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Jungkook stares, wide-eyed, trying to process his manager's words. The others are already ambling off, tired and worn from the hectic schedules they’d faced that day, and offer him no escape.
“There was some sort of mix-up, so there’s only one bed.” Sejin shrugs apologetically. “There’s no more rooms in the hotel. You two will just have to figure something out.”
Jungkook gapes, looking to Jimin for some sort help here, because... really? How cliché could this get? and Surely Jimin would rather not have to share a bed. But Jimin is just blinking and nodding sleepily like everything makes sense in the world, and Sejin is already walking off, a wide yawn stretching his jaw.
Jungkook opens his mouth, and nothing more than a short broken sound emits. Because it’s not like he and Jimin haven’t shared a bed before — they live in such close quarters, and Jimin is touchy and clingy by nature. He’s prone to climbing into other members’ beds, tangling their legs together and tucking his head under grudgingly willing chins — “for warmth. I’m so cold,” he’d always claim, in the sort of voice no one could say no to.
Jungkook isn’t alien to this. It’s just that… lately. Lately. Jimin has him feeling some sort of way, and he’s not sure what to make of it. Every time Jimin presses his cheek against Jungkook’s shoulder during long inevitable plane rides, Jungkook ups the volume of his music to drown out the thudding of his heart, and clenches his hands around the arm rests to pretend they aren’t damp with sweat. When Jimin takes his hand in his smaller one, Jungkook has to resist the urge to break into a goofy sort of grin that Taehyung always mocks him for — the sort that has Hoseok pinching his cheek and cooing like Jungkook is his son or something stupid like that, his son having his first crush.
It’s embarrassing.
He can’t attribute the fluttering in his chest that he gets whenever Jimin smiles that sunshine smile of his to… brotherly affection anymore. It’s something different. Maybe not something more — it’s still love — but it’s an achier, more gut wrenching sort of love that makes him break out into a cold sweat at the most inconvenient of times, and his pants tightening in the most inappropriate of them.
And for the past month, he’s managed to avoid being the one that Jimin climbs into bed with, opting to spend hours on end in the gym until Jimin’s fallen asleep, jaw slack and more often than not, tucked into Taehyung’s side with a small frown marring his lips. Jungkook feels bad about it, wonders if Jimin knows that he’s avoiding it — avoiding him.
He doesn’t know how he could avoid this.
Jimin’s padding into the room, luggage trailing after him with little clicking sounds. Jungkook swallows, looks down the empty hallway, before following after him and shutting the door with an audible click that sounds so final.
The first thing that Jungkook notices, is that the bed is fucking tiny.
Even for one Jimin or Yoongi-sized person, it’s abysmally small. Jungkook bemoans everything and everyone that’s brought him up to this point, because even just imagining himself pressed up against Jimin’s familiar body heat under the sheets makes his heart stutter, and his breathing come out a little faster.
He’s definitely sleeping on the floor tonight.
Jungkook isn’t a pubescent boy anymore, he’s an adult for god’s sake, but Jimin has this way of making him feel small and lost all over again; like a dog treading water for the first time. It’s familiar, and he knows this, but he’s still fighting to keep his head above the water.
Jimin is pulling out his clothes at the side of the room, rummaging around noisily for something, and Jungkook realizes he’s been standing at the entrance like an idiot for the past few minutes. He props his suitcase next to Jimin’s, trying to school his face into a look of nonchalance.
Jimin sees through it anyway, with just a short glance out of the corner of his eye. Even half asleep, he knows Jungkook so fucking well, sometimes it keeps Jungkook awake at night with how soaring and terrifyingly tight his chest feels. “What’s up, maknae?” he asks, and even soft as it is, his voice sounds loud in the quiet of the room.
“Just… thinking about the filming tomorrow,” Jungkook answers, pulling out his sleep clothes and tossing them onto the bed. Their bed. Shit.
Jimin heads for the bathroom, his things gathered in a big bundle in his arms. Jungkook might tease him a lot — treat him like they’re the same age more often than he doesn’t — but Jimin always gets the first shower when they share a room. It’s a policy, almost. Jungkook doesn’t always have to follow it, but he always does, is really used to showering last at this point, because he can’t stand the thought of his hyungs waiting for him before they can get any rest. It just sits in his gut all wrongly. This feeling has become especially strong with Jimin as of late and — Jungkook tries not to dwell on that.
“You’ll be great, Jungkookie,” Jimin tells him, just before closing the door. There’s a small smile playing at his lips. “If you think too much, you’ll never fall asleep tonight.” I probably won’t get any tonight, anyway. “I’ll be out quick.”
“Take your time. I’m not tired,” Jungkook responds, falling back onto the bed — their bed — fuck, he’s really got to stop thinking about that — to play with his phone.
“Where do you get all this energy,” Jimin sighs, disappearing behind the door. The sound of running water starts minutes later.
Jungkook has to exercise incredible control not to think about Jimin, naked, just a room away. He’s not a pubescent boy. And it’s just Jimin.
(Jimin, whose hands fit so perfectly into his. Jimin, who’s got the greatest thighs Jungkook’s ever seen and whose weight feels so perfect when he’s feeling playful enough to sit on his lap. Jimin, whose body is moves with fluid, sinuous grace that only a dancer could achieve — )
Okay, so maybe it isn’t just-Jimin.
Jungkook groans, opening the app for Piano Tiles to force his mind to stop fucking thinking already.
Just as he’s about to get his third crown, Jimin slips out of the bathroom in nothing but a flimsy white t-shirt practically see-through from the residue of condensation, and a pair of small black shorts, and Jungkook’s fingers fumble. Game over. There’s a towel draped across his damp hair and it should look ridiculous, but he’s all soft around the edges and small and damp like some sort of little animal — a puppy, or something, and it’s so fucking cute — except he’s not like a puppy, because there’s water droplets slipping down his thighs and —
Jungkook’s throat tightens. He grabs his clothes and makes a mad dash for the bathroom, shutting the door loudly behind him.
“Good thing I didn’t take my time,” is Jimin’s only comment that filters through the door that separates them. Jungkook can’t even reply, too busy showering himself under ice-cold water.
This is your bandmate, you idiot. Get it together.
It’s fifteen minutes before Jungkook steps out, trying his damndest to delay the inevitable — the inevitable being, sleeping, because he and Jimin have only one bed. And Jungkook still hasn’t thought out a good explanation of why he has to sleep on the fucking floor.
Maybe he’s allergic to mattresses. Just for tonight. Jungkook groans, splashing more water onto his face. Get it the fuck together already.
Steeling himself, he creeps out of the bathroom, hoping that Jimin’s fallen asleep and he won’t have to explain himself at all.
But obviously, because luck is on his side, always, Jimin is not asleep. In fact, he’s sitting up on the bed, bundled up under the sheets, tapping away at his phone.
Jungkook wants to cry with frustration. Jimin looks so fucking — so fucking cuddly. It’s actually kind of offensive. Who gave him a right to look this fucking cuddly? He’s a grown-ass man, not a teddy bear.
“What’re you standing there for?” Jimin says, not even looking up.
Jungkook makes a noise at the back of his throat that vaguely means I don’t know, help in Jungkookian. He takes a step towards the bed, then stops, looking down at the carpeted floor. Maybe he’ll just have to slip out of bed, while Jimin’s asleep — or he could go work out in the hotel gym, or —
“Jungkookie?” Jimin is squinting at him curiously, phone propped up on his knees. He’s watching their performance from last night, and Jungkook only now hears the familiar tones of Run blaring through the speakers.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” Jungkook blurts out.
Jimin blinks. Then, he furrows his brows and quickly locks his phone to let the room fall back into silence. “Why not? It’s been a long day. You’ll burn out tomorrow if you don’t get some rest.”
Jungkook hesitates. Neither I can’t sleep in the same bed as you because I’m a hormonal teenager now, or The thought of cuddling with you makes me want to hyperventilate or puke or both, seem like very attractive options to say out loud. “I’m gonna go… to the gym. You sleep first.”
Jimin frowns — frowns. The fact that this for some reason, means a real fucking lot to Jungkook’s brain should bother him, but it doesn’t. Jungkook hates it when Jimin frowns. Someone like Jimin should always be smiling. Laughing. Happy.
A frowning Jimin makes Jungkook want to do something really ridiculous — like, for example, an impromptu EXID cover. Ridiculous.
“Come to bed, Jungkookie,” Jimin says sternly. “You’re pushing yourself way too much these days. Have we really been putting that much pressure on you? You don’t have to handle everything all by yourself, you know…”
In all honesty, Jungkook is trying his best to take in Jimin’s earnest words. But, to be completely faithful to the truth, he hasn’t heard much of anything after Come to bed, Jungkookie.
He’s ridiculous.
And so fucking in love that it’s embarrassing. He can already imagine Taehyung’s teasing guffaws.
Jungkook wants to protest; even opens his mouth to do it. But then Jimin is doing that thing he does, with his lips. That thing, where he juts it out a little and makes his pretty eyes just that little bit more imploring. It’s the kind of look that could move mountains. In Jungkook’s defense, he is arguably less sturdy than a mountain, and therefore very susceptible to The Look.
And that’s how he finds himself in Jimin’s bed at 12 am in the morning, his arm curled around his hyung’s shoulders, hyper-aware of their proximity, and Jimin’s phone screen cradled between their thighs as they watch a re-run of Yoongi and Hoseok’s V-app broadcast.
This isn’t so bad, he thinks. This is easy.
But then, Jimin laughs a laugh that shakes up his whole body, the kind where he flings himself to the side and flops against Jungkook all boneless and trusting and Jungkook has to tuck his hands under his thighs to stop himself from reaching out to catch him. He laughs, breathless and in wonder, just in case Jimin senses something amiss.
It isn’t easy.
And it gets worse, when Jimin shuts off his phone with a wide yawn, setting it on the bedside table. “We have to get up by seven tomorrow. We should sleep,” he explains, stretching out the kinks in his arms and flopping back onto his pillow.
His orange hair splays out beneath his head, like some sort of halo illuminated by the bedside light. Jungkook is by no means poetic — he’s no Kim Namjoon — but the sight is a little much even for him. He busies himself arranging the blankets to avoid staring. He reaches over, flicks off the light and sends them into darkness.
He lies back down stiffly, arms at his sides like a log and chest tight.
“You’re acting so weird lately, Jungkookie,” Jimin whispers after a moment, long enough that Jungkook had thought he’d drifted off.
Squinting over, he can barely make out Jimin’s form next to him, but when his eyes adjust, his heart very nearly jumps out of his chest, because Jimin is on his side, facing him, eyes boring into Jungkook’s face like he’s trying to figure him out.
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know…” Jimin trails off, unsure. “You feel closer. But I still feel like you’re holding yourself away from me.”
Jungkook swallows. Jimin can be so perceptive sometimes that it scares him. “I’m just stressed out, hyung. I’m not… I’m not trying to push you away. I haven’t been.”
“You haven’t been sleeping lately.” Jungkook holds his breath — holds still as a rock — as Jimin reaches out to brush his finger under Jungkook’s eyes. The movement is so oddly tender that Jungkook feels his fight or flight urges kicking up — particularly, his flight urge. He wants to run away; not from Jimin, just... from this. His feelings. Hormones. Whatever.
He doesn’t know what kind of messed up power Jimin holds over him, that makes him so damn weak.
“It’s the stress,” Jungkook insists, turning on his side to face him, careful not to brush against Jimin’s arm that’s so close and so warm, and careful to keep the lie from his voice. “There’s a lot to do. Not a lot of time if I sleep.”
“You push yourself too much,” Jimin sighs. Jungkook wants to shake him. No, you do. You push yourself way too hard.
“I’ll be fine. Go to sleep, Jimin.”
Jimin sighs again. There’s that frown on his lips again, and Jungkook gets the terrifying urge to kiss it away. They’re so close right now that he could, if he’d just lean in and go for it.
Jimin might even let him.
(That’s probably the most terrifying part.)
“I’m cold, Jungkookie. Why are you so far away?” Jimin asks, voice tiny and sad enough that it just fucking stabs Jungkook straight through the heart.
“I’m right here,” Jungkook argues. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. You’re making him frown — you’re doing it. He’s frowning because of you.
“Yeah, you are.” Jimin shuts his eyes and turns away.
Make him stop frowning, that little voice at the back of his head demands. Jungkook can’t disobey — doesn’t want to. Make him smile.
Before he can turn over completely, Jungkook scoots closer, bringing his pillow with him so that it overlaps with Jimin’s. He reaches out, loops an arm around Jimin’s waist to pull him in and close the distance.
Jimin makes a small sound of surprise, going rigid, but then he’s burrowing in, his own arm coming up behind Jungkook’s back to fist in his t-shirt, his face pressed to the hollow of Jungkook’s throat.
It feels right like this. Jungkook’s been stupid to fight it for so long.
They’re right. Just like this.
“This is better,” Jimin declares, slipping his leg between Jungkook’s, and Jungkook can hear the smile in his voice — wonders if Jimin can hear his heart hammering in his throat and chest where they’re pressed together.
Jungkook tightens his grip, pressing his cheek to Jimin’s hair. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Better.” He sends of a quick mental thanks to the hotel staff for fucking up the rooming. They’d fixed something else in the process, and Jungkook is grateful.
“Goodnight, Jungkookie.”
“Goodnight, Jiminnie-hyung,” he whispers.
That night, Jungkook has the best sleep he’s had in ages.