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"So, as a hypothetical."
Amongst the chaos of the livestream, Jimin's eyes are large and appear rather distressed. He takes this kind of thing seriously, regardless of its relevance to the real world—just the concept of losing his life can have his mood dampened in mere seconds. Jeongguk knows this, because he knows him. Even when Taehyung nudges him to show him something on his phone, even when his eyes flit over the expanse of food in front of him, Jimin looks concerned. That's not something Jeongguk can ever take lightly.
Seokjin is explaining the situation to him with a heightened fascination in his tone. "Jimin-ah is tied up on the left—the left train tracks, basically, so if you turn left, Jiminie dies." His arms wave back and forth, hands curled to mimic the train running over tracks and an imaginary Jimin alongside them. Jeongguk stares at the food instead. It's easier to look over there then to consider the death of Jimin further. "But on the other set of train tracks, there are five strangers."
There's a slight pause in the conversation as Jeongguk chews on the inside of his cheek. He feels Jimin's gaze, sad and just a tad confused, bore into the side of his face.
Some things don't have to be said to be felt.
Namjoon's eyebrows raise. "You gotta choose one qui—"
"Right side," Jeongguk replies. He'd only hesitated because if he were present when they were formulating the question, Jimin wouldn't have been the one to be tied on the train tracks. He would've switched positions with him in a split-second, volunteered to be the victim instead. I should have joined the livestream earlier. Should have saved him. "I would choose Jimin hyung."
It's not the first thing Jeongguk would have expected them to spring onto him once he slid into the seat next to Namjoon's and greeted the livestream. Granted, it's not the last, either. His hyungs, especially Namjoon and Seokjin, have a tendency to openly ponder the intellectual sides of things. The would-you-rather questions brought up over some alcohol and food that force them to sit there for hours mulling over something impossible to execute.
It goes without saying that the reason why he's so unequivocally Jeongguk today is because he grew up around his older members. He can name a few things off the top of his head that he's stolen from each of them individually: speech mannerisms, little physical quirks and charms found in practice rooms and messy dorms. So, he's trained to answer the difficult questions Seokjin will pepper him with when they're alone, or the philosophical predicaments Namjoon gets him to consider.
Things are, well. Different when Jimin is involved.
Jeongguk hesitates for a moment, fist going still from where it's hovering over the hotel door before he pushes forwards and wraps his knuckles against the wood.
Not even ten seconds later does the door open. Park Jimin is practically swallowed in the large gray crewneck hanging on his lean frame, big black glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and hair cascading nicely onto his shoulders. He saw him only thirty minutes ago, yet as it usually goes, things are different when it's the two of them. His room smells like citrus. He smells like citrus.
Jimin spares him two more seconds of silence. Possibly so Jeongguk can look lovesick at the sight of him so domestic for a little longer. "I wasn't sure if—"
"Talk," Jeongguk blurts. Immediately afterwards: "Ah. Sorry, hyung. I want to talk, please."
In the dimness of the hotel hallway and the warm lamp lighting coming from behind Jimin, he watches as several different emotions appear on his hyung's soft face. Fluster, confusion, something akin to heartache—then, undeniable fondness settles.
"Why don't you come inside first," and Jimin presses himself up against the door, leaving some space for Jeongguk to go through the entryway. Bashfully, Jeongguk ducks his head and steps into Jimin's hotel room, kicking off his shoes near the door.
The group used to share hotel rooms simply because it was cost-effective and the idea of sharing a room for a few nights wasn't uncomfortable. Now, with their status as one of the most successful boy groups in history, spending a couple hundred (or thousand) more on individual hotel rooms barely affected their wallets. Jimin's room is relatively clean, save for the mess of beauty products lying upon the bathroom counter, and his clothes are neatly folded in his open-faced luggage. The room itself smells like citrus and vanilla.
Unashamedly, Jeongguk is glad the group doesn't share hotel rooms anymore. He can't wait to breathe in Jimin's wrinkled sheets and see what they smell like, too.
"So?" Jimin's voice has him turning around to meet his hyung's eyes; the hyung in question stands there in the middle of his hotel room, arms crossed and lips looking particularly pouty today. Jeongguk swears, he swears to the heavens above he'll make good on his verbal promise—it'd be unfortunate to pass up on such an attractive opportunity.
"So… what?"
"What's Jeonggukie's purpose for coming here today," says Jimin before approaching his bed and plopping down on the mattress.
He feels a little awkward standing like this: in the middle of Jimin's room, shuffling around in pink Kooky-themed socks and the outfit he'd been wearing during their livestream. Really, after they stopped recording, something about Jimin's expression during their train conversation had given Jeongguk an awful ache in his chest. It's one thing to resist always being at Jimin's side—as much as he wanted to cling, he'd surely receive a scolding from Namjoon—and another thing to resist showing any emotion at all towards him. Jeongguk wasn't immature: he knew which gestures were necessary and the ones that could be held back until they've waved goodbye to their fans.
It just… ached, seeing Jimin like that, for some reason. So worried over an impossible sccenario. How he held his breath when they'd pivoted to Jeongguk and asked who he would choose, as if he didn't show it enough.
Does he show it enough?
Jeongguk supposes that's why he'd pulled Jimin aside as the members left Taehyung's hotel room. "I'm coming over later," he'd insisted. Jimin's brows furrowed in slight confusion at his urgency, but as always, Jimin was and is soft for Jeongguk. And so he agreed, and… now they're here.
Patiently, Jimin is still looking at him with those never-wavering soft eyes of his, the ones he wears when Hoseok is making jokes or when Yoongi is talking to the rest of the group about a new song idea.
"Well," he starts. Most are aware that Jeongguk is, in essence, the perfect idol. He sings perfectly, dances perfectly, raps perfectly despite not having much of a chance to. He belongs on stage and belongs in the eyes of millions. Most people do not know how words sometimes fail to reach his tongue; he was rough in his tone and full of unbridled expression as a teenager, occasionally to the point where he'd say things he truly did not mean.
Jeongguk is perfect in every sense of the word, except when it comes to words themselves. Perhaps it has something to do with his impulsivity—perhaps it has nothing to do with that at all, and Jimin just makes him crumble.
He runs a tattooed hand through dark hair, shifting his weight from leg to leg. "The livestream today. You looked upset."
"I wasn't too upset, but keep going." Jimin nods as though he completely understands.
"And, I just wanted you to know something." Conversations like these are always hard for him. He's never a talker and always a doer. Jimin knows this. He knows this, yet he continues to let the words fall out of his mouth anyway. "I'll always choose you. No matter what. I don't want you to ever doubt—" His voice falters. Jeongguk clears his throat and lets his gaze trail to the floor. "—how much I feel for you, hyung."
He looks upwards in order to gauge Jimin's expression. He looks soft (always looks soft) under the warm lighting of the room's lamp, and even softer after quietly listening to Jeongguk's proclamation of love (or whatever the hell Jeongguk just said.) Jimin's lips part and shape the words he'd just heard: how much I feel for you, hyung.
"Jeonggukie," he calls to him and pats the expanse of mattress beside him, "come sit next to me for a moment."
All of the worry leaves Jeongguk's body. Naturally, he's drawn to Jimin and takes a seat on the bed next to him. Jimin scoots closer and leans his weight into Jeongguk's side; he buries his face into the space between Jeongguk's shoulder and neck and inhales, deeply, enough to make the younger man shudder. He's sure he doesn't smell too great with a lack of cologne on but Jimin seems like he's comfortable. Finally free of the mental burden, Jeongguk lets his eyes close, shoulders rolling back—
Jimin's lips move against his neck. "Gguk-ah, I have no clue what you're talking about."
"Eh?"
When he opens his eyes and peers down, Jimin's head is tilted up to look at him with a small, polite smile. "I'm just a little confused, is all," he explains to Jeongguk, then pulls his hand closer and begins to fiddle with his fingers. It feels like nothing. Jimin does this often. "As to why you're saying such sweet things to hyung out of nowhere."
"… You looked sad earlier," Jeongguk reiterates, though admittedly, he's also confused (despite being the person to initiate this whole shebang.)
Jimin blinks once. Twice. His soft eyes have never faltered the whole time Jeongguk has been here. Jeongguk will unpack this later, if there's anything to unpack at all.
Then he opens his mouth, and slowly says, "I was sad because I thought about people losing their lives. Especially in front of our fans."
"Oh."
Jeongguk isn't sure what he looks like at the moment, but apparently, it's enough to get Jimin's smile to widen, and enough for him to press a sudden kiss against Jeongguk's neck, teeth against skin. "You look like a sad puppy right now," Jimin tells him earnestly. He supposes that answers his earlier thought. "Did you think that I was sad over you, Ggukie?"
Suddenly, things feel a lot hotter in the room. Jeongguk is wearing a tank top and a thin denim jacket over it—still, his cheeks feel warm. "Don't look at me like that."
"Baby, of course I know that you'd choose me," Jimin hums. His hand closes over Jeongguk's; he's shifted his position so that his legs are tucked beneath him on the mattress and his upper body is completely positioned towards Jeongguk, one finger reaching towards Jeongguk's cheek and tucking a piece of stray hair behind his ear. He's making fun of him. Making fun of him and pushing him towards the edge in his own, Jimin-esque fashion.
Boy, does it push Jeongguk towards the edge.
He's craning his head away from Jimin's direction, neck straining as he struggles to keep his composure with Jimin all over him. "I'm really serious, Jimin hyung," Jeongguk says through gritted teeth.
"Actually," Jimin begins, his inspired tone effectively making Jeongguk nervous. It's for good reason—smoothly, Jimin bends towards him and throws a leg over Jeongguk's, caging him in with a comfortable straddle and his arms lazily thrown over Jeongguk's shoulders. Comfortable for Jimin, that is. Jeongguk doesn't know where to look or where to hold or where to breathe, for that matter. "I think you're projecting."
"Proj—no. I'm not." He knows where this is going. Jimin does too, because his soft eyes turn mischievous and his smile blooms into something smug.
When Jeongguk finally manages to get his hands around Jimin's waist (fuck, it's absurdly tiny), Jimin's legs tighten around Jeongguk's thighs, and a finger curls beneath Jeongguk's chin to tilt it upwards. "I, in my very humble opinion, think that you missed me, and you're being overprotective."
"Stop it, please," Jeongguk pleads. "Don't embarrass me."
"And you, Jeon Jeongguk…" Jimin leans in to just barely graze his lips with Jeongguk's own. His long eyelashes flutter, blond hair falling down to create a bubble of sorts around them. Jeongguk can physically feel every breath leaving his lungs—there's an effect Jimin has on people sometimes, where he can render them breathless. The breathlessness isn't terrible. In fact, Jeongguk would welcome it with open arms every day if he could. "You were reading too much into my facial expressions, because—news flash!—you were just admiring and staring at me."
Like some fucked-up conclusion to a fairy tale story, Jimin leans in, slotting his lips between Jeongguk's in a brief kiss, before leaning back and smirking.
"Hngnnnmnnngh," is all that comes out of Jeongguk, then he's falling towards Jimin's body and letting his face crash against Jimin's shoulder. He feels his lover laughing and patting his back good-naturedly as he hugs his arms tightly around the other's waist.
Things are easy with Jimin. He can misinterpret something that caused genuine worry to him and only him, and he'll get out of it with a kiss on his lips and gentle hands caressing his skin. Jeongguk can express his love through the only ways he knows, and Jimin will accept them without another word. Maybe even with praise, if Jeongguk is lucky.
He's already lucky enough to have Jimin in his life. Why over-complicate things?
A hand in his hair forces him to look up; Jeongguk presses his chin against Jimin's chest and pouts, using his puppy eyes to stare at his hyung. Jimin giggles, sweet and softly like an angel, and pokes his nose. "You're cute when you think you're coming to my defense."
"I would have, though!" Jeongguk feels himself suddenly becoming protective. Is this the natural behavior Park Jimin causes with men? "If I jumped into the live earlier, it would have been me on the train tracks. Not you, hyung."
"Bunny, the train situation isn't real. I'm not actually getting run over," Jimin coos with fake sympathy.
"Okay. Then why were you so upset over these fake people?"
Jimin's expression changes as quickly as a switch being flipped: his eyebrows turn downwards, his lips form a pout, and his eyes flit hesitantly over to something beside him. He sniffs, a layer of glassiness blooming over his disheartened gaze, and Jeongguk honest-to-God feels heaven collapsing above the two of them.
Thick thumbs swipe over Jimin's eye bags and his palms find the plush of his cheeks, cupping his face in a delicate hold. "Hyung, don't cry," Jeongguk murmurs, rubbing his thumbs back and forth in an attempt to soothe the person he loves so dearly. "Please, I'm sorry."
As if nothing had happened, every ounce of miserableness in Jimin's appearance leaves his body and he's smirking down at his lover again.
"Wow," Jimin remarks with delight. "You're insanely weak for me, Jeon Jeongguk."
Something snaps. Jeongguk grunts—before either of them know it, Jimin is pinned down onto his bed with strong arms, squealing as Jeongguk attacks every inch of his exposed body with quiet kisses and nips. "I'll show you weak," he mutters, accompanying the promising words with playful bites to Jimin's neck and collarbone. Even while Jimin is begging to be freed and babbling apologetic nonsense, he crawls over him, a knee between his spread legs and one roaming hand sliding up his loose shirt.
Maybe there was reason for them to be separated after all. Unfortunately, Jimin was right: Jeon Jeongguk is terribly weak for him.