. I have some really scandalous La Perla sets that my friends bought me after my surgeries that he might…" You trail off and look over to the suitcase. "Actually, he might genuinely like them."

"Ah," says Yoongi. "You saw."

You make a face at him. "I folded all the clothes he left on the floor."

Yoongi laughs so loud at that. Then he holds out one hand. "Come on. I didn't eat anything for breakfast, and we can finally get some real food anyway."

You take his hand and let him lead you to the door. "Steak?" you ask, and he shoots you an amused look.

"How'd you know?" he asks, and then hands you out the door to Jimin.

"You're still staying, right?" Jimin checks, and when you nod, he puts a hand on each side of your jaw and kisses you. And kisses you. And kisses you.

You bring your arms up around him and press your body to him. He's still only wearing boxer briefs, all his skin smooth and warm under your hands. You want to strip off this shirt and press your whole body to him — but you're pretty sure there are other people still in the suite.

"Okay, enough," says Yoongi briskly. "Let's get food before we have to go."

"Hyungnim," whines Jimin into your mouth, and you laugh. You turn your head and Yoongi is standing right there, hands somewhere on Jimin's body.

He grins at you.

"Namjoon and Jeongguk were still here before I went into the bedroom," you tell him. "And Hobi came in, too, and went to talk to them."

"No hyung or Tae?" asks Jimin.

"Not that I saw." You sigh and put your head down on his shoulder — not the one he'd pointed out, the side where the neck injury is. You can be careful with him too.

"We'll get steak for them too," Yoongi decides. "Do you think anyone has noodles left? Hobi will want them."

"There's an H-Mart around here," you murmur into Jimin's neck. He smells so good — the sweet fruit cologne and sweat of yesterday, plus a little sex and something else now, spices. Had he and Yoongi literally fucked while you were folding his clothes?

You kind of hope so.

Yoongi clicks his tongue, and then his hand is on you, stroking your short hair, scraping his fingernails down the back of your neck, under the shirt to the top of your spine, and then up again. You moan a little, and Jimin nudges at you with his chin until you lift your head and kiss him again. Yoongi keeps scratching your scalp and neck, making your whole body shiver. This must be what ASMR feels like for people who like it.

"Hyung! You can't just say you're ordering without — oh."

You're pretty sure that's Namjoon, but you don't look, just kiss Jimin, letting him take more and more of your weight as you get more and more lost in the kiss.

"Come to bed," Jimin murmurs into your mouth — but then you literally feel his stomach growl, it makes a funny tickling motion against you, and you start laughing.

You pull your mouth away and say, "Eat first, I think! And hydrate." You smack a kiss to his lips. "Do you know where my clothes are?"

"I like you in hyung's clothes," he says, and makes a silly pout.

"I need to go back to my apartment for more clothes and meds, and I'm not doing that in just your hyung's shirt and panties," you tell him. "So any idea?"

Yoongi glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and just like last night, you catch it because you're looking at him too.

You turn in Jimin's arms so your back is against his chest, and you wrap his arms around your torso, your arms holding his. "Yoongiyahhhh," you drawl. "Could you have possibly taken my clothes?"

He looks back to where he's typing on his phone and shrugs very very very nonchalantly. "They were sweaty so I sent them to the laundry. Socks too."

"Socks too," you repeat.

"Dirty socks is how you get trench foot," Namjoon informs you.

"It is not, what!?" you reply. Then you realize he'd said it in English, so you ask, "Do you mean athlete's foot?"

"Oh — yes, I do! Just let hyung clean your socks," he advises. "But don't let him do too much or he'll take over your life."

You shake your head but before you can say that he can fucking have it, Jimin pipes up, "Hyung is good at taking over my life," and you hear a groan and a, "Jiminie, come on," and someone else says, sounding thoughtful, "Hyung has never done that to me."

When you turn to look, Jeongguk is standing there, and he comes up and tucks himself under Namjoon's arm. He looks tiny somehow, even though you know he's pretty big. Namjoon kisses the side of his head.

"I don't want steak," Jeongguk says, pouting magnificently. "I want Korean food today."

"There's an H-Mart around here," you say again, "and I'm sure at least one Korean place is already open and will deliver."

"You eat Korean food?" Jimin asks in your ear.

"I eat every food, mostly," you tell him, "except never pork and shellfish."

"We're not getting shellfish," Yoongi informs you. "We're getting steak."

"But hyung," whines Jeongguk. It is truly impressive how baby he has made himself to get what he wants.

Jimin laughs in your ear. "They'll do this for a while," he tells you. "Wanna see if any of us have any clothes that will fit you?"

You look at him in disbelief, and squeeze his waist with one hand. "You seriously think?"

"I could watch you take off your clothes and try things on." He smiles at you and ducks his head a little.

"Or we could just go fuck while they're arguing." You laugh. "Or maybe I can Instacart a pair of sweatpants or something."

"You shouldn't do that." He shakes his head. "I was hoping to keep you in hyung's clothes a little longer."

You curl up on a couch with Jimin again, and while the others argue over what to order for lunch — "You can't eat steak every day, hyung!" — "Watch me do it!" — Jimin texts his manager with your size and a request for a pair of sweatpants or yoga pants and a pair of socks. You bang your head against his biceps while he does it. What's it like to have someone who both oversees your behavior and fulfills your every wish?

The pants and socks arrive before the food. Neither has a price tag — you look suspiciously at Jimin and he looks away — but the brand name isn't Old Navy or even Ann Taylor Loft, so. You can't even guess how much this pair of simple black cotton socks cost.

"Did they even order the food yet?" you ask Jimin and he checks his phone and then shakes his head.

"They're still arguing with hyung and Tae," he reports. "No one wants Yoongi hyung to eat steak again if we can convince him to eat something else. And no one wants me to have pizza either." He looks dejected.

"I'm not great with dairy either," you commiserate. "Just a little bit at a time. A whole piece of pizza I have to plan in advance."

He laughs a little.

"Listen, it's taking forever to get food, so I'm going to go — but I'll be back, okay? You'll probably be at your interview or whatever already when I get back, so how do I get in?" You pick up your purse and go to the door to get your shoes. They're lined up in a row with everyone else's. "Here, come here, let me hold onto you."

He does, coming right up against you and taking your weight while you step into your sneakers. Whoever invented sneakers that you can just put your foot right into? A hero. You're supposed to wear orthotic sneakers but they have to be tied so tightly they end up putting pressure on your ankle and hurting you, so you make do with these and some inserts.

"Okay," you say, "how do I get —"

"My manager is taking you," he tells you, and slides an arm around your back.

"But… you have to work," you protest. "You need your manager, don't you?"

He ignores you.

"It's going to be like a two hour round trip at least," you say insistently.

"We all have managers. It's okay." He leans in to kiss you gently, and you want to put a hand to the back of his neck to hold him to you, but — his neck. Instead you put your arm around his waist but when you try to move it under his shirt, you realize it's tucked in.

When the kiss is over and you both step back, you see: he looks like Park Jimin, with his necklaces and bracelets and rings, tight black jeans, a tight black tank top that looks like it came out of a ten pack so it's probably more expensive than your air conditioning bill in August.

He looks. So good. Definitely not "some guy on a train" anymore, but an idol, a world famous pop icon.

You are wearing yoga pants and that huge fear of god t-shirt that comes down to your thighs, the one you slept in. You do, in fact, look like "Some girl on a train."

He pulls a denim jacket off a chair, digs in the pockets, and comes up with a pair of sunglasses that he hands to you.

You examine them. They're giant black-framed glasses with CK on each side and blue lenses. He looks at you and you look at him, and then he reaches for a leather jacket and swaps your sunglasses so you have pink framed, pink lenses Dior Paris sunglasses instead.

They would probably pay for two weeks of groceries, minimum. It's so unreal to be in this world for a few days.

When he smiles at you, he's so…

"You are really beautiful," you tell him, kind of struck by the image he presents with his loose blond hair down his back and his… himness.

He steps close to you and holds the back of your neck and kisses you hard and deep again, and you can't stop yourself from whining into his mouth.

You're off-balance when he steps back — not physically, but in your heart.

"Let's go," he says, and steps around you to grab your cane.

Outside the door is a tall broad man, looking down at his phone. He looks up when the door opens, and smiles at Jimin.

"Ready?" he says in Korean. His gaze flicks to you and he nods. You nod back.

"Noona, this is Namoo hyung." He introduces you and you bob your head again.

"Address?" he asks, and you feel very silly for assuming earlier that you were going to walk to the bus and take the bus an hour to your house. Of course Jimin wouldn't let you do that.

You tell him and he puts it in his phone, and then starts down the hall. When he gets to the elevator way before you and Jimin, he eyes your cane, and nods to Jimin. Jimin hands you into the elevator and squeezes your hand once, and then steps back.

"I'll see you later," he says softly, and you nod as the doors close.

Once you're in the lobby, Namoo walks much more slowly to the exit, and tucks you into a totally innocuous sedan. The A/C is already on and the windows are tinted dark. Namoo — you aren't calling him oppa, you guess ssi? — gets into the front passenger seat, and the driver pulls out into traffic.

It's quiet in the car, and you lean your head against the window and watch the city go by. You're at 3% battery when you get to your apartment — just in time. You invite Namoo to come up but he says he'll stay with the car.

Then he says to you, "Coffee?"

"Um —"

He seems to understand your hesitation. "I'm going to run in for myself and Greg," he says, gesturing to the driver. "Let me get you something."

"Just regular coffee with cream?" you ask. "I prefer it kind of dark, but I'll drink anything. No sugar." You would actually like all the sugar, but it causes inflammation, which means you'd be in real pain for days. So you make yourself skip it, but god if there was a day to have some sugar this would be the day.

"No problem," he says. He escorts you to the door of your building before stepping away, like you actually need a manager or a bodyguard or something. It's weird. It feels weird. You're not important at all — well, you're important to plenty of people, but you're not important to the public.

Once you're off the elevator and at your apartment, you put it out of your mind.

You don't bother to click down the HVAC — you don't keep the apartment cold when you're not in it, and it cools off plenty quickly when you get home at night since it's only 450 square feet of living space. It's a pretty small studio, but it's just you, no roommates, and there's an elevator instead of stairs. Your last apartment had been a third-floor walkup with three roommates. Huge, but impossible once you had your accident. Your mother, stepfather, and favourite cousin had all come to help you, had found you this apartment and moved you in before you were even out of the hospital.

You love it, how it's cozy and easy to keep tidy and the back of your apartment looks out onto the courtyard that the buildings in your complex surround. People are always walking their dogs, or tending to the flowers even though there's a gardener; everyone is friendly but no one is pushy or invasive. You nod when you see your neighbors in the hall; sometimes you take care of next door's two cats when they're away.

You plug your phone in and then grab an overnight bag and stuff it with skirts, t shirts, tank tops, bras, panties, a few pairs of socks. You pack everything you'll need for a few nights, and then add extra panties and socks, since… well… anything can happen. Toiletries. You grab your travel pill case, with spaces for each dose you have to take throughout the day. After a moment of thought, you fill the whole week, instead of just a few days; it can't hurt to play it safe. You also grab an emergency buprenorphine patch. Again, just in case.

You look longingly at your bed. It's not very big, but it would fit you and Jimin and Yoongi if you pushed close to each other. You could suck Jimin's dick again, bite over his thighs, get fucked hard. You have a special pillow you can lean over to help keep pressure off your ankles. You debate bringing it along for a second, but that would be silly.

It wouldn't be too bad to flop on your bed for a few minutes, but you know if you do that, you're never getting up again. And you don't want to leave Namoo and Greg waiting.

But before you leave, you go back over to your drawers, and take out two of the La Perla sets your friends had bought you.

Namoo has hot coffee for you, with a little more cream than you prefer, but it's still really good. You take a lactaid and drink it on the way back to the hotel. After the heat of your apartment, despite being in there barely twenty minutes, the dark coolness of the car is wonderful.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" says Namoo, twisting around a little in his seat.

"Of course," you say, startled. You take off the sunglasses. Even though they don't have a mirror, it seems rude to keep them on for a conversation.

"Jimin-ssi and I have been working together since his solo projects," Namoo tells you. He has a very friendly, open face, but when he stops talking, he presses his lips together and looks very serious. "Once in a while, he does this, but not often, and only when Yoongi-ssi isn't around. And not at all since his discharge."

"Uh —"

"I'm not telling his secrets," he adds. "It's okay for you to know this."

"No, I — okay, yes, I thought maybe…" You shrug. "Please tell me what I need to know. Or — did Jimin ask you to…"

"Yoongi-ssi asked me. He knows Jimin-ssi would never say this to you." Namoo rubs his chin. "People are rarely interested in the band for who they are, only what they are. They look at the members and see BTS, not human beings. Even when they're kind, even when they care, it's still very difficult for them to see people, three-dimensional people who aren't actually honest with the public about everything that happens in their lives."

"They don't know about us," you murmur.

"Yoongi-ssi observed to me that you don't appear to have that problem, that it seems like a few times you even forgot they were BTS."

You blush. "I mean, it's pretty obvious to me that they're people. If anything, the BTS stuff is kind of a drawback."

"You wouldn't be the first to think so," Namoo says wryly, and you get the feeling he wants to say more, but is biting his tongue. He finishes with, "It's a hard life for them and an impossible life for partners."

"I'm not a partner." You shrug. "If you're trying to warn me of… anything… you don't have to worry. I've been a guest star before, and I'm sure I will be again." You feel your face twist without your permission, but, well… "Most people… once they see the cane, it's all… 'Here's your hat, what's your hurry'."

Namoo snorts. "Sounds like assholes," he says, "but I'm doing the opposite, actually. Jimin and Yoongi both like you. I've never seen them invite… a 'guest star', as you say, to spend the night or stay for days or meet the other members. None of them do that, do you understand? None of them let people see…" He hesitates for the first time.

"Namjoon and Jeongguk," you supply, because you know that's what he's got to be thinking about.

He looks relieved. "Right. You didn't even sign the NDA I sent over, did you?"

"I wasn't given it. If you give me one, I'll sign it. We don't have to tell Jimin or Yoongi. Just between us, so it's — on file, or whatever."

Namoo looks at you inscrutably, then shakes his head. "If they found out I did that, I would be fired."

"I thought the managers kind of corralled the members and made sure they, I don't know, made good decisions or whatever. Decisions in line with what the company wants."

He huffs out a laugh. "No, not at all. Not anymore, anyway, not with this band. I do a lot of coordinating and scheduling, helping make sure Jimin has the right food and remembers to post to social media; I make sure he's got the right transportation and clothing and…" He waves a hand. "The closest I get to managing Jimin in a traditional sense is sometimes checking in about lyrics and choreo, but this band doesn't need that at all. They work harder than any other idols I've worked with."

He hesitates again, and then adds, "Even if I think he's going to be hurt or hurt himself somehow, my brief is to go to Namjoon-ssi first, then Seokjin-ssi. The company is the last resort."

"That…" Is not what you expected to hear but makes perfect sense. "Okay… So… what do you need from me? I can imagine the basic terms of an NDA are, like, don't talk to people about this or post on Twitter what it was like to — be here. Don't tell people about Namjoon and Jeongguk or anything else I might happen to see, and don't take pictures and share them, and —"

He interrupts. "Basically, but. What I want you to understand is that if you don't ever want to talk to them again after this weekend, you should make that really clear so they can prepare for it. Because to me it's very clear you're not a 'guest star' but someone whose company they're really enjoying, and they…"

The car stops, and when you glance out the window, you're back at the hotel.

"Just think about it," he finishes. "Just consider what I'm saying."

You actually have no fucking idea what he's saying, but you nod.

"I like them," you tell him frankly. "So if you see me fucking stuff up for them, let me know. I try to be a good person — I'll change my behavior to make sure they're… whatever… safe, protected… Whatever."

He sighs a very deep sigh, but nods. "Thanks."

Namoo opens your door and helps you out of the car, and walks you into the hotel. Slowly, carefully. He carries your overnight bag for you, so that your hands are freed up for your cane and coffee cup.

"Wait here," he says, and leaves you at a lobby couch. You don't sit down — what you really want is to lie down somewhere, and it's better not to sit until you can stay.

He comes back with an envelope in one hand, and then takes you to the elevator, up to the floor, to the suite. He pulls out a key card, beeps you in, and then hands the card to you.

"Don't lose it," he says gravely.

You nod.

He brings your overnight bag into the bedroom you had slept in (not the fucking bedroom), and when he comes back out, he taps the table. "Your lunch."

You nod.

"Let me know if you need anything, okay? Oh — let me give you — you don't have KakaoTalk right? Let me give you my SMS number."

You unlock your phone and hold it out, and he adds himself as a contact, says, "First name, last name?" and you give it, then he texts himself.

"Seriously," he says to you, handing back your phone. Up until now he's been mostly polite, but now he's casual. You tilt your head. "If you need anything, just text. I'll make sure you get it. You can also just call for room service; there are only a few hotel employees allowed on this floor, so it's okay."

"Okay… Uh… Housekeeping?" you ask, and blush.

"For the —" He stops himself. "I'll get them up here. Rosa and Marielle are the housekeepers for us on this stop. They may not come through me, they may just come in — make sure you check their names."

"Got it. Thanks, Namoo-ssi."

"You can call me oppa," he says, and smiles. His whole face changes when he smiles, becoming open and cheerful. "Or not, if you want. Whatever you're comfortable with."

You decide quickly. "Then, thank you, Namoo oppa. I appreciate it."

He nods and leaves, and you let out the yawn you'd been holding back. You hadn't slept very well, and you hadn't eaten enough, and the coffee just made you tired. You carefully pull the sunglasses off your face and set them on the table, then look at the plates.

There's a scrawled note: Hyung won.

(At the bottom of the note, in different handwriting, it says: "김치 vegan. No shellfish." Ohh, your heart.)

Under the cloche that has your name is a steak as big as your head, kimchi, radish salad, and a sweet potato. What a mix. You eat about a quarter of the steak, half the kimchi, and all of the radish salad, and drink the bottle of water that's also sitting there. You use the last sip to take your lunchtime dose of neurontin and half a pain pill so you don't wake up in agony, and then stagger to the bed you'd slept in with Jimin last night. You're asleep before your eyes are closed.

You wake up too warm, and realize it's because someone's in front of you and someone's behind you. You rub your face against the neck of the person in front of you, who you're spooning. Citrus, bright and fruity: Jimin. And suddenly you remember where you are and who you're with and your heart beats wildly.

The person behind you — Yoongi, probably, right? — grunts, and runs his hand up your side, carefully going under your shirt, cupping your breast and squeezing it.

"I thought you don't sleep with people?" you mumble sleepily.

"I'm not asleep," he says, and nudges your hair out of the way to kiss your neck, suck where it turns into your shoulder, bite down on your trapezius muscle.

You let out a sigh.

He laughs darkly, and says, "Yeah?" and your voice is shaky when you confirm, "Yeah," suddenly wet and aching.

"Don't wake Jiminie," he tells you, and helps you pull down your pants and panties and lift a leg over his hip, leans you a little backward onto him. You feel him fiddling behind you, adjusting his pants, and then his dick just… slides in. Right in. He's so thick, you can't help but squeeze down around him. You're still sore from yesterday, and not quite wet enough for this, but that's its own kind of feel-good too, an ache and the friction and a little burn.

He chuckles again, says, "Gonna come just like this?"

"Yeah, yes, yes." You're breathless. His hand is back under your shirt, hard around your breast, and he's doing fucking body rolls to grind into you. His hand moves from your breast down, and presses above your pubis. There's no way he can feel himself inside you, but he did this last night too, put pressure on your g-spot from the outside.

"That feels so good," you groan. You try to keep your voice low, but you don't know how successful you are at it.

"Hold on," he mutters, and holds you, rolls you? Onto your back on top of him — he slips out — and then he's rolling you to the other side of the bed, the other end, away from Jimin, so he can be on top of you, between your legs, also just like last night. He lifts your hips, and you grab for a pillow to shove under yourself.

He stops what he's doing to help you, gets a second one, checks in to make sure you're okay, and when you gasp out yes, he goes hard, fucks into you fast and deep, and you come quickly, choking on your breath, and you come one more time before he pulls out and jerks off quickly, coming on your back, wet and warm, and groaning when he lets himself fall on top of you. Neither of you are completely undressed, but he moves back almost immediately to pull your shirt up, over your head, unclasp your bra, and push it down your arms. Fabric rustles, and when he lies back down on top of you, having moved a little lower so his head is on top of your upper back, he's bare against your skin. Smearing his come everywhere.

He sighs, sounding happy, kisses your shoulder, lies back down.

"So good," he mumbles. "Too bad Jiminie missed it."

"He'll catch the next show," you say, back to feeling sleepy.

"You need to nap more?" he asks. "My alarm's gonna go in like twenty minutes, I have physical therapy."

"I could be awake," you say reluctantly. "If you need me to be."

"I don't, but it would be nice. After PT I have a consult with the stylists, and then we're reviewing the blocking for tomorrow, and I don't know, I think Sangwoo hyung has other things for me, I might not even be back to eat with everyone." He rubs his cheek against you. "Just wanna spend some time, you know?"

Oh, that's so soft.

"I know," you say quietly. "Let's get up and clean off, and hang out."

He kisses your shoulder one more time before separating off you. He helps you out of the bed and takes you over to where Namoo put your bag and leaves the room. You drop your bra and old shirt, then dig through it for a skirt, a tank top, a pair of panties.

He comes back in just as you're turning to look at his come on your back in the mirror.

"Let me," he says, and wipes you down with a warm wash cloth. You watch him in the mirror. His skin is paler than yours, and now that you're looking, you can see muscle in the flex of his arms, and under the softness of his stomach when he moves. He doesn't have a six pack, none of that weird dehydrated superhero shit happening, just a strong body.

He catches you looking and grins at you, puts his arms around you and tucks his head over your shoulder, so now you're both looking at your coupled-up reflection in the mirror, and to the side, you can see Jimin still sleeping behind you, mouth a little bit open, hair everywhere, even though it's been pulled into a braid.

Slowly he starts to rock you both back and forth. One hand cups one of your breasts, presses on the mark they'd left the night before, and he kisses your neck. You hold on to his arms where they're wrapped around you and just watch. His eyes are soft and he's smiling and you also look… happy. Relaxed.

"Cup of tea?" he asks you. "Do you like anything sweet? I saw you didn't eat the potato. No sugar in your coffee."

"I mean, I do but it's really bad for my joints and shit," you say. You reach for your bra, and he snatches it away. You raise your eyebrows and he just grins wider, so you put your tank top on without the bra. At least it's a dark blue. Your nipples are definitely going to be saying hi to everyone.

"We have cream ppang." He runs his fingers over the lace of your bra, then finally puts it down and goes to pull on his shorts and t-shirt. You watch in the mirror. "Would you want to eat some?"

"Yeah, just a little bit, but not if it has any whipped cream or anything." You'll need a lactaid anyway, but whipped cream always tastes too sweet or too sour; you hate it.

"Nah, it's normal," he says, and then amends, "it's normal for America, anyway, I guess."

You laugh and tug on your skirt. "Okay, lead the way."

The entire table is full of desserts, much the same way it had been full of breakfast foods. These aren't hotel desserts, though, these are from all different bakeries, in open cardboard boxes or on top of paper bags. Not just cream ppang; you should have known, he was way too casual about saying what he had for you.

"This is… a lot of dessert," you say faintly, as you sit down on the couch.

He flushes pink and doesn't look at you. "I didn't know what you like."

You grab his hand and squeeze it. "I like a lot of this." You point at the cream ppang, and then a stack of tiny cookies. "Dasik?"

"Yeah." He ducks his head. "Some of it's Italian, because Jeonggukie likes Italian desserts. Jiminie and Tae like French." He gestures to the far side of the table. "And —"

"What do you like?" you interrupt to ask.

He puts a finger out to pull a metal tray over. "Baklava," he says, and it sounds like a confession. "I like the honey."

"Sweet like you," you tell him, and kiss his lips before reaching forward to take two of the little tea cookies. He clears his throat, but doesn't say anything, just takes a piece of baklava. There is not actually any tea, but there are the ever-present bottles of water and that's enough.

"What does tonight look like?" you ask, after swallowing your first dasik. Black sesame. Not too sweet. Excellent.

He pulls out his phone and waits for something to load, then says, "After blocking and rehearsal, we're all busy except Hobi and hyung. You'll probably be alone for a while, until after ten at least. Then tomorrow we have to go to the venue pretty early — there's an interview, then we warm up, then soundcheck… there's a lot to get through before the show actually starts. But Jimin already asked Namoo hyung to get you into the box, and he'll stick with you, get you there and settled, bring you backstage after."

"I don't have to come backstage," you object. "You'll be working."

"Partners always come back," says Yoongi dismissively, and your throat suddenly feels tight. "There's plenty of space for you, and they'll blur your face in any recordings. You okay for clothes for the show? We can get you —"

"I'm okay for clothes," you interrupt. You aren't going to address partners. "As long as this is okay?" You gesture to yourself, your dark blue tank top and dark blue mini skirt with embroidered flowers at the hem. "With a bra, obviously."

"Too bad," he says, but grins at you, wide and cheerful. "Yeah, that's fine. Jiminie will probably want to put some of his jewelry on you, so let me know if you don't want that and I'll stop him."

"Jewelry is fine," you find yourself saying. "Nothing on my ankles, no bracelets on my left wrist, they get caught in the cane."

He nods and makes a note in his phone.

"I liked the pink sunglasses," you add, feeling a little silly but wanting to participate. "I was a little worried about breaking them, but they were nice."

Yoongi nods and makes another note. "Don't worry about it, Jiminie has a million pairs."

You make a decent living, you're comfortable, you can afford your utilities and groceries and your medical appointments, so you're basically upper middle class in America these days — but to have so many pairs of Dior sunglasses that you won't notice if one breaks is a very different lifestyle.

It's kind of unreal. But you might as well give yourself over to it. It would be silly to keep saying, Oh, that's too much money and it makes me uncomfortable. Just take what they want to give you, let them be as generous as they want, and then go back to regular life on Monday.

Well, you might need to take Monday off, or work from home, but you'll be back in your cozy little apartment with all your regular pillows and hardwood floor. You have a very quiet, regular life, and it's lonely but it suits you.

Some people are just supposed to be lonely, you figure. Not everyone can be happy. Some people are just supposed to be… regular. And you're regular. This interlude an exception.

When you look up from your last cookie, he's watching you, but doesn't meet your eyes.

His phone beeps. He taps at it and says, "I have to go in a minute."

"I'll be okay," you assure him. "And Namoo said to tell him if I need something, or call room service. I'm set."

He still looks hesitant. "And you will ask for what you need?" he checks.

You hadn't been planning to ask for anything — you could eat your leftover steak and drink bottled water and read a book on your phone, but…

"I promise," you promise. "Anything I need."

Yoongi takes your hand and kisses it, then stands up and disappears into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door, so you hear an electric toothbrush start going.

Jeongguk comes out a little while after Yoongi leaves, shirtless and yawning, and goes into the bathroom, then goes into the room where Jimin is sleeping, and you hear him yell, "JIMINIE!" and then Jimin squeals, so all's right with them, probably.

When they come out, Jimin is wearing a white tank top instead of his black one from earlier, and looks even more handsome, blond hair falling down his back and around his face. He leans on you and yawns for a while, then says, "Namoo hyung told you to ask him for anything you need?"

"Yes, sweetheart, and I promised Yoongi I would."

He nods, and rests against you until Jeongguk comes and says, in a sing-song voice, "Hyung! Time to go!"

Jimin groans. You kiss his hand the way Yoongi did yours, and send him on his way.

"Bye Noona!" calls Jeongguk from the door.

He's actually a year older than you, but you don't say anything.

You settle in with a murder mystery you borrowed from the library, and sip at water, and periodically catch a glimpse of the table full of desserts and laugh to yourself. You remember Yoongi saying in some interview that he doesn't like to make decisions, or finds it hard, that he can't decide what to eat or what clothes to wear, that everything outside the studio is tough. That sometimes he doesn't eat because he can't make the choice of what to eat.

You wonder if this is an extension of that; he couldn't decide what to order but he felt like he had to order something, so he just ordered everything.

It's incredibly charming. You know it's probably frustrating for him, but… it's charming.

You can't eat dessert for dinner, though, and when you go looking for your leftover steak, it's gone. You hope they didn't throw it away.

You find the room service menu, steel yourself against luxury prices, and get roasted chicken, charred artichoke hearts, and a side of rice for literally what it costs you to ride the subway to work for a month. But you refuse to care, and when the tray comes, you take cute little pictures of the food. You also got a pot of mint tea, and it's not in a carafe with bags, it's brewed loose leaves in a pot. There's cream and sugar (?) and lemon (more normal) and a little pitcher labeled "ginger extract" which you can only assume is just regular ginger juice.

You realize you don't have any way of getting in touch with Yoongi or Jimin to show them that you did what you had promised, so you send the pictures to your yoga-and-book club group chat instead.

"Fancy eats tonight!" you caption it, and get a load of ooooh and wowwww and nice! in return.

The food is… okay. It's not bad but you don't think it's worth the money. Your parents could definitely cook this food just as well as the restaurant. Not you — you're lucky you can make eggs and pasta — but the rice is really dry. You eat it all though! It's a good dinner.

The door beeps when you're pouring yourself a cup of tea — a delicate china cup with blue flowers all over it.

"Hey, I'm in here," you call out, and then see Seokjin. "Oh, hi."

"Hi," he says, and looks at the table of desserts. "Really?"

"Really," you confirm.

"Yoongiyah," he says, shaking his head. "Did he order dinner too?"

"I just had room service. I left the menu on the big table."

He shrugs, pulls out his phone, and starts texting. "Do you want any fried chicken or milk tea?"

"Uh — anything mango or lychee, no sugar," you say, overriding your first desire to say no. You're going to say yes to everything this weekend. Every single thing.

"No food? Rice ball? Red bean bun?" He looks up at you. His eyes look tired, and he's not smiling, and his hair is falling over his face. He's actually somehow much more handsome like this than you've ever seen him all done up and airbrushed.

"Um, plain seaweed rice ball?" you ask, and he nods and goes back to his phone. You watch him type, and don't look away when he tosses the phone aside and looks back at you.

"Staying for a few days, right?" he finally says.

"Right," you reply, drawing up your feet onto the couch. It hurts a little bit you need them to not be on the floor.

"That's excellent," he says, nodding, and you don't want to be surprised, but you are. They've all been so welcoming? They all seem at least neutral on your presence (Hobi) if not somewhat delighted (Namjoon).

"So you didn't have schedules tonight?" you ask him, because he's looking at you thoughtfully, so you might as well talk to him.

"No, I get a break. This handsome face can't keep going without beauty sleep forever, you know," he says, grinning. "Hobi's free too, but I think he's, you know, with the dancers."

You can't tell if that means he's rehearsing or having an orgy. You just nod.

"It must be nice to have a break sometimes," you offer. "I noticed this tour has a lot more time between shows. It's probably a lot better, right? More recovery time?"

"Yes, exactly. I'm aged, I'm old, I can't go like the youth." He grins again. "Also, I'm sure you know about…" He waves his hand.

"All the injuries? Yes. Some of them." You hesitate. "Aren't you only thirty-four?"

He sighs dramatically. "Age is a state of mind, child. You'll see once you're much much older. Listen to oppa, enjoy your youth while you have it."

You snicker. "Okay, ahjussi." You ignore his scandalized gasp and decide that the easiest way to make friends will be to ask him about things you know he likes and would want to talk about. "I guess you're too old these days for video games, then?"

"Some things are ageless," he sniffs, and you end up huddled together over his Switch 2, and he walks you through Pokopia, and lectures you on each Pokemon.

"Some people will disagree with me," he tells you, which you take to mean literally the whole rest of the band, "but those people are completely wrong. The best starter you can ever have is Bulbasaur — grass type, poison type, resistant to electric and water…"

You nod as he talks, although you're not sure how much of this you'll remember or be able to repeat back.

You sip your mango tea as he says, "Squirtle is fine, I guess, if you have to have a gen one water starter…"

When he's finished his fried chicken and milk tea (100% sugar?!) he sits back. "I can't believe you don't know anything about Pokemon!"

"We had an X Box," you protest. "And we played a lot of Guitar Hero, my mom loves Guitar Hero. I can still beat anyone at Hush by Deep Purple, it makes my mom so mad. But it turns out that actually being able to play guitar makes Guitar Hero harder, because you end up trying to play the real song instead of following the game."

"Your mom plays guitar?" he asks.

You shrug. "Her one big hobby is that she's in a Fleetwood Mac cover band. When I was a kid, they played at the local bar every Saturday; now they mostly do weddings." You wrinkle your nose. "I wanted to be a drummer, and she told me, 'Everyone wants to be a drummer, pick something realistic', so I picked nothing. And then I didn't become an investment banker either, or have kids, or… you know. And I can kick her ass at Guitar Hero! So I'm basically the worst child."

He laughs a little uncertainly.

"No, it's funny," you assure him. "You've never seen a 55 year old woman so furious as when I go home for holidays and can still beat her at every Guitar Hero level. She can pull out her guitar and play any of the songs on it, but she can't beat me." You grin at him. "And she's sort of finally adapted to having a nerdy accountant for a kid."

"Yoongichi said you don't even have a cat," Seokjin says, and you nod.

"Just me and my apartment and my collection of cacti. I, uh…" You look at him slyly. "I also have about fifteen RJ stuffies, since my entire family decided it would be funny for each of them to give me an RJ for my birthday and Hanukkah one year. My only children."

"I'm sure RJ is a superlative child for you," he says smugly.

"Very cuddly," you agree. Your phone beeps and you look down. "Ugh, time for meds. Sorry, give me a few minutes."

You take your night meds, swallow them with yet another bottle of water, and then use the bathroom and brush your teeth. When you get out of the bathroom, Seokjin is in plaid pajama pants and a long-sleeved button up plaid flannel shirt, waiting.

"I get cold," he says, and shrugs. You shrug too, and switch places so he can use the bathroom.

When he comes out, he rubs his eyes and says, "I'm actually really tired, would it be terribly rude of me to…"

"No, no," you say. Shit. You shouldn't have kept him awake. "Please, it's really my bedtime too. Like I said — I'm a boring accountant, I'm usually in bed by ten thirty."

His grin is truly devastating, not just the first time but the hundredth as well. "I'm a boring mathyung," he tells you, "and I think being in bed at ten thirty sounds glorious. It was really nice to meet you. You should call me oppa. We should be casual."

You suppress a laugh — you've been casual the whole night. He didn't say one polite or formal word to you the whole time, just talked to you like you've known each other for twenty years.

"Thank you, oppa," you say, casually, and he nods.

"Goodnight, then, brat," he says and laughs, and heads — oh no, for the sex room. But he doesn't make a face when he opens it, so maybe housekeeping came while you were asleep. You hope so.

You go into the room you'd slept in last night, change into shorts and a t-shirt, and plug your phone in at the side table, on the side of the bed you'd slept on. You take the half a pain pill you'd been putting off, in case Seokjin had wanted to talk more. Then you put a pillow between your knees and one between your ankles and scroll until you're too sleepy to stay awake. You set your meditation app to play fifteen minutes of thunder and rain sounds, and shut your eyes and focus on the way the sounds move through your head.

Someone kisses your forehead and says, "This is Tete" — Jimin — and you mumble, "Hi Tete," and a voice you don't know says, in English, "Hi, baby," and then someone's wrapped around you and you're asleep again.

Someone runs fingers through your hair and says, "She's asleep?" and the person behind you — Jimin — says, "Yeah, hyung," and you're asleep again.

You're up before everyone else. In the bed is Jimin, who'd been curled around you, and Taehyung, who is curled around Jimin. You hadn't gotten to meet him yesterday, but he's… Taehyung. He's naked, you think — at least to the waist. The blankets are pushed down for him, but pulled up around Jimin. They look really peaceful and sweet.

You do not take a picture, you tuck your phone into your pocket, take your morning's meds from the dispenser, and wobble your way out of the room. You use whoever's toothpaste the ginger one is, because it reminds you of your grandparents' house, and wash your face with your own cleanser. As you rub on your moisturizer, you have a sense memory of Yoongi slapping your hands and patting his expensive moisturizer onto your face. You push it away.

Your brain, as always, is on fire. It thinks you should run away, just take your stuff and leave. They don't know who you are and they don't have your number, and if you left they wouldn't try to track you down anyway, what do they even care? God, you spent so long boring the shit out of Seokjin last night, what the fuck is even wrong with you —

Effexor, please work soon, you beg silently, and pick through the desserts left on the table for the least sweet thing you can find, which is actually a paper bag of tiny brioche buns. You need lactaid for so much dairy, but it's worth it.

No one else is awake, and everything is very quiet. You pick up the house phone and, remembering what everyone actually ate yesterday, ask for many orders of pancakes and french toast, and several orders of toast. Those turkey sausages, pork bacon. You can't remember anyone eating anything else — no, Hobi ate the fruit didn't he? Fruit too. You do not order shitty hotel coffee. Maybe Namoo will go or send someone for real coffee.

You text Namoo: Are you awake? Can we have real coffee? I have Seokjin, Tae, Jimin, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jeongguk in here with me, I don't know where Hobi is. Everyone else is still asleep but surely they want coffee too? You would know better than me. When you wake up can we have coffee?

It's nine am, so you're not expecting an answer for a while, not if he was up all night with Jimin, but your phone buzzes almost immediately:

You want coffee with cream, dark, right? Hot?

You settle the order with him and realize: you had never called into work to say you aren't coming today. You email your boss with profuse apologies that you still aren't feeling great. You always want to add details to make it sound "real" — I'm throwing up, maybe I have heat exhaustion, I have food poisoning — but you know that's silly. You're an adult, you have sick days to use, you don't have to make excuses to anyone.

After a thoughtful moment, you do add, "I think I'll probably be out Monday too. But I'll still meet my deadlines for the week," and send it.

Definitely you're going to need Monday to readjust to reality and come down from this. Plus, even if you end up feeling fine, if you're really going to two BTS concerts, one Sunday night, you're going to be in a lot of pain Monday and will want to spend a lot of time in bed.

You put it out of your head while you slowly and carefully move all the desserts over to the big table so breakfast can go on the table with the couches.

Namoo drops off the coffees and teas, and just as the door is closing, Jeongguk comes shuffling out of the room, and flops down on the couch opposite yours.

"You awake?" you check, and he grunts, and slings an arm over his eyes. He's wearing a black t-shirt that says In Bloom in tiny white letters, and a pair of boxers that slide to show his thighs. You look away.

"I got you pancakes, and Namoo brought you whatever it is you like to drink."

He yawns, so you yawn, and then you roll your head to stretch your neck.

He doesn't wake up to eat until Namjoon comes out and lifts him — easily, like Jeongguk isn't just as big as he is — and puts Jeongguk's head on his lap just like yesterday morning. Namjoon looks at the spread on the table, then at you, and you shrug.

"I remembered what everyone ate yesterday so I just got those, not the…" You sigh. "Everything else. I hope those two giant plates of charcuterie didn't just get thrown out."

He shakes his head. "No, everything we didn't touch went down to the staff floor. There's a little suite there where they can go for meals and stuff. Everything got eaten."

"Maybe they'd like some dessert?" You gesture to the big table, and he laughs.

"Yeah, maybe." He looks over at the drinks and sees the one with his name on it, and realises — just like yesterday morning — he can't get it without moving Jeongguk.

You go slowly, carefully, but separate his drink and get it over to him, then sit back down.

He sips from his tea (matcha latte) and makes a face and sighs. "You're coming today, right? You know what to expect?"

"Ah — I think I'm just coming for the show? They're putting me in a box." You sip your own coffee, which is perfect. "Then backstage after."

"Hm. I think you're coming with us to the venue, unless you don't want to." He goes on to list off things you'll need, phone and charger, and your cane (duh), and "you'll probably want" some kind of ID (but, he specifies, no need to bring the rest of your wallet). While he drinks his tea and strokes Jeongguk's hair, he talks you through what it's like back stage (busy and loud) and how much walking you'll really have to do (almost none, because they'll put you in a golf cart) and specifies that if you run into any army (which you should not), you should say you're "just a friend of the family" and then excuse yourself and go to any staff member, and the staffer will hustle you away.

"That's easier than usual, since you're Korean," he says, and you just nod, don't bother to explain the Korean-Japanese-Egyptian-European American mutt mix.

Slowly everyone wakes up and comes to sit and eat. Seokjin and Jimin and Yoongi all take pills before they eat; you conspicuously look away and don't ask. You do hear Seokjin check in with Namjoon — did he take his pills? He grunts a yes. You pretend you didn't hear it.

Jimin sits in your lap and you feed him bites of toast with jelly and he nips your fingers. Yoongi sits on the other couch and watches you with hot eyes. Jeongguk finally wakes up and rolls off the couch to sit on the floor at Namjoon's feet and eat pancakes with his bare hands, wrapping each one around several sausages.

Taehyung comes in and grins at you. He comes over to sit on his knees at your feet and kiss your hand lavishly and enthusiastically while you laugh and say, "Hello!"

He says, "I love you, noona," and gets up before you can respond or tell him he's older than you, goes to sit with Jeongguk by Namjoon.

He gives Jeongguk choice pieces of bacon and strawberries, but eats all the watermelon and grapes, and bites Jeongguk's hand every time he reaches for the french toast (but still lets him have it).

You're really glad Seokjin explained Pokopia to you last night because they're all arguing about whether or not it's cool that the game is linked to the time zone, and also something about how many Pokemon there should be in the game — Namjoon seems to be taking the position that it should be "more than three hundred, what a joke" while Seokjin and Jeongguk think three hundred is the perfect number, and Taehyung gives a rambling speech about how there should be more Pokemon who can't evolve (like… "Guzzlord" ? You aren't sure you heard that correctly). Jimin doesn't say anything, just eats the toast Yoongi puts jam on and you feed him, and sips his iced Americano.

You catch Yoongi looking at you while fingering his own collarbone, and you put your hand up to yours. Where he's touching his, you have a bruise on yours. Probably from him or Jimin the other night.

He licks his lips and you lick your lips, and Seokjin says, "Okay! You two are in time out!"

You look around to see what he's talking about and realize he's talking to you. Yoongi laughs softly, but your cheeks get hot.

Yoongi stands. "We're going to excuse ourselves," he says evenly, but his cheeks are pink too, and his eyes glitter at you. "We'll be at the cars at call."

Namjoon groans. "I thought we were free of this since Hobi's in with Kasey and Andre this stop."

"You'll never be free, hyung," chirps Jimin, standing up and then helping you up. "You're stuck listening to all of us have sex for the rest of your life."

"You never have to listen to me have sex," Namjoon grumps, and literally everyone laughs, even Jeongguk. Is he the loudest or does he not have any sex?

Jimin hands you off to Yoongi, and you watch him make finger guns at Namjoon before he turns to follow you into the bedroom.

When you get there, you realize there's an extra person with you. Sleepy-eyed Taehyung smirking at you.

"Absolutely not," says Jimin, pushing him away. "Tae!"

"Why not?" he asks, seemingly totally serious. "Everyone else got to."

"No one else got to!" says Jimin. "Tae!"

He cracks a big wide rectangle grin, and winks at you. "See you later, noona," he says, and grabs your hand to kiss it. "Take care of my Jiminie, he's very sensitive."

"To the best of my ability," you promise, feeling like you're accidentally being too sincere.

Tae pats your hand and then drops it and steps back. "If I'm not there to supervise, make sure he puts pillows behind his back!" He's practically yelling as Jimin gently pulls you into the room and Yoongi closes the door.

You let Yoongi start to undress you and ask, "Does Tae usually join you to supervise?"

"No," says Yoongi, sighing. Jimin giggles.

"Sometimes, but mostly just to paint or draw," Jimin says, and kisses your chest. He adds, "He only fucks people once in a while. He wasn't asking to fuck you, and we wouldn't let him anyway," and then sucks your nipple into his mouth.

You hadn't actually been very turned on until then, but this pushes you over. With the door closed, you can't hear anything happening out in the living area so hopefully they can't hear Jimin moaning around your nipple, either.

Yoongi runs his hands down your arms, and murmurs in your ear, "I want him in the middle," and you groan.

"Yes," you tell him, "I want that," and you let Yoongi organize you both. He puts you on your stomach and Jimin on his lap, and fingers him open while you bite his thighs. You stay at the tops, and are as careful as you can — you don't want to draw blood, you just want to make him hurt.

Jimin whimpers with every single exhale and it is gorgeous. Yoongi murmurs to him — you're beautiful, you're mine, you're perfect, I love you, you're doing so good, baby, you can take it, give it up to me, let me have you…

"I'm gonna put him on my dick now," Yoongi announces, and Jimin sobs when Yoongi takes his fingers out of Jimin's ass.

"You're so pretty," you croon to Jimin. "Look at you like this, crying for your hyung's cock in your ass. Let us make you come, sweetheart, come for us."

You want to watch, so you take a handful of lube and smooth it onto Jimin's hard cock. He stays hard all the way through Yoongi pulling him down onto his dick, making him wail and clutch for your arms. You can do this for a few minutes, stay kneeling, as long as there's minimal pressure on your ankles.

It only takes a few minutes, Yoongi thrusting him up, you stroking his dick to push him back down. His face is taut with pleasure, mouth in a grimace, and when you look over his shoulder at Yoongi, Yoongi actually meets your eyes, and smirks.

"He's beautiful," you tell Yoongi, and he says, "I know, isn't he?" like this genuinely is something you're doing together, with each other, to Jimin. With Jimin.

You know you can't leave marks, but you still lean forward to kiss his neck, his jaw, his collarbone. Yoongi pauses to let you, and when you move back again, he starts again. You watch for another moment, then dedicate yourself to jerking Jimin off fast and hard, the way Yoongi is slamming into him hard and deep. You add a twist over the head of his cock every time, his gorgeous cock, all red and straining, and he comes crying Yoongi's name — and your name.

It makes your heart ache a little — and your pussy clench.

You have to get off your ankles, though, so you collapse yourself to the side and tug Jimin with you, and Yoongi helps him sprawl on top of you, kissing his neck and shoulders as he goes. You sigh once his weight is on top of you.

You are so wet.

"I wanna come," you murmur, although mostly to Yoongi. He's still hard — again, does he really like to edge himself? You wouldn't mind spending some time with Jimin holding him down while you edge him, or the reverse. But first: you need something inside you.

"I've got you, sweetheart," says Yoongi, and leans into kiss your mouth, then presses a kiss to Jimin's head.

"You okay, baby?" you ask, and jostle him a little. He groans into your neck, and you laugh.

You're going to need a pain pill before you walk more than a few feet but… worth it.

Yoongi comes back over, a condom on, stroking himself with lube. He comes up behind you and pushes you closer to Jimin, and just… sinks in. 100 mph.

Except this time he just stays still.

"Yoongi, please," you whine, and he kisses the back of your neck, sucks on it.

"Can't mark up my Jiminie, but I can mark up you," he says, and chuckles. "Every time Jiminie looks at your neck, he'll think of you and me, and every time you look at your neck you'll think of me and him. Like that, sweetheart?"

"Love it," you breathe into Jimin's mouth. Yoongi sets his teeth into your neck, Jimin kisses you with his eyes closed, and you clench down on Yoongi's dick. He goes slow this time, pulsing against you, keeping himself in deep. Jimin kisses you lazily while Yoongi sucks marks onto the back of your neck.

Then Jimin hums into your mouth, tucks two fingers inside you next to Yoongi's dick, and presses his fingers in a rhythm against your g-spot, and that's it for you. It's not the kind of orgasm you've gotten used to already with them — it's softer and gentle and goes through you in waves, and you almost feel like crying.

Once you've finished coming, Yoongi does exactly what you were expecting — he pushes you onto your stomach — onto your stomach on top of Jimin — and fucks you hard and fast and deep, fingers digging into your hip, mouth clamped onto your shoulder, and he comes quietly. You wouldn't know he was coming except he gets stiff and his teeth dig in even more deeply. You just relax into him, into Jimin's kisses, his tongue rubbing against yours, his plush lips so soft. You run your tongue over his crooked tooth and he laughs a little — and Yoongi digs his teeth in even harder, sucks hard, pulls all your blood right to the surface.

You find yourself doing meditative breathing into the pain, and letting it flow through your whole body — it feels so good. Jimin leaves your mouth and moves away, and Yoongi lets go of your neck and moves away. It takes a moment for you to re-orient yourself and realize they're kissing over you. Instead of trying to watch, you just keep your eyes shut and melt into them.

After a few moments, Yoongi carefully pulls out of you, and rolls you a little until you're back on top of Jimin.

"Hi," you say softly, and he grins at you, eyes all scrunched up, mouth wide, and you kiss him again, just gently on his top lip. You brush your hand over his hair, which is falling everywhere, and let him roll on top of you and settle between your legs. You sigh, and tuck your hand under his hair, at the back of his neck, very very carefully.

"Okay?" you ask into his mouth, and when he says yes, you close your eyes and sink into making out with him.

You can tell when Yoongi comes back from wherever — bathroom, maybe to get rid of the condom and clean up — because Jimin shudders. When you open your eyes, Yoongi is leaning over the two of you, scratching his nails up and down Jimin's back.

He's looking down at Jimin and smiling, such a big bright soft smile, you can't help but smile too.

"Call is in about an hour," he tells Jimin (and you?). "I'll get you up in 45 minutes so you can both get ready. Take a nap."

"You take a nap," you say, and hold out your arm. He's still naked, the hair framing his face a little damp, his skin dewy. He hesitates but you raise your eyebrows, and he climbs in.

"Jiminie," you whisper. "Turn over and let your hyung hold you."

He does, seemingly automatically, trained to do what his hyung wants when he's half asleep. You stay on your back, tucking your arm around yourself, and Jimin kisses your biceps before he's out. You shut your eyes too, and picture yourself being moved by the ocean, up and down, rocking with the waves.

You're not totally positive you sleep, but you definitely don't stay awake. You're the first one up when Yoongi's phone starts beeping though.

"Sangwoo hyung, why," he groans, and rolls out of bed to turn it off. You detach yourself from Jimin, who's drooling on your shoulder, and stand slowly. Ooof. Midday meds time.

"Hey, I got you," says Yoongi, and stabilizes you.

"I can do it myself," you snap, but he doesn't let go, just holds you until you aren't wobbling.

"I know you can," he says, sounding annoyingly reasonable, "but why should you have to?"

"Shut up," you grumble, but lean on him.

"I got you," he repeats, much more softly, and wraps his arms around you, leans you on him even though you're clearly fine now.

"I…" you start, then change your mind and just lean on him, tuck your face into his neck, let him take your weight and hold you for a moment. Two moments. Ten. Twenty. Until you hear Jimin groan behind you and you separate, smiling at each other.

You never realized how much you could read on a person's face even when they don't make eye contact.

You are somehow all ready to go before the car call, even with Yoongi and Jimin's pill ritual (just half of one for now, though) and Jimin spending too long sucking on Yoongi's fingers. Namoo is waiting for you in the hallway with another guy dressed just like him, who you can only assume is Sangwoo, and Jimin and Yoongi break off.

"Namoo hyung is going to take you over and get you set up," Jimin says.

His hands come up to your face and you almost flinch, but he's just sliding the pink Dior sunglasses onto you again. Then he takes your right hand and puts a bracelet on your wrist, and tests your fingers with rings until he finds one that fits on your index finger and one for your ring finger. You study his face while he does it.

Then he reaches over to Yoongi, who pulls his own necklace off his neck, and hands it to Jimin to fasten around your neck. While he's back there, he runs his fingers through your short hair, and then presses on the worst of the hickeys and grins wickedly.

"Goodbye," says Namoo pointedly, and Jimin laughs, and skips down the hallway with Yoongi and Sangwoo.

Namoo turns to you and appraises you. "Coffee?" he finally asks, and you nod. "Okay, let's go."

You put out a hand, not quite touching him. "Arenas have rules about bags, right?" You hold up your bag. "Is this okay?"

He smiles at you and shakes his head. "Talent doesn't have the same rules," he says. "You're fine."

He remembers to walk slowly and keep pace with you. The floor is empty and when you observe that to Namoo, he explains that the only people on this floor are managers, security, and the talent — staff is a floor down.

It seems obvious once he says it.

The same guy is driving today — Greg. Namoo pauses outside the car, then says, "Mind if I sit in the back with you?"

"No, of course," you say. He sits on the passenger side, buckles in, tells Greg you're stopping for coffee on the way.

Greg says, "Thank god, I would kill someone for a croissant today."

You and Namoo exchange grins.

They get you a plain coffee with just a bit of cream, and Greg gets the most incredibly huge coffee milkshake you've ever seen, with whipped cream and chocolate shavings and some kind of sauce drizzled over it. He sighs in happiness when he sips it, takes half his croissant in one bite, and pulls into traffic.

Namoo has something iced, and it's the color of Yoongi's skin. Maybe it's just iced milk. You don't know his life.

"I want to go over some venue issues with you," he says, after he's drank about half of his cup. "Can I assume you don't know anything about how this works?"

"Correct," you confirm. "I've never been to an arena in my life."

"Not even for sports?" he asks, clearly surprised.

"Not even for sports. The biggest concert I've ever been to was just a few thousand people." You shrug. "Namjoon went over a bit with me, but start from the beginning I guess. Just let me know what I need to do to make sure I don't look stupid or make the band look stupid."

He shakes his head, takes another long sip of maybe-milk, and begins a litany of do and do not, who to talk to, who to avoid. What it will be like where you're sitting. What to say if people ask why you're there (he advises to avoid it as much as possible, but if you can't, say you were given a ticket by a client at your job), and tells you there's no way you'll run into army backstage because they aren't allowed in any of the spaces where you'll be. Lanyard with pass goes under the clothing when anywhere except backstage, so people don't see that you have all access, and you'll have a bracelet to get you in and out of the suite. But you won't need to leave the suite at all — there will be food and drinks and a bathroom, and there's even an area with couches where you can sit and watch the concert on a television.

("Instead of the jumbotrons?" you ask. "Who would want to do that?"

"They are not called jumbotrons anymore," he replies patiently.)

Anything you want to pay for, you show your pass and it's either free or charged back to the band; any time someone pulls you aside to check if you should be there, you show your pass; any time you need anything, or if you start to not feel well, you text Namoo.

There will be all kinds of video being filmed, but just like with staffers, your face will be blurred and you won't appear in any pictures except the ones you and the band take with your phones.

As Greg starts the process of getting through security to the back entrance of the venue, Namoo finally goes quiet. He presses his lips together and looks at you.

"I'm a very straightforward person," you tell him, exactly what you'd said to Hobi the other day. You rub your thumb against the ring on your index finger. It has a really nice texture. "Just say it."

"Don't fuck at the venue," he says bluntly. "If they want to, say no. If they grab you and pull you into a private room, remember that most of the rooms aren't actually private because they have surveillance. The only truly private places are the individual bathrooms — any multi stall bathroom has surveillance, just not in the stalls. They tend to shrug it off, and we've only had problems a few times, but don't risk it if you can help it. You don't want to be the first to get your face on the splash page of KoreaBoo."

"No, I really don't want that," you say, shaking your head. You can't even hold in your mind what that would be like. Pretty terrible shit on social media about you, maybe those funeral wreaths to your house — death threats?

"It's unlikely they'll do that — show days are exhausting and they probably won't have the energy. Right now they're rehearsing to make sure they have the stages down; later they'll be doing sound check; then costuming. They have to eat and nap, and they have to get into the mindset together. But sometimes…" He shrugs. "So just… keep it in mind. If they're really insistent, text me and I'll find you a place to go."

You make a face. "I'm going to avoid texting you to say, Namoo oppa we need a place to have sex. That feels embarrassing."

He shakes his head. "I've gotten much more embarrassing requests. You're straightforward? Be straightforward and protect yourself. And them."

You agree, and then close your eyes tightly for a moment.

At the door, there's security, and they hand Namoo a badge that he hands to you. "This gets you into this venue, all the places the band can go." He flicks it and you see it says TALENT on it. "You'll get a new one at the next stop."

"Oh, I'm —" you start to object, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

"Yeah, you think so?" he asks, and you fall silent.

Jimin and Yoongi had agreed: you are with them until Sunday. You'll probably go home right after the show. There's no talking about what you mean to each other, no "DTF", no relationship to define. Just good sex, good hangs, a pause in real life for you and a nice sexy interlude for them.

But you're not going to argue with Namoo about it. He can think what he thinks and when you don't go with them to the next stop, he'll see he was wrong in his assumption and move on the way you and Yoongi and Jimin will be doing.

You're more than a little envious — they'll still have each other, and you'll be back in your lonely life with your Netflix-and-chill friends with benefits who don't even stay until the end of the movie. But you like your life, you remind yourself. It's mostly pretty great. Good job, good apartment, good family. Maybe you'll start volunteering at the library again, and meet another cute person to date who reads murder mysteries and has a cat.

Namoo hands you a surgical mask, and you settle it on your face and let him help you into a golf cart, and you're off. The private green rooms the band stays in before the show are really nice. Namoo points out the catering if you're hungry, the room with couches if you need a nap, the boba cart.

When you get to the room where most of the guys are, Namoo helps you down, hands you your cane, checks to make sure that your lanyard is on, and sends you in.

"Sangwoo is helping out with Jimin today, so if you need anything, you text me," he repeats firmly. "Don't wait, don't try to get out of the situation yourself, don't tell yourself you'll feel better and don't want to bother me. Text me."

You nod. "Thanks, oppa," you tell him, and bow a little more than just nodding your head.

You watch him head for another room, then turn and go in.

"Noona!" says Jeongguk, and comes over to you. "Did you see in catering they have pancakes!"

"You're on a real pancake kick this stop, huh?" you tease, and let him lead you over to the group of couches where Namjoon is sitting with Hobi. Hobi is digging into a jar of honey. He holds up the dipper stick and looks at you.

"Come put your finger here and take some," he encourages. "It's from my mom. It's good luck."

You have no interest in eating honey, but you put your finger where he gestures, and let him drip some honey onto it, then lick it off.

"Oh, it's good." You swallow it; the flavor is slightly different from what you're used to, that too sweet-too sour clover honey.

"Yeah, it's special." He grins at you.

The door opens again and Taehyung flies in and ends up in Hobi's lap.

"Hyung," he says seriously, holding Hobi's face in his hands. "Hyung, I need some luck."

Hobi drips honey onto his own finger and holds it up for Taehyung to lick off.

"Mmmm," says Taehyung, smacking his lips.

"Hyung spoils you," says Namjoon mildly, like he doesn't have Jeongguk curled up on his lap scrolling TikTok.

"Who else is he supposed to spoil?" demands Taehyung, and the conversation keeps going. The room fills up with the rest of the members, and a beautiful, tall, dark-skinned man who introduces himself as Kasey.

Oh, this is the Kasey Hobi is spending his nights with. What a gorgeous picture that makes in your head.

Hobi, Taehyung still in his lap, leans against Kasey, who puts his arm around him. Seokjin sighs when he looks at them. "I miss Youngjoongie," he says, and sighs again. When he realizes you're looking at him, he says, "My fiancee. She's a pre-school teacher back in Seoul."

You nod. "She can't come with you?"

He makes a face. "She hates America. And Europe." He shakes his head.

"Youngjoo noona hates everywhere that's not Korea," Jeongguk chimes in. "She doesn't even like Macau!"

"I loved Macau," says Hobi dreamily, and Kasey agrees, and starts to tell a story about when they were in Macau together during the Hope on the Stage tour.

By the time Jimin comes in, sweaty, looking exhausted, and throws himself into your lap the way Jeongguk is sitting in Namjoon's, you've heard a story from each of them about their favorite place when they did solo shows — except Namjoon. But he listens to the others with a small smile on his face.

"Hi sweetheart," you say to him, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead to kiss it.

"I guess that means I go," says Hobi, and rolls Tae off his lap gently, then gets up, stretches, holds his hand out to Kasey. "That's you too."

"I want pasta after," Kasey says, and as they leave the room, you hear him describing the different kinds of pasta in the catering room.

One by one, they leave. You scratch your fingers against Jimin's scalp — carefully, but letting your nails really catch on his skin. Managers and stylists and all kinds of people rush around you, each of them stopping to look at sleeping Jimin and smile at you. Sangwoo drops off Yoongi, looks at you and Jimin, nods, and comes back about fifteen minutes later with paper cups of coffee for you and Yoongi, and — you crane your neck — pours a little packet of Liquid IV into a bottle of water, and hands it to Yoongi.

"For Jimin," Yoongi tells you in an undertone. "We're going to have soundcheck soon — well, in about an hour — and he gets dehydrated."

"Should I wake him up?" you ask, matching his quiet tone. But across from you, Tae hears, and looks up from his phone.

"I'll wake him up!" he says loudly, and ends up on top of Jimin, kissing him all over his face and neck.

It's not that you thought they were ever lying about how much they loved each other, but seeing it in person… being here for it… not quite being part of it, but being involved… It's different. This isn't a show, they aren't being filmed, they're not showing their public personas. This is just who they are: men who love each other, and are affectionate, and like to be together even when they don't have to be.

"Did you nap?" you murmur to Yoongi once Jimin is awake and has rolled off your lap to wrestle with Tae on the floor.

"A little, but…" He stretches a little, shrugs his shoulders. "I'm too… you know. I'll probably need a caffeine pill during the second break."

"Can I do anything?"

He puts a big hand on your jaw and tugs you toward him, kisses you softly — not the way you've come to expect from him. Just a gentle press. You pretend you're not being filmed by at least two different staffers and just shut your eyes for a moment.

"You're doing a lot," he says against your lips, and then sits back. "We'll be back after sound check but we'll have to start eating and warming up. It gets boring as shit back here, so if you wanna go sit in the suite and put your feet up or something. Namoo hyung can take you over."

"What do you recommend?" you ask, not actually knowing if you want some time apart, or if you want to stay here and soak in every minute. "I wouldn't mind staying but I don't want to… I don't know, get in the way."

He sighs. "You should go. I want you to stay and so will Jimin if you ask him, you wouldn't be in the way, but it just… gets boring and we'll be sucked into hair and makeup and trying on all the costumes. The two hours before the show starts are the worst for us standing still and everyone else rushing around. And then we spend some time with the dancers and then we take about fifteen minutes alone in a room, just us. So… yeah, let me get Namoo hyung to take you to the suite. They'll have magazines and the tv on and…" He waves a hand. "A place to plug in your phone."

You nod. "I can text Namoo oppa, don't worry about it."

"One more kiss?" he asks, leaning in, and your eyes close again, this time without your permission, as he bites at your lips and sucks at your tongue. When you pull apart and you open your eyes, you notice that the cameras are not pointing anywhere near the two of you.

Staff must be used to working around this kind of thing.

Yoongi fingers your lanyard and badge. "Namoo hyung told you, right? Keep this, because it's for Sunday too. Then — the next stop will be a new one for the new venue."

You take in a sharp breath through your nose. "Yoongi —"

He runs a finger up the lanyard to your neck, then just that single finger up your throat to your mouth, until it's pressed against your lips. Shh.

"Shh," he says. "Just think about it."

You nod, moving your mouth against his finger.

He doesn't move the finger but kisses you again, right on top of it. Then he nudges Jimin and Tae with his boot. "Yah! Brats!" he says. "Come say goodbye to your noona, she's going to sit in the suite and drink fancy cocktails!"

Jimin kisses you — cameras pointing away again — and Taehyung bites you on the cheek and says, "See you later! I'm sleeping with you guys again tonight!"

"Always welcome," you tell him, feeling very sincere about it. This is Jimin's soul mate. And he's an interesting guy, with a lot to say, startlingly, about interior design. And the way it makes him and Jimin beam and Yoongi nod approvingly is worth the world.

You text Namoo, and Yoongi helps you stand and balance. Your ankles hurt from being down for so long, so there are no fancy cocktails in your future, just half a pain pill and some water. He gets you to the door and helps you into the golf cart. He is actually so strong, even though most of his muscles are stealth. You love it.

Before you even get to the end of the hall, Namjoon jogs over and says, "Hey, can I get a minute?"

Namoo looks from Namjoon to you, back again, and gets off the cart, taps the driver to move away.

Namjoon sits down next to you and says, "I told you hyung gets attached."

"You did," you say, nodding.

"Jimin does too."

You nod again.

"I can unattach them," he says frankly. Up until now, he's mostly looked really casual — pleased, relaxed, chill. This face, though, this is BTS RM Leadernim. "They put you on — they want you to come to the next stop."

"They, uh… didn't tell me that," you say carefully. "I was invited through Sunday, but just now Yoongi said I would need a new badge for the next venue."

"Without even discussing it with you?" he asks. He doesn't sound disbelieving, just flat. But you kind of think he feels disbelieving. "Typical."

Oh.

"Is it?" you ask.

Namjoon makes a disgusted noise in his throat. "Hyung and Jiminie both always do this, just decide what they're going to do and do it. Hyung can't make decisions until he can, and then he just… does." Another disgusted noise. "The worst part is that it almost always works out for them. He's got some kind of sixth sense for meeting destiny."

But you're not destiny, you're just a girl from the train.

"I'm not sure —" you start, and he cuts you off.

"I don't have a lot of time. Just tell me if I should unattach them. You're welcome," he emphasizes, "but it's your choice, hyung and Jiminie can't just make decisions like this for you."

It's not even a thought, not even a question. It's barely a split second of thinking: Back to your quiet life or onto the next city with two handsome, sweet, kind, sexy men? You have PTO; you can work remotely; you have to stay on this ride as long as you can.

You want to meet destiny, too. If you can.

"It's okay. I'm attached too," you say softly. "As long as it's really fine, it's fine with me."

His serious face drops and he smiles at you, all dimples. "Thank god," he says, "because I could do it but it would suck."

You laugh. "Thank you, Namjoon, I appreciate that you took the time to ask."

"Someone had to!" He smacks a kiss to your cheek and jumps off. "Okay — thanks for the time, hyung."

"Of course," says Namoo, and comes back over. Namjoon punches you on the arm like you're bros, and then jogs back down the hall, toward the green room.

You touch the necklace Yoongi had given to Jimin to put on you. It's a chain. It settles nicely above your collarbones. The links are big but it's not too heavy. There's some kind of stone within some of the links. Diamonds, maybe, or something else — when you looked in the mirror when you went to the bathroom, you couldn't tell if the stones had a color because they're just so glittery, reflecting the metal of the chain. You touch it while the golf cart goes.

"Come with me," says Namoo, and helps you down. You are getting really tired of stepping onto and off of things, and walking. You really need a pain pill.

"This… is not the suite?" you say, looking around. You're still backstage, in a hallway.

He brings you into a little room full of people going through makeup kits and looking through costumes. He says something in a low voice to one of the women, and you can't hear what it is, but she comes over.

"Bend your head?" she says to you in English, so you do, and she laughs.

"No problem," she says to Namoo, and walks away; in a moment she's back with a few tubes and a sponge and a little pot. "I'll take care of this, honey," she tells you.

Then she's — oh. Covering up the hickeys they left on you.

She gets the one on the back of your neck, and the one a little lower that you guess your tank top doesn't cover.

"Do I need to take off the necklace?" you ask her, and she shakes her head while she works on the one on your chest that you can barely see.

"The makeup won't go anywhere," she says, and steps back and sprays you with something. "Just make sure you have someone take it off you at the end of the night. Cold cream or micellar water only. Don't sleep in it or scrub your skin with soap."

"Yes, unnie, thank you," you say, bowing a little.

She slaps your arm and says, "Just let me know next time, we'll cover you up again. Don't wait until the last minute!"

"Thanks, noona," says Namoo, and kisses her cheek.

"Oooh," you say and elbow him when you're back on the golf cart.

"It's not like that," he grumbles, but his ears are pink.

"Sure," you say, laughing at him, "all right, I won't poke. Thanks for having her do that; I forgot it was there."

"No problem," he says, ears still pink. "I knew none of you would remember."

"I'm not used to having to think about that," you admit. "I appreciate that you know all this stuff and are taking care of me."

"I'm not being selfless; Jimin wants you taken care of," he says, and now your ears are pink, you know it.

"Well, whatever, thank you," you say, and look down at your hands, at the rings.

"Well, whatever, you're welcome," he says, and you both laugh a little. It really is weird to have someone assigned to make sure everything goes smoothly for you, but you are genuinely grateful. If you had to find your own way around the venue, figure it all out yourself, you… might do it, or you might just call a taxi and go home.

There's an elevator that takes you right to the suite. Before you step out, Namoo taps his chest, and you realize you forgot to tuck your lanyard away. You put it down your tank top and tuck it into your bra to keep it secure. When you step out, he gestures to the security at the door and they give you a band around your wrist — they want your left but it has to go on your right so you don't get it caught on the handle of your cane.

You've definitely learned from past mistakes. Using a cane to get around had a steep learning curve for you. You kept forgetting it was there, forgetting to use it. You wanted to use it with your dominant hand but learned quickly that you needed to keep it in your off hand so you had your dominant hand free to do things like swipe your metro pass and unlock your front door and catch yourself when you start to fall. They were supposed to help you learn how to use it in physical therapy, but it was useless. Your physical therapist had told you, somewhat confidentially, that most people end up figuring out ways to use canes that were not what they learn in physical therapy, because everyone's body is different.

You'd started out with two canes, actually, and ended up with just one. There was a whole six months or so where your parents had constantly said things like, oh, now that you're down to one, it won't be long until you don't need it at all! (Your favorite cousin and your stepfather had not said that, had not even addressed it except to make sure you had a way to get groceries and do laundry.) But you think you're probably walking with a cane for the rest of your life. And it sucks, but you're trying to accept it. Everyone's got shitty body stuff, and this is yours. Your best friend Abbe is in recovery for bulimia, and her wife Taraji can't decide whether or not to get bottom surgery and has been going back and forth about it for six years already; Jimin's got those problems with his neck and back, and he's a dancer, so that must suck; your mom would never admit it but she has some kind of repetitive stress injury in her wrists from playing guitar for so many years. So you walk with a cane and your ankles don't work, so what.

There is some fancy shit set out buffet style, wagyu burgers and individual french onion soups and pizza with odd toppings. You would think that maybe only rich people would want oysters on pizza, but if you were stupid rich, you'd just eat whatever you want, not whatever people think is the most impressive. But there's a tomato and basil pizza with no cheese, so Namoo fills a plate for you with a tiny wagyu burger that's half the size of your palm, a piece of the dairy free pizza, and a few Earl Grey-lavender shortbread cookies. You can take a lactaid for that.

He sits you down in a really comfortable chair with an ottoman, surrounded by other comfortable chairs with ottomans, all facing a huge tv taller than you, which is playing a baseball game.

"One minute," he tells you, and disappears, comes back with two bottles of water and a tall glass of something pink and orange.

"Oh, I —" you start, because you're going to take a pain pill so you cannot have alcohol.

"Mocktail," he says briefly, setting it on the table next to you. "I got you the mango one."

"Thanks, oppa." You don't know what else to say. Especially after he made it clear that he's just doing his job, what Jimin wants, even though it seems to you that he might be going a little above and beyond.

"I'll come back for you after the show — just wait here. Or text me if you need to leave early."

You thank him again before he leaves. You glance at the baseball game; you simply do not care. Now if they had wrestling on, you'd happily watch. You don't really know much about wrestling, but you like to watch handsome sweaty men roll around with each other, and sometimes they hold hands. It's an excellent sport.

The mango mocktail is rimmed with tajin, which makes it even more delicious than you were expecting, and the pizza's okay. After a few bites, you set it down, take a pain pill, and then pull out your phone.

You're expecting to check in with your cousin and parents, you're expecting to check in with some friends.

But your first text is a blurry picture from a number you don't recognize, and you almost delete it — except then you take a second look and… it's Jimin. And Yoongi. Their lips smearing together, streaks of light surrounding them, Yoongi's hand clutching Jimin's jaw.

Phew.

"Beautiful," you type in. You have no idea which of them this is or how they — oh, Namoo must have given them your number. Duh.

You take a picture of your plate and drink, and then one of your feet in your sneakers and purple socks on the ottoman.

"My body is ready," you caption the pictures.

You're not expecting a quick response since they're getting ready for the show, but you get one — a picture of Jimin in a chair with four people around him. One of them is the unnie who covered your hickeys wielding a brush.

"'Gilding the lily'," is what the text says in English. Yoongi.

"Agree. Almost hubris to try to enhance perfection."

"Agree. I like being able to see his pores and wrinkles. He's my real boy."

You… don't know what to say to that. "You're both real boys."

"What's your favorite BTS song?"

That's out of nowhere. You think for a few minutes and finally write, "I don't know. It depends on about a hundred factors — what mood am I in? What's the weather like? How's my pain? Whatever. Why?"

"What do you want to hear at the end of the show?"

"During the random noraebang part?!"

"Yeah. Pick a song, we'll do it."

Holy shit. This is a little too much power for you.

"You haven't done Seesaw yet," you type, adding an upside down smiley face. Then immediately after, you send, "But really, what about Telepathy?"

He just sends a purple heart and another picture of Jimin, this one of him smiling and giving the camera a peace sign, his hair carefully tousled for maximum "I just rolled out of bed" look — although, of course, when he rolls out of bed, his hair is in a frizzy halo as it pulls out of his long braid. This is the magazine version of rolled out of bed.

"Pretty," you write, and click away, open your murder mystery. Then you go back to your texts and go into your group chat with your best friend and her wife.

"At a BTS concert in a fancy suite!" you type in. "Having a blast. I wish you guys were here, it's not the same without you. I'm totally thinking about when we flew to Amsterdam because it was the smallest venue — I think there are like a hundred thousand people here."

Of course, they're in a different time zone, but they'll hit you back when they can.

You end up nibbling the cookies, mostly. The mango drink is really sweet — if you drink too much of it, you'll end up in a lot of pain from inflammation, and also with a headache. But it's nice to have a little of.

There's a shitload of screaming you can hear even in the suite when the soundcheck starts. There aren't even that many people here for it, they're just… really excited. And you can't blame them. But you don't get up. The next time you get up and walk around, you want it to be for a bathroom break and then to go watch them come out and do Hooligan and start the show.

Another number you don't recognize buzzes, and it's a picture of the audience during soundcheck. Jiminie.

You react with a purple heart and write, "This is going to be an amazing show, sweetheart. I can't wait."

He sends you a selca of himself and Yoongi, Yoongi's arm slung around his shoulders, their heads pressed together, then another one of Yoongi from the back; he's flashing two peace signs to the screaming crowd.

This has been the wildest few days of your life, and it looks like it's not going to calm down any time soon. You just have to relax into it and let it take you, let them take you. Every time you've stumbled in the past few days, one of them has caught you — literally. You decide… you can see if they'll do it metaphorically too, if they'll let you lean on them, and let you see their softness in return.

You make a cheek heart and take a selca, and send it to them both before you can second-guess yourself. Whatever is coming next... you're not ready for it. But you're excited for it, excited to see if you can meet destiny.

Notes:

Notes: JeniPenny, I loved your prompts for this Fandom Trumps Hate fic! Thank you for giving me so much good stuff to work with; I hit as many of your DW as I could! Also, sorry this is totally not the original 15,000 words I showed you! *g* (I'll finish that one eventually though !)

This is set in an amorphous time during a made-up Arirang tour in any given city in the US that has halfway decent public transit and an arena that could support a BTS show.

Thanks to amaronith for beta'ing even though they aren't in this fandom. Perhaps they will beta enough of my fics that they will end up in this fandom! ㅋㅋㅋㅋ 

Title from Intro: Serendipity by BTS.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 15 of x Reader Fics