Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Sitting cross-legged on his bed and scrolling casually through the BTS Twitter feed on his phone, Jimin yawns against the back of his hand, blinking a few times to relieve the itch of fatigue from his eyes. Gods, he's tired. 

These past few days have been a few degrees shy of hectic, with the band working long hours in preparation for a live TV performance. All that hard work had paid off in the end, with their live segment coming off even better than they'd anticipated, but Jimin can’t help but feel glad that it's finally over and done with. While he loves the excitement and adrenaline-rush of performing live, it's always a bit stressful for the group, and all of them are now looking forward to the weekend of respite that management has promised them.

All of them, that is, with the exception of their maknae. 

Jimin glances down at his phone again to check the time, heaving a quiet sigh. It's already gone midnight, but Jungkook still hasn't returned home after leaving early from their celebratory dinner to 'pick something up' from the studio. It isn't the first time this has happened - in fact, hardly a week goes by without his dongsaeng putting in extra rehearsal hours when he really ought to be sleeping. Jimin had hoped that the intensity of the last few days would make Jungkook exhausted enough to steer clear of the studio, but apparently that had been wishful thinking on his part.

With another sigh, Jimin rubs a hand down his face to banish any lingering fatigue and rolls out of bed, careful to keep his tread quiet as he pads over to Taehyung's bed, lips curling up in a fond smile at the sleeping singer's peaceful expression. He reaches out to tug the blankets up a little higher over V's shoulders, rubbing his with a hushing murmur when the younger man stirs a little, but after a moment Taehyung stills again and settles back into a deep sleep.

Satisfied that at least one dongsaeng is exactly where he's supposed to be, Jimin pads quietly out of the bedroom and heads downstairs in search of his hyungs, since he hasn't heard anyone else head up to bed yet. Seeing a light still on in the living room, he goes to investigate.

"Jimin-ah," Hoseok calls softly from the couch, a note of surprise in his voice as the young dancer pauses in the doorway. "I thought you'd gone to bed?"

There's a sleeping Yoongi stretched out across the couch with his head and shoulders pillowed in Hoseok’s lap, a woollen blanket draped over him, but he doesn’t stir from his slumber at Hobi’s words.

On the opposite couch, Jin and Namjoon are sitting together, both looking every bit as tired as Jimin feels. It's been a busy week for all of them, but there tend to be additional pressures put on his hyungs due to their individual roles in the band and its management, especially around live performances. And while Jimin tends to fixate on the wellbeing of his dongsaengs, Jin and Namjoon are always fussing over everyone in the band (including each other) and that’s pretty much a full-time job all on its own.

"Kookie hasn't come home yet," Jimin tells them quietly, and their complete lack of any visible reaction confirms his previous suspicions as to why his hyungs are all downstairs in the first place, rather than in bed themselves.

"He'll be here soon," Namjoon reassures him, setting his phone to one side. "Hyunsoo-ssi made him leave so they could close the studio." The rapper gives Jimin a pointed look. "You should be resting."

The younger man shrugs and shifts from foot to foot in the doorway, relieved to hear that Jungkook is going to be home soon, but unwilling to retire for the night until he's seen their maknae with his own eyes. 

Jin seems to understand his lingering concern, and shifts closer to Namjoon on the couch, patting the empty space beside him invitingly.

Jimin goes willingly, tucking his bare feet up beneath him and letting himself cant slightly to one side so that he's leaning against Jin, the older man's arm settling snugly around his shoulders. It's warm, and he's tired, and both the couch and Jin are very comfortable, and he knows it's going to be an ongoing battle to keep his eyelids from drooping while he waits for his dongsaeng.

But poor Jungkook must be feeling ten times more exhausted than this. He's done everything Jimin's done this past week, on top of the ridiculous nocturnal schedule that the kid’s already been putting himself through - Kookie can't have slept more than twelve cumulative hours these past three days, and given the amount of choreography hours he's been putting in, it's a wonder the boy's still standing.

"Namjoon-hyung?" he pipes up, after a long period of exhausted silence has lingered between them. "Can I sleep in your room tonight?"

The other three glance towards him at that, Jin's arm tightening around him in a gentle sideways hug as the older man's brow creases into a concerned frown.

"Are you having trouble sleeping again, Jiminie?"

Jimin shakes his head and manages a reassuring smile to put their fears to rest. It's been a few months since his last bout of stress-induced insomnia, but he can't easily forget that awful week, or how his bandmates had rallied together to try and eliminate as much stress from his life as possible. If it weren't for them, he never would have discovered the 'cure' to his restless nights - the following week he'd slept like a log in Namjoon's arms, or oftentimes Jin's when their leader hadn't been home until late at night. In truth, Jimin had worried that the stress of this past week might trigger his sleeping troubles again, but he's been so exhausted from training that he's conked out every night the moment his head has hit the pillow. 

"I thought maybe you could share with Tae tonight while I look after Jungkook?" he proposes carefully, not wanting say it in a way that might leave the wrong impression. Judging by Namjoon's arched eyebrow, he doesn't quite succeed, and sighs internally. "Hyung-nim, I know he deserves chastisement for staying out so late when he promised he wouldn't, but can't it wait until tomorrow? We're all tired, Kookie more than the rest of us, and you know he'll already be punishing himself for disobeying you. It's been a long week - why not let him sleep tonight? Please?”

On the opposite couch, Hobi is nodding sagely, combing his fingers through Yoongi's hair as the rapper sleeps on. "He’s right, Joonie. You’re exhausted, and your temper will have a shorter fuse tonight – you might end up saying something that you’ll regret tomorrow.”

Namjoon sighs wearily, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t just turn a blind eye to his behaviour. I spoke to him about this only yesterday, and he promised me he’d stop working so late. ”

Jimin winces at that. He hadn’t realised that Namjoon had already taken measures to curb Jungkook’s unhealthy working habits – and while his hyung has a gentle heart, he takes his role as band leader very seriously. Disobedience is one thing, but breaking a promise on top of that? Aish. Kookie can be a brat when he wants to be, but it’s often more playful than anything, and he rarely takes things far enough to get into any serious trouble with the rest of the band. However much Jimin dislikes seeing his dongsaeng upset after chastisement, there’s no denying that Jungkook has brought such a fate upon himself.

Any further discussion on the matter of discipline is effectively put on hold when they hear the front door opening. Jimin straightens, Jin’s arm slipping from around his shoulders as they all glance towards the sound in unison. Then Namjoon’s rising quickly, leaving the room with a determined sort of stride, and Jimin scrambles up from the couch to follow him out into the hallway before he can start scolding their maknae.

But Namjoon has stopped only a few paces from the living room, and when Jimin peers around him towards the front door, it’s fairly obvious why.

Jungkook looks terrible. He must have taken off his makeup at the studio, because there’s nothing now to hide the maknae’s tired and puffy eyes, or the dark half-moon bruises that circle beneath them. His whole posture screams exhaustion, but as he glances up towards Namjoon his shoulders hunch a little, guilt flitting across his expression briefly before he ducks his head, clearly anticipating a tongue-lashing.

“I’m sorry, hyung-nim,” the younger man says quietly, his tone subdued.

Jin makes a noise of sympathy and concern from behind Jimin, gently nudging the dancer aside so that he can cross over to Jungkook and wrap his arms around the maknae, a hand cupped over the back of the boy’s neck to keep his head tucked in close. Jimin sees the tension bleed out of their dongsaeng’s posture, and Jungkook drops his backpack to the floor, arms coming up to return the embrace tightly.

“You need a shower, Kookie-ah,” Jin murmurs after a long moment of silence, his voice full of warmth and gentle humour.

Jungkook huffs a soft laugh against the older man’s chest but makes no move to break the hug. And from where he’s standing, it looks to Jimin like Jin’s arms might be the only thing keeping their dongsaeng upright at the moment.

Eventually Namjoon steps forward, his expression softened a little from the grim look it had held before, and settles a hand between Jungkook’s shoulders.

“Go and get ready for bed,” the rapper tells him, not unkindly. “It’s been a long day, Jungkook-ah. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

The dancer blinks at him in apparent surprise, then flashes him a brief, wincing smile of gratitude and ducks forward to hug Namjoon around the middle tightly before scurrying off down the hallway and fleeing upstairs. Jimin’s too startled by his hyung’s sudden change of heart to reach out and catch the maknae before he can disappear, but when he turns to follow his dongsaeng, Namjoon’s voice stops him.

“Jiminie.”

He turns to see Namjoon stooping down to pick up Kookie’s rucksack by the shoulder-strap, and reaches out to accept it without question when his hyung hands it over.

“Look after him,” their leader instructs, clapping Jimin on the shoulder. “Don’t let him set an alarm for the morning – confiscate his phone if you have to. He likes to work out before breakfast, but he needs rest more than he needs exercise.”

Jimin nods seriously, slinging the pack over his own shoulder and copying Jungkook as he steps forward to hug his hyung.

“Thank you.”

Namjoon ruffles his hair, then shoves him away playfully, although he ends up bumping into Hoseok and a very bleary-eyed Yoongi, who have been standing in the doorway to the living room all the while.

“I’ll bunk with Yoongi tonight,” Hobi tells them, his arm around Suga to help keep him upright as the older boy yawns tiredly against the back of his hand. “Joon-ah, why don’t you take my bed? You might wake Taehyung if you go into Jimin’s bedroom, you know how lightly he sleeps.”

Jin wraps his arms around Namjoon from behind, cheek pressed against the rapper’s hair. “Hobi’s right. Come on, I have snacks in my dresser.”

Their leader willingly relents to his team’s wishes, although he rolls his eyes with a fond grin at Jin’s words. Seeing Namjoon’s smile settles something within Jimin that had previously felt uneasy, and when Jin turns his gaze towards the dancer and taps his watch with an expectant look that translates pretty clearly as “bedtime, Jiminie”, he heads upstairs without protest.

The shower is still running when he passes one of the bathrooms outside Kookie’s bedroom, so Jimin makes a detour to his own room to change into a lighter pair of sleep-clothes (if he’s going to be bunking with his dongsaeng, he doesn’t want to be sweating beneath thick pyjamas), checking briefly on Taehyung to make sure the younger man is still sleeping soundly. Before leaving, he scribbles a quick note and leaves it on Tae’s bedside table in case he should wake up and wonder where Jimin’s run off to.

Jungkook is sitting on his bed facing away from the door when Jimin enters, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts and scrubbing at his damp hair with a towel. His shoulders tense a little when Jimin closes the door behind him, but before the dancer can vocalise a reassurance, the boy’s talking quickly.

“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook murmurs. “I know you said we would talk about this tomorrow, but I want you to know that I’m really-”

“He knows you’re sorry, Kookie,” Jimin interrupts softly, and smiles a little when Jungkook twists around in surprise. “We all do. That’s why you’re not being punished tonight. Well, that and the fact that you haven’t slept properly in days.”

Crossing over to the singer’s bed, he moves to kneel behind his dongsaeng, taking the towel from him to dry Jungkook’s hair himself, scrubbing gently at the damp locks.

“I’m not that tired, hyung,” the younger man tries to protest, but drops his hands to let Jimin do as he pleases (and if that isn’t evidence to the contrary, he doesn’t know what is). “I feel bad for staying late at the studio after Namjoon-hyung made me promise not to, but I’m more productive when nobody else is around. I’ve worked out a section of choreography for our new song – do you want me to show you?”

Mildly horrified at the notion of Jungkook getting up to do what is undoubtedly an exhausting dance sequence when he looks about two minutes away from passing out, Jimin has to restrain himself from smacking some sense into the younger man with the maknae’s own slipper.

“Maybe tomorrow, okay?” he suggests instead, keeping his tone light as he tosses the towel aside and uses his fingers to comb the kid’s hair into something that more closely resembles his regular hairstyle. “Come on, come lay down with me.”

Jungkook puts up enough of a protest that Jimin just hooks his hands beneath the younger man’s arms and hauls him back up the bed, reaching out to flick of the light switch above the bedside table and all but wrestling Kookie into a horizontal position. But once the boy realises that Jimin means business, he goes pliant in the dancer’s hold, letting Jimin arrange them comfortably against the pillows, spooning his dongsaeng from behind.

“There,” Jimin murmurs, chin hooked over Kookie’s shoulder as he presses a kiss to the younger man’s hair. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Jungkook sniffs a grin in the darkness, his hands coming up to settle over Jimin’s arm where it’s draped itself over his torso. Warm fingers brush over his skin, and Jimin feels his eyelids begin to droop, his own fatigue finally catching up with him. But he can tell by Jungkook’s breathing pattern that his dongsaeng is still awake, and forces himself back from the brink of sleep.

“Hey,” he whispers, giving the singer a gentle squeeze. “What are you thinking about?”

Fingertips stroke over his knuckles in an idle caress, and Jungkook’s reply is slurred and sleepy. “You’ve got really small hands, hyung.”

Under normal circumstances, Jimin would squawk a protest and playfully demand that his disrespectful dongsaeng take it back, likely threatening him with a long list of consequences that Jimin would never actually fulfil. But he’s tired, and Jungkook feels so good in his arms, and he’s far too comfortable to think about his pride in such a situation.

“I know,” he murmurs, warmth and amusement in his voice as he squeezes the boy again. “Go to sleep, Kookie.”

And for once, Jungkook obeys him without protest.

Chapter Text

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Occasionally, Jungkook forgets to eat 

It’s an unhealthy habit that fails to come to light until the band first begins performing multiple concerts at the same venue within a short space of time – presumably the maknae has been neglecting his dietary needs far longer than that, but his young metabolism had previously been able to compensate for his irregular eating schedule. However, with all of the additional rehearsal hours and last-minute choreography changes crammed into the week running up to the concerts themselves, it’s little wonder Jungkook’s body has been pushed to the max.

It’s Yoongi who first notices that something is amiss. They’ve been running through some preliminary sound-checks onstage, various members of staff scattered across the dimly-lit auditorium to give feedback to the sound technicians as the band sing along to the music that’s blasting out from the speakers all around them. Jimin and J-Hope are playfully grinding through an exaggerated version of the song’s choreography, Taehyung and Jin watching them and laughing as RapMon shakes his head, a grin on his face.

The absence of their maknae from the group has Yoongi glancing around briefly, spotting Jungkook a short distance away towards the left wing of the stage. With the overhead spotlights dimmed (the technicians are still muddling out the light sequence for some of the later songs), the teenager’s skin looks unnaturally pale, and Yoongi feels a twist of uneasiness stir in his gut as he watches his dongsaeng stand there, gaze distant and microphone held loosely between his hands.

Something about the kid just looks…off.

The music abruptly plummets from a pulsing beat to a low background hum, and an expectant silence descends over the stadium. It goes on for one beat, two beats, three, and then-

“Jeon Jungkook!” Jimin yells, laughter giving the scolding a more gentle tone. “Did you fall asleep on your feet?”

The teenager visibly startles, and Yoongi’s watching him close enough that he sees the kid sway a little bit with the force of it, one foot going sideways in a little stumble to compensate for his momentary loss of balance. The rapper’s eyes narrow a little, and he moves forward, words of concern on the tip of his tongue.

But then Jungkook starts laughing, ears flushing in embarrassment as he turns to give a little bow of apology to the sound technicians offstage. Hyung-nim waves away the apology with an easy laugh, and the backing music cuts off entirely as the staff prepare to play through a new song, calling to each other to move to new positions around the stadium. Namjoon gets called offstage by one of the managers to discuss something, and the rest of the group migrate closer to one another.

Taehyung comes skipping across the stage, bumping playfully into Yoongi’s shoulder on the way past, and wraps his arms around Jungkook’s shoulders from behind, pulling the grinning maknae into a hug as he laughs.

“You can’t do that in front of Army, Kookie-ah,” he teases. “Be honest, did you forget the lyrics again?”

Jungkook pretends to try and squirm his way out of the other’s hold, feigning offence, although he doesn’t put much effort into either act. “That only ever happened once, and it was RapMon’s fault!”

“Oooh,” Jimin crows, wandering over with a laughing Jin and Hoseok. “Don’t let hyung hear you say that.” He slings an arm around V’s shoulders and lightly thumps Jungkook in the chest. “Why didn’t you come dance with us?”

As the maknae line bicker playfully amongst themselves, Hoseok watching on with an indulgent grin, Jin moves closer to Yoongi, who hasn’t lost the faint crease of concern in his brow. Seeing the younger man’s expression, Jin’s easy smile fades, and he reaches out to settle a hand on the small of Suga’s back.

“What’s wrong?”

Yoongi glances at him briefly, then returns his attention to their maknae, jerking his chin towards the teenager emphatically.

“Does Jungkook look okay to you?” he asks quietly, so as not to be overheard by the others.

Jin’s gaze shifts back to the teenager, his own brow creasing imperceptibly as he studies the boy closely. “He looks tired,” he answers after a short pause. “But so do the rest of us without makeup on. Why do you ask?”

Yoongi shakes his head, unable to put his gut feeling into words, but certain that there’s something not quite right with their youngest. Jin pats him on the back, clearly not overly worried at the sight of their maknae laughing and trading playful insults with V and Jimin, but quietly acknowledging that Suga’s concerns have been noted.

“Jungkook’s never done a concert this big before, it’s probably his nerves setting in.” Jin claps Yoongi on the shoulder as the intro to the next song starts pulsing rhythmically from a nearby speaker. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Don’t worry about it too much, okay?”

The younger man nods, but his gaze remains drawn to Jungkook for the rest of the sound rehearsal.

…

Jungkook has a fucking awful headache.

It’s a niggling thing that sits stubbornly behind his left eye, pulsing to the beat of the backing track that’s playing on low volume from the speakers near the stage. He grimaces, grinding the heel of his palm into his eye-socket in an attempt to quash it, but the ache just spreads to his temple instead.

“Tired, Jungkook-ah?” Namjoon’s hand rubs between his shoulders gently as the rapper drops down into the seat beside him. “I warned you not to stay up so late last night.”

The teenager’s wince smooths over, and by the time he lifts his head from his hands, he’s managed to paste a convincing smile in place.

“I’ll wake up again when we start rehearsing,” he says with easy confidence. “It’s because it’s so dark in here. Once they’ve got the lights rigged up with the music, I won’t feel so sleepy onstage.”

Sitting in the front row of the auditorium had seemed like a good idea at the time; PD-nim had called for an hour’s break after a long morning of stage rehearsal, so Jungkook had taken a notebook and a pen and decided to avoid his boisterous teammates in an effort to finish writing down everything that he wants to say to Army at the weekend concerts. But the dim lighting hadn’t been ideal for that sort of work, and the resultant niggling headache had put his plans on hold for the time being – it was impossible to think straight with pain lancing through his skull like that.

“Kookie!”

It’s Taehyung, veritably skipping towards them in a whirlwind of energy (Jungkook can’t help but envy his enthusiasm, today he just feels so drained), the older youth crouching at the edge of the stage so that he can hop down carefully. There’s a notebook still resting in Jungkook’s lap, so after sparing it a slightly put-out look, V quickly adjusts his course a few degrees and plonks himself down in Rap Monster’s lap instead. Namjoon doesn’t react beyond a soft grunt, his attention focused on his phone as he thumbs a message to someone, wrapping an arm loosely around V’s waist without seeming to give it much thought.

“Jiminie’s looking for you,” Taehyung tells the younger boy, reaching out to muss up Jungkook’s hair. “Now that break’s over, he and Hobi-hyung want to go through your new dance transitions. Unless you’re busy?”

The teenager shakes his head quickly. PD-nim had decided only three days ago to drastically alter the choreography for two of his front-stage solos, and he’s been practicing in front of the mirror as often as he can since then, but having his hyungs there to analyse and gently critique his form is far more beneficial than watching his own reflection.

Notepad in hand, he jumps to his feet, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain behind his eye flares bright and sharp for several horrible seconds, robbing him of his vision. The world spins alarmingly, and he takes half a stumbling step to one side, notepad slipping from his lax fingers to tumble noisily to the floor.

“Ai!” Namjoon’s hand shoots out, clamping around his forearm tightly to steady him. “Jungkook!”

Both Taehyung and RM are regarding him with open concern when he manages to clear his vision enough to glance at them. Seeking to reassure his hyungs, Jungkook forces a laugh, even though the world hasn’t quite stopped spinning yet.

“I’m okay,” he insists, giving them a wry grin. “Guess I stood up too quickly.”

Taehyung leans down to pick up his fallen notepad, passing it back to him, the slight crease in his brow lingering despite the teenager’s reassurance. Jungkook’s never been able to withstand direct probing questions from V (his hyung knows him far too well, it’d be like trying to lie to Jin or Jimin), and so rather than linger and risk interrogation, Jungkook takes the coward’s way out and tugs his arm carefully out of Namjoon’s loosening grip, shooting them both another cheerful smile before hurrying over to the steps that lead up onto the stage and ducking through the access hallway and out of sight.

…

J-Hope makes a quiet noise of frustration as he pauses the music on his ipod, shaking his head as the teenager freezes mid-dance.

“That’s not even close, Jungkook-ah,” he chides, managing to keep his voice patient despite the fact that this is the fifth time the teenager has completely messed up his choreography. “Come on, do it properly.”

His donsaeng gives a huff of frustration, using the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I know, I know,” he mutters, frowning down at his feet as though they’re to blame for every misstep. “I’m trying, okay?”

Hoseok arches an eyebrow at the kid’s tone, sharing a brief glance with Jimin, who’s perched on the edge of a table nearby. The break room’s empty aside from the three of them, the rest of the staff hard at work preparing for the upcoming concerts, so Jungkook doesn’t even have the excuse of too many people/bodies acting as a distraction. The maknae usually picks up new choreography so quickly, so it’s somewhat baffling that he’s struggling with what should be a fairly simple step sequence.

Jimin hops down from the table, holding out a bottle of water towards the teenager.

“Don’t snap at hyung,” the dancer scolds gently, nudging Jungkook to take a seat as he steps out into the area of open space they’ve created by pushing some of the chairs back against the walls. “Here, Kookie-ah; watch me, okay?”

Hobi swipes his thumb across the play-bar on his ipod to start the isolation sequence from the beginning, his own body moving in time to the pulsing beat as Jimin effortlessly dips and rolls and waves in a faultless performance that has the older dancer smiling appreciatively. Halfway through the transition, the door to the breakroom opens to admit Jin and Yoongi. Suga spares Jimin a glance before returning his attention to his phone as he skirts around the dancer and goes to sit beside J-Hope, whereas Jin moves to lean against the side of the table a little further down from Jungkook, smiling as he watches Jimin pop and lock through a particularly complex sequence.

“See?” the dancer smiles and glances back towards Jungkook, who’s taking careful little sips from his water bottle. “You’re rushing the first transition, that’s why your step sequence is off. Hyung, could play it again? Let me show him one more time.”

Hitting the replay button again, J-Hope glances towards JK to make sure the boy’s watching, and feels his smile dampen a little when he catches sight of the teenager’s grimace. Jungkook’s set his drink aside, and he’s got the heel of one hand pressed against his brow, the fingers of his other clenched so tightly around the edge of the table that they’ve gone white, and there’s a pinched look around his eyes that Hoseok hasn’t seen since Kookie accidentally sliced his finger open on a knife a couple of months back.

A quick glance towards Jin confirms that he’s not the only one who’s noticed their maknae’s plight. His hyung is watching Jungkook closely with visible concern, and perhaps sensing Hoseok’s eyes on him, his gaze flickers across the room to share that worried look with the dancer, before shifting a little to the side to where Suga’s now leaning forward in his own seat, phone lowered and headphones tugged down around his neck as he frowns at Jungkook.

J-Hope hits pause to stop the music abruptly, and Jimin’s smooth transition falters, the dancer glancing up curiously and seeming a little taken aback by Hoseok’s unusually serious expression.

“Jungkook-ah?” Jin has moved closer to the maknae, lifting a hand to brush the kid’s dark fringe back from his forehead, startling the youth into glancing up at him. “What’s wrong?”

A myriad of expressions – surprise, alarm, embarrassment – flicker across the teenager’s face before his expression smooths out into a wry smile.

“Nothing,” he reassures, tilting his head to one side to lean into Jin’s hand. “I’m just tired, hyung,”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, too quiet to be overhead by their youngest donsaeng (or Jin), but Hobi thumps him in the side all the same.

Jimin’s already hopped up to perch on the table beside the teenager, slipping an arm around his shoulders, his own concern evident. “Aw, Kookie,” he sympathises, giving him a sideways hug. “You should’ve told us you weren’t feeling well. No wonder you kept messing up the step sequence.”

“But I’m fine,” Jungkook tries to insists, although he makes no attempt to shrug off the older dancer’s arm. “Honestly, hyung.”

“Stop lying, kid,” Yoongi says bluntly, as he and Hoseok move to join the others in surrounding their youngest. “You’ve obviously got a headache.”

Jungkook flinches guiltily, ducking his head, twisting his hands together in his lap. “I….yeah, okay,” he admits. “Maybe a little one. But it’s not a big deal.”

Jimin reaches for the teenager’s discarded water bottle and uncaps it, handing it back to Jungkook.

“You probably haven’t drunk enough today,” he tells the younger dancer. “We’ve been doing way more rehearsal time than usual, you need to up your fluids.”

“Jiminie’s right,” Hoseok agrees, reaching out to gently ruffle Jungkook’s hair. “Between the heat and your new choreography, you’re bound to get dehydrated if you don’t drink enough. You’ll end up sick if you’re not careful.”

The teenager gives a wincing sort of apologetic smile that’s far too adorable for his own good, and obediently drains the rest of the water in several big gulps. His hyungs all relax as one, Suga returning his attention to his phone and Jimin hopping up to go and put the empty bottle in the trash. Jin rubs Jungkook’s back for a moment, studying him intently.

“Do you want to go and lie down for a little while?”

Jungkook shakes his head slightly. “No thanks, I’m okay. Really, hyung, I’ll be fine. You’re right, I’m probably just dehydrated.” He stands up, stretching with a tired sigh, and when he smiles it’s a lot more genuine than before. “Oh! PD-nim said he’d play back the footage from that ghost prank they did on us at that old warehouse. I bet Hobi-hyung screams the loudest.”

Hoseok shoves him much more gently than he normally would, but it has the desired effect, and Jungkook bursts out laughing, triggering the others to follow suit. The tense moment between them passes at the sound, and Jimin slings an arm around the youth’s shoulders again as he steers him towards the door, insisting that they go and find Taehyung to tag-team PD-nim into letting them see the footage immediately.

…

Oh gods, he’s dying.

Jungkook’s never had a headache this bad before. Drinking the water earlier had alleviated the ache a little bit, but only for a short while, and as soon as they’d gathered together onstage to run through another song rehearsal, the throbbing behind his eye had returned with a vengeance.

He’s quickly starting to regret having declined Jin’s suggestion of a brief lie-down; the prospect of going someplace dark and cool and quiet is a tempting one, especially with how the bright overhead lights shoot skewers of pain through his temples every time he glances up from the floor.

But it’s a song they’ve practiced a hundred times before, and luckily doesn’t require a lot of concentration when it comes to joining in with the rest of the group. He doesn’t have any solo vocals in this one, and the choreography isn’t too complex, so he just goes with it and hopes that his jelly-legs won’t make him stumble and faceplant in front of everyone.

By the time the music fades, he’s more out of breath than he’s been in a long while, sweat cooling rapidly on his brow as he feels his heartbeat pulsing in his forehead and his left eye and thundering in his ears.

“Good work,” Namjoon praises as he claps, the others turning from their finishing poses to share high-fives and quick smiles at a job well done. “I know everyone’s tired, so I think we should run through Hold Me Tight, it’s got the least choreography in it.”

The rest of the group make noises of agreement, eager to rehearse a song that requires minimal physical strain after practicing the more demanding songs all afternoon. But Jungkook feels his heart drop at the suggestion – that particular song has almost zero dancing, sure, but it’s got a couple of vocally challenging solos and…and he just can’t, not with his head pounding the way it is.

Internally admitting defeat seems to open the floodgates for a multitude of bodily aches that he’d previously been ignoring, and suddenly Jungkook doesn’t feel very well at all.

His stomach twists, skin going cold and clammy as an unsettling sort of shudder runs through him, and oh fuck, he can’t feel his legs. He can’t feel anything. He…he can’t…

Then the whole world tilts on its axis, and the stage rushes up to meet him.

…

None of them are looking when it happens, but they all hear the sickening thud of a deadweight body hitting the hard floor of the stage.

“Ai!”

At Tae’s cry, Jin twists around so quickly that he feels something twinge in his side, but the momentary discomfort is quickly forgotten at the sight of their maknae splayed out in a crumpled heap on the floor. His feet are moving almost before his brain has fully registered what’s happened, which is why he makes it to the teenager’s side only milliseconds after Taehyung, despite being at opposite ends of the stage.

“Jungkook!” he calls urgently, dropping to his knees beside the unconscious teen and carefully rolling him over onto his back, giving his shoulder a little shake. “Open your eyes, come on.”

The other have quickly gathered around their fallen maknae, voices clamouring in concern, but Jin ignores them all, his attention focused on his youngest donsaeng as he cups the kid’s pale face between his hands. Opposite him, on Jungkook’s other side, Yoongi has bent close to the teenager, a hand resting against his sternum.

“He’s still breathing,” he reports, grim but calm in the way that he always is in dire situations (Jin has never loved that trait more than he does now). Suga glances over Jin’s shoulder at the staff who have rushed to check on their youngest singer. “It’s okay, he just fainted.”

Jungkook’s eyelids are already trying to flutter open, although the eyes behind them are sluggish and unfocused. Jin pastes a reassuring smile onto his face, leaning over the teenager a little further.

“Hey, Kookie,” he murmurs, careful to keep his voice soft and calm as the teenager’s gaze finally settles on him, the kid’s brow creasing in an expression of sleepy bemusement. “You back with us?”

The maknae gives a slight nod, blinking slowly. A rush of relief makes Jin’s smile widen a little, and he moves a hand from Jungkook’s cheek to brush his fringe back from his forehead. The skin is cool and clammy beneath his touch, but he strokes it anyway, undeterred.

“You passed out on us, kid,” Yoongi tells him, concern making his tone quiet and serious.

Jungkook’s brow furrows beneath Jin’s fingers, his gaze flickering around him to take in the worried expressions of the other band members.

“I did?”

Namjoon hums softly in confirmation, one of the teenager’s hands held between both of his own, his face grim. “It sounded like you hit the floor pretty hard, Jungkook-ah. Does anything hurt?”

It seems to take the maknae an inordinate amount of time to contemplate that question, although whether it’s because he hasn’t quite regained full sensation from all his limbs yet or whether his addled brain simply struggles to process the words, that’s anyone’s guess. Jin feels his concern for the teenager’s wellbeing deepen regardless.

“Nah, m’okay,” Jungkook says at last, the words audibly slurred. His brow furrows a little more as his gaze refocuses. “What happened? Why’s Tae crying?”

“I’m not crying,” the other boy immediately denies, although the bright sheen to his eyes and the faint quiver to his pinched mouth belie that statement. “Shut up.”

“You fainted, Kookie,” Jimin says carefully, sharing another worried glance with his hyungs. “Remember?”

“Oh.” Another sleepy frown. “I did?”

A cold, sinking sort of feeling in his chest makes Jin swallow hard, but it’s Hoseok who voices what they’re all thinking.

“Did he hit his head?” Hobi asks quietly, urgently. “Do you think we need to call an ambulance?”

“What? No, come on, m’fine.”

Before they can caution him against it, Jungkook is pushing himself up into a sitting position, although the movement makes him lose what little colour he’d managed to regain. With a soft moan, he drops his head into his hands, swaying a little, and if it weren’t for Jin and Yoongi shifting as one to prop him up from behind, it’s likely the teenager would’ve ended up flat on his back again.

“Jungkook?” Namjoon presses, a hand cupping the side of his neck.

“Dizzy,” the teenager manages. “Feel…feel weird, hyung.”

Taehyung suddenly appears at Jin’s elbow, dropping into a crouch beside him (it’s a sign of how distracted he is by Jungkook’s condition that he hadn’t even noticed the other maknae leaving), holding out a bottle of juice.

“PD-nim says to make him drink some of this,” the younger man says, a little more composed than before, although his voice still sounds a bit shaky. “Apparently he skipped lunch today.”

“What?” Namjoon and Jin say together, shooting a startled glance towards their youngest bandmate. 

“None of the staff saw him during break,” Taehyung explains, as Jimin reaches across to take the bottle of juice from him. “Neither did I. But I thought maybe he’d gone to eat with you and Hobi-hyung in the catering hall.”

Jin shifts, allowing Yoongi to support the teenager fully from behind so that he can move around to kneel beside the youth again, his face serious as he reaches out to gently tilt the teenager’s chin up, bringing his gaze up with it.

“Jungkook,” he murmurs. “When was the last time you ate something?”

There’s a long beat of silence, Jungkook’s gaze sliding away and growing unfocused as he contemplates the question. The others around him go still, all of them realising before the teenager has even answered that if it’s taking him this long to recall a time and a place, it’s been far too long.

“Well…” Jungkook’s frowning a little, clearly trying his best to remember. “We had dinner together last night.”

Jimin freezes in the act of unscrewing the cap from the bottle of juice, and the group sucks in a collective breath of shock at the revelation.

“No,” Hoseok protests, sharing a look with the others. “He’s got to have eaten breakfast, right?”

But Namjoon’s already shaking his head, guilt and dread intermingling in his expression. “He’d gone to bed so late last night that he slept right through his alarm,” the rapper tells them. “I told him to grab something from the kitchen and eat it in the car, but…”

But Jin couldn’t remember the teenager doing anything except scribbling down parts of his speech in his notepad, hood up and headphones in, fully absorbed in his task. They’d left the kid alone to work, admiring his dedication. And when Jungkook had slipped away from the catering hall, Jin had presumed he’d grab one of the bentos from the breakroom and find somewhere secluded to sit while he continued working. He’d never once contemplated the notion that the teenager wouldn’t eat at all.

“Drink,” Jimin orders firmly, finally unscrewing the cap and lifting the bottle of juice to Jungkook’s lips.

The teenager doesn’t even make an effort to hold it, just lets Jimin tip the bottle so that he can take careful little sips, and if that doesn’t effectively broadcast the extent of his exhaustion then Jin doesn’t know what else could.

Namjoon gets up after a few minutes and moves over to where the staff are still hovering nearby; close enough to keep an eye on the ailing maknae but at a respectful distance to give him the illusion of privacy. Jin glances across at them and sees that PD-nim is there, phone pressed against his ear, and as he watches the manager claps a hand down on RM’s shoulder with a quick nod.

“Jin-hyung?”

Returning his attention to Jungkook, Jin is relieved to see a little more colour has returned to the teen’s cheeks, and his eyes seem brighter than they had been a few minutes ago. He’s still leaning back heavily into Yoongi’s supportive hold, although whether that’s out of necessity or a need for comfort it’s hard to say. Their maknae has always been tactile and affectionate, and generally drapes himself over one of his hyungs at every available opportunity (not that any of them mind).

Jin smiles, reaching out to brush the kid’s fringe back again. “Feeling better, Kookie-ah?”

The teenager nods, shooting a quick glance towards the small crowd on the other side of the stage, his ears tinging pink. “Can I get up now?” he asks softly, sending Jin a pleading look. “Everyone’s looking at me.”

Knowing that their maknae gets easily embarrassed in front of anyone who isn’t a member of the band, Jin feels a twinge of sympathy in his chest and nods, sharing a quick glance with Yoongi and Jimin as they immediately shift to help support the teenager a little better.

“Take it slow, okay?” he cautions, and keeps a hand on the youth’s shoulder as he shakily pushes himself to his feet.

Jin’s relieved to see that his colour doesn’t change drastically, and after clinging onto Jimin’s arm for a moment, Jungkook straightens and shoots them all a shy sort of self-deprecating smile.

“I’m okay,” he tries to reassure them.

“You’re really not,” Taehyung tells him flatly, even as he steps closer to rub the teen’s arm, lips turned down in a worried pout. “You fucking fainted, stupid.”

“Tae,” Jin warns, sending the younger boy a quelling look.

V holds his gaze stubbornly for all of two seconds before dropping it with a quiet huff, clearly still upset but wise enough to keep it to himself.

“Good news,” Namjoon announces, returning to Jin’s side and settling a hand at the small of his back. “We’re done for the day. PD-nim’s already called the driver ‘round to pick us up, we can head back to the hotel as soon as we’re ready.” He studies Jungkook closely for a long moment. “Are you alright to walk?”

Clearly sensing that the words “I’m fine” aren’t the best option for him right now, Jungkook simply nods, managing another guilty-shy smile as Jimin slips an arm about his waist from one side, Yoongi doing the same from the other.

“Let’s go,” Jin encourages, leaning back into Namjoon’s reassuring touch for a moment before tugging Taehyung towards him, slinging an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. He can feel the tension there, and knows his bed’s going to be more crammed than usual tonight. “Hobi, do you have your wallet on you? We need to stop by a store on the way home for snacks…”

…

“I can’t believe I let this happen.”

Namjoon glances up from his phone at Jin’s quiet utterance, his fingers pausing where they’ve been absently carding through Taehyung’s hair, the singer stretched out across the couch with his head in RM’s lap and his feet in Suga’s.

“It’s not your fault, hyung – we all should’ve noticed it sooner,” Yoongi says grimly. “I knew there was something off about him today, but I never thought he’d be stupid enough to actually-”

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Jimin interrupts in defence of his donsaeng, voice hushed so as not to wake the sleeping teen sprawled out across Jin’s bed. Propped up against the headboard beside him, Jimin strokes a hand lightly over the kid’s head. “I don’t think he even realised he’d gone so long without eating until you asked him, hyung.”

Jin nods, perched on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Jungkook’s back, rubbing softly through the thin t-shirt as the teen sleeps on. His other hand is playing idly with Hoseok’s hair, the younger man seated on the floor between Jin’s legs, head tipped back against the edge of the bed, half asleep himself.

“Who’s to blame doesn’t really matter,” Jin says quietly. “What matters is that we never let it happen again.”

“We’ll need to keep a closer eye on him,” Namjoon agrees. “Especially around big events when he’s more likely to be easily distracted. I’m generally the one who wakes him up in the morning – I’ll see to it that he eats breakfast from now on.”

“He usually sits next to me and Tae at lunch,” Jimin pipes up. “Between the two of us, we’ll keep tabs on him. He won’t skip it again.”

Jin reaches out to squeeze the dancer’s knee with a smile, then glances back towards RapMon. “Yoongi, Hobi and I will keep track of him in the evening,” he adds. “Even if it means dragging him away from his work to sit down to a meal with us.”

“He won’t like that much,” Yoongi points out, fingers tapping idly against Taehyung’s ankle. “You know how he feels about being bossed around.”

“He’ll need to learn to like it,” Jin replies, but his tender expression when he glances down at the sleeping teenager belies his firm tone. “He’s our maknae; it’s our duty to look after him, whether he wants us to or not.”

There’s a quiet chorus of agreement from the others, and nothing more is said on the matter thereafter.

Jungkook never misses another meal again.

.

Chapter Text

.

The empty dance studio pulses with the beat of the song that’s playing from the surrounding speakers, and Jungkook dabs the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve as he sets down the stereo control and heads back into the centre of the room, facing the mirrors.

His ankle twinges with every step, a constant reminder that he’s supposed to be resting it for another couple of days, but he can easily ignore it. The pain’s not serious – nothing like it had been when he’d first sprained it earlier in the week. He’d only managed to hide it from his hyungs for a short number of hours before the pain and the swelling became too severe and he could no longer put any weight on it at all. They hadn’t been pleased with him when they’d found out – after wrapping and icing his ankle, Jin and Namjoon had sat him down for a stern scolding on the importance of being honest about his injuries, and that hadn’t been fun at all.

“You should’ve told one of us about it straight away,” Jin had lectured, fussing with the towel-wrapped icepack to adjust it, the teenager’s foot propped up on a pillow in his lap. “You shouldn’t have tried to hide it from us, Jungkook. Ai! Just look how swollen it is.”

“He won’t be able to dance on it,” Jimin had tacked on, his tone uncharacteristically grim even though his fingers in JK’s hair were gentle. “Yoongi-hyung is already on the phone to PD-nim, we’re going to have to pull him out of dance practice until it’s healed.”

Jungkook had tried to voice a protest at that, but a quelling look from both Jin and Namjoon had stoppered the complaint before it could escape his lips.

They weren’t wrong; his hyungs were firm with him, but fair, and he knows they’d kept him benched from practice for his own sake. But it’s been days since then, and he’s so bored of sitting around and watching the others work – he loves to dance, it’s a form of stress-relief for him as much as it is a hobby – so when the others had gone off for a meeting with their choreographer, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from turning the music back on to unwind a bit.

Breathing hard as the song comes to an end, Jungkook stands on his left foot for a moment to slowly rotate his right, flexing the ankle carefully to relieve the niggling ache. He won’t dance for much longer, he just wants to practice the choreography from a few GOT7 songs – BTS have a Weekly Idol appearance in a couple of weeks, and he’s trying to learn a wider variety of dance routines in case he’s asked to perform one on the show.

The intro to the next song begins to pulse quietly through the speakers, and he straightens up again, settling with a wince into the opening pose.

“Jeon Jungkook!”

He startles, missing his cue for the song, glancing up wide-eyed towards the doorway in time to see Hoseok stalking towards him across the studio. The teenager feels his stomach flutter nervously at the stern look on the older dancer’s face – he can count on one hand the number of times Hobi has been genuinely angry with him about something, the man’s usually so cheerful and laidback about everything.

“What are you doing?” Hoseok demands, reaching out to grip JK’s arm as soon as he’s close enough. “Are you trying to hurt yourself?”

“H-hyung,” Jungkook stutters, still reeling a little from Hobi’s unusually stern words. “I only wanted to-”

“Where are your crutches?” the dancer continues, glancing around, eyes narrowing when he sees them propped up against the wall on the far side of the dance studio, next to the row of chairs that Jungkook has recently been made to sit on during the group practice.

“Come on, you know I don’t need them,” the younger man tries to insist, his tone a little petulant, and gives a whining yelp when J-Hope’s hand swats down sharply against his outer thigh.

“You were told not to put any weight on your ankle until the pain was gone,” Hobi reminds him firmly, tugging JK’s arm across his shoulders so that he can help the youth limp back over to the row of chairs. “Was there something about the instruction that you misunderstood?”

Flushed with shame and embarrassment at being caught in his disobedience, the teen shakes his head wordlessly, watching as Hoseok kneels in front of him. The dancer lifts a hand from where he’s started to work Jungkook’s right shoe off, and taps another warning swat against the younger man’s thigh.

“Answer me, Jeon Jungkook.”

The youth swallows past the thickness in his throat. “No, hyung. I…I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Then why didn’t you listen us in the first place? Was it because you were bored?”

“…yes, hyung.”

“Joint sprains are serious, JK – if you don’t take care of your body when it’s injured, you’ll only make the damage worse.” Hoseok has managed to carefully remove his shoe and sock, and is gently probing the join with his fingertips, JK’s foot resting in his lap as he kneels in front of the chair. “Do you know what a torn ligament feels like?”

“No, hyung.”

“It feels like hell.” J-Hope glances up at him, his expression more serious than Jungkook has ever seen it. “When I was still in middle-school, I almost ended my dancing career before it had even started by ignoring a relatively minor sprain and pushing my body further than it was able to go. I had to wear a brace on my knee for six months, and I wasn’t able to dance for another year after that. I’m lucky the damage wasn’t permanent. Is that what you want to happen to you?”

Jungkook shakes his head quickly. “No.”

The dancer arches an expectant eyebrow. “No?”

“No, hyung-nim,” the youth amends quickly.

“Then listen to your elders, Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok tells him, his tone gentling a little as he reaches up to squeeze the youth’s wrist. “I know you’ve been restless these past few days – it’s never much fun being the only one benched and watching others work. But there are other ways to keep yourself occupied besides dance, and it won’t be forever. A few more days and your ankle should be healed.”

Apparently satisfied that no extensive damage has been done, J-Hope carefully works the youth’s sock and shoe back on, then moves to sit in the chair beside Jungkook’s, slipping an arm around his shoulders to squeeze him in a sideways hug. The younger man leans into it gratefully, the tightness in his chest easing now that his hyung no longer seems angry with him.

“I’m sorry, hyung-nim,” he reiterates after a long pause, because he really is, and he wants the dancer to know that.

He hadn’t given any thought to the potential long-term ramifications of dancing with an injured ankle, but after learning what J-Hope had gone through as a kid, his desire to burn off a little steam through choreography has dissipated almost entirely.

“I know you are,” Hoesok murmurs, his other hand coming up to palm the side of the teen’s head, tugging Jungkook further into his embrace. “I don’t enjoy scolding you, Kookie-ah, but if we need to have this conversation again, we will. Only next time Jin and Namjoon will be here to witness it, too.”

Jungkook glances up at him, surprised and hopeful. “You’re not going to tell them?”

The dancer sniffs a quiet grin, and looks far more like his usual cheerful self because of it. Ruffling the youth’s hair, J-Hope shakes his head.

“If they ask me about it directly, I won’t lie to them,” his hyung tells him quietly. “But I’ve already discussed the issue with you, so I don’t think it’s necessary to involve them at this stage.”

“Thank you!” Jungkook turns more fully in his chair to throw his arms around the older dancer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Laughing softly, Hoseok returns the tight embrace, hand rubbing the back of Jungkook’s neck, and the teenager nuzzles into the man’s shoulder with an audible sigh of relief.

J-Hope is the best.

.

Chapter Text

.

Even with the air-con running, the car is still too humid, and Namjoon switches between fanning himself with his cap and rolling the side of his cold soda-can against alternating cheeks to cool himself down.

“Ugghh, why is it so hot?” Taehyung moans from the backseat, and when Namjoon glances back over his shoulder, the younger man flops sideways dramatically to smush his cheek against the window of the minivan with an audible thunk. “I think I’m going to melt.”

J-Hope, seated beside the singer, makes a noise of sympathy and pats V’s knee. “You should’ve changed out of your clothes like the rest of us before we left the set. You’re wearing too many layers, Taehyungie.”

“I knooow.”

“Here, Tae.” Jimin leans forward in his own seat on Hoseok’s other side, pulling a can of soda from the cooler-bag at his feet. “Press this against your skin, it’ll help.”

V murmurs his thanks, keeping one cheek against the window and rolling the cool can against the other.

“We’ll be home soon,” Namjoon reassures him, feeling a twinge of pity for the youth. “Do you want some more water?”

“No.” Taehyung pouts and presses the can against his sweaty forehead. “I want mango and shaved ice.”

The rapper shares a fond grin with Hoseok and Jimin at V’s whining tone, and from the middle seat beside Namjoon, Jungkook sits up a little straighter at the mention of iced treats.

“Maybe we can buy some on the way home?” the teenager suggests hopefully, glancing over at Jin who’s sitting on his other side to flash his eldest hyung a wide, winning smile. “For Tae-hyung?”

Jin sniffs a grin, clearly seeing straight through the maknae’s ploy for sweets, reaching up to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. “Maybe. Let’s see what the traffic’s like first, okay?”

This, coming from their eomma, essentially means ‘yes’, and everybody knows it.

Jungkook gives a quiet ‘whoop’ in victory, punching a fist into the air. Namjoon smiles at the kid’s enthusiasm, even though he envies JK’s seemingly limitless energy. After a long day spent filming clips for a new music video out in the open countryside, the rest of them are tired and hot and looking forward to a shower, a good meal, and a soft bed. The teenager’s the only one among them who seems completely unaffected by the intense midsummer heat. His durability makes Namjoon feel far older than he should do.

“You might want to postpone those plans until tomorrow, hyung,” Yoongi says from the front passenger seat, twisting around to glance back at them, holding up his phone. “I’m guessing none of you bothered to check the weather reports this morning?”

“Why?” Jin asks curiously. “Is it supposed to rain?”

Yoongi nods. “It’s forecast to be one of the worst storms of the summer.”

Jungkook’s head comes up sharply from where he’s gone back to scrolling through a playlist on his ipod. “A storm?”

“Those clouds do look pretty big,” Taehyung pipes up keenly, his cheek still smushed against the window. “Do you think there’ll be lightning?”

“Probably,” Suga replies casually. “The storms in this area these past couple of years have been mild, but I hear they’re usually pretty intense.”

“We’ll get home in time, right?” Jungkook asks, and there’s something slightly off about his tone that has Namjoon glancing up from the weather app he’s opened on his own phone. “Before the storm hits?”

“We’ve still got a couple of hours before it reaches us,” Yoongi confirms. “But they’re advising people to avoid unnecessary travel, so we probably shouldn’t stay out later than we have to.”

Jin palms the back of Jungkook’s head, fingers rubbing against his scalp. “Sorry, Kookie-ah. Looks like we’ll have to get shaved ice another day.”

The youth shoots his eldest hyung another bright, easy grin. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t want PD-nim to drive through a storm; better to be home and dry when the rain starts, right?”

Momentarily surprised by (and feeling just a little bit proud of) the teen’s unexpected maturity, Namjoon pats Jungkook’s shoulder affectionately, smiling when the maknae glances at him.

“I’ll treat you tomorrow, kid,” he promises. “So long as the weather’s improved.”

He gets a wide smile in return, although there’s still something a little off about the kid’s expression that he can’t put his finger on; but then Taehyung’s whining protest from the backseat distracts him from the issue.

“But hyung, I wanted shaved ice toooo…”

…

Taehyung’s standing on his tiptoes, hands braced against the window frame as he strains to look up at the rapidly darkening sky.

The plants in their fenced-in front yard whip back and forth viciously, accompanied by a shrill whistling as the wind howls through the branches of the trees. The youth grins – it’s been too long since he last had a chance to witness a proper thunderstorm, and he’s looking forward to turning off all the lights and opening the curtains to watch the lightning streak across the night sky. He’s freshly showered and dressed in lighter, airier clothes to suit the muggy heat, and now that he isn’t being cooked alive, Taehyung feels a million times better.

“The wind’s really picking up out there,” he reports eagerly. “Good thing we made it home in time, I wouldn’t want to be out in this.”

Over on the other side of the large kitchen/dining room, Jin hums his agreement somewhat distractedly, busy dishing rice into bowls and passing them to Jimin, who diligently carries them over to the table.

“At least it won’t be quite so hot after the storm has passed,” Hoseok comments, laying out chopsticks and spoons beside each place setting. “The temperature should drop when it rains, and the weather reporters say it’ll stay cool for whole weekend.”

“Pity it didn’t rain last night,” Jimin comments wryly, wrapping his arms around Jin from behind as the man lifts the lid on a steamer-pan of dumplings. “I bet I look like a sweaty mess in half my close-ups. Did the managers really have to wait until the hottest week of the summer to film us outdoors?”

“On the plus side, they felt bad enough about making us run around in the heat that we’ve got the day off tomorrow,” Yoongi remarks, closing the fridge door with his hip and carrying cartons of juice and milk over to the table. “I can’t remember the last time we had a free weekend.”

“It’s been a busy few months,” Jin agrees, replacing the lid of the steamer and turning in Jimin’s arms to smile towards the rest of the group. “Hey, maybe we could all watch a movie together tomorrow, we haven’t- Kim Taehyung! Get down before you hurt yourself!”

V freezes in his crouched position on the window ledge, head and shoulders already halfway out of the open window. He glances back at the others with a growing pout.

“But hyung, the wind is so nice,” he whines, turning his face towards the refreshing (if a little too strong) breeze. “It hasn’t even started raining y-aah!”

Someone plucks him from the windowsill, strong hands that grip him either side of his waist and lift him down like he weighs nothing. Taehyung doesn’t even need to turn around to know who it is, but he gives another whine of protest all the same and clings to the inner frame of the open window.

“But Joonie-hyung, it’s not even raining,” he tries to object, gripping with all his might as he hears the others stifle their laughter in the background. “Eomma’s been cooking, and it’s too hot in here.”

“You’ll be even hotter if you get hit by lightning,” Namjoon tells him, but Taehyung can hear the smile in his voice even as the rapper lands a flurry of quick, light swats to the seat of his shorts. “Stop being a brat.”

V relinquishes his iron grip with a squeak of surprise, allowing the man to successfully pull him away from the window, where he’s set down on his feet and nudged forwards with a playful shove, prompting him to stumble a few paces straight into J-Hope’s chest. The grinning dancer laughs, squeezing him into a one-armed hug as he uses the other hand to mess up V’s hair.

“It’s probably a good thing we never went out for shaved ice,” Hoseok teases. “You’re hyper enough already.”

V sticks his tongue out at his hyung, like the mature adult he is.

“Dinner’s ready,” Jin announces a moment later. “Tae, go wash up, that window must be filthy.”

“Yes eomma,” Taehyung sing-songs sweetly, and avoids Jimin’s playful side-swipe as he goes skipping towards the door.

“Find Jungkook while you’re up there,” Namjoon calls after him. “I heard the shower shut off a little while ago, he should be dressed by now.”

When V finds him, the maknae is dressed, or at least partially so, standing at the window in the bedroom he shares with Rap Monster, peeking between the drawn curtains at the cloudy sky beyond. Taehyung grins – clearly he, Hoseok and Jimin will have company tonight when they bed down together to watch the weather unfold.

“It won’t be long before the storm reaches us, Kookie,” he says cheerfully, and grins a little wider when the teenager actually jumps (that in itself is a victory, it’s usually impossible to sneak up on his dongsaeng).

“Will it?” Jungkook glances from V to the window, then down at the t-shirt in his hands, apparently only realising after a pause that he hasn’t finished getting dressed yet. “That…that’s good.”

Taehyung tilts his head a little to one side as the teenager pulls the t-shirt over his head and threads his arms through. Jungkook is acting a little…off. And call it paranoia, but ever since the first time his donsaeng passed out during a concert rehearsal six months ago, Tae’s been pointedly more observant all of the teenager’s subtle behaviourisms, mentally cataloguing the slight irregularities in his manner and his expression that might hint at something being wrong.

“Hey,” he murmurs, stepping closer to toss an arm over the other man’s shoulders. “Is everything okay?”

Jungkook seems surprised by the question (rather than guilty, which is his default expression whenever he’s caught pretending to be fine when he’s actually unwell or injured), but he flashes V a wide, easy grin without hesitation, and that’s enough to put the singer’s concerns to rest.

“Sorry, yeah. I just got caught up watching the wind.” Jungkook nods towards the drawn curtains. “It’s kinda wild out there.”

Taehyung hums keenly in agreement, curling his fingers around the youth’s wrist to drag him towards the door. “You’ll sleep in our room tonight, won’t you, Kookie? We’re going to watch the storm with Hobi-hyung.”

“Well…maybe,” is the younger man’s not-answer. “I’m pretty tired tonight, hyung.”

“We’ll turn all the lights off,” Tae promises, keeping his gaze forward-facing as he makes his way downstairs to avoid tripping over. “And we’ll stay quiet if you fall asleep. Come on, Kookie, it’ll be fun.”

“I…yeah. Okay.”

…

What on earth had possessed him to say yes?

Jungkook pokes at his rice, his appetite gone, and inwardly curses himself for being so easily persuaded. It would’ve been okay if one of the others had asked him, but it had been Tae, and he’s never been able to say no to his youngest hyung. Jimin’s almost as impossible to refuse, but Jungkook still might’ve managed it, at a pinch. But fucking Tae...

It isn’t really his hyung’s fault. How was V supposed to know that thunderstorms were the one thing Jungkook couldn’t bear to face? It’s such a stupid fear. If he hadn’t been caught out alone in a storm that one time when he was a little kid, he’d probably love extreme weather cycles as much as the other maknae, but he knows from prior experience that the first bright flash of lightning and warning rumble of thunder will set his heart pounding and lodge a growing ball of panic in his throat that’ll make him want to hide under the bed and cry like he’s eight years old again.

Last year, when the weather had taken a turn for the worse, he’d been able to shut himself away in one of the bathrooms while the rest of the house slept; the storm had struck in the early hours of the morning when everyone was already in bed, so it had been easy enough to mask his resultant panic attack from the others. But he doesn’t have that luxury tonight – everyone’s going to be awake, and how the hell is he supposed to hide his phobia from Tae and Jimin if they rope him into sharing a bed?

Ugh. He fucking hates thunderstorms.

“Jungkook-ah,” Jin murmurs from beside him, a warm hand settling on the back of his neck. “Are you feeling alright? You’ve barely touched your food.”

He startles from his own thoughts, glancing up from his half-eaten bowl of rice and kimchi just in time to catch the rest of the table watching him closely. And he understands their concern – the only times he doesn’t eat is when he’s sick or upset (or if he forgets, which sometimes still happens, although his hyungs never allow him to miss a meal if they can help it).

Smiling, he quickly scoops up a big spoonful of his dinner. “I’m okay, hyung,” he promises. “Just tired.”

The faint crease of concern in his eldest hyung’s brow smooths out as soon as Jungkook shovels another spoonful into his mouth.

“It’s been a long day,” Jin agrees, thumb stroking gently back and forth against the skin of his neck as he uses his chopsticks to deftly pluck pieces of sausage from the grillplate in the centre of the table and transfers them to Jungkook’s bowl. “You should head to bed early tonight, Kook-ah.”

Seeing an emergency exit suddenly thrust conveniently into his path, Jungkook nods in agreement, careful to make the motion subdued like an obedient maknae rather than gleeful like a great big coward successfully getting out of doing something he’s terrified of.

“But JK was going to stay up to watch the storm with us,” Taehyung protests, pouting across at Jin from his seat in Jimin’s lap on the opposite side of the table.

Jungkook shrugs. “It’s okay. There’ll be other storms, right?” Oh god, he hopes not. “I’d probably just fall asleep on you anyway, so I might as well just go to bed.”

Yoongi pats his shoulder, reaching around him to refill the teenager’s water glass. “Do you want to take my bed tonight? I’ll probably stay up with Hobi and wait out the storm, thunder always keeps me awake.”

“Are you sure, hyung?” Jungkook asks, touched by the offer. It’s no secret that Suga is very protective of his small single-bedroom, valuing privacy and his precious few hours of solitude far more than the rest of them.

“I’m sure.” The rapper ruffles the boy’s hair with an easy smile. “RM will only end up waking you when he goes to bed if you stay in your room – he doesn’t do ‘quiet’.”

“Joonie-hyung has two volumes,” Jimin agrees with a teasing smile. “Loud and louder.”

Namjoon reaches around the back of Hoseok’s chair to lightly smack Jimin upside the head as the rest of the table laughs, and Jungkook feels the uneasiness in his chest begin to settle a little as the attention is drawn away from him.

Sleeping in Yoongi’s room will definitely make things easier. He’ll still try his best to fall asleep, stick his headphones in with his music on loud to block out the sounds of the storm, but there’s only a ten percent chance it’ll work – from previous experience, he’ll probably be so tightly wound up that he’ll have to lie there all night with a pillow over his head to blind himself to the flash of lightning. But in Yoongi’s room, away from prying eyes, it won’t matter if he startles at every sound and hides under the blankets like a child – it’s still going to suck, but when morning comes and the storm has passed, everything will go back to normal again and his hyungs won’t need to think of him as a coward.

Subtly tugging his bowl closer to him so that Jin can’t add more meat to it, Jungkook eats as fast as he can without risking choking on his food. The sooner he wolfs down his dinner, the sooner he can sequester himself away in Yoongi’s room and psyche himself up for the battle ahead.

A few hours and it’ll all be over. He can do this.

…

He can’t do this.

Jungkook’s heart is beating so fast that it feels ready to burst clean out of his chest, but even the clamouring pulse of it in his ears isn’t enough to drown out the deafening crash of thunder or the loud hammering of rain as the wind drives it against the bedroom window in fierce torrents. He’s pushed his earbud headphones in as far as they’ll go, but with his phone now out of charge (fucking typical, of all the days not to have plugged it in), there’s no hope of masking the roar of the storm with music.

It feels like it’s been raining for hours, but he knows (from casting quick, desperate glances towards the alarm clock on Yoongi’s bedside table) that it hasn’t even been twenty minutes yet since the first flash of lightning illuminated the bedroom and sent Jungkook jolting upright with a gasp. That initial pulse of fear and dread in his chest has only continued to grow since then, and now it sits on him like a physical weight, making his breathing shallow and laboured, tugging his muscles taught until everything feels like it’s trembling, and gods, it’s horrible.

Jungkook sits on Yoongi’s bed with his back pressed against the wall to ground himself, hugging one of the rapper’s pillows to his chest simply as a means to keep his hands from shaking too badly. Initially he’d used it to shield his eyes from the bright flashes that lit up the bedroom, but it hadn’t really worked, and once he’d worked himself up to the point of crying, he’d felt too suffocated by the material to keep his face hidden.

Now he just concentrates on trying to keep quiet, stifling his wet gasps and hitching whimpers with a hand clamped over his mouth.

Yellow light suddenly pours into the room, making him jolt a little, but it doesn’t originate from the window – instead it’s the bedroom door swinging open to admit Yoongi.

“Sorry,” Suga murmurs, making a beeline for his laptop over on the small desk that sits against the opposite wall. “I just need to get my-”

The rapper pauses midstep, having glanced across the room towards the bed, the rest of his sentence falling away as his gaze settles on the teenager. Jungkook knows he must look a sight – sitting huddled in a heap of tangled blankets with his knees tucked up to his chest and a hand covering his mouth. And although the bedroom’s still dimly lit, the light from the hallway is probably enough for his hyung to see the dampness on his cheeks even from a short distance.

Well fuck.

This was never part of the plan. Nobody was supposed to see him like this.

There’s a part of him that curls up in shame and mortification at being discovered in such a state, but then another, much bigger part of him is sick and tired of being miserable and scared and alone, and all he really wants right now is a hug.

“Jungkook-ah?” Yoongi crosses the room in a few brisk strides, his face the picture of concern as he moves to kneel up on the bed beside the teenager, hands settling on Jungkook’s shoulders. “What’s wrong, are you hurt?”

Shaking his head quickly, Jungkook swallows several times past the thick lump in his throat, willing his tears to stop.

“I-I’m okay, hyung,” he answers, in a broken sort of voice that sounds nothing like his usual self.

“Don’t lie to me.” Yoongi’s voice is soft but serious, his fingers gentle when they brush JK’s sweaty fringe away from his forehead to feel the skin there. “Are you sick?”

Sucking in another hitching breath and hating his traitorous body for refusing to cooperate with him and calm the fuck down, Jungkook shakes his head again.

“Are you sure?” Suga persists, that pinch of worry still creasing his brow as the backs of his fingers lightly settle against one of JK’s flushed cheeks. “You feel warm to me.”

Jungkook probably is running a little warm, but that’ll only be because he’s been a crying, sweaty mess for the past however-long. His cheeks always flush hot when he’s upset, and his eyes quickly go puffy and red-rimmed if he cries for more than a few minutes, so to be fair to Suga, he probably does look pretty dreadful.

A deafening clap of thunder makes him freeze, and when lightning flashes a moment later Jungkook gives a full-body flinch, one hand automatically coming up to latch onto the front of Suga’s shirt as he presses his lips together in a fruitless effort to muffle the tearful noise of alarm that works its way up from his throat.

“Kook-ah,” Yoongi murmurs, the light of understanding dawning in his eyes even as he closes a gentle hand over the fingers clenched tightly in his shirt. “Is it the storm?”

Currently too panic-stricken to feel ashamed at the admission, Jungkook can only nod, sucking in rapid, shallow little breaths through his nose, jaw aching with the effort it’s taking to keep his lips pressed tight shut. 

Yoongi shifts closer, his arms coming around Jungkook immediately to pull him close in a tight embrace, a firm hand rubbing between his shoulders.

“Aigoo, why didn’t you come and find me sooner?” the rapper chides, although the concern in his tone softens the scolding. “Have you been like this the whole time?”

Another clap of thunder makes Jungkook jerk in Yoongi’s hold with a muffled whimper, and clearly that’s all the information his hyung needs.

“Come on,” Yoongi murmurs, giving him a tighter squeeze before pulling away a little, enough to hold his gaze for a moment. “We’ll go and sit with the others, okay?”

Jungkook latches onto the rapper’s shirt again, shaking his head quickly. “Not…not Tae-hyung or Jimin-hyung. I don’t want them to…to find out that I’m…”

Suga doesn’t force him to finish the sentence, and if he’s puzzled as to why Jungkook’s so keen to keep his phobia a secret, he hides it well. The rapper gently peels the teenager’s fingers away from his shirt, clasping the hand between both his own.

“Tae and Jiminie are both in your room with Hobi,” Yoongi tells him softly. “We’ll go sit with Jin-hyung and Joon-ah, okay? The others don’t need to know.”

Jungkook can’t deny that of all the people he’s been craving hugs from this past half-hour, Jin and Namjoon had both been vying for first place right at the top of the list alongside Yoongi.

He shares a close relationship with all his bandmates, but when it comes to those elder three in particular, the dynamic carries an additional element that can often be hard to put into words. For all the jokes that get thrown out among the fans about Jin being the group’s eomma, he and Namjoon often do step into that parental when it comes to Jungkook – they always make sure he’s well fed, they’re almost always the ones to handle discipline if he steps out of line, and lately RM’s even been enforcing a curfew if he thinks Jungkook has spent too many hours at the gym or rehearsing in the studio.

He’s still gonna feel shitty about the storm, and he’ll probably die of embarrassment tomorrow morning when the panic has faded and he has chance to look back on how cowardly he’s being, but maybe things will seem a little less dire just now if he’s wedged between Jin, Yoongi and Namjoon.

Nodding shakily after a long pause, Jungkook finally relinquishes his death-grip on Yoongi’s pillow and tugs out his useless earbud headphones, flinching when the volume of the wind and the rain outside seems to increase tenfold.

“Come on, kid,” Yoongi murmurs again, helping him stand and wrapping an arm snugly around his shoulders, guiding him carefully out of the bedroom and along the hallway towards Jin’s room.

The rapper knocks quietly on their eldest hyung’s door, waiting until its occupants invite them inside before pushing it open.

The main bedroom light is off and the curtains are drawn, but one of the bedside lamps has been switched, casting a warm yellow glow over Jin and Namjoon who are seated on the bed nearest the far wall, dressed in t-shirts and pyjama shorts, a deck of cards dealt out between them. Both men glance up when the door opens, their easy smiles quickly morphing into a matching expression of alarm and concern when their eyes come to rest on the teenager currently tucked under Yoongi’s arm.

“Jungkook-ah?” Jin’s across the room in a heartbeat, a hand coming up to gently palm the side of the youth’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Yoongi nudges the door closed behind them, then resolutely steers Jungkook over to Jin’s bed, where RM is quickly sweeping up the scattered cards to make room. The teenager sits down when Suga applies a gentle pressure to his shoulder, and Namjoon shifts closer immediately, sliding a big, warm hand up the teen’s spine to settle on the back of his neck. The wind still howls outside, but Jungkook feels the tight band around his lungs ease a little as he leans back into the rapper’s touch.

“Has something happened?” Jin presses, having moved to sit on his other side, one long arm curling protectively around Jungkook’s shoulders. When it becomes apparent that no answers are forthcoming, he redirects the question towards his other unexpected guest. “Yoongi-ah? Why is he crying?”

Suga sinks down to sit cross-legged on the floor directly in front of them, resting a reassuring hand on Jungkook’s knee as the teenager twists his fingers together in his lap. “Kookie has astraphobia.”

Jungkook blinks, a little surprised that the rapper knows the name of his phobia off the top of his head (although this is Yoongi he’s talking about, so he really shouldn’t be surprised at all).

“You’re afraid of storms?” Namjoon reiterates, and rather than the amused incredulity that Jungkook had sort of been expecting, his tone holds nothing but concern, the rapper’s brow creasing a little as he rubs the youth’s back. “Aish. Have you been sitting on your own all this time?”

The teenager swallows thickly, his throat tight and aching, and manages a jerky nod.

“Ai, Kookie-ah,” Jin murmurs sympathetically, his face the picture of worry as his hand comes up to gently thumb away tear-track from the youth’s cheek. “Why didn’t you tell us at dinner? We wouldn’t have left you alone for so long if we’d known the storm would upset you.”

Their immediate understanding, coupled with the complete lack of teasing (which Jungkook had been dreading more than anything else), sends a rush of relief through him that’s so intense it brings a fresh sheen of hot, stinging tears to his eyes. He ducks his head to hide them, but they cut burning trails down his cheeks all the same.

“Shhh, hey.” Jin palms the side of the teen’s head to guide it down against his shoulder, pulling his donsaeng into a tight hug. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. You’re okay, Jungkook-ah.”

“It…it’s j-just so stupid,” the youth says thickly, and hates how badly his voice wavers. “I’m not a little kid anymore, I shouldn’t still be so scared of a fucking storm.”

He hadn’t quite meant to swear in front of his hyungs, but he’s upset and his brain-to-mouth filter is a little impaired. Luckily they seem to understand this, because all Jin does is card gentle fingers through his hair as Suga rubs his knee.

“Lots of people have phobias,” Yoongi reasons softly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, kiddo.”

“Hobi-hyung doesn’t like the dark,” Namjoon reminds him, patting the teen’s back comfortingly. “But none of us think any less of him for it, do we?”

Jungkook takes a moment to process that. His hyungs have a point. Hoseok has a whole list of things that scare him, but he’s still got a fierce and passionate personality and nobody looks down on him for it. Sure there’ll be some gentle ribbing from time to time, but none of them would ever dream of really persecuting Hobi for his fears. A short while ago one of the producers had even suggested a Hidden Camera prank involving J-Hope and a locked room, but the group as a whole had put their foot down at that – funny jump-scares and haunted mazes were one thing, but none of them wanted to genuinely frighten the dancer to such an extent.

He reaches up to scrub at his cheeks with the back of his hand, sniffling softly, and a moment later Yoongi’s holding out a box of tissues towards him. But it’s Jin who takes a few, leaning back from Jungkook a little so that he can gently dab at the maknae’s damp cheeks.

“Is that why you didn’t want Tae and Jimin to find out?” Yoongi asks quietly, going back to rubbing the youth’s lower legs.

Jungkook blows his nose on the wad of tissue and nods. “I…I just didn’t want them to think I’m a coward.”

“Aish.” Jin gently tips his chin up to hold his gaze, his smile a little sad, as though he’s holding himself accountable for the teenager’s insecurities. “Jungkook-ah, none of us are going to look down on you for this. Having a phobia doesn’t make you cowardly – it makes you human.”

“And let’s face it, most of us were beginning to wonder if you were an android,” Yoongi points out with an affectionately teasing sort of half-smile, resting his chin on Jungkook’s knee as he peers up at the teen. “You’ve never been caught out by scare-cams before, and you watch horror movies like they’re preschool cartoons.”

Sniffing a tremulous little grin at that, Jungkook ducks his head again, feeling a little more of the tension ease from his posture.

Right on cue, a deafening gunshot-like boom of thunder cuts through the temporary stillness of the room, and Jungkook (having managed to relax just enough that he isn’t braced for it), startles with a soft cry, his whole body jerking with the force of it.

“It’s alright,” Jin murmurs, quickly drawing the youth back into the safety of his arms. “I’ve got you. You’re okay, baby.”

Under normal circumstances, Jungkook would wrinkle his nose up or stick his tongue out at being called ‘baby’ – his hyungs use it often enough, but normally they’re teasing him about being the maknae, or pointing out something particularly cute that he’s done. But Jin’s sort of an exception to that rule – his eldest hyung calls all of them ‘baby’ from time to time, even RM on occasion, and his intonation is always different from the teasing note the others use. It’s gentle and affectionate, like when Namjoon and Yoongi call him ‘kid’ or ‘brat’, and it makes him want to snuggle further into the man’s warmth and shut out the rest of the world.

He hides his face in Jin’s shoulder, and even though he’s expecting it after the recent roar of thunder, the white flash of lightning still makes him jolt with a muffled whimper, fingers clenching in the fabric of Jin’s shirt.

“Ai, Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon sighs worriedly, hand rubbing little circles at the small of his back. “What can we do to help you? What do you need?”

But the teenager’s in no position to answer him, busy trying to coax his lungs into functioning properly, battling against the renewed impulse to burst into tears again out of emotional exhaustion and frustration. Jin seems to sense this, and hugs him a little tighter, fingers combing slowly through his hair.

“He was wearing headphones when I found him,” Yoongi mentions after a beat, and a hand squeezes his ankle gently. “Does music help, Kookie-ah?”

The youth nods against Jin’s shoulder, still not trusting his voice given the state of the rest of him.

“It’s alright, hyung, I’ll grab mine from the other room,” Namjoon says, when Jungkook feels Suga shift away from his lower legs. “They’ll block out the storm better than yours would.”

The mattress shifts as Namjoon gets up, and Jungkook realises with a pulse of surprise that the rapper must be referring to his ridiculously expensive noise-cancelling headphones, the ones that Jungkook has been expressively forbidden from ever, ever touching, ever, on pain of death. They’re Joonie’s pride and joy, the only pair of headphones he’ll use when he’s writing song lyrics and wants to drown out the rest of the world. Taehyung had once hidden them as a prank, and when Namjoon had eventually found out (after a frantic hour of searching and several scolding lectures to Jungkook about not moving his belongings), Jin had been forced to take Tae out shopping for groceries for the maknae’s own safety, to give Joon time to calm down before he did something he’d later regret.

Moral of the story being, Namjoon’s headphones are strictly off-limits. No exceptions.

Which is why Jungkook’s eyes widen a little when thickly-cushioned pads suddenly settle over his ears. Lifting his head from Jin’s shoulder, he blinks up at Namjoon in surprise as the rapper retakes his seat on the mattress beside him, busy scrolling through his ipod. A moment later and the first chords of a classical piano piece hum melodically through the (amazingly high-quality, holy fuck) speakers in the headphones, and Jungkook realises with a surge of relief that he can’t hear the howling of the wind or the lashing of raindrops against the window at all.

“Better?” Namjoon asks, and it’s only because Jungkook is looking at him that he’s able to see his lips move with the word.

He nods quickly, mustering up what he hopes is a genuinely grateful smile (although he’s that emotionally exhausted, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not anymore).

Movement catches his eye, and he shifts his gaze to where Yoongi has wondered across the room to Hoseok’s bed, tugging the top drawer of his bedside dresser open and grabbing something before returning to Jungkook’s side, holding out a dark padded eye-mask. Jungkook knows it doesn’t belong to J-Hope, because masks make the dancer claustrophobic, but he’s fairly sure Suga’s worn it during long car journeys before. It isn’t much of a surprise that it’s in Hobi’s dresser, though – given how often Jin and Yoongi and Hoseok sleep together, it’s little wonder they even bother with keeping their assigned bedrooms any more. Jungkook certainly spends more time in Jimin’s bed (or Tae’s) than he does his own.

“For the lightning,” Yoongi explains, or at least that’s what Jungkook thinks he says; his lip-reading skills aren’t always the best. “Figured it won’t make you jump if you can’t see it.”

Jungkook hesitates for a moment. He’s tried masks in the past, but his biggest fear had always been that he’d wake up blind and confused; that, and he’d never been able to shut out the noise of the thunderstorm before, so hearing it from a place of pitch-blackness had just made things ten times worse. But now he’s got noise-cancelling headphones. And Jin. If he does (by some miracle) manage to get to sleep, he knows his hyung won’t let anything happen to him.

“Can…can you guys stay with me?” he asks tentatively, as he reaches for the mask. “Just until the storm’s passed?”

Namjoon and Yoongi both nod immediately, the latter reaching up to ruffle Jungkook’s hair with a fond half-smile.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Jin promises, his lips close enough to the headphones that his voice is audible. “Why don’t you lie down, baby? You’re exhausted.”

Jin gently takes the mask from Jungkook’s fingers, then guides him further up the bed to lay down properly. The fabric of the pillow feels cold against his flushed cheek, but it’s a refreshing coolness, and the moment his head sinks into it he’s immediately struck by another wave of exhaustion. Crying is so damn draining.

“Do you want some water?” Jin asks, carefully brushing the teen’s fringe back from his sweaty forehead. When Jungkook shakes his head, he smiles softly and shows him the mask. “I’m going to put this on you, okay?”

It’s a little disorientating, being both blind and mostly deaf to the world around him, but compared to the panic and fear that have been plaguing him these past few hours, it’s a welcome reprieve for his fractious senses. Namjoon’s clearly selected some sort of relaxation playlist, because the classical piece that’s currently playing is perfect; gentle and lilting and exactly what his frazzled nerves need.

Jungkook feels someone lay down beside him, and doesn’t need the use of his eyes to know that it’s Jin. He rolls a little onto his side so that Jin can spoon up behind him, one arm draped over his torso, a long-fingered hand coming to rest against his breastbone where his heart has finally begun to slow to a healthier pace.

He brings a hand up grip the warm, soft skin of his hyung’s forearm, and hugs the limb against his chest, heaving a quiet, contented sigh as another wave of fatigue rolls over him.

Outside, the storm rages on, but cocooned safely within a cosy bubble of darkness and music and Jin, Jungkook couldn’t care less.

Chapter Text

.

Tossing the bright yellow ball across the room, Jungkook slouches a little more in his chair at the kitchen table, eyes tracking the movement of the ball as it bounces off the far wall. He reaches out to catch it easily as it rebounds, heaving a tired sigh.

God, he’s so bored.

PD-nim has given him the day off after spending the last few evenings shooting scenes for a music video late into the night, and while normally he’d be ecstatic about having any length of time away from the studio, it’s not much fun without Tae and Jimin here to keep him company. His two hyungs are busy filming a joint scene for the music video alongside Hoseok and Yoongi, so it’s really only Jin and Namjoon who are still at home with him today.

“Joonie has a migraine, Kook-ah,” Jin had told him first thing that morning, when Jungkook had woken up to find the rapper’s bed empty. “He’s sleeping it off in my room. I’m going to sit with him for a little while in case it gets any worse; try to keep the noise down, okay?”

Knowing just how hard their leader has been pushing himself these past few weeks, Jungkook has obligingly tip-toed around the house all morning, keeping himself entertained by listening to music through his headphones and messaging the rest of the band, who have been pestering him for updates on Namjoon’s condition between takes. He’d spent at least an hour in a group chat with Yugyeom and BamBam playing a word game together, but it’s been a while now since they’d been forced to say goodbye to him and go back to rehearsal, and since then he’s been pretty much by himself.

Over and over in a rhythmic cycle, the yellow ball bounces off the wall, then the floor, then slaps against the youth’s palm as he catches it. He’s bored of this game too, but at least it’s something. Ugh, he hates being on his own.

“Not inside, Kookie,” Jin chides quietly, appearing suddenly in the doorway to the large kitchen/dining room with a tray in his hands. “You might break something.”

Jungkook brightens at his arrival, catching the ball and sitting up a little straighter in the chair. “How’s Joonie-hyung?”

Jin smiles a little, looking both relieved and exhausted in equal measure. “Better,” he says, carrying the tray across the room and around the marble island into the main kitchen area. “He managed to keep something down, so that’s an improvement. Thank you for keeping quiet, Kookie. I hope you haven’t been too lonely?”

Jungkook gives a little one-shouldered shrug. “No, I'm okay. I was playing with Yugyeom-ah and BamBam-hyung for a little while, and the others have been messaging me from the set.” He tosses the ball again without thinking. “You should probably tell them hyung is feeling better, they’ve all been worried about him.”

“Mm, it isn’t normal for Joonie to get sick like this,” Jin acknowledges, setting the tray by the sink and pulling his phone from the pocket of his slacks. Thumbs tapping against the screen, he glances up briefly towards the younger man when the ball thunks against the far wall repeatedly. “Jungkook-ah, I asked you not to throw that indoors. Were you not listening?”

It’s a gentle scolding, but a scolding all the same, and with how bored and frustrated he’s been growing over the past few hours, it grates on him in a way that it normally wouldn’t. Catching the ball, Jungkook slumps down in his chair again with a huff, scowling at the cartoon Pikachu printed on the side of the toy – not something he’d normally buy, but Taehyung had won it for him on a claw machine game at the arcade about a week ago, so that makes it worth keeping.

“But you told me not to go outside, hyung,” he argues, gesturing towards the window by the sink where water droplets chase each other down the glass pane in translucent zig-zags. “You said I had to wait until the rain stopped.”

Jin hums his agreement, pocketing the phone again. “It’s supposed to brighten up this afternoon, Kookie,” the singer reasons patiently. “I’ll come out and play with you later, okay? I promise.”

The water at the sink starts running as Jin turns around and prepares to wash the dishes. Jungkook, slightly appeased by the promise but still bristling a little from the scolding and bored out of his skull after hours of inactivity, watches him silently for a few moments, twizzling the ball between his hands.

Keeping one eye on his hyung, he carefully throws the ball upwards into the air, not hard enough to hit the ceiling but high enough to make catching it on its downwards descent more of a challenge. He catches it as quietly as he can, closing both hands around it in a scooping sort of motion to dull the sound, but on the third catch he misses it and the ball bounces noisily against the edge of the table.

“Jeon Jungkook,” Jin warns without even turning around, shutting off the water. “If I have to come over there and take it off you myself, you won’t be getting it back until tomorrow.”

He has no idea what possesses him to do it, but in the few short beats of silence that follow Jin’s warning, all the pent-up frustration and overtiredness and boredom that’s been building up over the course of the morning suddenly peaks, and before his brain has quite managed to think things through, he’s tossing the ball towards Jin, aiming for the back of his hyung’s head.

As it turns out, Jungkook’s aim is a little sloppy when he’s upset.

The ball sails right past Jin’s head and smacks against the wall behind the sink, bouncing off at an angle and knocking against the empty glass that’s still sitting on the tray waiting to be washed. The glass topples over, and Jungkook watches as though everything’s in slow motion with a cold, sinking feeling making his stomach turn to lead as it falls to the kitchen floor, shattering against the tile and skittering outwards in an explosion of transparent shards.

There’s half a beat of silence, and then Jungkook’s leaping up from the dining chair, heart in his throat, hurrying towards the kitchen area.

“Ai! Sorry, sorry, sorry-”

“Jungkook, stop!”

The youth is startled enough by Jin’s stern command to freeze midstep, wide-eyed, shoulders hunched. But Jin doesn’t look angry – instead there’s a pinch of worry in his brow as he glances between the shattered glass and Jungkook’s bare feet.

“Don’t come any closer,” the singer cautions, his voice calm again as he holds his hand palm-outwards to JK, gesturing for him to stay put. “You could hurt yourself.”

Jin steps over a few segments of glass, slipper-clad feet treading carefully as he makes his way across the kitchen to retrieve the dustpan and brush. Crouching, the singer begins to sweep up the larger shards, eyes searching the tiled floor keenly to make sure none are missed.

Jungkook fidgets as he watches, guilt and shame creating turmoil in his chest as he inches forwards a few little baby steps.

“Hyung, please don’t, it was my fault,” he tries to insist. “Let me do it-”

Jin glances up sharply, his brow creasing again in worry. “Ai, stop moving! You’ve got nothing on your feet!”

The youth shuffles an inch or so closer, twisting his hands together. “But-”

“Jeon Jungkook.” Jin sets down his brush and pan, a stern and foreboding look on his face as he slowly straightens up. “What did I just say?”

He takes another step. “But I’m only trying to-”

Jin crosses the kitchen area in a few brisk strides, and although there’s a huge warning light flashing in the back of Jungkook’s mind and the impulse to flee upstairs is somewhat overwhelming, the youth finds himself rooted to the spot for just a few seconds too long. A hand clamps around his wrist, tight but not painfully so, and in the blink of an eye he’s being marched across the room and back over to the chair at the dining table he’d recently vacated.

“Since there seems to be something wrong with your ears,” Jin says, taking a seat and giving the youth's wrist a firm tug to overbalance him, “I guess I’ll have to try a different method of talking to you.”

With a quiet, startled meep of alarm, Jungkook reaches out to catch himself as he teeters forward, but Jin’s thighs halt the fall first. It’s a woefully familiar position, but the owner of the lap is unusual – normally it’s Namjoon or Yoongi collaring him for a stern scolding and a brief trip over their knee. Jin’s more of a firm-lecture-and-disappointed-look sort of person, although Jungkook’s found himself tipped forward over the singer’s arm for a few brisk swats often enough. But clearly he hasn’t just stepped a toe out of line this time; he’s fucking breakdanced right across it.

Aish. He should’ve worn jeans today. His cotton shorts really aren’t going to cushion anything.

The thing is, Jin has the most amazing hands – good nails and smooth skin, long fingers that are perfectly in proportion to the rest of him. More than once Jungkook has admired those hands, found himself grateful for their skill in cleverly dicing vegetables for stew, for their talent in working out the knots in his shoulders after a busy schedule at the studio, for the way those fingers will brush through his hair and coax him effortlessly to sleep.

As it turns out, they have another hidden talent previously unknown to Jungkook.

“Ahh! Hyung…” he whines, fingers clenched tight in the fabric of Jin’s slacks as a fierce, stinging heat is quickly stoked hotter and hotter in his hindquarters. Good god, and he’d thought Yoongi was heavy-handed.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, little brat,” Jin lectures after what feels like hours of spanking, his voice low and calm despite the brisk, unforgiving pace of his swats. “But this behaviour ends now, Jungkook-ah. When a hyung tells you to do something, you listen respectfully. You don’t just ignore them. And you certainly do not throw a tantrum.”

The youth winces as the heat continues to mount, toes drumming against the floor. “I didn’t mean to,” he whines. “It was an accident!”

“What was an accident?” Jin slows his spanks a little. “The glass?”

Jungkook nods his head vigorously, gulping in a few shaky breaths and blinking back the hot tears that have begun to pool in his eyes against his will.

“I see.” The singer pats his thigh. “So the ball threw itself at the wall?”

Fuck. “N-no…no, I threw it but- ahh! Oww! Hyung!”

Jin sighs above him. “If you’re the one who threw it, how exactly was it an accident, Kook-ah?”

“Because I was aiming for your head!”

The moment he blurts it out he wants to take it back again. But to his surprise, the spanking suddenly stops, and half a beat later Jin starts to laugh. And not just a quiet chuckle, a full-on peel of unrestrained, bubbling laughter, the type that’s so infectious that usually Jungkook ends up giggling along with him. But not right now – JK is slightly confused and a little bit concerned for his hyung’s sanity, but mostly he’s just relieved that his burning rear has been granted a moment’s reprieve.

Unclenching one hand from the leg of the man’s slacks, Jungkook scrubs some of the tears from his eyes. “H-hyung?”

The slight hitch in his wavering voice seems to give Jin the motivation he needs to rein in laughter, and with a quiet, amused sort of huff, the singer’s hand moves from its resting place on the back of Jungkook’s thigh and begins rubbing gentle circles at the small of his back instead.

“Aigoo, Kookie,” Jin murmurs fondly, a smile in his voice. “I thought your aim was better than that.”

Tensed muscles relaxing at the sudden change from stern-Jin to regular-Jin, Jungkook sags a little over the singer’s lap, using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to scrub at his damp cheeks.

“I’m s-sorry, hyung,” he says again, hating the way his breath hitches. “I never wanted…I didn’t mean to-”

“Shh.” Jin’s other hand moves up to rub the back of the teen’s neck. “I know you didn’t, baby. You’re not over my knee because you broke the glass.”

Jungkook blinks, confused, and twists around to glance back at his hyung in surprise. “I’m not?”

Smiling fondly, Jin shakes his head, and a moment later the singer is carefully helping him up, tugging the youth down to sit in his lap, looping both arms around him in a tight embrace. Jungkook’s rear still smarts enough that sitting makes him wince a little, but he eagerly burrows into the hug all the same, smushing his face into Jin’s shoulder to hide his tears.

“I didn’t spank you for breaking the glass, Kook-ah,” Jin reiterates quietly, hand stroking over the back of his head. “I took you over my knee because you weren’t listening to me, and I was worried you might hurt yourself. If you’d stayed away from the kitchen like I’d asked, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Jungkook’s brow scrunches up in confusion, but he doesn’t lift his face from the safe nook he’s found between Jin’s neck and shoulder. “You…you’re not mad about the glass?”

“I’m not thrilled you threw the ball after I’d asked you not to,” the singer answers softly. “But it’s only a glass, Jungkook-ah. Joonie breaks something at least once a week. Drinking glasses can be replaced – but your foot can’t. If you’d stepped on a shard, it would’ve meant a trip to the hospital for stitches and another few weeks benched from dance practice. Is that what you wanted?”

The teenager shakes his head vigorously.

“Mm, I didn’t think so.” Jin rubs his back soothingly, turning his head a little to press his lips to Jungkook’s temple as he hugs him tighter. “Listening to hyung isn’t just about respect, Kookie. When I tell you not to do something, it isn’t to spoil your fun; I do it for your own safety.”

Jungkook sniffles. “I know. I’m sorry, hyung.”

Jin presses another kiss to his hair, and a comfortable sort of silence falls between them, the elder giving his dongsaeng the time he needs to recover. Jungkook could happily stay cuddled up in his hyung’s lap for the rest of the day, even if his ass isn’t a big fan of sitting down right now. Jin gives the best hugs.

His tears have already dried and his breathing has settled back down again when he hears footsteps coming down the stairs and along the hallway.

“You’re supposed to be resting, Joonie,” Jin chides a moment later, and Jungkook finally lifts his head from the man’s shoulder to glance towards the doorway.

Namjoon smiles at them, looking tired and a touch paler than normal, but otherwise his usual composed self.

“It’s almost noon,” the rapper answers as he slowly crosses the room towards them. “I’ve had more than enough rest. Besides, I felt like I ought to come and make sure you weren’t murdering our maknae.”

Jungkook flushes, remembering how easily loud noises tend to echo when the house is mostly empty, but Namjoon’s smile is warm and sympathetic rather than teasing as he reaches out to ruffle the teen’s hair.

“Was he mean to you, Kookie-ah?”

Again, it’s an unusual role-reversal; normally it’d be Jin coming in to offer him comfort and a gentle smile after Jungkook has been disciplined by Namjoon. Still, he finds he doesn’t mind the change, and does exactly what he normally would do if it were Jin coming to his ‘rescue’.

“It hurts,” he whines, and throws in a pout for good measure. “His hand is bigger than yours, hyung.”

“Ai, poor baby,” Namjoon sympathises, tugging Jungkook up and away from Jin’s lap and pulling him into a hug, reaching around to rub the punished area through JK’s shorts. “It’s alright, kiddo; hyung will protect you from that brute.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then Jin clears his throat pointedly.

“I’m sorry?” the singer arches an eyebrow at his dongsaeng. “What did you just call me?”

“Ah.” Namjoon starts edging back towards the door, a grinning Jungkook still in his clutches. “Kookie, this is what’s known in battle as a tactical retreat.”

“A brute?” Jin stands slowly, and his face stern, but a sort of playfulness dancing in his eyes as he pushes up the sleeves of his sweatshirt to bare his forearms. “I’ll show you ‘brute’, Kim Namjoon.”

Jungkook laughs, his heart light and his smile wide, and lets himself be dragged upstairs by his cowardly hyung, his previous grievances utterly forgotten.

Chapter Text

.

Jungkook aches.

He had hoped a shower would ease the pain and seep the heaviness from his muscles, but as the hot water cascades over his shoulders and down his back, all he can think of doing is closing his eyes and going to sleep right where he stands. It isn’t a new feeling – his schedule these past couple of weeks has been pretty intense, and between the long days he’s spent training at the studio and the late evenings he’s dedicated to schoolwork, Jungkook knows his body has reached its limit.

BangPD had told him this might happen.

“Your debut year is going to be a difficult time for you, Jungkook-ah,” PD-nim had warned him (not unkindly) just over six months ago, when the teenager had sat down with his parents to sign his contract with BigHit as the maknae of their newest idol group. “Your bandmates have more experience, and you’ll need to work twice as hard to achieve what we expect of you. There will be days when you are exhausted and feel like giving up, but you just need to push through them – you have more strength than you know. We wouldn’t be offering you this chance if we didn’t think you were capable of becoming an idol.”

Those first few months had been exhausting, but Jungkook had been too swept up in the excitement of fulfilling his dream and somehow he hadn’t felt the strain. He’d been nervous about their first debut performance, of course he had, but everything had turned out so well and the reaction from their steadily growing army of fans has been overwhelming. The managers had even complimented him on how well he was handling all of it, dubbing him the ‘Golden Maknae’ of BTS, a title that Jungkook was keen to live up to.

Which is why he’s been trying to hide his current state of deterioration from the rest of the group. Idols don’t cry (well, except in the shower where nobody can see them, but that doesn’t count, right?), and the last thing he wants to do is burden his hyungs with the knowledge that their maknae is a weak little cry-baby.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the bathroom door, startling Jungkook from his tired slouch against the cool tiled wall of the shower cubicle.  

“Kookie?” Jimin calls from the hallway. “Jin-hyung says dinner will be ready soon. Are you almost done?”

Shutting off the water, Jungkook shakes his head to wake himself up a little more. “Yes, hyung,” he promises, glad that his sore throat doesn’t make his voice crack. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The pain had started as a slight hoarseness earlier this morning, which he’d put down to spending so many hours this week practicing his solo vocals in preparation for their TV appearance in a few days. It’s only been a few short months since their first debut, and now that they’re beginning to gain popularity and recognition, the radio show and TV interviews are becoming a fairly regular part of their schedule. It’s both thrilling and exhausting, but Jungkook wouldn’t have it any other way – he just wishes his body wasn’t so fragile.

Scrubbing himself dry briskly, he slips into a clean pair of cotton shorts and a baggy t-shirt; as soon as dinner’s over, he’s going to excuse himself from the group and go straight to bed. There’s no reason why he can’t do his schoolwork from the comfort of his bunk – his aching body would definitely feel better lying down somewhere soft.

Opening the bathroom door, he steps out into the comparatively-cool air of the hallway, teeth chattering a little as he braces against the chill. Tensing his muscles makes the ache a hundred times worse than before, and Jungkook pauses to take a few deep breaths, reaching out to steady himself against the nearby wall for balance when a wave of dizziness hits him.

Aish. Maybe he shouldn’t have been studying so late last night.

Suddenly finding his appetite gone, and keen to lay down on a horizontal surface as soon as possible (before he ends up giving into the urge to just sink to the floor and stay there forever), Jungkook turns away from the cheerful chatter coming from the kitchen at the end of the hallway and makes a beeline for the shared dorm room instead.

“Did you fall asleep in the shower?” Taehyung teases without glancing up from his phone, splayed out along his top bunk in a casual repose.

“Mm,” Jungkook answers, because using words would require a level of concentration that’s currently beyond him. It’s taking every ounce of strength just to put one foot in front of the other, his gaze fixed determinedly on the bottom bunk as he moves across the room.

The duvet is soft and cool against his skin as he flops down onto it with a shaky sigh, pressing his face into the pillow, closing his eyes to help relieve the stinging that’s already begun to build up there.

“Taehyungie!” Jin’s voice calls cheerfully, echoing up through the hallway from the kitchen. “Jungkookie! Come and eat!”

Bare feet thunk lightly against the floor as Taehyung drops down from the bunk above him, but Jungkook can’t find the strength to so much as roll over. He normally has a good appetite (between his growing body and all the additional hours of dance as an idol, he’s always eager to eat) and by the evening meal he’s normally famished. But tonight there’s a sickly sort of weight at the pit of his stomach, and the thought of food really doesn’t appeal to him at all.

He senses Taehyung pause beside their bunkbed, and a moment later there’s a hand ruffling his hair as the older singer leans over him.

“Tired, Kookie?” Tae sympathises, patting his shoulder.

“Mm,” Jungkook hums again.

“I told you not to stay up so late,” V chides, but there’s warmth and humour in his voice. “Aish, you’ve already started picking up bad habits from Yoongi-hyung. When it comes to sleeping schedules, he’s really not a good role model, Kook-ah.”

Despite how crap he feels, Jungkook can’t help but smile a little at that, turning his head on the pillow to glance sideways at the other maknae.

“Oooh, I’m telling hyung,” he threatens teasingly, and feels his smile twitch wider into a little grin when Tae looks mildly alarmed at the notion.

Jungkook values his closeness with Taehyung more than anything these days. Living under the same roof as six hyungs is still sort of new (even though he’s been working with them in the studio for many months), and while they all treat him kindly, the age gap between himself and his eldest hyungs sometimes seems a little daunting. But Tae and Jimin are much closer to his own age, enough so that he doesn’t feel it’s disrespectful to tease them or poke fun. The thought of playfully insulting Namjoon or Jin or (god forbid) Yoongi makes his stomach flutter nervously – they’re all close as a team, but there are certain liberties he doesn’t feel ready to take just yet.

“You brat.” Tae plucks at the hem of the teen’s t-shirt, grinning. “Come on, let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

Jungkook shakes his head a little, cheek rubbing against the pillow. “I’m not really hungry. You go ahead.”

Taehyung blinks, surprised, and Jungkook realises it’s probably the first time the words “not hungry” have left his lips since he and Tae first met each other. The older boy cocks his head a little to one side, a very faint crease appearing in his brow.

“Did you eat already?”

Jungkook could lie, but he doesn’t want to. He doubts Tae would believe him anyway – the singer has this weird sort of sixth sense about stuff like that.

“I’m just tired, hyung, like you said,” he answers, and the jaw-cracking yawn he hides against the back of his hand isn’t just for effect. “And I ate a big lunch, so-”

“What’s taking the two of you so long?” Jimin asks from the doorway, flashing them both one of his wide, easy smiles. Jungkook can’t deny that he sort of loves the way it makes the dancer’s cheeks dimple. “If you don’t come quickly, all the meat will be gone.”

Taehyung straightens up at that with a noise of alarm, moving a few paces towards the door before pausing again and shooting a quick glance back towards Jungkook. The teenager tries for a reassuring smile, but even to him it feels flat and unconvincing. Tae’s brow creases again.

“Jin-hyung made chicken skewers,” V tempts, a last-ditch attempt at persuasion. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat?”

Jungkook shakes his head again, and Jimin’s eyes are on him immediately, the dancer pushing himself away from the doorjamb and crossing the room towards the teen’s bed.

“Aren’t you hungry, Jungkookie?” his hyung asks, the mattress dipping as Jimin perches on the edge of the lower bunk. His hand comes to rest on the teen’s lower back, rubbing gently in small circles. “Is everything alright?”

Nodding, the youth manages a slightly more genuine (albeit tired) smile. “I just want to take a nap first, that’s all. I’m too tired to eat, hyung.”

The dancer’s wincing smile is sympathetic. “The managers have been pushing us hard this week,” he acknowledges quietly. “You shouldn’t be staying up so late.”

Jimin pats the younger man’s back. “Take a nap, Kookie; we’ll keep something back for you, I’m sure it’ll taste just as good when it’s reheated. I’ll come wake you up in an hour or so, okay?”

Jungkook is glad that he won’t be forced to join the others at the table; currently the thought of keeping up a lengthy conversation, or even sitting upright for more than a few seconds, makes him cringe inwardly. The teenager lets his eyelids droop closed a little more, heaving a long, relieved sigh when Jimin switches off the bedroom light on his way out of the door.

He’s asleep within seconds.

…

With a quiet huff of frustration, Yoongi opens another draw in his dresser, rummaging around amongst the clothes and assorted belongings for his extension cord. If Namjoon’s gone and ‘borrowed’ it again without asking, Yoongi’s going to scold him in front of the maknaes, just see if he doesn’t.

“Hyung, not so loud,” Tae whispers from the doorway, peering into the darkened room. “You might wake Kookie.”

Yoongi glances towards where the maknae is stretched out across the bottom bunk nearby, fast asleep. “We should probably wake him anyway. He needs to eat something.”

Padding across the dorm on near-silent feet, Taehyung pauses near the bunkbed to observe the snoozing teenager. He tilts his head a little to one side with a quiet coo.

“Aww, do we have to?” the singer whines quietly. “Just look at him, hyung. He’s so cute when he’s asleep.”

Suga can’t argue with his donsaeng – cute is certainly a good adjective to describe their maknae. He’s shy and a little awkward, but hard-working and eager to please, with a sweet nature that had quickly won over the group as a whole when they’d officially started working together just under a year ago. Jungkook’s come out of his shell a lot since then, and behaves with admirable maturity for someone so young, but in a lot of ways he’s still just a child.

Looking at him now, his face lax in sleep and lips parted a little, Yoongi can’t help but regret the need to wake him up. Jungkook’s been working so hard since their debut, and he knows the maknae must be tired – but if he doesn’t eat tonight, he’ll regret it in the morning when he has no energy reserves.

“Jungkook-ah,” he calls quietly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and patting the boy’s shoulder. “Time to wake up.”

The teenager stirs, inhaling deeply, but after a few seconds his features go slack again. Yoongi hears Taehyung huff a quiet laugh behind him, and feels his own lips twitch up in a fond half-smile. If they ever get around to shooting a ‘Wake Up With BTS’ video, the fans are going to go crazy for how cute this kid is.

Pulling out the big guns, Yoongi reaches over to the small lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and flooding the darkened dorm with pale yellow light. Putting his hand back on Jungkook’s shoulder, he gives the teen an ever-so-gentle shake.

“Come on,” he says, a little louder. “You need to eat something.”

The teenager’s expression twitches, brow furrowing a little as he lets out a low whine of protest, pulling away from Yoongi’s touch and hugging the duvet closer around his body

“M’not hungry,” Jungkook croaks, squinting up at the rapper. “Wanna sleep.”

“You can go back to bed as soon as you’ve eaten dinner,” Yoongi reasons, tugging on the duvet to try and remove it. When Jungkook clutches onto it like a lifeline, he huffs out a sigh, adopting a firm tone even though he finds the sleepy maknae’s stubbornness pretty adorable. “This isn’t up for negotiation, kid. Either you walk to the kitchen yourself or Tae and I are gonna drag you there.”

Jungkook groans, and with an air of reluctance he slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position, blinking sleepily at the rapper sleepily, his hair sticking up at all angles. It makes just about the cutest picture Yoongi’s ever seen.

Aish, this kid’s going to ruin him. He never used to be this soft.

“Ten minutes,” he promises, softening his tone in sympathy for his sleepy dongsaeng. “Then you can sleep all you want. Deal?”

The teenager nods, the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallows wincingly. Yoongi doesn’t miss the pinched look of discomfort, and feels his smile falter a little.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You feeling okay?”

Jungkook nods again, flashing him a brief, tired smile. “My throat’s dry,” he explains hoarsely. “It’s been a while since I last had a drink.”

“You should ask Jin-hyung for a throat lozenge,” Tae pipes up, leaning against the bunk’s ladder and peering down at the teenager with a cheerful smile. “They taste like cherry candies. Sometimes I pretend my throat is dry just so I can have one.”

Yoongi reaches out to tap the back of the singer’s thigh. “Kim Taehyung. Stop corrupting our maknae.”

V grins at him, wide and unrepentant. “But hyung, it’s so much fun- ai!”

The singer darts nimbly out of Yoongi’s reach, giggling his little musical laugh (the one that makes it nearly impossible for the rest of the group to be cross with him, even when Tae’s being a brat), and the rapper stands quickly to give pursuit. He pauses in the doorway to point a faux-warning finger back at Jungkook, who’s still blinking at his surroundings groggily.

“Don’t go back to sleep.”

Jungkook gives him a thumbs-up in response, rubbing wearily at his eyes, and Yoongi studies him for half a beat longer before turning to chase after his bratty dongsaeng.

…

Eating had been a mistake.

Jungkook had managed to hide just how shitty he was feeling for the ten minutes it had taken him to force down his dinner (normally he loves Jin’s cooking, but tonight every mouthful had tasted wrong and swallowing had aggravated his already-sore throat).

The urge to lay his head down on the table and go to sleep had been difficult to resist, and he’d spent the whole time blinking forcefully to keep his lids from drooping, but under Jin and Yoongi’s watchful eyes he’d felt pressured into keeping up the act. If either of them found out he was feeling sick, it’d be a disaster – they’d tell the managers about it for sure, and Jungkook just can’t risk that.

As promised, his hyungs had been fine about him going straight back to bed the moment his bowl was empty, so he’d left the group gathered together in the living room, all of them absorbed in their own activities (Jimin, Namjoon and Tae had been growing steadily more vocal about whatever console game they were playing over by the TV, while the other three hyungs had worked quietly on their laptops on the opposite couch). Jungkook had used their distraction to his own advantage, bidding them all croaky goodnight and beating a hasty retreat – or as hasty as his tired, achy legs could manage, at least.

However, despite his state of exhaustion, he hasn’t been able to fall back to sleep. It’s frustrating as hell.

Jin’s food sits heavily in his stomach, that sickly feeling from before steadily worsening into an uncomfortable sort of churning that makes him bring his knees up and curl an arm around his stomach with a grimace.

You’re not going to vomit, he tells himself firmly. Just stop thinking about it and go to sleep.

But the harder he tries to ignore it, the more persistent the churning becomes, until he can feel a burning sort of heat building at the back of his throat.

Fuck.

Swinging his legs out of bed with a strength he hadn’t realised he still possessed, Jungkook launches to his feet, clamping a hand over his mouth as he stumbles through the darkened dorm room and yanks the door open, blinded by the light of the hallway but unable to spare so much as a millisecond in order to allow his eyes to adjust. The bathroom has never seemed so far away, and he doesn’t even have time to close and lock the door behind him as he staggers inside, making a beeline for the toilet and crashing painfully to his knees in front of it.

Jungkook hates being sick. He hates it. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually vomited throughout the duration of his childhood – overall he’s been in good health, but on occasion he’s come down with a stomach flu or a niggling virus that’s kept him off school for a couple of days, but even then he’s almost always managed to keep himself from puking through sheer willpower. Unfortunately, today his stomach isn’t interested in holding a debate with his brain.

It’s the burn he hates the most; the fierce heat that stings at his throat and the back of his nose as he retches and coughs, quickly bringing up everything he’s recently ingested. His sore throat screams in pain at the acid burn, his eyes streaming as he fumbles blindly for the toilet paper, pushing the flush with his other hand before the contents of the porcelain bowl make him heave again.

It isn’t until he’s blown his nose and scrubbed the tears from his eyes that it registers that he can no longer hear Jimin and Tae’s excited shouting echoing up the hallway from the living room.

“Kook?”

He glances back over his shoulder in time to see Hoseok appear in the bathroom doorway, the dancer’s faint frown of concern quickly shifting to a look of alarm when their eyes meet. Jungkook knows he must look a sight – on his knees slumped against the toilet, cheeks flushed, eyes red and damp. He certainly feels shitty enough.

“Ai! Jungkookie,” Hobi exclaims, crossing over to him quickly, crouching down and rubbing a hand up his spine soothingly, even as he turns his head to call back towards the door. “Jin-hyung!”

The teenager flinches at the shout, head throbbing and heartbeat pulsing loudly in his ears, the spike of pain prompting him to lean forwards over the toilet again, stomach clenching in warning.  

“Sorry, shit, I’m sorry,” J-Hope hurries to apologise, his voice significantly softer now as he rubs slow circles between Jungkook’s shoulders. “Deep breaths, kid, you’re okay.”

“Kookie-ah?”

It’s Jin, his face full of concern as he sinks down to kneel on the teen’s other side, reaching out to settle one of his large, cool hands over the back of Jungkook’s neck. The touch feels amazing, but unfortunately the rest of him still feels like death warmed up (and up, and up), and despite the fact that the nausea has mostly passed, he can feel his eyes stinging threateningly.

“What’s wrong with him?” Namjoon asks worriedly from the doorway.

Jin doesn’t answer him, busy tilting Jungkook’s chin towards him, his other hand moving to settle over the teen’s forehead.

“Do you feel like you need to be sick again?” the singer asks him softly.

Jungkook shakes his head, not trusting his voice at the moment given how badly his throat burns.

“Then let’s get you back to bed, kiddo.” Jin’s smile is gentle, but the worry’s still there in his eyes, and it sparks a guilty sort of ache in Jungkook’s chest. This is exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

He allows his hyung to help him to his feet, Hobi supporting him on his other side as he shuffles his way over to the sink to wash his hands and splash water on his sweaty face. When he turns towards the door, the others are all hovering at the threshold to the room, regarding him in open concern.

Taehyung glances from Jungkook’s face to Jin’s as the older singer helps their maknae exit the bathroom. “Is he okay?”

“He’s running a fever,” Jin answers, quietly but calmly. “Tae, could you get him some water? And bring a cold compress if you can find a clean facecloth. Jimin-ah, the thermometer should be somewhere in the living room closet, check in the first aid kit. Yoongi, could you call -”

“Already on it,” Yoongi reassures, phone in hand as his thumbs tap away at the screen.

Jungkook’s head is spinning a little too much to keep track of everything that’s going on – instead he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other so that he doesn’t stumble, although he’s fairly sure Hobi and Jin are the only reason he isn’t already in a crumpled heap on the floor. He feels so weak, like he could tremble out of his own skin, and all he wants to do is curl up in a ball and sob his heart out.

“Easy, easy,” Jin murmurs, helping him to sit down on the edge of his bunk and lay back down on top of the duvet. He desperately wants to crawl underneath it, but if Jin’s right and he’s running a fever, he knows that wouldn’t be the best idea.

“God, you’re really burning up,” J-Hope comments worriedly, crouching down by the head of the bed, the backs of his fingers brushing against Jungkook’s flushed cheek. “Poor baby. Bet you feel awful, huh?”

Jungkook nods miserably.

“Does anything hurt?” Namjoon asks, moving around the bunkbed to sit on the opposite side of the mattress, hand settling on the teenager’s arm, thumb rubbing the skin there soothingly. When JK nods again, he gives the limb a gentle squeeze. “Where, kiddo?”

The youth swallows painfully, a lump lodged in his aching throat. “Everywhere,” he croaks. “But mostly my head. An’ my throat. An’ everywhere.”

Hoseok makes a noise of sympathy, brushing his fringe back from his sweaty forehead. “When did this all start?”

“Um…” Jungkook contemplates lying for about half a second, but the worried faces of his hyungs guilt-trips him into telling the truth. “A few days ago, I guess.”

“A few days?” Jin echoes in surprise, his face falling, as he takes Jungkook’s hand between his own, giving it a little shake even as he squeezes it gently. “Aigoo, Jungkookie, why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Jungkook averts his gaze, feeling his eyes sting at the gentle scolding. “Because I was fine,” he tries to insist, but the way his voice cracks hoarsely belies that statement. “And PD-nim will be disappointed if he finds out, and I didn’t want you all think I was weak because I’m not and, and…”

“Ai, Kook-ah,” Hoseok murmurs softly, sadly. “Don’t cry, it’s okay.”

But Jungkook feels awful and his hyungs are all worried about him and Yoongi’s gone to call the managers so everyone’s going to know that he isn’t strong enough to cope with the pressures of being an idol, and it’s just the worst day every. So fuck it, he’s going to cry.

He covers his face with his arms in an attempt to make his breakdown less obvious, but then hands are easing him upright, somebody slipping onto the bed behind him so that he’s reclining against a strong chest as long arms wrap around him snugly.

“You’re okay,” Jin murmurs in his ear. “You’ve had a busy few weeks, I should’ve seen this coming. Jungkook-ah, being sick doesn’t make you weak. Do you know how often I came down with throat infections when I first started as a trainee? The real miracle is that you’ve lasted this long without getting sick.”

“Nobody’s upset with you,” Namjoon promises, gently tugging Jungkook’s hands away from his face so that he can hold the teen’s gaze, his smile gentle and reassuring. “BangPD won’t be disappointed when he finds out you’re sick – did he give Jiminie a hard time when he got sick last month?”

“N-no,” Jungkook acknowledges, scrubbing at his damp cheeks, breath hitching a little. “But that was different, hyung needed antibiotics because he was really sick, I’m just-”

“Really sick,” Hoseok tacks on pointedly, squeezing the teen’s knee. “Seriously, Kook, you look terrible. There’s no way BangPD would want you to train when you’re like this. A day or so to rest and I’m sure you’ll feel-”

“I can’t just take the day off,” Jungkook croakily interrupts, shooting an alarmed glance at his hyung. “We’ve got so much to do, and the managers-”

“Already know not to expect you at the studio tomorrow,” Yoongi finishes for him, crossing the dorm to lean against the ladder of the bunkbed, phone still in hand. “And if you’re not any better by the morning, BangPD’s taking you to see a doctor.”

Jungkook swallows again, wincing with the motion. “He wasn’t angry with me?”

“No, kiddo.” Yoongi’s expression softens, and he moves to sit on the mattress near the teenager’s feet, reaching out to squeeze his ankle. “Everyone just wants you to rest and get better quickly.”

The youth relaxes a little at that, sagging back against Jin’s chest a little more, although a sudden tickle in his ear makes him startle.

“Sorry,” Jimin murmurs, resting a hand against Jungkook’s brow to keep his head from moving. “Hold still for me, buddy.”

There’s a pause as everyone seems to hold their breath at the same time, then a quiet, electronic beep.

“Jaenjang,” Hoseok swears quietly after half a beat of silence, and it’s a rare enough occurrence that Jungkook glances at him in surprise.

“Let me see,” Jin murmurs, and Jimin obligingly turns the thermometer away from Hobi and towards his eldest hyung. Jin stares at it for a moment before heaving a short, sharp sigh, arms tightening a little around Jungkook’s waist. “You really like to go all-out don’t you, kid?”

“Sorry.” Jungkook can’t think of anything else to say.

“It’s not your fault,” Jimin is quick to reassure, reaching out to run his fingers through the teenager’s hair. “You can’t help being sick, it could’ve happened any of us-”

There’s a scuffling noise from the doorway, and six heads turn to glance over to where Taehyung is fumbling with his armload of supplies. There must be no less than five bottles of water, a box of tissues, a damp washcloth, and what seems to be the entire contents of the medicine cabinet.

“I figured he might need to take something, if he’s feverish,” Taehyung explains, eyeing Jungkook worriedly as he shuffles closer to the bed, his assorted burdens wobbling precariously. “But I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I kinda just bought everything?”

Despite his bodily aches, Jungkook feels his lips twitch up in a faint smile at that.

“Thanks, hyung,” he croaks, and means it. He lets his gaze travel around his other bandmates, feeling a different sort of warmth fill his chest as they each return his smile. “Seriously, thank you. I…I know I don’t say this as often as I should, but I’m really glad BangPD picked me to join you guys.”

Taehyung promptly dumps his armload of supplies into Yoongi’s lap so that he can throw himself on top of Jungkook in a tackle hug, much to everyone else’s alarm. Namjoon is already scolding the young singer and trying to tug Tae into his own arms to stop him from crushing their maknae, but Jungkook’s wobbly smile stretches wider into a tired grin as he feels Jin’s silent (for once) laughter shuddering through him, and he feels better for it.

Maybe being sick won’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

.

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, smiling towards the camera that he’s carefully perched on top of the dresser opposite his bed. “I wish we didn’t have to say goodnight so soon, but Taehyungie will sulk in the car tomorrow if he’s too tired.”

The younger singer pokes him in the hip with a low, sleepy grumble of protest, and Jimin laughs, catching the hand and giving it a squeeze before turning his attention back towards the camera.

“Thank you for spending time with us this evening, ARMY.” He smiles widely and dips his head in a little bow. “And thank you for continuing to support us with your messages.”

Taehyung’s other hand emerges from beneath the pillow he’s hidden his face in, fingers wiggling in a little wave. “Thank you,” he echoes sleepily. “Love you, ARMY.”

Jimin blows a cute kiss towards the camera, then stands up from the bed to approach the device, getting close enough to the lens that only his face is visible before giving a grin and a wink.

“Goodnight!”

He switches the camera off to end the V-Live, disconnecting the cable from the laptop and shutting that down as well, yawning widely. It’s been a busy couple of days, but he and Tae had promised the fans that they’d do another joint livestream after the charity show, so they’d fought off the urge to crawl under the duvet and go to sleep in order to fulfil that promise. The show hadn’t finished until after ten o’clock, but their hotel had only been a five minute drive from the charity venue, so after quickly showering and changing into their pyjamas, they’d set up the camera and laptop for a quick livestream session; albeit one that had inadvertently turned into something far longer than they’d originally intended.

Jungkook had left the room a couple of hours ago (before the V-Live had started) in order to borrow Yoongi’s headphones, but he still hasn’t returned yet, so presumably Suga and J-Hope have convinced the maknae to spend the night in their room (again) watching Studio Ghibli movies on Hobi’s laptop.

“Can we sleep now?” Taehyung asks drowsily, turning his head on the pillow to blink towards Jimin with tired, puffy-looking eyes. “Please?”

Smiling fondly, Jimin crosses back over to the double bed, scooting across the mattress to spoon up behind his dongsaeng. The hotel room technically has two double beds, but neither of them intend to use the second bed – Tae always tends to sleep better if he’s cuddled up to a warm body, and the team are careful to make sure someone is readily available to fulfil that role every night. As an unspoken role, that person tends to be Jimin (with Jungkook often acting as a second partner when they can persuade him to join them), and the dancer is more than happy with that arrangement. He’s grown so accustomed to sleeping with V that he genuinely doubts he’d be able to rest well without the man’s company.

“Tired, Taehyungie?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the back of V’s neck.

“Mm,” Tae agrees, slowly twisting in his hold so that he’s facing Jimin, tucking his head beneath the dancer’s chin. “Turn off the light.”

“Aish, this kid. Is that any way to talk to your hyung?” Despite his words, there’s no hint of censure to his tone, and Jimin lips have curled up into a tired smile. “Bossy brat.”

“Hyuuuuung,” the younger man whines. “Pleeeease?”

“Okay, okay.” Jimin laughs softly, stroking the back of V’s head. “My Taehyungie’s worked hard today. And don’t worry, PD-nim says we don’t have to leave here until midday tomorrow, so you can sleep in as late as you like.”

Taehyung hums appreciatively, nestling further into the dancer’s hold. “Good.”

Jimin’s eyelids are growing heavier by the second, and although the bedside lamps are still on, he honestly can’t be bothered to uncurl himself from around Tae in order to go and switch them off. He’s so tired…

Knock-knock!

Jimin groans softly at the quiet rap on the hotel room door, reluctantly pulling himself away from a clinging Taehyung (who whines in protest at the loss of body heat), scrubbing a hand through his hair as he rolls out of bed and trudges over to the door with a low, faux-surly grumble.

“If Kookie’s lost his keycard again, he’s getting smacked…”

However, after a quick glance through the peephole, he opens the door with a smile (albeit a sleepy one). Jin smiles back at him warmly, although there’s a guilty sort of wince forming around his eyes as he takes in Jimin’s dishevelled state.

“Ai, Jiminie,” he murmurs, reaching out to brush the dancer’s fringe back from his forehead. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Jimin shakes his head and beckons the elder man inside. “No, it’s okay, I wasn’t asleep yet. Was there something you needed, hyung?”

“I just wanted to stop by and check on the three of you before I turned in,” Jin explains, closing the door behind him and slipping an arm around Jimin as he steers him back down the short entrance corridor and into the main part of the bedroom. “You’ve eaten dinner, right?”

Jimin moves to perch on the side of the bed as Taehyung (looking only semiconscious) slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position.

“We ordered room service during our V-Live,” Jimin answers, watching fondly as Tae shuffles to sit the edge of the mattress so that he can lean forwards and lightly thunk his forehead against Jin’s stomach. “Taehyungie ate well.”

“Good.” With a soft smile, Jin settles a hand over the back of V’s neck. “Someone’s tired, I see.”

“Mm,” Tae agrees with his eyes closed.

Jin cards his fingers through the youth’s short hair. “Then I’d better let you go back to sleep.” He glances up briefly to peer around the hotel room. “Where’s Jungkookie?”

“Not here,” V supplies helpfully, the words muffled by Jin’s sweatshirt.

“He left to visit Yoongi before we set up the V-Live,” Jimin elaborates, yawning against the back of his hand and blinking heavily to keep his eyelids from drooping. “Guess he decided to spend the night in their room again.”

A very faint crease appears in the elder’s brow. “That can’t be right. I only just came from Yoongi’s room a moment ago; he and Hobi were alone.”

Taehyung lifts his head from Jin’s stomach at that, tired eyes squinting up at him blearily. “Are you sure?”

At Jin’s nod, Jimin feels a trickle of uneasiness slither down his spine, something uncomfortable stirring in his stomach.

“And he’s not in your room with Namjoon-hyung?”

The elder man gives him a look. “Jiminie. If he was in my room, I wouldn’t need to be asking about him, would I?” His gaze cuts between his two dongsaengs, the crease in his brow deepening. “How long has he been gone?”

Jimin and Tae share a look, their previous fatigue quickly dissipating when the seriousness of the situation begins to sink in.

“He…he left before we started the V-Live,” Tae hedges, glancing towards the alarm clock on the bedside table. “So he must’ve been gone more than…”

“More than what?” Jin presses calmly, when the singer pauses for a beat too long.

Jimin drags his fingers through his hair, worry making his chest feel tight. “It’s been at least a couple of hours, hyung. He said he wanted to borrow Yoongi’s headphones, and when he didn’t come back we assumed he’d just decided to sleep there tonight.”

Jin takes a step backwards, one hand pushing through his hair as he visibly fights to keep his temper in check.

“Two hours?” he echoes. “Aigoo, Jiminie, you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him. He could be anywhere!”

Jimin winces guiltily, already leaning across the bed to grab his phone from the nightstand. “I’ll find him,” he promises. “He’s probably gone to work out or something, you know what he’s like.”

The hotel they’re staying in has complimentary gym and pool facilities for guests, and they’ve already had to lure Jungkook away from the apparatus a handful of times over the course of these past couple of days. When Kookie gets excited or nervous about an upcoming event, he tends to overexert himself in the gym, and the team has learned to take precautionary measures to keep their maknae from wearing himself out, even if that means physically hauling him away from the weight machines at two o’clock in the morning.

Jungkook is never happy about it, but they’d rather have a pouty dongsaeng than a sick one.

The soft, purring trill of the dial tone begins to pulse against his ear as he waits for Jungkook to pick up. All three of them give a start, however, when the maknae’s familiar ringtone begins to sing out from the pocket of the jacket that’s draped over one of the chairs at the little dining table on the other side of the room.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jimin moans, crossing over to it with trepidation and pulling the device free from the kid’s jacket. “Kookie knows he’s not supposed to leave his phone behind.”

It isn’t the first time this has happened, but after their last conversation on the subject (one that had involved Jungkook taking a very rare trip over Jimin’s knee after disappearing in the middle of the night without warning and leaving his cell phone behind), Jimin had hoped this particular bad habit was a thing of the past. Clearly he’d been mistaken.

“Just to clarify,” Jin murmurs, with an alarming level of serenity. “Jungkook has been missing for over two hours, without his phone?”

The three musicians share a significant glance.

“Jaenjang,” Taehyung concludes, and all hell breaks loose.

…

Elsewhere in the hotel, the mood is far less serious.

“…and even though it was obviously Jackson-hyung’s fault, he kept insisting it wasn’t,” BamBam enthuses, tears of laughter in his eyes. “Yugeommie, your face was so serious! And when JB-hyung started to scold me, I came so close to ruining everything by laughing, I literally had to pinch myself to keep from smiling. I still can’t believe you thought the wine was worth so much money!”

Jungkook laughs loudly, slinging an arm around Yugyeom’s shoulders when the younger maknae buries his blushing face in his hands.

“Aish, your hyungs are cruel, Yugyeom-ah,” he sympathises, tugging his friend into an easy sideways hug. “They pull so many tricks on you.”

“Only because we love him,” BamBam insists, punching his teammate in the knee lightly. “And Yugi plays pranks on the other hyungs all the time, so he kinda deserves it.”

“All of them?” Jungkook’s brows go up in surprise. “Even JB-hyung?”

Yugyeom lowers his hands to flash the older boy a cunning little grin. “He’s the most fun to mess with.”

“Aigoo!” The singer clutches a hand to his chest, feigning shock. “Aren’t you worried about getting into trouble?”

Over the course of this past year or so, Jungkook has formed close friendships with GOT7’s maknae line, but the older members still intimidate him a little bit. They seem nice enough, and greet him warmly whenever they meet, but the age difference between them always makes him feel a little too nervous to joke and be at ease with them, at least not in the way he is with his own group. Yugyeom and BamBam are different, though – they’re much closer in age to himself, and he’s found kindred spirits in them both; they’re also the first peers that he’s been able to call friends in a long time, outside of his own band members. And he hasn’t really made friends with anyone younger than him since high school, so his bond with Yugi is something he truly treasures among his small (but growing) group of friends. Being a hyung is still a new and somewhat novel experience for Jungkook.

So it had come as a pleasant surprise when he’d run into Yugyeom (quite literally) in the corridor outside his hotel room. They had performed at the same charity event earlier that night, but GOT7 had been given the first slot of the evening while BTS had featured later on in the program, so the two teams had barely had chance to do more than greet each other at the beginning and congratulate each other at the end before it was time to pack up and leave. It was purely by chance that the hotel the other band had booked into had faced security problems, prompting GOT7’s managers to make a last-minute change to and book the group into rooms at the opposite end of the hallway to BTS’s.

Jungkook had initially left Jimin’s room with the intention of returning only minutes later with Suga’s headphones, but Yugyeom had taken him by the arm and enthusiastically dragged him along the corridor to the bedroom he’d been assigned to share with BamBam. Armed with enough snacks to feed a small army, the Thai boy had tugged him down to sit on the bed and plied him with food in exchange for gossip.

It’s been a fun evening, to say the least.

“JB-hyung might seem a little scary at times,” Yugyeom says, drawing Jungkook away from his own thoughts. “But he’s a total softie underneath.”

BamBam hums in agreement, nodding sagely as he reaches for another box of green tea Pepero. “I suppose he did have a bit of short fuse to begin with,” he acknowledges, somewhat wistfully. “But he was under a lot of pressure when we first debuted. He’s mellowed a lot over the years, which is probably a good thing – Yugi here is more of a brat now than he ever was as a teenager. Hyung would’ve killed him back then for some of the shit he pulls these days.”

Yugyeom answers that accusation by respectfully kicking his elder in the butt. BamBam squawks in outrage and throws a Pepero at the maknae’s head, ducking the bag of dried seaweed snacks Yugi chucks at him in retribution. Jungkook’s laughing too hard at the pair of them to intervene (not that he would’ve wanted to anyway), but luckily an all-out food fight is prevented by the soft bzzt of the hotel room door being unlocked and opened.

“Aish, you kids need to keep it down,” the newcomer chides, amusement warming his tone. “I can hear you squabbling from the corridor.”

BamBam shoves away the pillow that Yugi’s been using to try and smother him, pink-cheeked and grinning from ear to ear. “Sorry, hyung!”

“It was Kookie-hyung’s fault,” Yugyeom tacks on, shooting Jungkook a sneaky little smile.

“Kookie?” JB echoes, appearing suddenly at the threshold to the bedroom, his expression shifting a little in surprise when his gaze comes to rest on the youngest member of BTS.

“Hello,” Jungkook says politely, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up to greet the elder idol properly. “I’m sorry if we were being too loud, hyung-nim.”

Recovering quickly from his momentary surprise, JB moves closer, flashing the youth an easy smile and reaching out to squeeze Jungkook’s shoulder.

“I doubt you’re the one to blame,” he comments wryly, eyes sliding knowingly towards the two GOT7 maknas who are currently trying to feign innocence a few feet away. “Did they kidnap you?”

Smiling a little, Jungkook gives a slight shrug. “Um. Sort of?”

JB turns his head now to look at his two dongsaengs properly, eyebrows arched expectantly. After a brief pause, BamBam points an accusatory finger towards his younger bandmate.

“Yugi did it.”

JB laughs, even as he reaches out to loop a restraining arm across Yugyeom’s chest to keep the maknae from launching himself at the traitorous Thai rapper. Jungkook hides a grin behind his hand as BamBam outright cackles, chucking corn snacks at Yugi’s forehead in an attempt to eke him on. Jaebum heaves a long-suffering sigh, although his fond grin somewhat belies the action, dropping down to physically situate himself on the bed between the two GOT7 maknaes, catching BamBam’s wrist with his free hand when the younger man reaches for an opened bag of shrimp snacks.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Bambam pouts cutely but obligingly relinquishes his hold on the savoury projectiles. With his free hand, however, he reaches for the nearby pillow and leans around his hyung’s back to thwack Yugyeom over the head. The maknae, having only recently stopped struggling against JB’s hold, immediately renews his efforts to bypass his eldest hyung in order to throttle BamBam.

“Jungkook-ah?” JB says, keeping Yugyeom restrained with remarkable ease considering the size difference between them, ignoring his dongsaeng’s playful bickering with the air of someone who’s long since grown accustomed to such behaviour. “Have you spoken to any of your bandmates recently?”

The younger man tilts his head, a little taken aback by the question. “Um…not for little while, hyung, no,” he answers politely. “Why?”

“Jin-hyung messaged me a short while ago,” JB tells him, turning his attention more fully towards Jungkook. “He asked if I could keep an eye out for you because it seems you’d wandered off without your phone.” The singer arches an eyebrow at him, his tone mild but gently chiding. “You at least should’ve told them where you were going, Kook-ah. And what if you’d needed to call for help?”

Jungkook’s hand immediately moves to the pocket of his hoodie, eyes widening a little when he remembers changing out of his jacket at the last minute before leaving the hotel room in search of Yoongi’s headphones. His gaze flickers frantically around the room in search of a clock, coming to rest on the glowing numbers of the bedside alarm clock, and he feels his expression fall as a cold weight sinks into the pit of his stomach.

God, he’s been here for over two hours, no wonder Jin’s freaking out.

“Uh-oh,” he mutters.

BamBam and Yugyeom have ceased their playful squabbling, both of them watching Jungkook with growing concern and sympathy.

“Tell them it was my fault, hyung,” Yugyeom insists quietly. “I was the one who dragged you here.”

“And it was me who persuaded you to stay,” BamBam adds, his tone apologetic. “I’m sorry, Kookie; I should’ve remembered to let your team know that you were with us.”

As tempting as it is to place the blame on another in order to avoid Jin’s ire, Jungkook isn’t that much of a coward. Besides, his bandmates wouldn’t buy it anyway; Yugi might have physically dragged him down the corridor and BamBam may have coaxed him into staying with snacks and cuddles, but it was entirely Jungkook’s fault that he’d left his phone behind (again) and swanned off without telling anyone where he was going. Oh fuck, Jimin’s going to be so pissed.

Perhaps seeing the dawning look of despair in Jungkook’s eyes, JB’s lips twitch upwards a little at the corners, his expression softening, all traces of sternness vanishing.

“I’m sure they won’t be too hard on you, Jungkook-ah,” the elder singer reassures gently, standing up from the bed to loop an arm around the younger man’s shoulders, tugging him into an easy sideways hug. “Come on; the sooner you apologise, the sooner your hyungs can forgive you.”

“Message me tomorrow?” BamBam smiles at him encouragingly. “Maybe we can come meet you for breakfast before we have to leave.”

“If you’re still alive,” Yugi tacks on unhelpfully.

“Yugyeom-ah,” JB chides, reaches out to flick his dongsaeng in the forehead.

“Ah!” The maknae clutches at his head like he’s just been shot. “Sorry, hyung. I was only joking.”

“It’s fine.” Despite the trepidation curdling in his stomach, Jungkook can’t help but smile at the younger man’s antics, and he knows that had been Yugi’s intention from the start. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

After bidding them both goodnight, Jungkook allows JB to steer him out of the hotel room and down the long corridor towards the suites that have been assigned to the BTS members. Every step feels laboured, like he’s marching to his own execution, but Jungkook has already resigned himself to his fate – to tell the truth, he feels pretty bad about disappearing for so long without a word to his bandmates, and knowing that they’ve been looking for him just makes that feeling ten times worse.

“This one is Jin-hyung’s room,” Jungkook murmurs, gesturing towards the door as they approach it.

When they come to stand in front of it, however, Jungkook finds himself hesitating, his fist raised to knock, nervous butterflies agitating his stomach. JB seems to sense his dilemma, arm tightening around his shoulders in a show of support and reassurance even as the man reaches out to briskly knock on the door himself.

There’s a long beat of silence, then a muffled cry from inside the hotel room, and half a second later the door’s being flung wide open to reveal Taehyung’s wide eyes and relieved grin.

“Kookie!” V fists the front of Jungkook’s hoodie and drags him forward into a crushing embrace. “Aigoo, we’ve all been so worried. Where did you go?”

Yoongi materialises behind Taehyung, eyes raking over Jungkook quickly as though searching for damage. Clearly finding none, the tension eases a little from his shoulders, and he turns his attention towards the man standing at the threshold to the hotel room.

“I’m glad it was you who found him, Jaebum-ah.” Suga extends a hand for the man to clasp, nodding his head politely. “Thank you for escorting him back.”

JB gives an easy smile, eyes sliding back to where Jungkook is now being dragged into Jimin’s arms for a hug. “Don’t be too hard on the boy, hyung. It was partly my maknae’s fault for kidnapping him in the first place. He came to find you as soon as he realised you were looking for him.” He drops Yoongi’s hand, glancing back along the corridor. “I should probably go and make sure the kids aren’t killing each other.”

Suga nods in understanding, and reaches out without looking to flick Jungkook in the back of the head. “What do you say, Kook-ah?”

Quickly stepping away from Jimin’s embrace to bow politely, cheeks tinged pink in embarrassment and shame, Jungkook thanks the hyung for escorting him back and bids him goodnight. JB’s smile softens into something warm and fond, the leader reaching out to ruffle the younger man’s hair quickly before his gaze shifts to the other three musicians and he excuses himself with a respectful ‘goodnight’.

The moment the door’s closed, Yoongi turns to face Jungkook. The rapper snaps his fingers and points towards bedroom, his face thunderous.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you right now,” he says sternly. “Go and sit down before I’m tempted to smack you. Jiminie, do you have your phone? We need to call the others.”

Shamefaced, Jungkook scurries over to the nearest bed, perching on the edge of the mattress and folding his hands in his lap, head bowed. As Jimin and Yoongi go to opposite corners of the room and begin calling off the search party, Taehyung moves to sit beside him, looping an arm around his lower back, his other hand rubbing the youth’s thigh.

“You scared me,” Tae tells him quietly after a few minutes of silence pass between them. “When we realised nobody had seen you for two hours and you hadn’t even taken your phone with you…aigoo. I thought something terrible might’ve happened to you.”

Guilt lodges a painful lump in Jungkook’s throat, and he reaches for V’s hand, squeezing it between his own. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Honestly, hyung, I didn’t mean to worry anybody. I hadn’t realised how much time had passed, and I never would’ve stayed away for so long if I’d known you guys were worrying about me.”

“You would’ve known about it sooner if you hadn’t left you phone behind,” Jimin reminds him as he hangs up his phone, in a firm sort of tone that he seldom uses. Jungkook winces and ducks his head again, cheeks aflame. “You’re in luck, brat; Rap Monster was just about to wake Sejin-hyung when I called.”

Jungkook cringes at the thought – they’ve been a group for long enough now that they rarely involve the main BTS managers in their day-to-day problems or concerns unless it’s absolutely necessary, and he’d feel horrible if Sejinnie-hyung got dragged out of bed in the middle of the night unnecessarily. The man is gentle-natured and very approachable, more like an uncle to the band members than a manager, but he takes safety matters very seriously and wouldn’t be happy if he found out the maknae had been missing for over two hours. Jungkook would be scolded for being unprofessional, and that would be ten times worse than any lecture or punishment Jin and the others could mete out. It’s not the scolding itself that he can’t face, it’s the look of disappointment Sejin would give him, the quietly-spoken “I expected better from you, Jungkook-ah” that reminds him too much of his own father and makes him wish the ground would swallow him up.

His task complete, Jimin moves to sit in the chair at the small desk near the corner, his expression serious, elbows braced on his thighs and hands hanging between his legs as he watches Jungkook. The dancer is so rarely stern like this, and that more than anything else is an indicator for how badly Jungkook has fucked up this evening.

“Hyung, I’m sorry,” he says again, beseechingly. “I know I shouldn’t have run off like that, but I honestly thought my phone was in my pocket. And I was talking with Yugyeom-ah and BamBam, it’s not like I was outside or anything-”

“Exactly where you went doesn’t matter,” Jimin counters, his tone calmer now but still carrying an edge of censure. “The main issue is that you didn’t tell anyone where you were going. For all we knew, you’d gotten yourself mugged or you’d fallen somewhere and hurt yourself; and all this time, you were at the other end of the corridor with your friends. Aigoo!”

Guilt and shame fuel his frustration a little – Jungkook knows he did wrong, and he’s already apologised, how is spelling out his transgressions going to fix the situation? Besides, there was no real harm in hanging out with Yugi and BamBam, and he’d been having a fun evening right up until the moment he’d realised his phone wasn’t with him.

“But you’re always telling me to spend more time with my friends,” he protests, annoyance creeping into his voice unintentionally. “Aish, make up your mind!”

“Hey,” Yoongi warns from where he’s leaning against the dresser opposite the bed, his posture relaxed but his stern gaze immediately cutting the younger man’s confidence to ribbons. “Watch your tone, kid.”

Jungkook drops his gaze to his hands, still scowling, although most of his ire is directed at himself. He feels awful about making his hyungs worry, about keeping Tae up so late when the singer had been looking exhausted all day, about adding so much stress to what had already been a busy schedule for everyone. And now he’s snapped at Jimin, something he never does.

Fuck, he’s such an idiot.

The sound of the door unlocking makes him tense up, and he lifts his gaze from his lap in time to see Jin hurrying into the room, Namjoon right on his heels.

“Oh, thank god,” Jin breathes, his relief evident as the tension bleeds from his posture. He crosses over to the youth in a few brisk strides and yanks Jungkook up from the bed and into his arms for a tight hug. “Aigoo, Jeon Jungkook. What were you thinking, running off like that?”

Jungkook smushes his face against the man’s shoulder, selfishly craving the comfort despite being the only one at fault. “Wasn’t thinking,” he mumbles, subdued. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

Rap Monster moves closer to slide a hand up the younger man’s spine as though to reassure himself that the maknae is whole and well.

“Is he alright?” Hoseok asks, having tailed Namjoon into the hotel room.

“He’s fine,” Yoongi mutters quietly. “For now.”

The ‘until I get my hands on him’ remains unspoken, but Jungkook hears it anyway and cringes a little, shrinking further into Jin’s embrace.

He’d been anticipating discipline from one of his hyungs, but does it have to be Yoongi? The rapper is remarkably heavy-handed for someone so short, and he’s never deterred (not even a little bit) by Jungkook’s pleading eyes or his cutest pout in the way that the others are. Namjoon, for all his stern pretences, is perhaps the easiest to sway aside from Taehyung, but he also has a stubbornness to him that makes him inclined to finish what he’s started – the trick is to avoid going over the man’s knee altogether, if possible. Hoseok hates to see any of them upset, and the most Jungkook’s ever received from the choreographer is a brisk handful of swats after pulling some dangerous stunt or other, but it’s unlikely he’ll handle the discipline if one of the other hyungs are around.

Likewise, Jimin tends to leave disciplinary matters to his elders, but given that the dancer had discussed the whole keep-your-phone-on-you-at-all-times issue with him only last month (a memorable occurrence), he’s worried Jimin might feel inclined to revisit that conversation again now that Jungkook’s repeated the offence. And right now, that’s probably the worst-case-scenario; it’s not that Jimin disciplines him harder than any of the others (compared to Jin and Yoongi, it’s probably fairly mild), but simply because it’s Jimin that somehow that makes it harder to bear, the man’s usually so easy-going and gentle-natured.

“It’s late,” Jin murmurs suddenly, drawing Jungkook out of his own thoughts. “The rest of you should go and get some sleep. Jungkook-ah? I think you owe everyone an apology, don’t you?”

The younger man nods, stepping back from the safety of Jin’s embrace and turning to give a little bow of apology to Taehyung, who’s still seated on the bed behind him.

“I’m sorry, hyung.”

With Tae, forgiveness always comes too easily, and the singer smiles at him warmly as he stands to pull Jungkook into a hug, gently smacking the back of his head.

“Idiot,” he says cheerfully, and drops a kiss against the maknae’s temple. “Come back to our room after hyung’s finished murdering you, okay?” He pats the youth sympathetically on the shoulder, then gives a little wave on his way towards the door. “Goodnight, everyone.”

Jimin still looks mildly pissed off right up until the moment Jungkook apologises meekly. Their eyes lock, and Jimin heaves a quiet sigh, the pinched look softening from around his eyes as he stands.

“You’re a brat,” he murmurs, but it’s fondly spoken. He yanks Jungkook towards him by the arm, turning him sideways to swat him sharply on the back of his thigh, just once, then tugs him into an embrace immediately afterwards. “But I love you anyway. Come to bed soon, okay? You look tired. Do you have your keycard with you?”

Jungkook nods, the tightness in his chest easing at the man’s gentle tone. He hadn’t expected Jimin to hold a grudge (the dancer just isn’t that sort of person) but he’s relieved to know that he’s been forgiven all the same.

He waits until Jimin’s left before slowly shuffling over to where Yoongi is still leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed. He bows a little more deeply this time when he apologises, because he can tell the rapper is still unhappy with him.

“I’m sorry for causing so much fuss.” He keeps his gaze lowered as he straightens up, fidgeting a little, feeling the weight of Yoongi’s gaze on him. “It won’t happen again, hyung.”

A few seconds of silence pass after the words have been spoken, then suddenly a hand fists in the front of Jungkook’s hoodie, yanking him down so that he’s bent slightly at the waist. A swat echoes like a gunshot in the hotel room, the blow rocking him up onto his toes as a fierce, stinging heat explodes in his right butt-cheek.

“Ah!”

“That’s for running off,” Yoongi tells him, and swats him again just as sharply on the opposite cheek, pushing another yelp from Jungkook’s throat. “And that’s for talking back.”

The strong grip on his hoodie yanks him upright again, and before Jungkook even has chance to reach back and rub his stinging hindquarters, Suga’s pulling him into a tight hug, a hand cupped over the back of the younger man’s neck.

“Aigoo, Kook-ah,” the rapper sighs. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay?”

“I’ll try not to,” Jungkook promises quietly, nestling into the embrace. He doesn’t give his word that it won’t happen again, because sometimes misfortune just seems to favour him, and he’d hate to break a promise.

Hoseok doesn’t even give him the chance to apologise. The dancer collars Jungkook by the hood as soon as Yoongi relinquishes his hold on the maknae, tugging him back a few paces.

“Give me your hand,” J-Hope instructs calmly.

The bemused youth obeys without question, sucking in a quick little breath of surprise when Hoseok immediately lands a sharp slap to the back of his knuckles. It’s a childish punishment, not even hard enough to sting much, but Hoseok rubs the area all the same as though to soothe the hurt and apologise for the gentle chastisement.

“Next time you want to go and see your friends, tell someone first,” the dancer reminds him quietly, reaching up to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. “Promise me?”

“I promise.” Jungkook nods fervently and gives another little bow of apology. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

That earns him a tight bear-hug, J-Hope patting him on the back firmly between murmured reassurances that everything is alright between them. Jungkook wishes he could stay in the man’s arms a while longer, because the hug feels great, and also because Namjoon is watching him from nearby and still looks worryingly stern in a way that doesn’t bode well for Jungkook. All too soon, Hoseok lets him go to ruffle his hair and bid him goodnight, throwing an arm around Yoongi as the two exit together to return to their own hotel room.

Jungkook fidgets nervously, shooting little sideways glances at Jin and Namjoon, who seem to be communicating with each other through significant looks and some sort of secretive eyebrow-language. After a few moments their silent discussion appears to reach its conclusion, because Jin moves over to lean against the bedroom wall near the bed with his hands in his pockets while Namjoon approaches Jungkook, wearing what the singer likes to call his serious-leader face.

It’s never the sort of face Jungkook likes to see.

“I think,” Namjoon says calmly, putting a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, “you and I need to have a little discussion about what happened tonight. Don’t you?”

Jaenjang. He’s dead.

…

“Hey,” Jimin murmurs, reaching out to tug the headphones from the younger man’s ears. “Stop it. You need to sleep.”

“So do you,” Taehyung counters stubbornly, wrestling weakly with Jimin’s grip on his headphones. “Give them back.”

“No.”

“Hyuuuung…”

Jimin moves them further away, pulling the ipod out from underneat V’s pillow while he’s at it and unceremoniously dumping them over the side of the bed.

“No,” he says again, just a touch firmer this time. “It’s almost two, and you’re exhausted. Go to sleep.”

“But-”

“There’s no guarantee that Kookie will come sleep with us tonight,” Jimin reasons, tugging his stubborn, sleepy dongsaeng closer, arms snaking around him. “You know how tired he gets when he’s upset, he’ll probably fall asleep being comforted by Jin-hyung.”

“Hn-nn,” Tae denies with a slight shake of his head, his eyelids already fluttering closed. “He always comes to cuddle afterwards. It’s sort of a tradition. And he’ll want to apologise for snapping at you earlier. It’s probably just taking him longer to calm down because he hates knowing that he worried everyone so much.”

Jimin hooks his chin over Tae’s shoulder, feeling a pulse of sympathy for their maknae. His anger and frustration from earlier (fuelled mostly by his fear for Jungkook’s safety) had all but dissipated by the time the younger man had begun making his apologies, and now he just feels sorry for the kid. It’s not that any of the others like to see their maknae upset, but Jimin struggles with being the stern hyung more than the rest of his bandmates. Seeing Jungkook cry is probably the worst thing in the world; their discussion last month had just about torn his heart in two, but it had been a necessary evil – with the older hyungs away for the weekend, there had been nobody else around to address the issue, and such matters were better dealt with quickly rather than left unspoken altogether.

“How about I wake you up when he comes in?” Jimin tries to coax.

Taehyung shakes his head with a sleepy grunt. “I’m fine. He’ll be back soon.”

As if on cue, the soft bzzt from the bedroom door and quiet footsteps signal the arrival of their missing maknae. Jimin rolls over to reach for the lamp on the bedside table, tapping the base to turn it on at its lowest setting and flooding the room with a dim yellow glow. Jungkook pauses at the threshold to the bedroom, in the process of toeing off his shoes beside the row of shelves built into the wall of the entrance hallway, and glances towards the bed sharply, clearly surprised to find his two roommates still awake.

Jimin’s heart clenches at the younger man’s flushed cheeks and reddened, puffy-looking eyes. Jungkook crying is a difficult thing to watch, but Jungkook post-crying just about melts his heart. The dancer makes a quiet noise of compassion, sitting up and opening his arms invitingly.

“Aigoo, my Kookie,” he sympathises. “Come here, hyung will make it better.”

Jungkook shucks out of his jeans and shrugs off his hoodie without hesitation, crawling up the bed and straight into Jimin’s arms. The younger man may be taller and more muscular than he was four years ago, but in every other way he’s still the cute little maknae that stole Jimin’s heart, and the dancer will forever have a soft spot for Jungkook regardless of how big he grows.

“Ai, poor Kookie,” Taehyung murmurs, snuggling up on Jungkook’s other side. “Was it Jin-hyung?” The youth shakes his head against Jimin’s shoulder. “Namjoon-hyung?” A small nod. “Well, that’s a relief. Could’ve been much worse.”

The dancer gives him an odd look, unable to fathom how Rap Monster (built like a brick wall, solid and sturdy) is somehow preferable to slender, softly-spoken Jin. Taehyung catches his eye and winces a little.

“Trust me, Namjoon-hyung is your best option,” V insists. “Jin-hyung’s almost as bad as Suga. Which is something you might understand if you weren’t such a goody-two-shoes.”

Jimin knows exactly how heavy-handed Yoongi can be, but he’s not about to reveal as much to his dongsaengs. If Jungkook and Tae are under the impression that Jimin has never been spanked by the older hyungs, he’s more than happy to maintain that illusion.

They get Jungkook settled between them on his stomach, Jimin rubbing gentle circles at the small of his back beneath his t-shirt while Taehyung strokes the youth’s hair and presses soft little kisses along his jawline.

“I’m sorry,” the younger man murmurs after a few moments of silence have passed.

Jimin kisses the back of his neck, reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp again. “We know, baby.”

“No, really, I’m sorry,” Jungkook presses, his voice cracking a little. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that earlier, I just felt so bad and everyone looked upset and, and-”

“It’s okay,” Tae murmurs, gently cupping Jungkook’s cheek and brushing their lips together softly, chastely. “Nobody’s mad at you. We’re okay.”

The younger man falls quiet for a moment, and Jimin keeps rubbing his back, sharing a glance with Taehyung. This intimate dynamic is still a relatively new development between the three of them – as a group they’ve always been close, but up until recently Jimin and the others have been careful to keep things carefully platonic. It’s an unspoken norm for Namjoon to sleep with Jin, or for Hoseok to join Yoongi for the night, and Jimin hasn’t actually used his bed for its intended purpose in months because he’s always in Tae’s. But Jungkook had always been strictly off-limits, at least until his most recent birthday. And since then, they’ve still been careful not to push him, even though Jungkook hasn’t been subtle about the way he gazes longingly at Jin and Namjoon when they share a tender kiss over breakfast, or when Yoongi nuzzles the back of Hosoeok’s neck while they cuddle up together during movie nights. It’s only been a few weeks since they actually sat down and talked about it, since they agreed to begin offering that same affection towards their youngest if he so desired it.

Jungkook, as Jimin has discovered, is a wonderfully sweet and shy lover. They’d shared their first kiss curled up together sleepily on the couch after a thunderstorm that had left Jungkook clingy and fractious. A few slow, gentle kisses had made the younger man go beautifully lax in the dancer’s arms, pliant as a newborn kitten and every bit as cute. Jimin had fallen in love with him immediately.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook rolls over onto his side to peer hesitantly at Jimin. “You’re really not mad at me? You promise?”

Heart melting even more, Jimin cups the younger man’s face and leans in to kiss him softly, feeling Jungkook relax a little further into the mattress.

“I promise,” he murmurs, and kisses the maknae again. “I’ve already forgotten all about it.” He leans their foreheads together, closing his eyes with a quiet, tired sigh. “I could never stay mad at you, Kookie.”

“And I was never mad at you in the first place,” Taehyung adds sleepily, nestling up closer to Jungkook and winding an arm around his waist. “Just worried. You’re my only dongsaeng, I can’t let anything happen to you – I’d hate to be the youngest.”

Jungkook sniffs a tearful little grin, one hand gripping Tae’s arm against his chest as he tucks his head beneath Jimin’s chin.

“It’s not all bad,” the maknae insists after a comfortable beat of silence. “This…this part’s kinda nice.”

Jimin shares a tired smile with Taehyung, warmth and affection pulsing in his chest, swelling so hot and bright that he feels he might just burst from it.

“Yeah,” he agrees, lips moving against Jungkook’s hairline. “I’m pretty fond of this part too.”

.

Chapter Text

.

The last thing Jungkook expects to encounter when he takes a left turn at the end of the corridor near his hotel suite is a long pair of legs stretched out across the carpeted floor.

Unfortunately, he happens to be walking at a pace that’s just a little too fast to allow for sufficient reaction time, and goes ploughing right into the man’s leg, overbalancing himself briefly and taking a few stumbling paces forwards to compensate, wincing as he hears the victim yelp in surprise and pain.

“Aigoo, I’m sorry!” he rushes to say, quickly righting himself and turning to check on the injured party. “I didn’t see you!”

Hands clutching at his recently-kicked leg, the unfortunate victim glances up at him wincingly, and Jungkook sucks in a sharp, startled breath when he’s met with an unexpectedly youthful face.

Not a man. A child. A very, very tall child (Jungkook really couldn’t have side-stepped those legs even if he’d tried), but a child nonetheless. A child who has recently been crying, if his flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes are any indication.

And now that Jungkook’s had a chance to study his profile properly, he realises he knows this kid.

“Hi,” he says, sinking into a crouch beside the teenager, reaching out to settle a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s Sanha, right?”

Astro’s maknae nods quickly, staring at him wide-eyed.

“J-Jungkook-ssi,” he stutters, and leans forward to give a little bow of apology (as best he can sitting down). “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to trip you, honest!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook reassures, with a smile that he hopes comes across as warmly as he’d intended it to (the teen looks about ready to pass out from shock, and that’s the last thing he wants). “Besides, I’m the one who should be apologising for kicking you like that. Did I hurt you?”

His eyes flicker from the kid’s face to the knee that Sanha’s still clutching protectively. It hadn’t been a gentle kick by any stretch of the imagination; Jungkook’s wearing his Timberland boots. Additionally, the teenager is wearing shorts, so there hadn’t even been any fabric to cushion the blow. Ai, poor kid.

Jungkook leans over the youth, reaching out to tug Sanha’s hands out of the way so that he can survey the damage for himself, wincing at the vivid red mark that’s already started to bloom against the pale skin there. It’s going to bruise for sure, and it’ll probably be swollen and tender for a good few days, and oh fuck, he’s gone and battered a child.

“It doesn’t even hurt all that much, hyung-nim,” Sanha tries to insist, although the way he flinches when Jungkook’s fingers carefully palpate the area belies that statement. “It was my fault for being in your way in the first place.”

Jungkook leans back again to kneel beside the youth, guilt pressing on his chest like a cold, leaden weight. He hasn’t had the opportunity to interact much with younger idols over the years, aside from Yugyeom, (and the age difference between them is fairly minimal), but he’s been looking forward to becoming better acquainted with Astro’s maknae line. He’s been following the group’s progress ever since their debut eighteen months ago; the rookie band had become popular nationwide almost immediately, and Jungkook can’t deny that he’d listened to their first album on replay for weeks because it was so damn catchy. The two groups have greeted each other a few times in award ceremony rehearsals and briefly backstage at KCON, but Jungkook’s never actually met the other idols properly (or held a conversation that went beyond “hello, nice to meet you, let’s try our best”).

Battering the group’s teenage maknae really isn’t the sort of first impression that he’d hoped to make.

There may come a time in the not-too-distant future where BTS and Astro will be required to perform on stage together or feature as competitors on a game show, and it would be awful if things were tense and awkward because Jungkook had once injured their youngest member. If Sanha’s hyungs are anything like his own, they’re bound to hold a grudge; Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon still haven’t forgiven Jo Seho for the whole Flower Crew debacle, and it’s been almost a year since the show aired.

“Call me hyung,” he says kindly, determined to make things right between them.

Sanha blinks at him, looking both startled and a little hopeful. “Really?”

“Mm.” Nodding, Jungkook can’t help but smile a little (aish, this kid is adorable), squeezing the youth’s shoulder. “Now, about your knee – do you think you can stand on it?”

The teenager glances down at his leg, shaking his head somewhat forlornly. “I…I don’t think so, hyung.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s guilt quickly turns to panic. “Are you sure?”

Fuck, the injury can’t have been that bad, can it? Has…has he actually broken Astro’s maknae? Oh god, the managers are going to kill him, he’ll never be allowed near younger idols again, it’s going to be all over the internet that Jeon Jungkook is a child-batterer, and he’s never going to able to live with the guilt-

“I think I sprained my ankle,” Sanha adds miserably, an adorable pout forming.

His mental panic attack coming to an abrupt halt, Jungkook feels his brow crease a little in confusion. “But…I kicked you in the knee, right?”

“Hm?” The younger idol stares at him blankly for a moment, then blushes and glances down. “Oh. Sorry, I meant before. I…I was trying to find my way back to JinJin-hyung’s room, and I kinda tripped over my shoelaces.”

That sounds almost exactly like something Jungkook had done during a fan meet a couple of years ago, and he winces in sympathy, rubbing the younger maknae’s arm.

“Ah. I guess that’s why you’re sitting in the middle of the corridor at one o’clock in the morning, huh?”

Sanha glances up sharply with a slightly panicked look. “Is it that late already? Oh my god, oh my god, MJ-hyung is going to kill me…”

Intimately familiar with that particular brand of ‘the hyungs are going to scold me’ dread, Jungkook wraps an arm around the youth’s shoulders in a brief, bolstering sideways hug.

“If you explain what happened, I’m sure there’ll understand,” he reasons softly. “We all have accidents; t isn’t your fault you got hurt.”

The kid looks somewhat unconvinced, but musters up a grateful little smile at his words, meeting the older idol’s gaze briefly before ducking his head again, cheeks tinged pink.

The elder singer is tempted to adopt him right there and then. Seriously, how can anyone be this effortlessly cute? Jungkook had thought he’d found the aegyo expert in Taehyung, but boy had he been wrong.

“If I help you up, do you think you’ll be able to stand?” he asks. At Sanha’s answering nod, he smiles confidently and pushes himself to his feet, reaching down to grasp the youth’s hand in his own. “On three, okay?”

A few seconds later, the teen’s upright, albeit balancing on one foot, wincing as he slowly rotates his injured ankle.

“Don’t try to move it too much,” Jungkook cautions, easing one of the maknae’s long arms over his shoulders to help support him. Despite the age difference, the kid’s pretty much the same height as him, which actually makes the position much easier than it might have otherwise been. “You’ll need to ice it first or the swelling won’t go down. How far is it to MJ-hyung’s room?”

“Um…” Sanha fidgets awkwardly, keeping his gaze averted. “I don’t actually know. I…I’m sort of lost?”

The teenager glances up, wincing at the look of bemused incredulity that Jungkook realises he must be wearing.

“We were downstairs in one of the conference rooms talking to manager-nim,” the younger maknae explains hurriedly. “And I kept nodding off so JinJin-hyung told me to go to bed, but I didn’t want to take the elevator because it’s kinda creepy when you’re alone, right? So I took the stairs. But I forgot which floor our rooms were on, and then all the corridors looked the same so I was just wandering around for ages hoping I might bump into one of the guys, and I was gonna go back downstairs but then I tripped, and I tried to get up but it really, really hurt so I sat back down again, and then you kicked me and-”

The teenager claps a hand over his mouth, cheeks flushing a deeper pink, apparently becoming aware of the words that are spewing out of his mouth with increasing speed and decreasing coherence.

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough night,” Jungkook sympathises, hoping to relieve some of the kid’s embarrassment by pointedly not mentioning how cute his little rant had been. “Hey, tell you what – my room’s just at the end of the next corridor, it’s not far. You should come and hang out with me and the guys for a little bit until we can work out where you’re supposed to be. Okay?”

Wide eyes brimming with excitement at the offer, the younger man shoots him a sunny smile, his previous self-consciousness vanishing without a trace.

“Okay, hyung.”

…

“Can we keep him?”

Jin’s lips twitch, even as he shakes his head. “No.”

“Please? I’ll remember to feed him and everything.” V tugs on the sleeve of Jin’s hoodie. “C’mon, don’t pretend like you don’t want to adopt the kid.”

“It’s tempting.” Cracking the tint of the gel-pack to activate it, Jin quickly wraps the cold compress in a spare towel from the shelf of the wardrobe. “He’s pretty cute.”

“Cute? He’s adorable.” Taehyung glances back towards the pair of maknaes who are currently cuddled up together on one of the double beds, and presses a hand to his chest as though physically pained by the sight. “I just want to smoosh his cheeks.”

“Tae,” J-Hope, seated in a chair at the bedside, glances up from his phone and arches an eyebrow at the younger man. “Let’s not physically assault our underage guest while he’s asleep, okay?”

“I wasn’t actually going to do it,” V mumbles sulkily, moving close enough to flick Hoseok in the shoulder. “What do you take me for?”

“Shh,” Jungkook chides softly, as the sleeping teenager stirs in his arms. “Not so loud, you’ll wake him up.”

Taehyung makes a quiet, strangled noise of adoration, waving a hand in an emphatic gesture towards the pair (and very nearly smacking J-Hope over the head in his enthusiasm before the older idol tugs him down to sit in his lap out of self-preservation). Undeterred, V turns his gaze beseechingly towards Jin.

“See! He’s even brought out the hyung in Kookie,” he insists, although with notably less volume than before. “The kid needs to stay.”

Jin can’t deny that the two maknaes cuddled up together is an adorable sight. When someone had come to knock on the door of his hotel room fifteen minutes ago, he’d been expecting it to be Sejin or one of the other managers with a finalised plan for the following day’s schedule (last night’s award ceremony had occurred right in the middle of their latest MV shooting, so they’re due to resume working on their group scenes this week).

Instead, he’d been faced with Taehyung’s cheerful grin and trying-too-hard-to-appear-innocent expression, which had instantly made him suspicious.

“Hi, hyung,” the younger man had greeted brightly. “Um, Kookie and I were wondering if we could borrow one of your gel packs for a little bit?”

That had immediately triggered alarm bells in the back of Jin’s mind. It was a well-established habit for him to pack a couple of chemical cold-packs whenever they left the dorm for an overnight stay during shooting or touring; Jimin’s knee would pain him from time to time, especially after extensive dance practice, and a cold compress was usually the quickest way to ease his discomfort. Since the dancer almost always forgot to pack his own, Jin usually takes the precautionary measure of keeping a couple in his own luggage, alongside the heatpacks he always takes for Namjoon’s back and a spare box of Yoongi’s antihistamines in case of emergencies.

“What for?” he’d asked, brow creasing a little in concern. “Is it Jiminie’s knee again?” A shake of the head had made his frown deepen. “Is someone hurt?”

“We’re all fine,” Taehyung had hurried to reassure, which would’ve come as a relief if not for the great big ‘but’ Jin could sense coming up. “It’s, uh, not actually for us.”

“Then who’s it for?” Namjoon had asked, crossing over from one of the beds where he’d been lounging with his laptop, sliding an arm around Jin from behind, chin resting on the elder’s shoulder as he peered at Tae suspiciously.

“Um…” Tae had shifted nervously, then tilted his head a little to one side and flashed them both a cute, hopeful little smile. “Kookie sort of picked up a stray?”

A beat of silence had passed. Then another. Taehyung fidged a little more, glancing between them nervously.

“A stray,” Namjoon echoed eventually. “Aish…kiddo, I’m pretty sure the hotel has rules that prohibit guests from keeping pets. You’re going to have to find a way to get rid of it.”

“What?” The younger man had guffawed, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as he laughed. “Oh my god, hyung, no. Not a stray animal. A stray person.”

Right. Because of course that had been the logical conclusion to make.

Jin’s eyes had narrowed a little in warning, concern making his tone just a touch sterner. “Kim Taehyung. If you don’t cut the crap and tell me what’s going on right this minute…”

Thankfully, the thinly veiled threat had been enough to persuade Taehyung to spill the beans. Although the story he’d told them seemed almost too bizarre to be true.

“So the kid was just sitting there in the middle of the corridor,” Tae had rambled, “and Kookie, like, sort of accidentally kicked him really hard? But Sanha’s okay about it, because it turns out he was already hurt anyway. Only he didn’t know how to get back to his own room, so Kookie brought him to ours, and now he’s passed out on one of the beds.”

Jin had startled at that, hearing Namjoon suck in a sharp little gasp behind him. “Aigoo! He fainted?”

“Nonono, not like that!” Tae had hurried to reassure, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “He’s just asleep, hyung. But Jiminie says his ankle’s swollen pretty bad, so he figured one of your gel packs might help. Oh! And he wondered if Joonie-hyung might be able to track down the rest of Astro, or maybe one of his managers, or something? Since, you know, he’s lost and all.”

The eldest member of BTS hadn’t even spared a moment to chide Taehyung for wasting time with his initial rambling; the knowledge that Jungkook had somehow managed to find (and apparently maim) an already-injured teenage maknae was worrying on its own, but he also didn’t want to cause any further delays in relaying the kid’s whereabouts back to his group – Sanha’s hyungs were bound to be worried about him.

Jin has been in that position often enough himself; with one of his maknae line disappearing off without telling him first, sending all sorts of unpleasant potential-scenarios through his mind and making him fraught with worry and tension until he would eventually manage to track them down again. He wouldn’t wish that sort of stress on any hyung, and the sooner he can put their fears to rest, the better.

With that in mind, he’s sent Namjoon off with Yoongi to search for the maknae’s missing bandmates (and, failing that, to wake up Sejinnie-hyung and hope that he knows how to contact one of Astro’s managers – but that’ll be a last resort, and they’d rather not disturb Sejin unless they absolutely have to).

And it makes it easier to focus on Sanha with the hotel room less crowded; Namjoon would be inclined to fuss, especially given how young the maknae is, and Yoongi would probably try to impart a life lesson about personal safety (which would be spoken with honest intent but would undoubtedly come across as a little bit intimidating to those who didn’t know the rapper well).

No, it’s much better this way.

“He didn’t hit his head, did he?” Jin asks quietly, passing the towel-wrapped icepack to Jimin, who’s seated near the end of the bed with Sanha’s injured ankle propped up on a pillow in his lap.

“Don’t worry, hyung, I already asked him that,” Jimin reassures with an easy smile. “Kid’s just tuckered out. By the sounds of it, he’s had one hell of a night.”

Jungkook hums in agreement, shifting a little in his position against the padded headboard of the bed. Sanha’s reclining against his chest, head pillowed on the older singer’s shoulder and sleeping soundly, one long-fingered hand loosely gripping Jungkook’s arm where it circles his midriff. Jin can’t quite suppress the fond smile that swells up like a bubbling warmth from deep within his chest.

“Being a hyung suits you,” he says quietly, taking a seat on edge of the bed beside Jungkook and reaching out to grip the younger man’s shoulder. “You did the right thing in bringing him here.”

The maknae smiles at the praise, tightening his arms around Sanha a little when the teenager stirs in his sleep. Jimin grimaces apologetically when Jin glances towards him, having just settled the cold compress over the teen’s ankle.

Sanha inhales sharply, his expression twitching as he regains consciousness.

“Wha-?” the kid croaks, squinting through puffy-looking eyelids at his surroundings in weary befuddlement. He begins to draw his foot out of Jimin’s lap, flinching in pain when the movement jars his injury. “Ow!”

“Keep still for hyung,” Jungkook murmurs soothingly, before Jin even has time to intervene. “We’re just icing your ankle, okay?”

“But it’s cold,” Sanha protests, the words endearingly fatigue-slurred and carrying just the barest hint of a whine.

Taehyung clutches a hand to his chest dramatically when he catches Jin’s eye, mouthing “oh my god, so cute” as he slumps back against a fondly-grinning Hoseok. Jimin rolls his eyes at the display, but he’s smiling all the same, clearly finding the teenager every bit as adorable as the rest of them.

Jungkook doesn’t even seem notice the rest of them, too busy focusing his attention on the maknae in his hold as Sanha yawns against the back of his hand and blinks blearily.

“What time is it, hyung?”

“About ten minutes later than it was the last time you asked me,” Jungkook teases, patting the youth’s chest. “It’s alright, go back to sleep.”

“Yoongi and Joonie have gone to find the rest of your group,” Jin adds kindly, smiling at the teenager when Sanha glances his way. “I’m sure there’ll be here soon.”

Sanha whines softly, closing his eyes with a pained sort of look that Jin expects has very little to do with his sprained ankle.

“They’re all gonna be so mad at meeee,” the maknae groans. “JinJin-hyung told me to go to bed, like, an hour ago.”

Taehyung gives a quiet coo of sympathy, reaching out to pat the teenager’s arm. “You didn’t trip over on purpose, kid. They’re not going to blame you for getting hurt.”

“And they’ll be glad to know you’re safe,” J-Hope adds, sending the youth a calm, reassuring smile. “Jungkookie goes missing all the time, and it’s never much fun for the rest of us.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook protests, ears tinging a faint pink.

But Sanha laughs, tipping his head back a little to glance up at the older maknae. “Do you get lost too, hyung?”

“Not as often as he used to,” Jimin supplies (un)helpfully, smiling sweetly in response to Jungkook’s frown.

“But that’s primarily because we’ve learned not to leave him unsupervised for very long,” Taehyung adds, keen as always to tease his dongsaeng. “We tend to keep him tethered to one of us at all times.”

“Hyuuung,” the maknae whines, sending Jin a beseeching glance. The elder caves immediately.

“Leave him alone, you two,” he chides softly, even as he fights a smile. “Jungkook-ah is a lot more sensible nowadays. And Tae, you really can’t talk - he certainly acts his age more than you do.”

Taehyung smiles cheerfully, unperturbed, shifting to sit sideways in J-Hope’s lap and looping an arm around the dancer’s shoulders. “Admit it, hyung; you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Jin acknowledges the remark with an easy shrug. “True.”

Any further conversation is put on hold at the sound of the hotel room door opening, and footsteps approaching. Taehyung hops up from Hoseok’s lap with a wide grin and calls out a cheerful greeting, bowing a little to the three idols that hurry into the room. J-Hope and Jin follow suit, the latter stepping forward to offer Astro’s leader his hand as they greet each other.

Astro’s hyung line appear slightly frazzled, and Jin recognises the signs of stress and worry in their posture and expressions (he’s seen it in the mirror often enough when one of his bandmates is hurt or sick or missing). MJ seems more concerned than his dongsaengs, although that could be because JinJin seems to be trying his best to maintain a professional air as they greet each other. Eunwoo appears a little shell-shocked by the whole experience, although whether that’s from his maknae’s disappearance or the reality of being unexpectedly thrust into a hotel room with an older idol group, it’s difficult to say.

JinJin’s gaze quickly flickers to the pair of maknaes on the bed as he straightens from his bow, relief smoothing out the faint crease in his brow.

“Yoon Sanha,” the leader chides, although his tone is more worried than scolding as he steps up to the bedside. “How do you always manage to injure yourself? And how did you forget which floor our rooms are on?”

Sanha glances up through his lashes at the hyung, shamefaced. “Um. Natural talent?”

Jimin and Taehyung disguise their laughter beneath well-timed coughs, and Jin bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Even JinJin’s expression wavers a little, although he seems determined to maintain the stern façade a little longer. MJ puts an end to the scolding, however, by nudging the leader unceremoniously out of the way so that he can settle a hand on top of the maknae’s head, peering down at him worriedly.

“Ai, poor Sanha. Did you twist your ankle again?”

The youth nods, although not hard enough to dislodge MJ’s hand from his hair where it’s begun petting.

“I don’t think it’s as bad as last time,” the teenager says with a reassuring smile. “My knee hurts more than my foot does.”

“Your knee?” Eunwoo echoes, glancing up from where he’s been studying the swollen ankle and carefully resituating the cold compress. “What happened to your knee?”

“Jeon Jungkook happened,” Jimin reveals pleasantly.

“Kookie kicked him,” Tae elaborates helpfully.

Wincing as three pairs of eyes turn towards him, Jungkook hastens to add, “It was an accident.”

“It was my fault, hyung,” Sanha admits, reaching up to tug on MJ’s sleeve when the older idol looks ready to rescue the maknae from Jungkook’s hold. “I was sitting on the floor when he came around the corner, I was the one who tripped him.”

Eunwoo drags a hand down his face, heaving a sigh. “Ai, Yoon Sanha. I swear your clumsiness is getting worse as you get older.”

“I told you there were no benefits to growing so tall,” MJ adds sagely, then shoots a quick, wincing sort of glance towards Jin and Namjoon, giving a shallow little bow. “Ah, no offence.”

But Namjoon laughs along with the rest of the group, shaking his head. “None taken.”

“Thank you for taking care of our maknae,” JinJin says politely once their amusement has died down again, giving another deep bow in gratitude. “I’m glad it was you who found him, Jungkook-ssi. If it’s any consolation, I probably would’ve been tempted to kick him as well.”

“Hyung!” the teenager protests, feigning hurt.

JinJin only laughs, reaching out to grasp Sanha’s hand on one side as Yoongi reaches over from the other side of the bed to help the youth sit up. MJ and Eunwoo carefully ease the kid’s foot down from the pillow in Jimin’s lap, wincing in sympathy at the maknae’s sharp hiss of discomfort.

“Aish. There’s no way he’s walking on that,” Yoongi says grimly, patting the kid’s shoulder once they’ve got him sitting on the edge of the bed.  

Eunwoo moves in front of the maknae and squats a little, his back to the teenager. “Come on, kid. Climb on.”

Once Sanha’s situated comfortably on the older singer’s back, long arms draped over Eunwoo’s shoulders and legs clenched around his waist, the Astro hyungs turn towards the BTS members to bow again in thanks, bidding them goodnight. Jin walks them to the door, reaching out at the last moment to catch hold of MJ’s wrist as the younger man turns to go.

“Make sure you elevate his ankle,” Jin can’t keep himself from saying, handing the towel-wrapped compress to MJ. “And keep it iced, if you can. The gelpack should last another few hours, and I’m sure the hotel staff could bring you a replacement if you phoned the reception desk.”

The younger man takes the compress with a quick nod and a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I’ll bring it back in the morning, hyung-nim.”

Jin shakes his head. “There’s really no need-”

“Sanha will want to thank you properly,” MJ insists, shooting a quick, fond glance towards the maknae as Eunwoo carries him further down the corridor. “And to tell you the truth, Binnie will murder me if he finds out Sanha got to cuddle up to Jungkook-ah when he wasn’t around. He’s going to want to meet you.”

“Ah.” The two eldest hyungs share a knowing sort of smile. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

MJ nods and bows again. “Goodnight, hyung.”

“Goodnight.”

Jin closes the hotel room door and heads back into the bedroom, leaning into Namjoon’s side with a tired smile when the rapper winds an arm around his waist. Yoongi’s already yawning against the back of his hand, his other arm curled around Jungkook’s shoulders as they sit side by side, propped up against the headboard of the bed. Hoseok’s appropriated the other bed and has pulled Jimin down to act as his little spoon, both of them blinking sluggishly at Taehyung, who’s draped himself over the nearby dresser in a dramatic fashion.

“Tae?” Jin calls, curious.

The younger man gives a strangled little whine, clutching a hand to his chest again.

“Ugggh. How are they all so cute?”

.

Chapter Text

.

“You’re giving me a dance solo?” Jungkook repeats slowly, just to make sure he’s heard the man correctly.

Bang Si-hyuk smiles at him fondly. “You needn’t act so surprised, Jungkook-ah. You’ve worked hard on your dancing this past year, this is a privilege you’ve earned yourself.”

Despite the pressing urge to throw his hands in the air with a celebratory ‘whoop!’, Jungkook manages to limit his reaction to a wide, cheek-dimpling grin. Next to BangPD, Sejin-manager hides a smile behind his fingers, glancing from Jungkook to Namjoon who sits in a chair near the back of the CEO’s office, a silent but supportive presence.

Jungkook glances back over his shoulder quickly towards the rapper, catching Namjoon’s eye and grinning wider when his hyung gives him a proud smile and a thumbs-up in response. The teenager quickly turns back towards BangPD, brimming with excitement.

“Thank you for the opportunity, sir,” he says sincerely. “I won’t let you down, I promise.”

Si-hyuk smiles. “I know you won’t.” Sighing, the man pats Jungkook’s knee. “Now unfortunately, both J-Hope and Jimin-ah are busy working on the choreography for your new music video, so you’ll need to do the vast majority of your dance practice with your new instructor, Min Sejong. Sejin-ah will introduce you this afternoon. I know you’ll be an attentive student, kid. Make me proud, okay?”

Nodding, Jungkook gives a little bow as he’s dismissed and thanks BangPD again, grinning as the CEO ruffles his hair fondly, and all but skipping out of the man’s office after a gentle, prompting nudge from Sejin. The moment they’re in the corridor, Namjoon throws an arm around his shoulders in a sideways hug.

“See? I told you BangPD wasn’t going to scold you,” the rapper murmurs, respectful of the other office-workers nearby.

Grinning so wide his cheeks have started to ache, Jungkook gives Rap Monster a playful little shove. “Aigoo! You knew?”

Namjoon shrugs unrepentantly, smiling as he tugs the teenager close again, steering him towards the elevator. “Sejinnie-hyung spoke to us about it last week. He wanted to know if we thought you could handle the extra practice hours for the next month or so. Since school’s out for summer, we figured your schedule wouldn’t be too difficult to manage.”

They step into the elevator, Namjoon pressing the button to keep the doors from closing while they wait for their manager to catch up. Sejin glances up from where he’s speaking to someone in the corridor a short distance away, and when he gestures for them to go on without him, Namjoon hits the button for the lower floor where the others will be waiting for them in the break room.

Once the doors have closed, the rapper turns to him, his eyes kind.

“I know you’re eager to do your best,” he says quietly. “But don’t overwork yourself, Jungkook-ah. Independent projects can sometimes feel exhausting because you have nobody to compare your progress to other than yourself. Just don’t forget that you’ve got a team supporting you, okay? I may not be the best dancer, but I’ll always be willing to listen to you if you’re struggling.”

Touched by the older man’s words, Jungkook’s grin softens into a grateful smile. “I know, hyung. And thank you.” Then his latent excitement brims again and he starts bouncing on his toes. “Do I really have to wait until this afternoon? I want to start practicing now.”

Laughing at the whine in his voice, Namjoon throws an arm around his shoulders again and yanks him into another hug.

“C’mon, we can go to the coffee shop first,” the rapper decides, hitting another button on the wall panel. “My treat.”

Jungkook’s answering whoop of delight can probably be heard all the way from Busan, but he doesn’t care. Today is a good day.

…

Min Sejong is an incredible dancer.

Jungkook’s mouth had fallen open during the first complex step-sequence at the intro to the song, and has remained that way ever since. The man moves fluidly without seeming to exert any effort at all, transitioning between dance styles like it’s as easy as breathing. The choreography is stunning, and Jungkook is simultaneously awed and intimidated by its complexity.

He applauds enthusiastically when the music fades into silence, standing up from his seat against the wall of the studio as he approaches his new dance instructor.

“Ai, Sejong-ssi,” he gushes. “That was amazing!”

Sejong laughs warmly, leaning down to pick up his water bottle. “Thanks, kid. And hey, call me hyung. We’re going to be working together a lot these next few weeks, right?”

Jungkook nods keenly, smiling. The choreographer has an easy sort of friendliness to him that’s quickly settling the nervous anticipation that’s been eating at Jungkook these past few hours. Meeting new instructors is always a little awkward for him, especially without the rest of his team around (it’s not that he dislikes talking to strangers, it’s just that he always overthinks things and never knows what to say to them), but Sejong seems to be going out of his way to put him at ease.

“Have you eaten lunch?” Sejong asks, glancing briefly at the clock near the door.

The teenager nods again. “Yes, hyung.”

“Good. It’s important to eat well when you’re working on cardio-intensive choreography; if your body’s lacking in energy then it can’t perform at its peak.” He sets his water bottle down again and steps back out into the centre of the dance studio, beckoning for Jungkook to follow him. “Come on. You need to stretch first.”

…

The first week of training passes far too quickly.

Between practicing his vocals for their new album and perfecting the dance segments for their upcoming MV shoot, learning a whole new piece of complex choreography proves to be a lot harder than Jungkook had first anticipated. But he applies himself as best he can, listening attentively to Sejong’s every word, playing the musical composition on repeat during his breaks to commit every note to memory until the music is a part of him and he can move to the rhythm more naturally.

Sejong turns out to be both infinitely patient and wonderfully encouraging, praising Jungkook when he nails the first transition on day three and treating him to shaved ice afterwards as a reward.

“You’ve got real talent, Jungkook-ah,” the choreographer tells him, kneeling on the studio floor as he helps the teenager stretch out his hamstrings. “It’s a pity your managers focus so much on your vocals – with a little more training, you could really be something, you know?”

Flushing at the praise, Jungkook ducks his head to hide his smile. “I don’t think BangPD would be happy if I dropped my vocal training.”

Sejong huffs a quiet laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “No, you’re probably right. I just wish I’d found you before he did.”

Jungkook glances back at him, unable to fathom his meaning. “Hyung?”

But the instructor shakes his head with an easy grin, letting go of Jungkook’s ankle as he stands.

“Never mind, kid. We’ll just have to make do with the time we’ve been given.” He reaches down to offer the teenager his hand, helping him to his feet. “In three weeks, you’re going to give the best damn performance of your life. They’ll be calling you the new Taemin.”

The youth looks both hopeful and sceptical. “You really think so?”

Sejong nods confidently and claps him on the shoulder. “The potential’s always been there, kid. You just need someone to help you tap into it.” He gives Jungkook a gentle push towards the centre of the room and heads over to the panel that controls the stereo system. “Let’s do it again. From the top, okay?”

…

He’s two weeks into the new routine when Sejong hits him for the first time.

And it’s entirely Jungkook’s fault, really. He and Tae had stayed up late the night before watching a movie, and consequently he’s felt sleepy and sluggish all day. His vocal practice had gone well this afternoon, but his individual dance instruction hadn’t been scheduled until after dinner (which he’d skipped in favour of taking a powernap), so by the time evening rolls around he’s feeling drained and unfocused.

“You’re too slow,” Sejong tells him patiently, when he messes up the first transition for the third time in a row. “Your upper body’s there but your legs are still half a beat out of synch. Come on, kid, you nailed this sequence yesterday.”

A little out of breath, Jungkook drags the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his forehead to wipe away the sweat beading there.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” he murmurs, feeling frustrated with himself. “I know I’m not at my best today. It’s probably because I skipped dinner, I know I’m not supposed to-”

Slap.

The sharp smack to the back of his neck startles him enough that his shoulders hunch on instinct, his gaze darting up to stare at Sejong in surprise. But the dance instructor doesn’t appear angry with him (thank god), just mildly disapproving, shaking his head slowly as he holds Jungkook’s gaze.

“We talked about the importance of diet on day one, kid,” Sejong chides softly. “What did I tell you?”

Jungkook ducks his head guiltily, eyes drifting to the floor. “I…I’m sorry-”

Slap.

Flinching at the sharper smack, Jungkook bites his lip, fingers twisting in the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

“Jungkook-ah,” Sejong murmurs patiently. “What did I tell you last week?”

The teenager swallows, hoping that his voice won’t waver. “That…that eating is important,” he answers after half a beat. “That my body won’t be at its peak if I don’t give it energy.”

“That’s right. Well remembered.” Fingers cup the back of his neck, soothing the faint sting there. “If you don’t eat, you can’t dance. It’s as simple as that, kid.”

Jungkook nods, fighting the urge to cry. He hates being scolded, especially by instructors or managers, but this feels different somehow. Maybe it’s because he’s grown so close to Sejong these past couple of weeks – they get along so well that the man feels more like an older brother than a teacher most of the time. But then…Jungkook’s never been hit by one of his instructors before.

Not that the blows had hurt much. Not really. There’s a lingering sting on the back of his neck, but it’s quickly fading under Sejong’s gentle touch. It had surprised him more than anything – usually he can anticipate a smack like that, if he’s been teasing (or has spoken disrespectfully to) one of his hyungs.

And it’s different when its Jin or Namjoon or any one of his BTS hyungs, because they’re family. And although he feels close to Sejong even after only knowing the man for two weeks, he isn’t sure he’s comfortable with letting the instructor discipline him the way his bandmates would.

“Hey, hey, don’t get upset,” Sejong murmurs, tugging Jungkook into his arms, hand stroking over the back of his head. “Everyone makes mistakes. And you’ve worked hard this week – you must be tired.”

He pulls back to tilt Jungkook’s chin up, smiling kindly to bolster his spirits. “Come on, smile for me. Aigoo, that’s cute, there you go. See? The world’s not all bad.” He winds his arm around the teenager’s shoulders and guides him towards the door. “Let me take you home, kid. You need food and sleep, you won’t be able to dance with your tank empty.”

Relaxing a little into the man’s side at his easy, friendly tone, Jungkook yawns against the back of his hand. “Okay, hyung.”

…

“Oh my god, did Sejong-ssi treat you again?”

Jungkook glances up from his phone, smiling around a mouthful of the fried chicken that Sejong had bought for him on the way home from dance practice that evening.

“Want a bite?” he offers, picking up a piece with his chopsticks and offering it to Taehyung.

It’s become something of ritual these past four or five nights; he and Sejong will work together at the studio until Jungkook’s legs are ready to give out underneath him, and then his instructor will reward him for all his hard work with whatever food takes his fancy. It doesn’t even matter that Jungkook had messed up three or four times that evening – Sejong never seems to hold it against him. The man doesn’t raise his voice or lose his temper in the slightest; a quick, correctional smack to his arm or his thigh or the back of his neck is enough to remind Jungkook that he needs to try harder, and then the matter is forgotten.

“Aish, it’s not even cheap fried chicken, it’s the good stuff,” Taehyung bemoans around his mouthful, dropping down onto the dining chair beside him. “Why can’t I have a hyung like Sejong?”

“Am I not good enough anymore?” Jimin asks from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

Taehyung grins at him, then feigns a sulky pout and gestures to the box of food in front of Jungkook. “You never buy me fried chicken.”

“You never ask me for it,” Jimin counters easily, crossing the room to drape himself over the back of Jungkook’s chair, arms dangling over the youth’s shoulders as he hugs him from behind. “Hey, Kookie. Good practice?”

Jungkook nods cheerfully, taking another piece of chicken and offering it to the dancer. “I think I’ve finally memorised the choreography. Sejong-hyung says it’s all about posture and expression now, but I’ve still got nine days until the show; I’m sure I’ll have the edges smoothed out by then.”

Jimin hums encouragingly as he chews, giving the teenager a tighter squeeze. “Can’t believe you’re keeping the choreography a secret from your own hyung,” he gripes after he’s swallowed. “The anticipation is killing me here.”

The youth grins, tilting his head back against Jimin’s chest to look up at him. It’s a familiar complaint, more of a joke between them than anything – it had been Jungkook’s idea to keep the routine a secret, and Sejong had encouraged that notion, agreeing that the final, perfected version of the dance will be a pleasant surprise for his group and a way for him to show the company as a whole how far he’s come since his trainee days.

“I know it’s going to be amazing,” Taehyung says confidently, rubbing his arm. “You’ve been working so hard these past few weeks, the choreography must be super complicated.” He pauses suddenly, a faint crease appearing in his brow. “Hey…what’s this?”

Jungkook glances down at his bicep, where Tae has pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt up a little further to reveal an oval-shaped swelling on his arm, flushed pink against his pale skin. The teenager blinks at it in surprise – he hadn’t realised Sejong’s warning pinch from earlier had left a mark on him.

It had hurt at the time (like, really hurt), but Jungkook knows his instructor hadn’t intended to pinch him quite so hard. They’d both been tired towards the end of their session together, and Jungkook hadn’t been paying attention to what his hyung was saying, so Sejong had only done it to snap him out of his own thoughts.

“Sorry, kid,” the man had immediately apologised in response to Jungkook’s yelp of surprise and pain. “I think you drifted off for a minute there. You know I hate to do that, but I need you to listen to me, alright?” A gentle, forgiving hug had eased the sudden tension from Jungkook’s spine, and he’d let go of his throbbing arm so that the instructor could massage it for him. “There, Jungkook-ah, is that better? Where’s my smile? Mm, that’s more like it. Let’s take a five minute break, okay? Hyung bought you those seaweed snacks you like.”

“Kookie?” Jimin taps the side of his head to refocus his attention. “Hey.”

“Sorry.” Jungkook smiles apologetically and glances back down at the mark on his arm, giving a little shrug.  “I messed up in dance practice, that’s all.”

Tae frowns a little as he gently smooths his fingers over the swelling. “Aigoo. You need to be more careful.”

The teenager laughs, taking a sip of his soda. “It’s only a bruise, hyung.”

“What’s only a bruise?”

J-Hope saunters into the dining room, making a noise of interest when he spies the box of fried chicken. Jungkook already has a piece between his chopsticks by the time the dancer reaches the table, and offers it to Hoseok with a smile.

“Thank you,” Hobi chirps cheerfully, hopping up to sit on the edge of the table as he chews and swallows, before repeating himself. “What’s only a bruise?”

“Kookie fell over in dance practice again,” Jimin tells him, amusement tinging his voice as he idly plays with Jungkook’s hair.

“And look what he’s done to himself,” Tae gripes, frowning at the mark as though personally offended by it. “Scold him, hyung.”

“You need to take better care of yourself, Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok says obligingly, patting the teenager’s shoulder. “If not for your own sake, then for Tae’s – he’s very delicate, you know.”

Taehyung sticks his tongue out at the dancer, finally letting Jungkook’s sleeve fall back into place. “This coming from the man who freaked out over a nosebleed last week.”

“I woke up to find Jiminie on the floor, bleeding,” J-Hope enunciates, pointing at the younger dancer. “From his face. And you were hardly the voice of reason, Tae – I seem to recall you spent the entire time screaming obscenities at the basketball for hitting Jimin in the nose.”

“I wasn’t screaming,” Taehyung replies, with a dignified air. “I was making an impassioned case.”

“You’re all crazy,” Jungkook concludes.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Would you like a matching bruise on the other arm?” Jimin offers politely, poking the aforementioned bicep.

Giggling at the empty threat, Jungkook shakes his head, squirming as Jimin’s fingers dart down to dance along his ribs instead.

“Ahh! Sorrysorrysorrysorry!”

…

Fuck, he’s tired.

Taking a gulp from his water bottle, Jungkook tries to catch his breath, one hand braced against the wall of the dance studio for balance. With only three days left until the live dance show is due to air on national television, his managers have altered his schedule to prioritise his solo dance practice. Which is something Jungkook had initially been grateful for, but has quickly come to regret.

With more time on their hands, he’d assumed that Sejong would push him a little less vigorously. Apparently he’d been wrong. Now, rather than two or three hours of intense choreography at the end of each day, he’s working at that same intensity from daybreak to sundown, and it’s exhausting. He’d just about made it through until dinner time (although eating had made him feel nauseous after so many hours of strenuous exercise), but now that it’s evening his body really isn’t cooperating with him anymore. His movements are too slow, his spins lack power, his legs tremble beneath the weight of him.

He knows he’s messing up more often than he usually does, and he’s trying not to, he really is. He hasn’t made it through the routine even once without a warning smack from his instructor, and he can tell the man is starting to lose patience with him.

Slap.

“Kook-ah, watch your posture – keep it loose for me, okay?”

Slap.

“What are your arms doing, kid? Come on, are you a dancer or a seagull?”

Slap!

“Aish. I’m sorry, that was too hard. It’s alright, come here. But you know better than to behave like this – you shouldn’t still be making the same mistakes time and time again, not when we both know what you’re really capable of. You need to try a little harder for me, okay? Can you do that?”

And Jungkook’s been trying and trying and trying, but there’s nothing left in him to give. He’s dancing the steps on instinct, his body moving quickly and fluidly as he watches himself in the mirrored wall opposite him. His bangs are stuck to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks are flushed, but he pushes past the burning ache in his limbs, fights hard not to let the discomfort show in his movements as he locks and pops and dips and rolls and glides through the complex sequence of movements. It’s almost a perfect run – almost. But then his spin loses momentum and he stumbles half a pace to compensate, shattering his hopes of getting something right just once today.

Sejong’s fingers curl around his bicep to steady him as he stumbles, and the hand that swats down sharply against the back of his thigh is muffled somewhat by the music still playing in the background.

“You weren’t concentrating,” his instructor chides quietly, fingers squeezing his arm.

Jungkook ducks his head, bitterly disappointed in himself. “No, I…I was, I promise-”

Slap.

“Don’t talk back to me, punk.”

The teenager winces, shoulders hunching as the back of his neck tingles with the sharp sting of the smack. “Sorry, hyung.”

“You weren’t concentrating,” Sejong repeats calmly, tilting Jungkook’s chin up. “I’m trying my best here, kid, but I don’t know what else to do. Nothing seems to get through to you. I’m beginning to doubt whether your heart is really in this.”

“It is,” Jungkook insists, his chest aching with the weight of Sejong’s disappointment. “It is, hyung, I promise. I’m trying as hard as I can but-”

Slap.

He falls silent at the smack to his arm, catching his lip between his teeth and ducking his gaze away from Sejong’s face. His throat’s painfully tight and his eyes are growing hot and stinging, and he’s this close to crying in front of his instructor, which is the last thing he wants to do.

“We’ll take a ten minute break, okay?” Sejong permits, his voice gentling as his fingers slide up from Jungkook’s wrist to rub his throbbing bicep. “Do you want a milkshake? The vending machine has chocolate ones today. You’ll feel better after a cold drink, right? And after that, we can work on your-”

“Jungkook-ah?”

Glancing up from his shoes at the familiar voice, Jungkook blinks in surprise to find Hoseok watching him from the studio door. He’d said goodbye to the dancer after dinner a little over three hours ago (the rest of the team having finished their schedules for the day, lucky bastards), so what is he still doing here at this time of night?

Oh god, and how long has he been standing there? Jungkook really hopes Hobi hadn’t seen him fucking up that last spin and getting scolded by Sejong; it’s embarrassing enough already knowing that he can’t handle the choreography after almost a full month of private lessons, he doesn’t want J-Hope to be made aware of his failings too.

“Hi, hyung,” he greets, grateful that his voice doesn’t crack. “Didn’t you go home already?”

“I did,” J-Hope agrees quietly, watching him with an odd expression that Jungkook can’t quite place. “But I left my bag in the break room, and since Joonie wants you home early tonight, I figured I might as well come pick you up myself.”

“Namjoon-hyung wants me to come home?” Jungkook asks curiously, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. “Why?”

“They’re changing our schedule for tomorrow,” Hoseok answers smoothly. “We need to talk about it, that’s all.” He holds out a hand beckoningly. “Come on. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

Sejong settles a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, a faint crease forming in his brow. “BangPD assured me that his schedule would be cleared for the next three days; really, it’s high time that Jungkook’s dancing talents were given as much attention as his vocal training. He needs to stay here and finish practicing.”

“No, he needs to come home with me.” J-Hope’s words are suitably polite, but there’s something off about his tone that has Jungkook glancing towards him again, puzzled. Hoseok catches his eye and smiles a little, reassuringly, before crossing the studio to curl his fingers around the youth’s forearm. “Come on, Kookie. I’ve got a car outside, I can’t keep the driver waiting.”

Although Jungkook feels bad about leaving Sejong so abruptly, he’s honestly just so relieved at the promise of respite and peace that home will bring. His tired, aching body is already yearning for the softness of his bed and the comfort of gentle fingers carding through his hair.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, hyung,” he says, bowing to his instructor by way of apology before letting J-Hope tow him out of the studio, collecting his bag and jacket along the way.

“That was a bit rude of you, wasn’t it?” he murmurs once they’re in the elevator on the way down to the ground floor of the building. “You didn’t even greet him properly.”

“Mm.” Hoseok curls an arm around the teen’s waist, his gaze focused on the elevator doors, his lips pressed into a thin, grim line.

The expression is an unsettling one simply because it’s J-Hope, and the man rarely looks so serious about anything. Jungkook keeps shooting him little sideways glances on the way out to the waiting car, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as the settle into the backseat and the vehicle pulls away from the curb.

“Hyung? Are you okay?”

That seems to finally snap Hoseok out of his own thoughts. The dancer glances across at him, his frown smoothing over quickly as he reaches across the middle seat to rub Jungkook’s arm.

“I’m fine, Kookie,” he reassures. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you alright?”

Jungkook gives a little shrug. “I guess so? I mean I’m tired as hell, but that’s to be expected, I guess. Aish, my arms hurt.”

J-Hope stops rubbing the teen’s bicep immediately, and instead reaches down to settle his hand over Jungkook’s where it rests on the seat. His smile doesn’t waver, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes either, and the teenager just knows there’s something that his hyung isn’t telling him. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d probably wheedle the man for the truth, feign a sulky pout and whine at the dancer until J-Hope inevitably gave in and told him everything. But aegyo requires energy, and at the moment his batteries are running on empty.

Getting out of the car when they arrive home is difficult enough with his legs as sore as they are, but Jungkook manages it somehow, shuffling up to the house and yawning against the back of his hand as he waits for J-Hope to fish a set of keys out of his pocket and type in the security code.

“Go on up and take a shower,” Hoseok prompts with an easy smile, giving him a gentle nudge towards the stairs. “We can talk after, okay?”

Feeling disgusting in his sweat-drenched shirt and trousers, Jungkook readily obeys, trudging upstairs as quickly as he can manage, already fantasising about the healing properties of intense heat and pressurised water.

He doesn’t see the smile slip from Hoseok’s face, or the fierce, frustrated punch the dancer aims at the wall a moment later.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

.

“Hey. You need to calm down.”

At the warning note in Yoongi’s voice, Hoseok forces himself to stop pacing and drops down to sit on the edge of Namjoon’s bed, raking his fingers through his hair as he fights to control his uneven breathing. Now that Jungkook’s safely home, all the anger and hatred that J-Hope had been so carefully suppressing for the maknae’s sake has quickly risen to the surface, and all he can think about is calling for a driver so that he can go back to the studio and confront Min Sejong. Repeatedly. Preferably with a large, blunt object.

“I should’ve just punched him,” he grits out, fisting his hair as he glares at the floor. “God knows I wanted to. But Kookie...aigoo. He just stood there and let Sejong smack him about, like the bastard had the right to raise a hand to him.”

Standing at the foot of the bed, Namjoon’s hands curl into tight fists as he turns away from the group in order to compose himself, chin jutted out and a muscle in his jaw ticking visibly.

“Kookie wasn’t even doing anything wrong,” Hoseok adds bitterly. “He just stumbled a little on a triple-spin, and Sejong reacted like he’d done it on purpose. He…god, hyung, he hit the kid so hard.”

On the bed beside Hobi, Jin puts his head in his hands, exhaling a shaky breath.

“A month,” the eldest hyung murmurs dazedly. “We left Jungkook alone with that bastard for more than a month.”

Leaning against the wall nearby, Yoongi drags a hand down his face.

“He had bruises,” the rapper says after a tense moment of guilty silence, a telling thickness to his voice. “He kept telling everyone they were from falling over.”

“Shit.” A renewed surge of anguish makes Hoseok’s eyes burn, and he grinds the heels of his palms against them to stay the tears, swallowing hard. “No he didn’t. He…he said-”

“I messed up in practice,” Jin quotes, hushed, horror dawning in his voice. “Jaenjang. He’s been saying that for weeks.”

“Why didn’t he come to us?” Namjoon asks, giving voice to the guilt and frustration they’re all struggling with in regards to the current situation. “If the bastard’s been abusing him all this time, why didn’t he just speak up about it?”

Yoongi drops down to sit on the edge of Jungkook’s bed opposite them, heaving a grim sigh. “Because he likes Sejong.”

Hoseok nods, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth, his stomach churning nauseatingly. Suga’s right – ever since Jungkook first started training with Sejong, he hasn’t been able to shut up about the choreographer’s talents. They’d all found their maknae’s little man-crush pretty cute, and they’d been happy for Jungkook when he seemed to have formed a friendly relationship with the instructor. Hobi had only spoken to Sejong on a handful of occasions, but the man had always appeared warm and gentle-natured, quick to share a friendly smile and never lacking in praise for Jungkook’s dancing abilities. His true nature had never been immediately apparent.

“Sejong’s always treating him,” Hoseok murmurs. “Even right after he’d smacked the kid, he started comforting him like a hyung and offering to buy him chocolate milk. It’s possible that Kookie doesn’t actually realise he’s being abused.”

J-Hope’s just glad that he’d been stupid enough to leave his bag behind in the break room earlier that day. If he hadn’t made the trip back to the BigHit building, if he hadn’t decided to sneak upstairs to Sejong’s studio to try and get a peek at Jungkook’s new dance routine…aish. They might never have uncovered the truth. The abuse might’ve carried on for months, or even years, and Kookie would never have come to them about it because he apparently saw Sejong’s actions as discipline, and not an obvious abuse of power.

“We need to call the managers,” Jin says, glancing between Yoongi and Namjoon. “Joonie, we can’t…this is too big for us to handle on our own.”

Namjoon nods, reaching out to squeeze Jin’s shoulder in a show of support. “Let’s talk to Kookie first, hyung. We need to get his side of the story before we do anything else.”

As though summoned by his name, the bedroom door opens to admit Jungkook, the teen’s hair still damp from the shower as he scrubs at it with the towel slung around his neck. He’s wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts that Hoseok’s fairly sure belong to Namjoon, and in the slightly oversized clothes their maknae looks particularly small and young.

Hoseok’s heart clenches at the sight; aish, how could he have let someone hurt his dongsaeng for so long without realising it sooner?

“Oh, hi,” the youth says, clearly surprised to find his four eldest hyungs gathered in his room. He seems to realise that something is wrong, his sunny smile fading a little as he glances from face to face. “What is it? Am I in trouble?”

The four quickly shake their heads, and J-Hope manages to muster up a gentle smile as he scoots a few inches to the left to make room for Jungkook, patting Namjoon’s mattress as he holds out his other hand beckoningly.

“No, kiddo, you’re not in trouble,” he reassures, wrapping an arm carefully around the teen’s waist as he sits down. “We just need to talk to you about something.”

Sandwiched snugly between Jin and Hoseok, Jungkook smiles, looking around at his hyungs expectantly. There’s a long beat of silence, tension heavy in the air between the older members as they glance at one another, none of them fully certain how to approach such a delicate subject. As a group they’ve had their fair share of hardships and grievances over the years, but never anything quite this serious. Even Namjoon, they’re eternally-unflappable leader, looks completely lost for words.

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the conversation ahead, Hoseok tightens his arm around Jungkook’s waist a little, drawing the kid’s gaze back to himself.

“Kookie. Do you understand why I made you leave the studio with me this evening?”

The kid nods without hesitation. “Because Joonie-hyung wanted to talk about tomorrow’s schedule changes,” he answers confidently, glancing towards the rapper. At Namjoon’s puzzled expression, his cheerfulness falters a little, and he peeks back at J-Hope for reassurance. “Right?”

The dancer winces a little. In truth, there had never been any schedule changes, and Namjoon hadn’t asked him to take Jungkook home early – that had simply been the only convincing excuse that Hoseok had been able to come up with on such short notice.

“Actually, I lied about that part,” he confesses apologetically, thumb rubbing over the curve of the teen’s hipbone.

“Oh.” Jungkook blinks at him, bemused. “Then what did you want to talk to me about?”

J-Hope’s gaze flickers briefly across to Namjoon and Yoongi who are sitting opposite them on Jungkook’s bed. Both men nod ever so slightly, encouraging him to take the lead now that the teenager has given him an opening.

“When I came to check up on you at the studio earlier,” the dancer begins, watching Jungkook carefully, “I saw something that concerned me.”

The teenager’s smile vanishes instantly, his throat moving as he swallows. “Y-you saw…?”

Hoseok nods seriously, his chest twinging in sympathy. “How long has this being going on for, Kookie?” he asks gently. “We need to know.”

Jungkook ducks his head, averting his gaze as his posture hunches up a little. “Only today, hyung.”

As one, the four elder brothers breathe a collective sigh of relief, the leaden weight of dread easing from J-Hope’s shoulders as he gives the teen’s waist another squeeze. Jin lifts a hand to rub Jungkook between the shoulders gently, his face full of tender concern.

“Are you sure?”

The youth nods, keeping his eyes down, hands twisting together in his lap. “I’ve just been super tired today,” he murmurs forlornly. “If you’d come yesterday I wouldn’t have made so many mistakes. I’ve been practicing hard, I swear, and I know I can do better.”

Hoseok shares a bemused look with Jin over the kid’s head, and glances across to see both Yoongi and Namjoon looking equally as perplexed. With a sinking sort of feeling, J-Hope turns his attention back towards their maknae.

“Kookie,” he murmurs. “What do you think I’m asking you about?”

“My dance routine,” the teenager answers quietly, finally bringing his gaze up, his eyes full of guilt. “I know it didn’t look good, but I wasn’t feeling great and my balance was off – it isn’t supposed to look like that.”

“Jaenjang,” Namjoon mutters tightly, turning his head to the side to compose himself, dragging a hand down his face.

J-Hope wants to call for a driver right this second and track down Sejong so that he can personally tear the man limb from limb. If the bastard’s normalised his abuse to the extent that Jungkook thinks the only thing out of sorts this evening was his dancing…

“Ai, Jungkook-ah,” Jin sighs, his expression pained as he gently palms the back of Jungkook’s head, leaning in to press a kiss to the kid’s damp hair. “It’s not about your dance routine.”

The youth blinks, surprised. “It’s not?”

“No.” Hoseok shakes his head, curling his fingers gently around one of the teen’s hands, gripping it in support. “It…it’s about-”

“It’s about Sejong abusing you,” Yoongi interjects, his demeanour calm but serious.

“Hyung,” Hoseok protests softly. So much for the gentle approach.

“What?” Jungkook glances between them, bemused. “Sejong-hyung isn’t abusing me.”

J-Hope squeezes the kid’s hand again to get his attention. “I saw him hit you, Kookie,” he murmurs. “I only stood there for half a minute, and he hit you three times.”

“Only because I messed up the routine,” Jungkook points out matter-of-factly. “He wouldn’t have hit me if I hadn’t made a mistake.”

“Aigoo! That’s not the point,” Namjoon argues, an edge of anger creeping back into his voice. “He shouldn’t be hitting you at all.”

“Joonie,” Jin cautions softly, as Jungkook ducks his head again, shoulders tensing.

The rapper closes his eyes for a brief moment to get his misdirected temper back under control again. After half a minute, he slips from Jungkook’s bed and moves to kneel in front of the teenager, resting a hand on the youth’s knee as he reaches out to gently tilt his chin up.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he murmurs quietly, holding the teen’s gaze. “I know this conversation must be difficult for you. But I need you to listen to me, okay?” When the youth nods ever so slightly, he presses on. “Sejong isn’t your hyung. He isn’t family, Kook-ah, he’s a BigHit employee. Are the vocal coaches allowed to discipline you?”

Jungkook shakes his head after long a pause, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“How about the stylist noonas?”

Another shake.

“Sejong signed the same working contract as the other instructors,” Yoongi adds, moving to perch on the bed beside Hoseok, reaching around the dancer to rest his hand on top of Jungkook’s head. “The professional boundaries are the same for him as they are for the rest of the staff. He had no right to raise a hand to you, Kook.”

Jungkook’s throat moves as he swallows again, his eyes growing noticeably glassier. “He’s not a bad guy, honest,” the teenager insists. “He’s been nice to me.”

“Baby, he hit you,” Jin reiterates quietly, face pained. “You hadn’t even done anything wrong.”

“I...I messed up my routine-”

Hoseok’s heart clenches painfully at the faintly tremulous quality to Jungkook’s voice. “You tripped,” he murmurs, hugging the youth against his side a little tighter. “It happens to Taehyungie at least every other day. Do you see me smacking Tae every time he stumbles?”

The teenager shakes his head again.

“He isn’t disciplining you, Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon tells him carefully. “What he’s doing is straight-up abuse.”

“But…but it’s not like that,” the maknae tries feebly. “He’s not…Sejong-hyung never hits me hard enough to really hurt.”

J-Hope sees Jin blink several times in quick succession and glance away, and feels an ache forming in his own throat as he and Namjoon share a pained look.

“The bruises on your arms these past few weeks,” Yoongi says after brief pause, his hand stroking over the back of Jungkook’s head to settle on the nape of his neck. “Did Sejong put them there?”

Jungkook’s lips press together tightly as he ducks his gaze away again, but his silence speaks for itself.  Namjoon heaves a grim sigh, slowly pushing himself to his feet.

“I’ll speak to the managers.”

The teenager’s head comes up sharply, his hand darting out to catch the rapper’s wrist. “No! No, please don’t.”

“They need to know about Sejong, kiddo,” Namjoon tells him, his tone sympathetic but his resolve unbroken.

“Please, hyung?” Jungkook presses desperately. “I don’t want anyone else involved. What if it goes public?”

Hoseok recognises the youth’s concern – they’ve all been there, and it’s pretty much a guarantee that there’ll be at least a couple of uncomfortably personal scandals during an idol’s career. He knows the threat seems all the more daunting for Jungkook, who’s due to go back to school in a few weeks’ time and will therefore have to face the public backlash of any scandals in a way that the rest of the group won’t.

Jin presses another kiss to Jungkook’s temple, rubbing his back soothingly. “They’ll handle things discreetly,” he reassures. “Nobody’s going to go blabbing about it to the press.”

“But,” Jungkook stutters, a hitch in his breathing. “But hyung-”

“I’m sorry, kid.” Namjoon’s expression is pained as he gently pries the teenager’s hand from his wrist. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

The softly-spoken reassurance seems to shatter the last fragile vestiges of Jungkook’s composure, because the teenager ducks his head again and promptly bursts into tears.

Seeing their usually-cheerful maknae cry so brokenly lodges a painful lump in Hoseok’s throat, and he shares a helpless glance with Jin as Namjoon quickly leaves the room, phone pressed to his ear. Yoongi kneels up on the bed and moves around drape himself over Jungkook’s back, hugging the teenager from behind as Jin and Hobi offer what comfort they can from either side. Words seem insufficient given the gravity of the situation.

Worried that voice might waver given the hot sting of tears in his own eyes, Hoseok falls silent, heart breaking a little more at every tearful, hitching sob that echoes around the room. More than once, Hobi sees Jin drag a sleeve across his own eyes, and knows his eldest hyung is grieving for their maknae every bit as much as he is.

After what feels like half a lifetime, Jungkook’s sobs finally peter out into shaky, hitching little breaths, and Hoseok unwinds himself from around the teenager long enough to grab a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table.

“Here,” he murmurs, passing the wad to Jin, who’s already pulled a tired, pliant Jungkook into his lap, the teen’s face buried in his shoulder. “I’ll go and get him some water.”

Jin manages a small, grateful smile, his eyes every bit as red and puffy as Jungkook’s undoubtedly are. “Thank you.”

Stepping out of the bedroom and into the upstairs hallway, he almost walks right into Jimin and Taehyung. One glance at their serious, worried expressions and Hoseok knows the secret is no longer limited to the hyung line. He quickly shuts the door behind him, taking each dongsaeng by the wrist to tug them further along the hallway and dropping his voice to a low murmur.

“How much do you know?”

Taehyung and Jimin share a quick glance, the elder of the two wrapping an arm around the younger when Tae drops his gaze to the floor, looking only moments away from bursting into tears himself.

“Joonie-hyung was speaking to one of the managers on the phone while we were in the kitchen,” Jimin explains quietly. “We…we overheard some of the conversation.” He reaches out to catch hold of Hoseok’s sleeve. “Is it true? Has Sejong really been hitting Kookie all this time?”

Internalising a sigh of resignation (he had hoped to protect the rest of the maknae line from discovering this unpleasant truth until Jungkook was ready to share it himself), Hoseok nods grimly.

“Aigoo, that bastard,” Tae seethes, his voice thick with tears. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No,” J-Hope corrects gently, taking the younger man by the hand and steering him a little further along the hallway. “You’re going to sit in your room and calm down.”

Taehyung tries to tug his hand out of the dancer’s grip, but Hoseok is persistent.

“But I want to see Kookie,” the younger man insists, even as he’s pulled into his shared bedroom and steered towards his bed. “Hyung!”

Hoseok takes the youth by the shoulders to push him down to sit on the edge off the mattress. “Right now you’ll only upset him even more,” he points out, not unkindly. “He’s had a rough night already, Tae, and he’s vulnerable. I know you want Sejong to pay for what he’s done to our maknae, but Kookie doesn’t need your anger right now.”

Taehyung seems to deflate a little at that, sagging into Jimin’s side as the older boy perches on the bed beside him and loops an arm around the younger man’s waist.

“So what happens now?” the dancer asks, his voice uncharacteristically hushed as he glances up at Hobi with a serious expression.

J-Hope reaches out to brush Jimin’s fringe back from his forehead gently, doing the same to Taehyung to get the younger man to lift his gaze from his lap.

“It’s late,” he answers quietly. “Right now, we all need to get some rest. Nothing’s going to be solved overnight, and I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to be a tough day for us all. Leave Kookie alone tonight – I know you want to be with him, but the kid’s exhausted. Let Jin-hyung and Joonie look after him for now.”

He receives two slow, shallow nods from his dongsaengs, and manages to muster up a faint smile for their sake as he leans down to wrap an arm around each of them in a brief, tight hug.

“We’ll talk more in the morning,” he promises. “Alright?”

In truth, it isn’t a conversation he’s much looking forward to.

Chapter Text

.

The atmosphere in BangPD’s office is significantly more solemn than it had been just over a month ago.

Jungkook feels faintly nauseous and wants nothing more than to stand up and flee the room, but with his employer’s eyes trained on him, that isn’t a viable option right now. Even with Namjoon and Hobi sitting on chairs either side of him, a silent but supportive presence, the teenager can’t help longing for the ground to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole so that he won’t have to face the reality of his current situation.

“I imagine this is difficult for you to talk about, Jungkook-ah,” BangPD says, his voice quiet and softened in understanding. “Thank you for agreeing to come and see me. Your managers and I can only apologise for permitting Min Sejong to tutor you unsupervised – had we known he would mistreat you to such an extent, we would never have allowed him near you. Forgive me for being blind to his actions for so long.”

Swallowing, Jungkook dips his head in a shallow little bow. “There’s nothing to forgive, hyung-nim. It…it’s all my fault, really.”

“Hey,” Hoseok murmurs, leaning in close from the chair to Jungkook’s left and rubbing a soothing hand between the boy’s shoulders. “We’ve been through this already, Kook. None of this is your fault.”

The teenager fiddles with the sleeve of his hoodie, keeping his gaze lowered. All the other band members keep telling him that he isn’t the one to blame, but deep down he can’t help but feel horribly guilty for being the root cause of so much stress and turmoil.

Things haven’t been right since Hoseok took him home from the studio last night – he knows for a fact that Hobi and Namjoon barely slept because they were too busy keeping an eye on Tae and Jimin, who had apparently threatened on multiple occasions to leave the house in search of Sejong. He doubts that Jin had slept much either – every time Jungkook had rolled over in the night or stirred in his sleep, his eldest hyung had already been wide awake, soothing him with gentle hands and murmured words until Jungkook’s eyelids had fluttered closed again and he’d fallen back to sleep. And Yoongi…well, if the dark rings beneath his eyes this morning didn’t speak for themselves, the fact that the rapper still hadn’t moved an inch from his chair at the bedside by the time Jungkook woke up suggested that his night hadn’t been a restful one.

Their exhaustion is all because of him, and he hates it.

Not to mention how upset he’s made everyone – even the managers. He had come down to breakfast this morning to find Sejin-hyung deep in conversation with the elder members of the group at the living room, and when his the man had glanced up at him…aigoo. Jungkook’s never seen such sadness in his eyes before; Sejinnie is normally so cheerful and easy-going, that’s what makes him the group’s favourite manager. Looking grim and tired, the man had approached Jungkook slowly as though worried he might startle the maknae by moving too quickly, and pulled the teenager into the gentlest hug imaginable, a large hand cupped securely over the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook-ah,” the man had murmured. “I should’ve been there to protect you. You have my word, I won’t let this happen to you again.”

The teenager had hoped his tears were already spent after sobbing his heart out the previous evening, but at Sejin-hyung’s solemn promise they’d returned with a vengeance. By the time he’d manged to get his emotions back under control again, cuddled up in Jin’s lap with a cold cloth pressed against his stinging eyes to minimise the puffiness, both Tae and Jimin had gone back to being angry and defensive on his behalf, poking mulishly at their breakfast until it had been time to leave for the studio.

Aish, it’s awful. Jungkook just wants everything to go back to normal. But right now it feels like that’ll never happen.

“We thought you ought to know,” BangPD continues, directing the words to all three idols, “that as of this morning, Min Sejong is no longer a BigHit employee.”

Jungkook glances up sharply at that, stomach twisting. “You…you already fired him?”

“Good riddance,” Hoseok mutters, but falls silent when Namjoon reaches around the back of the maknae’s chair to squeeze his shoulder.

Bang Si-hyuk shakes his head with short sigh. “The man didn’t even give me the opportunity to terminate his contract. Sejong-ssi handed in his notice electronically last night, before myself or the managers could confront him about is behaviour towards Jungkook. Rather than facing up to the consequences of his actions, he chose to leave his position voluntarily.”

Swallowing hard, the teenager struggles to process the CEO’s words. After working tirelessly on the show choreography for weeks, after pushing Jungkook to persistently to strive for perfection and perform at his peak…Sejong has just gone and left without so much as a goodbye? Without an apology? Without a proper explanation?

It doesn’t seem right. It’s not fair.

“What…what about the dance show, hyung-nim?” he asks tentatively, hands twisting together in his lap.

His employer looks mildly surprised at the question, then quickly shakes his head, reaching out to settle a hand on Jungkook’s knee.

“Nobody is expecting you to perform tomorrow, of course,” the man hastens to reassure. “I’ll contact the producers myself and apologise for your absence.”

A tightness develops in his chest upon hearing that, and he can feel his fragile hold on his emotions beginning to slip. He takes a slow, steadying breath, swallowing again past the lump that’s forming in his throat.

“But I worked so hard,” he insists quietly, trying to keep his tone even despite the turmoil of emotions clawing at his chest. “I…the routine’s almost perfect, and if you let me practice today I know I can get it right. Please, hyung-nim, don’t call the producers. I want to dance. Please.”

Bang Si-hyuk regards him silently for a beat or two, before his gaze flickers to the hyungs sitting either side of Jungkook, then lastly to Sejin who’s seated a few feet behind the trio. After a moment of deliberation, the CEO heaves another quiet sigh, and nods.

“You have a strong spirit,” he acknowledges softly, a faint smile curling at his lips. “It’s an admirable trait, son. Very well, I’ll allow your schedule to proceed as planned – provided that a member of your group remains with you at all times.” He glances again at Namjoon and Hoseok. “I’ll leave his condition to your judgement, boys. If, at any point, you believe that it is in your dongsaeng’s best interest to withdraw from the show, I expect you to be honest about it and come to me, or to one of your managers. Do you understand?”

Both men agree to the terms quickly, Hoseok’s hand squeezing gently where it rests on Jungkook’s arm. 

“There’s one last question I need to ask you, Jungkook-ah,” BangPD says, growing serious again. “And that’s whether or not you’d like the company to pursue legal action against Min Sejong.”

The teenager blinks, startled by the suggestion. “Legal action?” he echoes. “You mean…you mean getting the police involved? I don’t…i-is that really necessary, hyung-nim?”

Namjoon rubs his thigh soothingly, lowering his voice to a murmur. “There’d be a strong case against him, Kook-ah. Hobi witnessed him abusing you, and we all saw your bruises. If you wanted to take this to court, you’d have our full support.”

Jungkook falls silent for a short while, his gaze fixed on the sleeve of his hoodie that he’s twisting between his fingers. He’s watched crime dramas before, he knows how this stuff goes down; police reports would mean being interviewed and giving statements, which would mean talking about everything that’s happened over the past month and explaining his own actions (why he hadn’t just gone to his hyungs or one of his managers, why he’d chosen to stay silent until the very end). Then there’d be court appearances, and it would be impossible to hide things from the media, and then there’d be articles about him and netizens spreading false rumours and…and…

Fuck no. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want any of that.

Is he angry at Min Sejong? Yeah, kinda. He’s annoyed that his mentor chose to quit and run rather than facing the managers to explain his actions; he’s frustrated that all of this had to happen only two days before his dance show. Mostly, though, he’s upset at the realisation that he clearly meant so little to Sejong even after putting in so many hours of hard work.

He doesn’t usually form friendships as readily as Tae does, but with Sejong…aish, he’d made it so easy. Always smiling, always speaking to him as an equal when he did well with a segment of the routine, treating him to drinks and snacks every day. How could he not grow to care for the man?

But now, Jungkook sort of hates him a little bit. And he hates himself even more for having developed feelings for Sejong in the first place.

He never wants to see him again. Ever.

With a deep, steadying breath, he manages to bring his eyes back up to meet the CEO’s patient gaze. “Sejong-ssi…he really quit?” he reiterates tentatively. “He’s never coming back, right?”

Bang Si-hyuk shakes his head. “He’s been blacklisted from our company, and from all of our associated networks and partnerships. You won’t have to work with him again, kid.”

Feeling some of the tension ease from his posture, Jungkook nods and straightens up in his chair a little. “Then no, hyung-nim, I don’t want to press charges.”

Hoseok’s hand slips down to squeeze his wrist. “Are you sure?” he asks softly. “You can take a little more time to think it over, if you want.”

“No, I’m sure,” the teenager insists, softly but surely. “I just want everything to go back to normal, hyung.”

The sooner, the better.

…

“Shhh. Hey, hey, I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay, Kookie.”

Jungkook’s only half-awake, still caught up in the emotions of his nightmare – grief, guilt, fear, betrayal. His chest feels like it’s being crushed, and he can barely suck in enough air to fuel his tearful sobbing, burrowing shamelessly into Namjoon’s chest as the rapper pulls him into a tight hug.

Still miserable, but immediately comforted by his hyung’s warm embrace, Jungkook fights to banish the images of his recent dream, trying to shake off the lingering memory of frowning faces and jeering laughter.

“I’m f-fine, hyung,” he tries to insist after a few minutes, shutting his eyes tightly against the welling pressure of tears, hating how badly his voice breaks. “It was j-just a dream.”

Namjoon sighs softly against his hairline, arms tightening around him. “You’re not fine,” he murmurs, a hand rubbing slow circles between the kid’s shoulders. “Don’t lie to me. Aigoo, you’re allowed to be upset after everything that’s happened to you, kid.”

The teenager shakes his head, sucking in a few hitching breaths to calm himself. “But I’m not upset about that. I’m not. It was just a bad dream.”

He can tell Namjoon doesn’t believe him, but the leader stops pushing him for answers and instead falls silent, cheek resting against Jungkook’s head as he gives the youth a few minutes to calm down. It takes a little while, because his tears stubbornly refuse to stop falling, but the man doesn’t rush him. By the time he lifts his head from Namjoon’s shoulder, there’s a significantly large damp patch on his t-shirt.

“Better?” Namjoon asks, leaning over to pluck a couple of tissues from the box on the bedside table, helping Jungkook to clean up his face a little.

The youth nods, rubbing at his aching eyes.

“Do you need me to get Jin-hyung?” the man offers. “Or Hobi?”

Jungkook shakes his head quickly. He feels bad enough about waking Namjoon up with his crying, he doesn’t want to disturb anyone else’s sleep – especially since he’d been responsible for the rest of the team having such a sleepless night yesterday. Jin had looked so tired at dinner, and after helping Jungkook with his choreography all day after the meeting with BangPD that morning, Hoseok had practically been asleep on his feet by the time evening rolled around. They deserve a proper night’s rest, not to be rudely awoken to come and comfort their cry-baby of a maknae.

Namjoon strokes a hand over the back of his head to draw his gaze up. “Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?”

The teenager hesitates, dropping his gaze again, fingers tracing idly over the collar of the older man’s shirt. He knows what Namjoon’s probably thinking – that Jungkook’s had a horrible nightmare about Sejong abusing him. But that isn’t the case.

“It…it’s not what you’re imagining,” he mumbles. “My dream wasn’t about Sejong.”

“Okay.” Namjoon’s voice is low and comforting. “But something’s obviously gotten to you in a big way.”

“I guess.” The younger idol swallows uneasily. “Aish. It’s stupid.”

“Nothing that upsets you this much is stupid,” the rapper tells him quietly, gently brushing Jungkook’s fringe back from his sweaty forehead, his concerned gaze searching the younger man’s expression. “Come on, kiddo. Talk to me.”

It’s the ‘kiddo’ that does it, and Jungkook feels his fleeting resolve to keep his mouth shut immediately crumble into dust.

“It was about the dance show,” he confesses hesitantly, keeping his gaze lowered. “I forgot the intro sequence, and then the music cut out halfway through and they started playing Replay, but I didn’t know the steps so the audience all laughed at me. And the others…everyone was super disappointed with me for messing up.”

The emotions are still too close to the surface; even though it had only been a nightmare, it had felt so real, and his heart had been tearing itself to pieces at finding himself confronted by all of his grim-faced hyungs, shame and grief eating at him from the inside out. He can feel a lump forming in his throat again just thinking about it.

“Hobi-hyung got mad at me,” he continues, upset, “Tae made fun of me for crying, and you were about to kick me out of the group for being such a bad dancer, a-and…”

“Shh, hey. It wasn’t real, Jungkook-ah.” Namjoon tilts his chin up so that their eyes meet, his thumb stroking along the youth’s jawline to settle him. “Hobi mad at you? Come on, you know that could never happen. And if we’re about to start kicking people out of the group for being bad dancers, I’ll be the first to go.”

That managers to coax a small, tremulous sort of smile from the teenager, which Namjoon mirrors warmly before pulling the kid into a tighter hug, hand cupped over the back of his neck.

“I love you,” the rapper murmurs after several beats of comfortable silence. “You know that, right?”

Jungkook nods ever so slightly against Namjoon’s shoulder, relaxing further into the man’s hold, his smile curling a little wider.

“Mm,” he acknowledges sleepily. “Love you too, hyung.”

A kiss is pressed against the side of his head, the arms around him squeezing tighter for a brief moment before loosening, drawing Jungkook away so that the rapper can peer down at him.

“Think you’re ready to go back to sleep?”

Jungkook nods, his aching eyelids already starting to droop. Namjoon leans in to press another kiss to his hair, then swings his legs over the side of the mattress, presumably to return to his own bed across the room. The teenager reaches out to catch hold of his arm, ducking his gaze when Namjoon glances at him, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Stay,” he urges shyly. “Please? Just for tonight.”

His smile softening to something fonder, Namjoon slips back into bed behind Jungkook, reaching out to tap the base of the bedside lamp and plunge the room into darkness. He tugs the teenager down to lie beside him, throwing a strong, protective arm across the younger man’s midriff as Jungkook shifts to snuggle closer to him.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the darkness, after an indeterminable length of time has passed in comfortable silence.

There’s no verbal answer from Namjoon (and he hadn’t been expecting one), but the arm around his waist tightens fractionally, drawing him a little closer to the rapper’s chest. The last thing Jungkook remembers before drifting off to sleep is the soft press of lips against his hairline.

…

“Aigoo! You’re so sexy!”

Cheeks flushed and aching from grinning too much, Jungkook watches himself on TV as he pops and locks and grinds in synch with the music. Thinking back to the tentative trainee he’d been only a couple of years ago, he barely recognises himself on the screen; the stylists and makeup noonas had done an amazing job, he almost looks cool.

His performance yesterday afternoon had gone smoothly without a hitch, and caught up in the excitement of meeting famous sunbaes and mingling with other professional dancers, he’d managed to completely forget about Sejong for the duration of the show. The studio audience had been wonderfully supportive, cheering him on even before the music started and loudly screaming once he’d struck the finishing pose of his dance. Warmth and satisfaction had swelled up so big inside of him that he’d felt ready to explode, and he’d been utterly convinced that there was nothing else in life he could want beyond that moment of happiness.

Until he’d sat down this evening with the rest of his group to watch the dance show air on TV.

“Aaah, Jungkookie!” Taehyung yells, whacking his arm enthusiastically, his eyes wide as he points towards the screen. “What was that?!”

Jimin clutches at him from his other side, incomprehensible sounds of elation and surprise bursting from his lips sporadically as he shakes the teen in excitement.

Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi are seated on the floor in front of the couch, their gazes fixed on the screen even as their enthusiastic gestures and exclamations distract Jungkook’s attention more than the sight of him dancing. Hoseok’s perched on the back of the couch behind him, his hands settled on Jungkook’s shoulders, squeezing lightly whenever the teenager pulls off a particularly complex sequence of steps. Out of all his hyungs, Hobi’s the only one who’s seen the choreography before, having helped Jungkook practice during those last forty-eight hours before the show. The dancer’s initial reaction after watching him perform the routine for the first time back at BigHit studios had been just as overwhelming (and significantly more vocal) than Jimin and Taehyung’s.

The proud grin Hoseok had been wearing when Jungkook had stepped off the stage after his performance yesterday (breathless and sweaty and shaking a little in the wake of his adrenaline rush) had been all the reassurance the teen needed to put his previous self-doubts to rest.

On the TV, the final note of music blares and he strikes a powerful pose, eyes cutting across to the camera just as the stage lights dim to end the segment. The audience’s screams are almost completely drowned out by the immediate barrage of exclamations from his hyungs.

“Yaaaaaa!”

“What was that? Daebak!”

“Ai, maknae!”

“Yaaa, Jeon Jungkook!”

“When you looked at the camera – aigoo! So handsome.”

Feeling his cheeks heat even more, Jungkook laughs as he’s set upon by his hyungs, yanked into tight hugs and shaken like a ragdoll as hands slap at him enthusiastically. In their excitement, they’ve clearly forgotten that they’ve been trying to treat him like glass these past few days; gentle hugs, quiet words, slow movements. It’s been painful to endure. This? This is how things are meant to be between them.

It feels awesome.

Eventually the rest of the group settles down to finish watching the show as other idols come on to perform. To his left, Jimin’s arm stays looped through his, and on his other side Tae’s taken his right hand to lace their fingers together, thumb rubbing idly back and forth over his knuckles. Yoongi’s seated on the floor in front of him, shoulders between Jungkook’s knees, and he’s settled a hand to rest over one of the teen’s ankles. Either side of Suga, Namjoon and Jin keep shooting him little backwards glances, their smiles soft and their eyes shining with pride.

J-Hope’s hands squeeze his shoulders again, the dancer leaning down to speak to him, lips close to his ear.

“Hey,” Hobi whispers. “You doing alright?”

Turning his head just a little so that he can catch Hoseok’s gaze, Jungkook grins, wide and easy and happy.

“Yeah, hyung,” he murmurs. “I’m okay.”

And the best part? For the first time in a long while, he feels like it’s the truth.

Chapter Text

.

“Oh gods. They’re going to burn the house down.”

Hoseok bites back a laugh at his hyung’s pained tone, reaching across the middle seat to squeeze Jin’s shoulder as the man buries his face in his hands, elbows braced on his knees and posture slumped in despair.

“It’s not the end of the world, hyung,” he cajoles with an easy smile. “You know Jiminie won’t let things get too out of hand. They’ll be fine.”

The elder muffles a low groan into his palms. “Don’t say that, you’ll jinx it. Aigoo, I should’ve made sure one of us rode in the other car with the kids.”

Namjoon leans forward from the back row of the van, looping an arm around Jin’s front across his collarbone in what’s probably supposed to be a comforting backhug (but looks more like an awkward chokehold, what with the headrest getting in his way).

“You couldn’t have known the traffic would be so bad,” their leader reasons. “We were supposed to be home only a few minutes after the others.”

The rapper isn’t lying – when they’d left the filming location of their latest MV, the roads had been fairly clear for the first leg of their journey. Hoseok had dozed off to the sight of trees and fields whizzing by his window, and woken up an hour or so later to find them at a standstill in the outer suburbs. There’d been some sort of accident near the bridge, or so the reporter on the radio had said, and the emergency services had cordoned off three out of the four lanes of traffic entering into the city. Given that rush hour had only just started (with all the office workers trying to get home at once), Hoseok expects that the roads are probably packed bumper-to-bumper for a good half-mile ahead of them.

“Don’t worry about the kids,” Namjoon continues reassuringly. “I’ve already texted Jimin-ah; they’re going to order pizza and watch a movie. He’s got everything under control, hyung.”

Jin sighs again, but a little of the tension eases from his posture at the news.

“Come on, it’s not like we haven’t left them home alone before,” Hoseok adds, even as he pulls out his own phone to shoot a quick text to Jimin, asking the younger dancer to order him a spicy vegetable pizza for later. “And Kookie’s an adult now, he knows how to take care of himself.”

“Aish. You’re right,” Jin mumbles, finally dropping his hands, his brow still marred by the faintest of frowns. “I’m working myself up over nothing.”

There’s a moment of peace, but it only lasts half a beat before Yoongi speaks up from the front seat of the van.

“Actually, I’m not so sure you are,” Suga comments, his voice unusually serious considering the situation. “Have any of you checked the weather reports recently?”

Hoseok sends a bemused glance towards the rapper, but Jin and Namjoon apparently find his words far more concerning, both of them immediately sitting up straighter in their seats and pulling out their phones. There’s a few seconds of strangely tense silence, both men tapping away at the touchscreens, before Jin swears hoarsely.

“Ai, jaenjang.”

Startled by the uncharacteristic expletive, Hoseok tries to lean over to look at the screen. “What?”

“There’s a maroon warning for a thunderstorm,” Yoongi tells him grimly, twisting around in the front seat to glance back towards them. “And judging by the look of those clouds up ahead, I don’t think this one’s going to blow over.”

Namjoon glances out of the window at the rapidly darkening sky, his face lined with concern. “Do you think we’ll make it home before the storm hits?”

As though summoned by the question, fat raindrops begin to splash against the glass windscreen and tap loudly on the hood of the car. Suga glances upwards at the sound, his expression pinched, and shakes his head unnecessarily. Jin swears again, louder this time, and presses the heel of his hand against his brow, eyes closed.

Hoseok glances between them, perplexed. “It’s only a little rain,” he reasons. “The kids are indoors, what’s there to worry about?”

Jin looks up sharply towards him, apparently surprised by his lack of understanding, before he shoots a quick glance towards Yoongi.

“Hobi wasn’t there,” Suga reminds the elder quietly. “He doesn’t know about Kookie.”

“I wasn’t there for what?” Hoseok presses, growing concerned at the mention of his youngest dongsaeng’s name. “Did something happen to Jungkookie?”

Namjoon heaves a grim sigh, raking his fingers through his hair. “Our maknae has astraphobia.”

J-Hope blinks, turning to look at him. “Eh?”

“Storms,” Jin elaborates, his voice low and worried. “Kookie’s afraid of storms. Joon-ah, we need to be there when the storm hits. He can’t be left on his own again, what if he has another panic attack?”

“A panic attack?” Hoseok echoes, growing progressively more concerned with every new piece of information. “Is it really that bad? Aish, why am I only finding out about this now?”

“It was on a need-to-know basis,” Suga answers him distractedly, his attention refocused on his phone. “And you didn’t need to know.”

Hoseok feels a twinge of annoyance flare in his chest.

“Like hell I didn’t,” he argues, dropping formalities in his frustration. “You’re telling me the kid gets panic attacks during storms, and you didn’t think it was something I needed to be aware of?”

Yoongi’s gaze flickers up from his phone to pin him with a warning look. “Hey. It was the kid’s decision to keep it a secret, and we tried to respect that. You knowing about it before now wouldn’t have changed today’s outcome for the better – we’d still be stuck here in traffic with Kookie halfway across the city.”

Thunder rumbles ominously in the greying sky overhead, and the others share a worried glance, the tension growing in the air between them. Hoseok’s still caught between annoyance at being kept in the dark for so long, and concern for his youngest dongsaeng. Out of all of Jungkook’s hyungs, it’s Hoseok who’s been watching over the maknae for the longest. Even right from day one when they’d first been put in the same dance class, Jungkook so much younger and smaller than the other trainees; J-Hope had taken the boy under his wing, offering a reassuring smile and a friendly hug whenever the kid fumbled over a step sequence or fell out of synch with the rest of the class. Kookie may have grown taller and stronger and more confident since those pre-debut days, but Hoseok’s never lost that initial protective instinct, that deeply-rooted need to keep his dongsaeng safe.

To know that he’s failed in his duties as Kook’s hyung every time there’s been a storm these past five years…aigoo. He doesn’t know who he’s angrier with: the others for not telling him about their maknae’s acute phobia, or himself for having completely neglected to notice the signs before now.  

“If the situation had called for it, one of us would’ve told you sooner,” Jin placates softly, as though reading his thoughts, fingers curling around Hobi’s wrist to squeeze in apology. “But usually Jungkook-ah just cuddles up in bed with us when he knows there’s going to be a storm; he hasn’t had to face one on his own in a while.”

The rain begins to fall faster and heavier than before, bouncing off the van noisily as the car ahead of them moves approximately two metres forwards before stopping again. Namjoon heaves a short, irritated sigh and slumps back in his seat.

“Damn. We’re never going to make it home in time,” he mutters. “Poor kid’s gonna be terrified.”

Another clap of thunder, louder and more lingering this time, makes them all flinch apprehensively. With a quiet noise of worry and frustration, Jin pulls his phone from his pocket again.

“That’s it. I’m calling Jimin-ah.”

…

“Oooh, daebak,” Taehyung breathes, face pressed up against the bedroom window. “Hey, I think there’s going to be a storm.”

Midway through changing into fresh clothes after his shower, Jungkook freezes, one arm threaded through Jin’s (borrowed) sweater as he glances up towards the other maknae.

“What?”

Tae shoots him an eager grin over his shoulder, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “The sky’s getting darker by the minute, and those clouds are huge. Bet there’ll be thunder and everything. Hey, we should all camp out in the living room and turn off the lights – it’s been ages since I watched a lightning storm.”

A cold, leaden sort of weight sinks down from Jungkook’s sternum to sit heavily in the pit of his stomach as a hot flush rolls through him, leaving him feeling strange and tingly all over.

Jaenjang.

He’s coped just fine with thunderstorms these past couple of years, because he hasn’t had to face one alone since Yoongi first discovered his phobia. These days the rapper, along with Jin and Namjoon, will come to seek him out the minute the weather app issues a storm warning, and he’ll spend the night cuddled up between them, Yoongi’s eye mask protecting him from the jump-scare of each lightning strike, Joonie’s noise-cancelling headphones blocking out every clap of thunder. He’s rarely able to sleep through it (until the storm has passed he’s never able to fully relax, even cuddled up between his three hyungs), but at least with those added precautions he hasn’t had to deal with a panic attack in a long time.

But the others are all stuck in traffic on the other side of the city, and suddenly Jungkook feels like the ground’s falling away beneath his feet. After all this time being dependent on their comfort, he’s not ready to face another thunderstorm on his own.

Aigoo, why now? Why today of all days when a freak accident has stranded the others in traffic, too far away to offer him any sense of safety or comfort? Fuck. It’s not fair.

Yanking Jin’s sweater over his head, he quickly scoops up his phone from where he’d tossed it onto the bed earlier, his thumbs swiping clumsily at the screen as he tries to open up the weather app. He normally checks it regularly, but they’ve been so busy this week shooting their new MV, he hadn’t even thought to look at it.

Storm. High wind speed. Thunder and lightning expected. Heavy rain. Thunder. Lightning. Thunder. Lightning.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Hey, where are you going?” Tae calls after him, as Jungkook stuffs his feet into his slippers and pivots on his heel, moving quickly towards the door.

“I think I left my headphones downstairs,” he replies over his shoulder, relieved when his voice doesn’t break and betray the growing anxiety currently clawing at his chest. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Feeling faintly nauseous and hoping to settle his nerves with a cold drink, he heads down to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, his rapid, shallow breathing sounding loud in the otherwise silent space. The cool liquid soothes the acid sting at the back of his throat, but churns uncomfortably when it hits his stomach, and Jungkook braces an arm against the door of the fridge, leaning forward to rest his brow against the back of his wrist as he closes his eyes, forcing himself to take deeper, slower breaths.

It’s just a bit of bad weather. You’re older now, you can’t let it get to you like this. There’s nothing to be scared of, it’s only-

A distant, booming rumble has him jerking upright with a startled gasp, his body tensing immediately as fear lances through his chest like cold steel. The damp glass slips effortlessly through his lax grip, shattering against the floor with a loud crash, cold water droplets splashing his slippers and wetting his ankles

“Yah, maknae!” Jimin’s voice calls from the hallway outside the kitchen, his footsteps approaching. “I leave you alone for ten minutes and you’re already breaking things? Aish. Hyung’s going to scold you.”

Appearing in the doorway, the dancer puts both hands on his hips, feigning a stern countenance as he surveys the scene. However, his expression quickly shifts from faux-disapproval to genuine worry when Jungkook remains frozen in place, wide-eyed, his chest moving erratically as his breathing quickens.

“Kookie?” Jimin says, softer this time, quickly crossing the kitchen, slippered feet carefully side-stepping the broken glass as he sweeps his eyes up and down Jungkook’s rigid frame, searching for injuries. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?”

Jungkook manages to shake his head, throat too tight to give a verbal answer. Jimin’s hands come up to rub at his arms soothingly, his brow creasing further in concern.

“I’m not really mad at you,” the older idol tells him, perhaps confusing Jungkook’s current state of panic-induced catatonia for a fear of being scolded. “It was only a glass, Kook. We’ll just buy another one, it’s no big deal.”

The maknae nods, and manages a tight-lipped smile to settle Jimin’s concerns. Although judging by the man’s deepening frown, the forced expression has exactly the opposite effect. Feeling cornered (and urgently needing to shut himself away somewhere quiet and dark where he can freak the fuck out to his heart’s content), Jungkook pulls himself away from Jimin’s gentle hold and bolts out of the kitchen as fast as his shaky legs can carry him.

He hears the dancer call out his name worriedly, but he doesn’t stop running, not until he’s pelted upstairs and into the bathroom, locking the door securely behind him.

Only then does he let his legs give out, sinking down to sit with his back pressed against the door, knees drawn up to his chest and head buried in his folded arms. Another rumble of thunder makes him flinch, breath catching in his chest with a slight hitch as he tenses up all over again.

Not now. Not now, not now, not now, please-

“Kook? Are you okay?”

Startled by both Tae’s voice and the quiet tap on the door, Jungkook lifts his head from his arms, swallowing hard in an attempt to force the aching lump from his throat.

“I’m fine, hyung,” he tries to reassure, although even to his own ears his voice sounds wrecked. “Just gonna take a bath.”

“You already showered,” Taehyung reminds him, sounding progressively more concerned. “Why did you run in there like that? Are you gonna be sick?”

Jungkook shakes his head, even though the man can’t see him. “I’m fine,” he tries again. “Just…just leave me alone, okay?”

The older singer falls silent, and Jungkook feels a twinge of guilt at his unfriendly words. It isn’t that he doesn’t need Tae’s comfort – god, he wants a cuddle so bad – but his youngest hyung is easily upset, and Jungkook doesn’t want to burden him with the stress of dealing with someone else’s panic attack, especially after the busy week they’ve all had.

Thunder booms again, louder and closer this time (Jungkook swears he feels it tremble in the air around him), and the maknae buries his head back in his folded arms, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the sudden sting of tears as the icy blade of fear is driven deeper into his chest, pressing down on his lungs and making his breathing become more laboured.  

In his haste to flee the kitchen, he’s gone and left his phone downstairs (and his headphones along with it), so there’s nothing he’ll be able to do to block out the sounds of the storm other than to press his hands over his ears like he’s five years old and wait for his torment to end. He can’t even call Jin or Namjoon or Yoongi, and fuck, why didn’t he just go in the van with the others this afternoon? This whole mess could’ve been avoided if he hadn’t insisted on riding shotgun with Sejinnie-hyung in the manager’s car.

A sudden knock on the bathroom door makes him jump.

“Kookie-ah?” Jimin calls softly. “Open the door, baby.”

For some reason, the pet name makes the tears well up even faster (probably because there’s nothing he wants more than to dive into Jimin’s sheltering arms and hide his face in the man’s shoulder). Dashing them away on the sleeve of Jin’s borrowed sweater and swallowing past the aching lump in his throat, Jungkook sniffs wetly. He opens his mouth to reply, but another rumble of thunder snatches the words from his lips and his breath comes out in a harsh, startled sob before he has chance to muffle the sound behind his hands.

“Jin-hyung told me about your phobia,” Jimin continues softly, and Jungkook can tell by the closeness of his voice that the dancer’s kneeling down on the other side of the door. “He called me a few minutes ago. It’s okay to be scared, Kook.”

The maknae grinds the heels of his palms against his brimming eyes. “I h-hate this.”

“I know you do.” There’s a quiet rasping sound over the wood of the door, as though Jimin’s pressing his hand against it from the other side. “Everything’s going to be alright; hyung’s here. Just open the door, let us help you. Kookie, please.”

It’s the ‘please’ that does it.

Sucking in a shaky breath and dashing the tears from his cheeks with another swipe of his sleeve, Jungkook heaves himself to his feet on clumsy, slightly numb legs and unlocks the door, opening it a few inches to peek out. Jimin glances up at him from where he’s still kneeling on the other side, the worried crease in his brow smoothing out into an expression of sympathy when he sees the maknae’s red eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Ai, Jungkookie.” Standing, Jimin opens his arms invitingly. “Come here.”

Jungkook yanks the door all the way open and throws himself into the dancer’s welcoming embrace, dropping his head to the shorter man’s shoulder to bury his face there, his body trembling slightly with both fear and adrenaline. It’s been too long since the last clap of thunder, he knows another must be brewing, and the dread is twisting his insides into horrible, nausea-inducing knots.

Another body suddenly plasters itself to Jungkook’s back, arms circling around his middle as a chin comes to rest on his shoulder.

“I hate storms,” Tae mutters vehemently. “Fucking thunder.”

Despite the crushing weight of anxiety in his chest, Jungkook can’t help muffling a tearful little giggle against Jimin’s throat, finding a strange sort of comfort in Taehyung’s defensiveness on his behalf.

His laughter quickly dissolves into another startled noise of fear when lightning suddenly flashes in the window beside the staircase, lighting up the darkened hallway.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Jimin soothes quickly, stroking a hand over the back of his head, arm tightening around him. “We’ve got you. Come on, let’s get you settled someplace comfortable, okay?”

Without detangling from one another, the three somehow manage to shuffle down the corridor and into the Tae and Jimin’s shared bedroom. Given how often he sleeps in their bed, it’s practically Jungkook’s room too, but it’s the first time he’s been in here during a thunderstorm and he can’t quite find comfort in the familiar surroundings.

“Aigoo, you’re white as a sheet,” Taehyung murmurs worriedly as the two hyungs take a seat on the edge of the bed with Jungkook between them. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

The maknae shakes his head, hand coming up to grip the elder’s forearm where it’s circled around his waist.

“Tae, could you pull the blinds?” Jimin asks quietly, his hand rubbing soothingly up and down Jungkook’s spine. “And grab me one of your scarves, would you?”

With a somewhat bemused glance towards the dancer, Taehyung moves to the window, tugging on the cord to lower the blinds, before crossing over to the dresser and opening the top drawer.

“Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jimin answers him distractedly, pulling away from Jungkook to crouch down beside the bed and root through his travel bag (although he keeps one hand resting on the maknae’s knee all the while). “Just make sure it’s soft.”

When Jimin straightens up again and moves to retake his seat beside Jungkook, he’s got the tangled cords of his headphones clutched in one hand.

“Jin-hyung said blocking out the sound would help,” the dancer explains, untangling the wire quickly. “They’re not as good as RapMon’s, but I figured they’re better than nothing.”

Taehyung reappears on Jungkook’s other side, circling an arm around the youth again as he passes the requested scarf over to Jimin. “Is this one okay?”

Whatever Jimin might have said in reply is immediately cut off by another booming clap of thunder. Jungkook jerks in their hold, startled, having only just managed to calm himself down from the brink of panic. The impulse to curl up and burst into tears is almost overwhelming, but his hyungs seem to sense that, and half a beat later Taehyung’s pulling him into a tight hug.

“You’re safe, Kookie,” Tae reassures, the words a warm puff of air against his temple as the idol presses a kiss to his hairline. “We’re right here with you.”

Jungkook muffles a tearful, hitching sob against the older singer’s shoulder, fingers gripping the man’s sweater tightly as he screws his eyes shut, bracing himself for the flash of lightning that he knows is going to follow.

Something brushes against his brow, and a gentle hand cups under his chin to tilt his head up briefly.

“Hold still for me,” Jimin murmurs, slipping the silken scarf over Jungkook’s eyes and fastening it carefully behind his head. “There. Is it too tight?”

The maknae shakes his head, and concentrates on taking deep, settling breaths as Taehyung rubs slow circles between his shoulders. A few seconds pass in silence, Jimin’s fingers stroking through his hair, before the dancer taps the shell of his ear gently.

“Do you want to listen to music for a little while?”

At Jungkook’s nod, Jimin’s earbud headphones are fixed carefully in place, and a moment later the opening notes of a familiar Studio Ghibli piece hum softly through the tiny speakers. The sound quality definitely isn’t anywhere near as good as Namjoon’s noise-cancelling headphones, and he can still faintly hear the lashing of the rain against the bedroom window (which means he’ll likely still jump at every clap of thunder), but the howl of the storm has significantly reduced in volume, and with Tae’s scarf fitted snugly over his eyes there’s no danger of him being startled by lightning.

“Hey.” Tae’s arm squeezes him gently around the waist. “You wanna lie down, Kookie?”

Jungkook nods. Although he finds a certain level of comfort in being blindfolded during a storm, it also has a way of making him feel super disorientated, and he’s found through trial and error over the past couple of years that sitting up for long periods like this can leave him feeling dizzy.

Besides, being sandwiched in bed between two cuddly hyungs – Tae’s legs tangled with his own and Jimin’s arms wrapped snugly around his torso – really isn’t such a bad thing.

There are definitely worse ways to wait out a storm.

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Chapter Text

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“Perfect!” Hoseok praises, clapping a hand against Jungkook’s shoulder as the youth beams up at him, flushed and breathless but obviously pleased with his performance. “Aigoo, you’re gonna make the rest of us look bad if you keep this up.”

The fifteen-year-old ducks his head with a tiny smile, rubbing at his nose in that cute, shy habit of his. “My footwork still isn’t as good as yours, though.”

“Maybe not yet, but I’ve been training way longer than you,” the dancer counters cheerfully, ruffling the teen’s hair. “Give it a couple more years and you’ll be one of the best dancers in the business, I guarantee it.”

“Hyung’s right,” Jimin agrees, skipping across the dance studio to sling an arm around the younger boy with a fond smile. “You’re a prodigy, Kook. And you’re picking up the new choreography so fast, it’s like you’ve never been away.”

Jungkook flashes them both another shy little smile, and Hoseok feels a renewed pulse of affection for the maknae. He knows the teenager’s been worried about falling behind these past few days after being forced to take a full week off from training due to sickness. The kid’s so much younger than the rest of them, but he never seems to take that into account whenever he compares himself to his hyungs and finds himself lacking – Kookie’s far too critical of his talents for his own good.

It’s a habit Hoseok and the others have been steadily working to break, taking the opportunity to praise Jungkook’s successes as often as possible, and reaffirming the fact that the maknae’s performance is always more than satisfactory. It’s a necessary process – if the kid keeps pushing himself to breaking point, he’ll end up in hospital before they even have chance to debut.

“Hey,” Taehyung chirps from the doorway to the studio, grinning at them cheerfully when they glance his way. “Sejinnie-hyung says we can break for an hour before this afternoon’s vocal session, so I was gonna go pick up our lunchboxes. Are you guys ready to eat, or do you want me to come back later?”

Jungkook perks up visibly at the mention of food. Hoseok knows the teenager burns through calories faster than the rest of them, and doesn’t doubt that the kid’s probably been starving for the past hour or so.

“Now’s a good a time as any,” he agrees easily, grabbing his water bottle from the bench near the back wall and chugging from it as he crosses over towards Tae. “Are Joonie and the hyungs already in the break room?”

“Um. Yoongi-hyung’s in his studio,” the teenager answers hesitantly. “I was supposed to go and get him, but…”

Hobi arches an eyebrow expectantly. “But?”

“He…um.” Tae fidgets in place a little. “He’s asleep.”

“So? Just wake him up.”

The look Tae gives him in return is one of mildly horrified incredulity. “Do you want me to die?”

Sniffing a grin, Hoseok rolls his eyes and gives Taehyung a gentle shove back towards the door. “Alright. I’ll handle it. Go and pick up lunch; we’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.”

“I’ll help you!” Jimin blurts with unnecessary enthusiasm, taking Taehyung by the hand and all but dragging him out into the corridor. “You too, Kookie, come on.”

The younger teenager glances at his fellow maknaes in obvious confusion. “Um. Exactly how many boxes did you order?”

Jimin tries to convey some sort of complex message with his eyebrows (the faces he subsequently pulls are seriously too fucking cute, and Hoseok’s hard-pressed not to grin), but the meaning is apparently lost on Jungkook, who peers up towards J-Hope as though hoping for a translation.

“Never mind, let him go,” Tae sighs, sending Jungkook a look of exaggerated pity. “I guess innocence can only last so long. And at least it’ll teach him a few necessary survival skills.”

Laughing, Hoseok aims a playful swat at the teenager’s backside. “Yah. Get out of here.”

Taehyung dances out of reach, pulling Jimin along behind him, and flashes Jungkook a supportive grin over his shoulder. “Good luck, Kookie! Fighting!”

“Aish, those two,” Hoseok mutters fondly as the 95-liners dash off down the corridor towards the elevator.

Jungkook peers after them, still looking perplexed. “Why are they so scared of Yoongi-hyung? He’s nice.”

Hoseok smiles at the kid, wrapping an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders as he steers him the opposite way along the corridor towards the stairwell. Out of their assembled group, it’s Hobi who’s known the maknae the longest, and until about four months ago (when Bang PD had finalised the arrangements for the official debut plan for BTS), the dance/vocal team’s schedules hadn’t aligned much with Yoongi and Namjoon’s. Jungkook’s still a little nervous around their leader (Joonie’s a sweet guy at heart, but he unknowingly gives off this vibe of confidence and authority that tends to overwhelm shy folk like Kookie), but the kid had quickly warmed up to Yoongi when the two had begun training together. The eldest rapper might come across as a little serious sometimes, but he shows a gentler side of himself around the younger trainees, especially the group’s maknae. And his personality is quiet (literally the polar opposite to Namjoon’s), so it’s no surprise that Jungkook feels a little more comfortable in the man’s company.

That being said, it’s another story entirely when Yoongi’s half-asleep (especially if someone wakes him up from a nap). The man doesn’t have much of a temper, but he’s strong, and when he’s groggy he tends to lash out drunkenly at whoever’s disturbing him. The group has only just moved into a shared dorm together a couple of weeks ago, so Jungkook obviously hasn’t experienced this first-hand just yet.

Necessary survival skills, indeed.

“Suga-hyung has a little trouble waking up sometimes,” Hobi explains as they head down a couple of floors to the level that houses the soundproofed mixing studios. “He works a lot at night, so he naps during the day to make up for it.”

“Oh.” The teenager falls quiet for half a minute, then presses, confused, “Hyung? How does that make him scary?”

Hoseok huffs a soft laugh as he opens the door to Yoongi’s small studio, giving the youth a gentle nudge inside. “Why don’t you go wake him up and find out?”

In all honesty, the whole thing is probably Hobi’s fault for making the suggestion in the first place. But in his defence, he hadn’t been expecting the kid to agree quite so readily.

With an unconcerned shrug, Jungkook heads over to the small couch near the back wall, skirting around the low coffee table in front of it so that he can crouch over Yoongi’s snoozing form. The rapper’s got his headphones on and the hood of his sweater pulled up over his head, sprawled out on his side and clearly sleeping heavily.

Hobi’s about to call out a cautionary “don’t lean in too close”, but Kookie’s already bending down to gently grasp Yoongi by the shoulder and ohdeargodno, don’t shake him-

Yoongi’s reaction is immediate and instinctive, one hand coming up in a defensive shove – one that Hoseok (and Namjoon, and Jin, who have both learned to master the art of Yoongi-wrangling during the course of their friendship) is usually able to side-step with relative ease. But Jungkook’s leaning in too close, and clearly isn’t expecting it, and the brunt force of Yoongi’s sudden push catches him completely by surprise, overbalancing him.

Time seems to slow down, and Hoseok stands frozen in place as Jungkook trips over his own feet, toppling backwards, twisting at the last moment to try and catch himself on his hands and knees rather than landing on his ass. Which would’ve been fine, if there hadn’t been a coffee table in the way.

With a sharp, resounding thunk, the side of Jungkook’s face collides with the corner of the table, jerking his head back and toppling him to the side to lay between the table and the couch.

Time speeds up again all too quickly.

“Kookie!” Hoseok cries in alarm, crossing the room at a run and dragging the coffee table back a few feet so that he can get to his fallen dongsaeng. “Jaenjang, are you alright?”

Pulled out of his groggy half-slumber by the ruckus, Yoongi pushes himself up a little on one arm to blink down at them with a furrowed brow. His sleepy confusion lasts for all of two seconds before the seriousness of the situation registers, and with a look of dawning horror he jerks upright, yanking off his headphones and slipping from the couch to kneel down beside the teen

“Aigoo, why did you let him wake me?” Yoongi asks, voice tight with guilt and worry as he slides his hands beneath the kid’s torso to help him sit up. “You know what I’m like.”

Hoseok ignores him in favour of ducking down to catch Jungkook’s eye as the youth brings his head up. The teenager’s got a hand pressed against his injured cheek, face pinched in a pained grimace as he allows Yoongi to help him sit back against the arm of the couch.

“M’okay,” the teenager manages, but his voice wobbles ever so slightly and his eyes are shining wetly. “It was my fault.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Yoongi tells him, but his tone is gentle as he rubs the kid’s back, eyes scanning him worriedly. “I was the one who pushed you, kid. Aish, I’m sorry. Did you hit your face?”

The teenager nods, lips pressed tight together, his chest moving in rapidly and shallowly as his breathing quickens. Hoseok doesn’t doubt it probably hurts like a bitch – just the sound of that solid thunk had made him flinch internally, and there’s bound to be one helluva bruise left behind.

“Here,” he coaxes softly, cupping Jungkook’s chin in one hand and using the other to pull the teenager’s fingers away from his cheek. “Let me see.”

Hoseok’s expecting to find a nasty mark, probably already beginning to swell and purple up, maybe a little bit of broken skin from the friction of the bump.

What he isn’t expecting is a steady stream of crimson to suddenly start gushing down the teenager’s face from the open wound on his cheek.

Jungkook makes an alarmed whimpering sound, staring wide-eyed at his bloosdstained fingers, hand moving back up to touch his cheek. Hoseok catches it quickly, swearing under his breath, heart hammering in his chest as he watches the blood streak down the teen’s neck and begins to soak into the collar of his white t-shirt.

“Move,” Yoongi grunts, calm but authoritative, and nudges Hoseok out of the way. He sinks to his knees in front of the teenager, pressing a large wad of tissues to the kid’s bleeding cheek (fuck, Hobi hadn’t even seen him move to the tissue box, when had that happened?), wincing in sympathy when Jungkook sucks in a sharp, pained breath. “I’m sorry, champ, I know it hurts. I need to stop the bleeding. Hoseok-ah? Yah. Hobi, if you pass out on me, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I’m fine,” J-Hope murmurs, but in truth his stomach’s churning something awful. He’s never been very good with gore, and aigoo, that’s a lot of blood right there.

“No you’re not,” the rapper returns evenly, and releases Kookie’s chin to gently shove at him with his free hand. “Go get help. We’ll be fine for a few minutes.”

Hoseok doesn’t want to go, he really doesn’t (not with Jungkook looking so pale and shell-shocked and about ten seconds away from bursting into tears), but he knows he isn’t helping the situation just by sitting here, and they need a first-aid kit and Jin, and neither of those things are accessible from this room.

He sets off down the corridor at a run, skidding into the stairwell and forcing himself to slow down a little so that he doesn’t end up tumbling head-first down the stairs. The breakroom their group’s been allocated is only one floor down (separate from the other trainees in an effort to maintain secrecy regarding the details of their debut album, which they inevitably end up talking about whenever they sit down together), and Hoseok makes it there in less than a minute, shouting a breathless apology over his shoulder to the PA he almost bowls over.

Bursting into the breakroom and skidding to a halt, his eyes immediately seek out his eldest hyung, who’s lounging on one of the couches beside Namjoon with an arm slung casually around the rapper’s shoulders. Both of them startle at his sudden arrival, Jin’s eyes widening in alarm as he lurches to his feet.

“Hobi, oh my god,” he breathes, crossing over to the dancer quickly and taking him by the shoulders. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”

Hoseok follows the man’s gaze and glances down at his shirt, surprised (and admittedly a little nauseated) to find the fabric stained crimson in places. That, at least, explains the mildly horrified look on PA’s face when she’d seen him out in the hallway.

“It’s not mine,” he reassures breathlessly, out of puff from his mad-dash downstairs. “It’s Kookie’s. He hit his head against the table in Yoongi’s studio, and now he’s bleeding all over the place.”

Jin’s face turns half a shade paler at that, but his voice is tightly controlled when he turns to share a look with Namjoon. “Go and find Sejin-hyung. And ask him to bring the first-aid kit, he’ll know where it is.”

Then Jin’s out the door, the singer’s long legs moving at a pace that Hoseok can barely keep up with. They make it back upstairs in a matter of a few short moments, and Hobi finds Yoongi and their maknae exactly where he’d left them a couple of minutes ago. Jin crosses the studio to crouch down beside the injured teenager, hand coming up to stroke over the kid’s head soothingly.

“Yah, Hobi, you weren’t kidding,” Jin murmurs, eyeing the streaks of red staining the kid’s neck and shirt. “That’s a lot of blood. Aigoo, Jungkookie, why do you always have to be so dramatic about these things?”

The gentle teasing coaxes a faint, wincing sort of smile from the teen, and Hoseok feels himself relax just a fraction at the sight of it. Kookie can’t be too badly injured if he’s still able to smile.

“Did he pass out?” the man continues softly, directing the question towards Yoongi. When the rapper shakes his head, Jin breathes a sigh of relief, hand moving to gently cup the maknae’s chin. “Hold still, baby, let me see.”

Yoongi moves the blood-soaked wad of tissue for a moment, and Hoseok catches a brief glimpse of the cut itself (aigoo, how can so much blood come from something that small, what the fuck?) before Jin quickly replaces the compress again, holding it in place himself.

“It’s pretty deep,” he tells them grimly, and sends Jungkook a soft, sympathetic sort of smile. “Congratulations, Kook; you’ve earnt yourself a trip to the hospital.”

Jungkook glances from Jin’s face to Yoongi’s, then across to where Hoseok is lingering a few paces behind them, trying determinedly to keep his stomach from rebelling all over his shoes.

The teenager frowns a little. “But hyung, what about practice?”

“Aish, kiddo,” Yoongi mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as though seeking patience. “You’ve literally just bled out all over the floor, nobody’s gonna mind if you skip training for a few hours.”

Jin tries for a more diplomatic approach. “It shouldn’t take them too long to fix you up,” he reassures, thumb stroking over the kid’s uninjured cheek. “Couple of stitches and you’ll be good as new. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up before you make Hobi pass out.”

…

“Kookie!”

Hoseok glances up from his phone at the delighted screech, in time to see Tae leap up from the couch and run full-pelt across the room to tackle Jungkook in a hug against the wall of the breakroom.

“Yah, be careful,” Yoongi chides, as he and Namjoon step into the room behind the maknae, the leader reaching out to smack Taehyung gently upside the head. “We only just got him fixed.”

“Let me see, let me see,” Tae enthuses, pulling back to cup Jungkook’s chin, his other arm still circled around the younger teen’s waist to keep him close. “Oooh, daebak. Jiminie, our baby got stiches.”

“Seriously?” Jimin hurries across the room to peer over Tae’s shoulder at the maknae’s injury, which looks significantly less horrifying now than it had a few hours earlier without all the blood there. “Aigoo, that’s cool.”

The maknae smiles shyly, blushing under the attention. “I only got a couple of stitches. They managed to glue the rest of it shut.”

Jimin pulls Jungkook into his own arms for a hug, the faintly worried crease in his brow smoothing out when the maknae flashes him a bright smile at the skinship.

“Did it hurt?”

When the teenager shrugs again, Yoongi reaches out to ruffle his hair with a fond look. “Kid took it like a champ. Honestly, I think Joonie and I probably flinched more than he did.”

“Good thing Hobi-hyung didn’t go with you, Kook,” Tae stage-whispers, flashing Hoseok a cheeky sideways grin. “He probably would’ve upchucked all over the floor. Again.”

Hoseok resists the urge to swat Tae for the teasing jab, but only because it would mean acknowledging the fact that he’s bothered by it. To be fair, he’d managed to keep his squeamishness under control for the duration of the time it took for Jin and Sejin-hyung to clean up Kookie and send the kid off to hospital. It hadn’t been until Hoseok had gone to the locker-room to change into a clean shirt and had stood there staring down at the bloodstained fabric…well, bye-bye lunch. Still, he’d lasted a whole lot longer than last time. And he hadn’t puked on the floor, there’d been a very convenient toilet stall nearby.

“Hyung?”

J-Hope blinks, and finds Jungkook standing in front of his armchair, looking vaguely guilty.

“I’m sorry you got sick,” the teenager apologises quietly. “I didn’t mean to bleed all over you like that.”

“Aish, Kookie, it wasn’t your fault,” Hoseok reassures quickly with a soft laugh, pulling the teen down into his lap for a cuddle. “I should’ve warned you about Yoongi’s reflexes before I let you wake him up.”

Jungkook shrugs again, smiling easily. “S’okay. Accidents happen. And like Tae said earlier, I learnt an important life skill today.”

There’s a brief, silent pause, then Yoongi clears his throat softly.

“I’m sorry, Tae said what?” the rapper asks, his tone deceptively calm.

Taehyung shoots Hoseok a wide-eyed look, already backing away from the second-eldest and towards the door. Yoongi waits for a few moments before giving chase, allowing the teenager a short headstart.

“He’s toast,” Hoseok states flatly.

“Yeah. Poor guy.” Jungkook glances at him sideways, and they share a knowing sort of grin. “Wanna watch?”

“Sure.”

I had initially intended to write the "five times Kookie came down with a fever" chapter as the next update, but that story has now become a separate fic all on it's own called MERCURY RISING. You can read that here.

I also have a new Astro fic posted, as requested by an Aroha reader. You can read that one here.

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Chapter Text

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Thud!

Biting back a curse, teeth gritted against the sharp flare of pain in his big toe, Jungkook clutches at is injured foot, hopping on the spot as he continues to peer about the darkened room for his headphones. The task would be made a helluva lot easier if he just turned on a light or something, but that would run the risk of disturbing Jimin and Taehyung who are both still fast asleep, curled up together in the double bed nearby.

“Mmngh…Kookie?”

Fuck.

Wincing at the low, fatigue-roughened voice, the maknae lowers his foot back down to the floor and glances towards the bed. Taehyung has propped himself up a little onto his elbow, and is squinting towards the younger man in sleepy confusion.

“S’everythin’ okay?” Tae slurs, blinking at him groggily.

Not for the first time in his life (or even this week, to be honest), Jungkook curses his inherent and incurable clumsiness. If he hadn’t stubbed his toe against the dresser, his original escape plan could’ve gone ahead without a hitch and Tae would’ve been none the wiser.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers, moving to sink down into a crouch beside the bed in the hopes that Taehyung won’t notice the jogging-pants he’s wearing. “Go back to sleep, okay?”

But apparently Tae does notice, because the faint crease of confusion in his brow deepens and he glances briefly towards the glowing numbers of the bedside alarm clock.

“Duuude, it’s like three in the morning,” Tae moans, reaching out clumsily to snag Jungkook by the front of his workout hoodie, fingers curling loosely in the fabric. “You’re not going out jogging, don’t be stupid. Come back to bed.”

It’s tempting – boy, is it tempting. There are few things in life that Jungkook enjoys more than sharing a bed with his fellow maknaes. Not that he has anything against sleeping with the older hyungs (being sandwiched snugly between Jin and Namjoon, or Yoongi and Hoseok, is also pretty high up on his list of favourite activities), but he’s always been especially close to Jimin and Tae.

He’ll always be the baby of the group, but when the maknae trio are curled up together beneath the bedsheets, sharing kisses and lingering touches, Jungkook feels comfortable enough to drop the ‘hyung’ and speak informally, and neither of them will bat an eyelid. He loves being the younger brother, no doubt there, but he feels more like the adult he’s recently become when he has the freedom to throw teasing insults at Jimin without the danger of repercussions. His elder hyungs would probably be fine with him speaking casually in bed if he wanted to (Hoseok’s already encouraged him to do so before during moments of intimacy), but Jungkook still feels pretty young compared to the hyung-line and hasn’t quite mustered up the confidence to drop the honorifics just yet. Maybe he will, one day soon.

Anyway, as tempting as the offer to stay and cuddle with Taehyung may be, the truth is that Jungkook can’t bear to lie awake staring at the shadowed ceiling any longer.

It’s been three hours since they settled down and turned off the lights (the three of them have early morning appointments scheduled at the skin clinic, so they’d agreed – after some prompting from Jin – to take advantage of their free evening and head to bed early for once), but Jungkook hasn’t been able to sleep a wink. He’s so fucking tired, but if he stays in bed another minute he’s gonna lose his mind. He needs to exercise for an hour or so, shake off that feeling of restlessness that’s crawling underneath his skin – if he pushes himself hard enough, he’ll likely be able to pass out on the living room couch from sheer exhaustion when he gets back, so nobody ever has to know about him sneaking out.

And besides, it’s not like he’s making a habit out of it or anything. He definitely hadn’t planned on things turning out this way when he’d slipped into bed last night, just like he hadn’t anticipated lying awake for three hours listening to the sounds of Jimin and Tae sleeping peacefully beside him. His body had certainly felt tired enough that he should’ve been able to doze off the minute his head hit the pillow, but apparently his brain had been in disagreement.

Seriously, his brain needs to shut the fuck up.

Insomnia isn’t something Jungkook’s accustomed to dealing with. Sure, they’ve all suffered from a sleepless night or two in the past, but nothing too terrible. Jimin’s the one who’d gone through a concerning period a few years back where he couldn’t sleep for more than thirty minutes at a time, but the solution to his plight had actually been fairly simple – if there was someone else in bed with him, someone he could cuddle up to freely, Jiminie slept like a log. Since then, they’ve made damn sure as a group that he never goes to bed on his own again (a fairly simple task, given how close they’ve all become). And now that they’re in the habit of sharing beds for other reasons, it’s become far easier to organise sleeping schedules to cater to the dancer’s needs. 

Being cuddled by Jimin this evening hadn’t made Jungkook any sleepier, mind. And he doubts that snuggling up to Tae is going to help much, either.

“I won’t be gone long,” he promises, leaning in to brush his lips against the corner of Tae’s mouth. “Can I borrow your headphones?”

“Mm,” Tae hums, and Jungkook decides to take that as spoken permission (even though he’s pretty sure the man’s still mostly-asleep). “Wait. What?”

Jungkook sniffs a fond grin and kisses him again. “Go to sleep.”

“You’re comin’ back to bed, right?” Taehyung checks, the words growing progressively slower as his fingers uncurl from the front of Jungkook’s hoodie. “S’too early for exercise, man.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” the maknae agrees quietly (and ignores the immediate twinge of guilt in his chest at the barefaced lie), tucking the blankets up a little high over the man’s shoulders as he dozes off again, and holding his breath when Jimin suddenly begins to stir on the other side of Tae.

Time to beat a hasty retreat.

Grabbing Taehyung’s headphones from the bedside table, Junkook quickly straightens up and hurries out of the room before Jimin can finish waking up and catch sight of him. Tae, he can handle; the guy’s a total pushover, he really doesn’t have a strict bone in his body. But Jimin? Not so much. Despite Jimin’s cheery disposition and easy-going attitude, the dancer’s generally less inclined towards allowing Jungkook to get away with doing dangerous and/or stupid shit.

Like going for a run at three o’clock in the morning, for example.

Not that he’s going to run outside. He’s not totally crazy. The neighbourhood’s fairly safe, Saesang fans aside (although he presumes they’ll all be sleeping at this hour; there aren’t normally any strays lingering around outside their house at 3am, at least not on school nights), but it’s still generally inadvisable to go running for miles on end in the dark on your own.

No, that’d be dumb. He’s just gonna take a walk to the private fitness club five minutes up the road – security’s great there, and they’re open twenty-four hours a day to cater to athletes and idols with irregular schedules. The price of membership is pretty steep (certainly more than BigHit would’ve been willing to fork out on a monthly basis), but after Jungkook had done some promotional work for the company earlier in the year, they’d gifted him with unrestricted access to all their facilities. And since the fitness centre is open all night, he might as well take advantage of his inability to sleep and work on toning up his legs. It’ll be fine.

As long as the others don’t find out.

Jungkook knows the team wouldn’t approve of him sneaking out like this. Sure, sometimes their schedules keep them at the studio until stupid-o’clock in the morning, but most of the time their managers try to organise things so that they’re safely home before midnight. Yoongi and Namjoon often choose to stay behind of their own volition, but both of them have cosy private offices with comfortable couches where they can crash for the night if they’re too tired to come home after working on lyrics for the new album. It’s generally assumed that the rest of the group will come home when practice is over – in the past, Jungkook’s even known Jin to drive back to the studio specifically to hunt down errant dongsaengs who he’s deemed to be up past their bedtime. His eldest hyung certainly wouldn’t be happy if he discovered Jungkook was missing from his bed at this hour.

Which is precisely why he’s being extra careful not to make any noise as he creeps downstairs, padding on sock-clad feet over to the front door (thankfully someone’s forgotten to switch off the living room light, so he doesn’t have to worry about tripping over something in the dark), shoving his feet into his unlaced sneakers as he checks his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs – phone, headphones, keys, membership card, loose change to buy a drink from the corner store on his way home…

“Where are you going?”

Jungkook startles with a soft noise of surprise, glancing up sharply towards the living room where Namjoon’s figure is now silhouetted in the doorway. The rapper’s arm reaches out to turn on the standing-lamp nearby, and warm yellow light fills the hallway, Jungkook wincing briefly when it irritates his overtired eyes.

His wince only deepens when he sees Namjoon’s gaze flickering down to Jungkook’s jogging-pants and unlaced running shoes. 

“I can explain,” he promises meekly, slowly straightening up from his crouch, heart pulsing rapidly at the base of his throat. “This isn’t what it looks like, hyung.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Namjoon returns in a tone that’s deceptively mild, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his shoulder against the frame of the door in a casual slouch. “Because it looks like you were planning on leaving the house at 3am to go for a run.”

The maknae swallows nervously, feeling himself squirm beneath the man’s all-too-knowing gaze and quickly averting his own, instead staring down at the array of shoes lined up along the entryway. Man, Hoseok sure does own a lot of-

“Jeon Jungkook.”

He can’t quite keep from tensing at the use of his full name, unease twisting in his stomach. Namjoon so rarely calls him ‘Jungkook’ these days (it’s almost always a variation of ‘Kook’ or ‘Kookie’, or something from the ever-growing list of petnames he’s accumulated over the years), and to hear both given and family name spoken in a low but warning tone makes him want to either turn tail and flee back upstairs or bolt out of the front door.

Jungkook dislikes getting into trouble with his hyungs at the best of times, but he hates it most of all when it’s Namjoon who catches him in the act. Not because the man’s scary or anything (he doubts the rapper’s even capable of being scary, Joonie’s just too nice), but because Jungkook really hates disappointing him like this.

The lame-ass excuse his panicking mind had clumsily thrown together dies on the tip of his tongue, and he feels his shoulders slump a little in resignation. He’s not gonna lie to Namjoon’s face - not again, anyway.

“I was only gonna go for a little while,” he insists plaintively.

“Go where, kid?”

Jungkook scuffs the toe of his shoe against the floor, keeping his head down. “To the gym. It’s open all night, so I thought…well, since I can’t sleep, it seemed stupid not to do something else instead, you know? Might as well work out.”

“At three in the morning?” Namjoon moves closer, and although Jungkook doesn’t glance up, in his peripheral vision he can see the rapper’s arms where they’re still crossed over his chest as the man comes to stand in front of him. “Did you tell anyone you were leaving?”

“Taehyungie,” Jungkook answers quickly, then winces when he remembers the singer’s sleepy insistence that he come back to bed. He doesn’t want to drag Tae into this, not when the other maknae probably won’t even remember their conversation come morning. “Um, sort of. He was kinda half-asleep.”

He hears Namjoon heave a quiet sigh. “So that’s a ‘no’, then. Putting aside the fact that you shouldn’t be working out at this time of night, you know better than to leave the house without telling one of us. We’ve talked about this before, Kook.”

The younger man fidgets in place, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands, keeping his head bowed. He knows they’ve had similar conversations in the past (mostly when he was younger and more rebellious), but generally they’d taken place after his outdoor escapade rather than before. Those particular ‘conversations’ had never ended well for Jungkook, come to think of it. But he’s older now, surely that’s got to mean something, right? He’s more than capable of looking after himself.

“Come on, hyung,” he complains, finally glancing up from the floor, opting to mirror Namjoon’s stance by crossing his arms over his chest, trying not to look as guilty as he feels. “I’m an adult now. And it’s not like I haven’t gone out on my own before. Besides, the fitness centre’s only a few minutes down the road, what could possibly happen?”

The rapper’s calm expression falters for just a moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching, before he schools his expression again.

“I’m glad you asked,” Joonie says pleasantly, and begins ticking points off on his fingers. “Someone might try to mug you. Or how about you get hit by a car crossing the road and have to go to hospital? Hell, you’re clumsy, you could just trip over something in the dark and hurt yourself. You know how icy it is out there? Congratulations, your leg’s broken, now you can’t dance. Or what if you got cornered by a Saesang fan? You could message us for backup, but nobody’s gonna think about keeping an eye on their phones at this time of night if they don’t even know you’re missing.”

Jungkook’s shoulders hunch a little further at the gentle scolding. Namjoon never raises his voice when Kookie’s in trouble, but in some ways that makes it worse. At least if there was shouting he could get defensive; instead, the man’s low voice and patient tone make him feel super guilty about everything he’s done wrong.

Fingers brush his fringe back from his forehead, combing slowly through his hair, and the maknae fights the urge to glance up. If he looks into Namjoon’s face and sees disappointment, there’s an eighty percent chance he’s gonna start crying, and that’s the last thing he needs right now.

“I know you’re an adult,” Namjoon murmurs, other hand coming up squeeze the side of Jungkook’s neck. “You need your independence, and I respect that. But you gotta make room for common sense in that big brain of yours, kid.” The rapper gives him a gentle shake. “Don’t go walking around outside at this time of night. If Jin-hyung ever found out, your ass would be history.”

Jungkook winces again, remembering the last time Jin had been the one to catch him coming home after a late-night trip to a nearby convenience store for snacks. His plaintive protests of “but Jiminie ate all my chips, what was I supposed to do?” hadn’t spared him brief a trip over the older singer’s knee.

“Jin-hyung doesn’t have to know,” Namjoon tells him (and Jungkook thanks his lucky stars that BigHit gifted him with such a merciful leader). “Promise me you won’t go sneaking out like this again, and we can close the issue here and now.”

The maknae nods quickly. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

“Good.”

He doesn’t see the hand that snakes out quickly to curl around his bicep, and the next thing Jungkook knows he’s being turned to the side and pushed forward a little to bend over the rapper’s arm as Namjoon’s free hand collides with his backside in swift, sharp swat that echoes like a gunshot in the otherwise silent hallway.

Jungkook makes a soft, startled noise at the sudden stinging heat in his hindquarters, but doesn’t try to move away from the next swat, or the one after that. To be honest, it doesn’t really hurt all that much – Namjoon’s only using a fraction of his strength (Jungkook’s been in this position often enough to know that if he was really in trouble, it would be a different story), the swats more sound and show than anything else – and after a meagre total of six spanks, Jungkook’s righted again and pulled immediately into a warm bear-hug.

“Next time you’re having trouble sleeping, come and find me,” Namjoon murmurs, lips moving against Jungkook’s temple as he cradles the maknae’s head close to him. “I don’t care if you have to wake me up. Better that than you going to the gym at some ungodly hour in the morning and breaking your coccyx slipping on black-ice.”

The younger man wraps his own arms around Namjoon in return, snuggling into the rapper’s embrace as he feels the tension slowly bleed from his weary body.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles. “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Fuck, he’s so tired. He’s fairly sure this brief bout of insomnia had played a part in his bad decision-making this evening. And the emotional toll of being caught and scolded and disciplined by Namjoon has left him feeling drained enough that he might actually stand a chance of falling asleep when he finally goes back upstairs to bed.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to cup his cheek instead as Namjoom pulls away a few inches, and Jungkook finally brings his gaze up from the floor, finding the rapper regarding him with a soft, fond look. “You know I love you, right?”

Jungkook nods, blinking rapidly and trying to convince himself that his eyes are only stinging because he’s really fucking tired.

Namjoon leans in to press a kiss to his mouth, then one to the tip of his nose, and lastly a more lingering kiss to the centre of his forehead. Jungkook closes his tired eyes with a shaky sort of exhale, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Yup. Definitely not gonna cry.

“Come upstairs to bed with me,” the rapper coaxes softly, lips moving against Junkook’s skin. “If you still can’t sleep, I’ll stay awake and keep you company.”

The younger man wants to protest, he really does (Namjoon needs sleep as much as any of them, especially with all the extra hours he puts in at the studio after practice), but he really doesn’t want to be on his own right now, and the company of two sleeping hyungs (even if Jiminie and Tae are super cute when they’re out cold) won’t really offer him anything in the way of comfort. So he nods again, and allows Namjoon to take him by the hand, interlacing their fingers together. The rapper switches off the living room and hallway lamps before tugging on Jungkook’s hand gently to guide him upstairs.

“Won’t we wake Jin-hyung?” Jungkook asks, keeping his voice hushed as they pass Yoongi and Hoseok’s shared bedroom.

Namjoon smiles at him, shaking his head. “You know how much of a heavy sleeper he is when he’s tired. And he won’t mind the intrusion. We miss having you between us.”

Actually, now that Jungkook thinks about it, he hasn’t slept with Namjoon (in either sense of the word) for almost three weeks. Not as the result of any deliberate avoidance on his part – Jungkook’s schedule just tends to line up more often than not with Tae and Jimin’s. And with the group leader often staying behind to work in his office, the option to crawl into bed for late-night cuddles has been limited of late. Jungkook occasionally bunks with Hobi and Yoongi (they tend to watch anime and snuggle, it’s great), but he tends to gravitate automatically towards Jimin and Tae’s bedroom, sometimes tugging Jin by the hand to persuade the elder singer to come join them during Namjoon’s absence.

Namjoon tends to run like a furnace in bed, from previous experiences, so Jungkook pulls his phone and keys from his pockets and sets them on the nightstand before quickly slipping out of his jogging pants and hoodie. It’s a relatively cold night, and the room temperature is cool enough to make Jungkook shiver a little as he stands in just a t-shirt and boxers, so he quickly pulls back the covers on the double bed and scoots beneath the thick quilt to lay in the middle.

Jin stirs beside him with a soft hum, rolling over to face him, fingers touching the maknae’s chest gently. “Joon-ah?”

“He’s just getting changed,” Jungkook whispers. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Mmm, Kookie?” Although Jin’s words are sleep-slurred, there’s definitely a pleased note to his voice as he shifts closer, arm snaking around the younger man’s waist in a sideways cuddle. “Hi, baby.”

Jungkook smiles a little. “Hi. Go back to sleep, hyung.”

“Bossy,” Jin grouches, kissing the column of Jungkook’s throat. But he’s out again a moment later, puffing warm little breaths against the maknae’s skin.

The blankets shift as Namjoon climbs into bed behind him, and Jungkook heaves a contented sigh as the rapper’s warm, muscular chest presses up against his back. Ditching the hoodie had definitely been a good idea – the man’s as toasty as ever.

“Told you he wouldn’t mind,” Namjoon murmurs, lips brushing against the maknae’s nape. A muscular arm wraps around Jungkook from behind, resting just above Jin’s, the rapper’s hand splayed comfortably against his sternum. “Think you might be able to go to sleep? Or do you wanna stay up and talk for a bit?”

Honestly, Jungkook’s eyes are already closed, his eyelids too heavy to keep open a moment longer.

“Sleep,” he answers, fingers coming up to curl around Namjoon’s forearm. “You’re so warm, hyung. S’nice. You’re like a giant hot-water bottle.”

He hears the man breathe a quiet laugh, and feels lips brush against his nape again.

“Glad to be of use,” the man returns, amused. “Jin hates it in the summer, but it does come in handy when the weather turns cold.”

“Mmm,” Jungkook agrees sleepily, hunkering down between the two men a little more snugly. “You’re the best.”

Another laugh, and Namjoon’s arm squeezes him tightly for a brief moment in a hug. “Yah. Go to sleep.”

“M’kay. Love you”

He’s out for the count within seconds.

.

Chapter Text

.

Jungkook can’t sleep.

Which is so fucking dumb, because he can’t remember the last time he felt this exhausted. His eyes are so tired they physically ache, pulsing with every slow blink of his scratchy eyelids, but even keeping them closed doesn’t ease the discomfort.

He needs to rest. He needs to sleep. But no matter how hard he tries or what position he lies in, he can’t seem to switch off.

Kookie knows the hotel’s expensive, so it’s not the bed. It’s a really fucking comfortable bed; thick mattress, plump pillows, soft bedsheets that feel like silk against his skin, smelling fresh and faintly sweet from whatever fancy detergent they’ve apparently been washed in. Certainly everything’s of a higher quality then anything he owns back home. So he can’t blame it on his sleeping conditions, because they’ve literally never been better.

It’s just…

God, it’s just so quiet.

Even the low hum of the hotel room’s aircon easily fades into the background, and with his suite way up on tenth floor of the complex, he can’t even hear the whir of a passing car outside. Central LA is supposed to be a busy place, bustling with life and energy, but right now it feels like he’s holed up in some sort of ghost town.

And he’s on his own, which probably doesn’t help matters either.

It’s not the first time he’s slept in a strange place by himself (all of their overseas concerts this past year have come with individual hotel rooms), but normally that’s just been for a night or two before they head back to Korea (or move on to the next touring destination), and nine times out of ten one of the others will end up crashing in his room out of sheer boredom, for want of company.

But they’ve been here a week already, days tightly packed with interviews and TV show appearances and fanmeets, evenings filled with sightseeing and experiencing the nightlife in LA (and by ‘nightlife’, he means eating out at fancy restaurants and sharing cocktails, because their managers would never let them go to actual clubs in a strange country). So by the time they get back to the hotel at almost-if-not-gone-midnight, everyone’s already half-asleep, retaining just enough energy to crawl into the shower and scrub the day’s makeup from their faces before collapsing into bed.

Certainly nobody feels like hanging out late into the night or watching movies in the dark cuddled up together beneath the blankets. Which is fine – more than fine, it’s totally understandable. It’s just that Jungkook is apparently completely incapable of winding down after a busy day without that familiar routine; without someone to keep him company, he’s going fucking crazy on his own.

Huffing out a sigh, he kicks the bedcovers off his legs and rolls over to grab his phone from the bedside table, aching eyes squinting as he peers at the numbers on the screen.

05:18

Aish, is there even any point in trying to sleep now? He needs to be up and dressed in just over an hour, ready to head out to some secret location to shoot the next episode of Run. He might as well just stay up until he has to leave and then nap in the car on the way there. It’s easier to sleep when he’s travelling; the noise of his group around him, the hum of the van’s engine, the sound of traffic – he’ll be able to drop off within minutes.

His mind made up, Jungkook opens up his messaging app and quickly types out reply to his most recent unanswered text.

Kookie: Sorry for not replying earlier dude, my schedule’s kinda hectic at the moment. Did you guys have a good week? x

He only has to wait about fifteen seconds before a several replies pop up one after the other, complete with at least eight different emojis.

CaptainDdana: hyung!!! how’s LA and did you meet lots of famous people? :D

CaptainDdana: also are you eating lots of good food? I really miss the fries we had at Kcon this year, LA burgers taste so good, probably because they’re really bad for me. D:

CaptainDdana: if you eat nice things, send pics please! :) :) <3

CaptainDdana: if you eat bad things send pics too, I wanna see what gross LA food looks like :D

CaptainDdana: your stage was so awesome by the way! Binnie-hyung replayed it like twenty times and we’re all really happy for you!! :) I didn’t understand what RapMon said in his speech because my english sucks but he sounded cool so tell him it was really inspiring! :D

Despite his fatigue, Jungkook sniffs a fond grin as he looks at the messages. It’s hard not to read them in Sanha’s voice, and Astro’s maknae has this cute way of talking that makes it really hard for a hyung not to smile. The teen’s grown up a lot from the curly-haired kid Jungkook had accidentally tripped over in the corridor of another LA hotel room last year (his hair’s a dark brown now, and he’s lost his braces, and he’s somehow grown even taller), but their relationship has grown too. Jungkook’s still probably closer to Moonbin and Eunwoo out of all the Astro members (being same-age friends just makes it easier to talk to them), but Sanha will always be his favourite hyperactive dongsaeng. His only hyperactive dongsaeng, come to think of it. Jungkook’s never been very good at talking to younger idols unless they approach him, but violently kicking Sanha in the knee had certainly been one way to break the ice.

In retrospect, he’s lucky Astro had seen the funny side of things and not tried to, you know, sue him for child abuse or something.

Kookie: thanks San, I’ll let him know. Also congrats on your immortal songs stage btw, you guys killed it. Did rocky choreograph the dance break?

CaptainDdana: you guessed it! :D he did good, right? Did you like the acting part? That was MJ-hyung’s idea, he likes being dramatic haha. ;P

CaptainDdana: omg hyung I just looked up what time it is in LA why are you awake? D: do you have a schedule already??

Kookie: can’t sleep. Guess I’m still pumped up on adrenaline from the show last night.

CaptainDdana: you haven’t slept at all?? O.O But your schedule’s so busy this week, you need to rest. D: please don’t get sick okay? :( <3

CaptainDdana: do you want me to tell JinJin-hyung? he’s good at putting people to sleep, just ask him to tell you about his life or something. <3

CaptainDdana: also if you love me, please never tell him I said that :)

Breathing another fond laugh, Jungkook rubs at his eyes to get his fuzzy vision to focus. He appreciates Sanha’s offer – clearly the maknae’s go-to person in any sort of crisis is his leader, which is testament to how much the kid trusts JinJin. But Jungkook hadn’t intended to bother anyone with his troubles, and he certainly doesn’t want Astro’s resident mother-hen worrying about his sleeping habits, even if Jinwoo’s a pretty awesome hyung.

Kookie: my lips are sealed. And thanks, but honestly I’ll be fine. :) I can sleep in the van on the way to set this morning. I’m good at taking naps in random places too, so I can catch up on zzz’s later. Don’t worry, okay?

CaptainDdana: only if you’re sure. I hope you get some rest later, hyung. good luck with your schedule, love you! :) fighting!!! :D <3

Jungkook sighs. If he wasn’t feeling so sorry for himself, the other maknae’s cheerful words of motivation probably would’ve brightened his mood considerably. As it is, he can’t find the energy to summon even an ounce of enthusiasm for the day of filming their producers have planned out for the group. He’ll have to act energetic and think of funny and/or witty things to say for their fans who’ll watch the episode later, when all he’ll really want to do is sleep.

It’s going to be a long day.

...

“Cut!”

Jungkook jolts upright in his seat, blinking hard and glancing quickly towards their producer, an apology already on his lips for phasing out and probably ruining the whole video. But the PD’s smiling, giving Jimin and Taehyung a thumbs-up as they uncurl themselves from each other’s grip, apparently having started wrestling playfully at some point.

“I’ll go over the footage tonight and see if we need to reshoot anything,” the man tells them, gesturing to the other staff to start packing away the sound and camera equipment. “Great work, everyone. Let’s call it a day.”

Jimin stretches both arms above his head with a luxurious groan as the PD walks away, raking a hand through his hair to fluff it up. “Aigoo, finally. I think my butt’s gone numb.”

“Feels like we’ve been filming for days,” Taehyung agrees, slumping sideways against Hoseok with a dramatic sigh. “I swear Kookie fell asleep with his eyes open about ten minutes ago.”

Jungkook feels his cheeks redden, but is quick to deny the accusation. “No I didn’t.”

“Dude, you totally spaced out,” Jimin tells him, a fond grin curling at his mouth. “I don’t think you reacted at all to the last three or four questions. That’s why me an’ Tae started making a scene – we figured it’d be best if PD-nim didn’t notice you weren’t paying attention.”

When Taehyung nods in agreement, Jungkook realises the whole sudden-wrestling thing he’d witnessed the end of had been Tae and Jimin’s attempt at distracting their director’s attention away from himself, and feels a wave of guilt-relief-gratitude that makes his cheeks flush even hotter. He hadn’t realised he’d been so obvious about his fatigue.

Honestly, he’s been trying his hardest to stay awake all day, but he’s so exhausted he could just cry. His head hasn’t stopped throbbing since he woke up from his short nap when they arrived onset, and keeping up with the games and the banter and the blindfolded dance performance and the stupid fucking “let’s talk about what we did today” segment at the end, aigoo. It’s a miracle he’s still functioning at all.

“Kookie.”

A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, and he realises that he’s managed to phase out (again) with everyone’s attention already on him. Six pairs of eyes are regarding him in concern, and he wonders exactly how long he’s been blankly staring ahead of him.

“Are you alright?” Namjoon asks, moving the hand from Kookie’s shoulder to the back of his neck, squeezing gently. “You were totally gone there for a minute.”

He forces a smile, but even to him it feels hollow and strained. “I’m fine, hyung. Just tired, y’know? It’s been a busy week.”

Jin frowns at him worriedly from his seat across from Jungkook, reaching out to close a hand gently around one of the maknae’s wrists where it rests on the surface of the table between them.

“Why haven’t you been going to bed early like the rest of us?” the elder asks, his voice soft but chiding. “If you’re staying up late, it’s little wonder you’re tired; you know how important rest is when we’ve got a busy schedule. You need to sleep, Jungkook-ah.”

“Sleep?”

Jungkook doesn’t mean to laugh, honestly he doesn’t. But he’s tired and aching and miserable maybe bordering on just a little bit hysterical, because he feels like he’s ready to knock his head against a wall if it’ll mean blacking out for a decent length of time. That’s normal, right? That’s totally okay. He’s fine.

Only maybe it’s not the sort of laugh that people make when they’re fine, and the sudden hot stinging in his eyes alerts Jungkook to just how fucking close he is to losing it in front of everyone over something as stupid as being tired, so he shoves his chair back quickly and stands up.

“Jungkookie, wait!”

Ignoring Hoseok’s voice calling after him in concern, he flees from the set in the direction of the nearest dressing room, locking the door behind him and pressing his back against it, breathing hard. His chest feels tight and his eyes are wet and his head’s throbbing and fuck, he just wants to feel like normal human being again.

A dull ache in his backside is the first indication that his legs have given out from underneath him, but he’s honestly too fucking exhausted to care. He sags back against the solid wood of the door, eyes closed, contemplating the merits of just passing out here and now. It’s not as comfortable as his hotel suite, and much less well-ventilated, but at least here he actually feels like he could sleep.

Until a quiet knock shatters that brief illusion.

“Kookie? It’s me. Unlock the door, kiddo.”

There’s a part of him that’s tempted to ignore Yoongi (the embarrassed, done-with-this-world insomniac who just wants to wallow in his own wretchedness), but thankfully a much bigger voice drowns out that sullen train of thought, because he’s tired and miserable and craving comfort from the one hyung who’s guaranteed to understand exactly how he feels in this situation.

Reaching up to twist the latch takes a ridiculous amount of effort on his part, but he manages it on the second attempt, and shuffles a few inches to the side so that he’s no longer blocking the door. It cracks open a few centimetres, then the gap widens enough to allow Yoongi to slip inside and close the door behind him.

Jungkook isn’t surprised when the rapper sinks down to sit on the floor beside him, and when a strong arm curls comfortingly around his shoulders, he’s already turning into the man’s embrace with a shaky exhale, pressing his face into the soft fabric of Yoongi’s fluffy jumper (and bless the stylist noonas who have taken to dressing his hyung in such snuggle-appropriate clothing these days).

A hand slides into his hair, fingers stroking against his scalp gently, and the horrible throbbing headache that’s been pulsing in his skull these past two days eases to some extent at the tactile contact. Jungkook breathes another shaky sigh, feeling himself sag further into the rapper’s secure hug, basking for a moment in the comforting silence. He’s still tired, and everything hurts, but the world already seems a million times brighter than it had done two minutes ago.

Eventually, Yoongi’s hand inches down to settle on his nape, thumb stroking against the skin there gently.

“Talk to me, bunny.”

Damn that nickname. Damn it to hell and back, Jungkook was not ready for his hyung to be so soft, and with his voice so full of warmth and understanding, it’s going to make him-

Aish, now look what’s happened. This is exactly what he’d been hoping to avoid, it’s so humiliating, crying like a kid just because he’s tired.

“It’s stupid,” he manages, hating the way his voice cracks, thick with tears. “It’s so fucking dumb, I’m ruining everything, I don’t understand what’s wrong with me-”

“Hey.” Yoongi’s fingers slip back into his hair, his arm around Jungkook tightening as he draws him in even closer. “Hey, hey, hey, stop. We all have bad days, you’re not ruining anything. Just tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

He sniffs, Yoongi’s jumper growing wet with tears beneath his cheek. “I…I just can’t sleep. It’s driving me crazy, hyung, I’m s-so fucking tired and my head hurts and I can’t concentrate but when I try to close my eyes my brain just won’t shut up. I feel like I’m losing my mind and-”

“How long?”

Jungkook hiccups, and sniffles again. “Huh?”

“How long has this been going on for?” Yoongi reiterates softly, still stroking his hair.

“Um…” The maknae pauses to think hard for a moment (his sleepless nights have all seemed to roll into one, he has to remind himself what day of the week it is), letting silence reign for a long beat. Then, “I dunno, since Monday I guess?”

He feels Yoongi tense, then the man gusts out a heavy sigh. “Four days? You’re serious?”

Jungkook swallows nervously at the rapper’s incredulous tone. “I…I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, I-”

“No, fuck, don’t be sorry.” Yoongi pushes him away gently, reaching up to cup Jungkook’s face between both his hands, brow creased in concern. “This is on us, baby. We knew you’d been off it for a couple of days, but I never thought…you always sleep so well, Kookie.”

The maknae averts his gaze, shrugging a little. “It’s probably just the hotel room. It’s so quiet in there, and my thoughts get too loud. I’m used to listening to one of you guys snoring, or putting up with Jiminie-hyung kicking me in his sleep, or getting cooked alive by Joonie-hyung’s crazy body temperature. It’s just weird on my own, I guess.”

“Oh.” Yoongi’s thumbs wipe the dampness from Jungkook’s cheeks, drawing his gaze back up again. The rapper suddenly looks so serious.

The younger man peers back at him warily. “What?”

Yoongi sighs. “We’re all idiots, that’s what.”

“Huh?” Jungkook blinks at him, bemused.

The rapper shakes his head. “Never mind. Come on, bun-bun; someone’s way overdue for a nap.”

Jungkook allows himself to be pulled to his feet, swaying momentarily once he’s upright (dizzy dizzy dizzy, fuck), grabbing onto Yoongi’s arms for support when the elder’s hands settle on his hips to steady him.

“M’okay,” he mumbles, closing his eyes as the world spins.

Yoongi sighs again, softer this time. “No you’re not.” Lips brush against his cheek, feather-light and tender. “But you will be. Come on.”

…

“He was lonely?”

Yoongi glances up from Jungkook’s peaceful face in time to catch the crestfallen look on Jin’s, and sighs softly.

He knows exactly how the elder feels – it’s fucking shitty to know their maknae has been suffering this past week without telling any of them about it, when all he’d needed was a goddamn cuddle and some company at bedtime.

And really, they ought to have seen it coming. When was the last time the baby of the group slept on his own? It’s gotta be at least six months, and even then those had been one-off occasions, brief overnight stops at hotels during busy touring schedules. Never multiple times in the same week. Kookie’s been sharing a room or a bed (or multiple rooms and beds, depending on the night) with at least one other person since he was fourteen years old, of course extended periods of solitude were going to feel weird as fuck to him.

Yoongi’s an idiot and he hates himself for being such an ignorant fuck, but hey, lesson learned. This’ll be the last time they let the maknae sleep alone, at least unless he specifically asks for it.

“We should’ve known something was wrong,” Jin murmurs, accurately voicing Yoongi’s own thoughts as he sinks down to perch on the edge of the bed. “I mean four days? We’re lucky he didn’t make himself sick.”

The rapper hums in agreement. In a better frame of mind, he would’ve thought of something to say that would reassure his fretful elder, but in all honesty? Jin’s right. They fucked up big time, all of them, and he doesn’t really feel like voicing empty platitudes just for the sake of it.

But now Jin’s got that look on his face like he’s responsible for world hunger or something, and Yoongi can’t just lay there and let the man beat himself up about this either.

“He’ll be okay,” he whispers, voice hushed so as not to wake the sleeping maknae (although Kookie’s practically comatose in his arms, so it’s unlikely anything short of an explosion will disturb his slumber). “We’ll just make sure he bunks with one of us for the rest of the week.”

Jin nods, sighing again as he reaches out to gently brush a few strands of hair from Jungkook’s brow. The maknae doesn’t stir, not even when the elder leans in to press his lips to kid’s brow in a lingering kiss.

“Joonie’s talking to the managers,” Jin mentions, although his gaze never once leaves Jungkook’s face as he traces along the maknae’s jawline. “He’ll try to free up the morning schedule for us so that Kookie can rest. And to be honest, Tae and Jiminie could use a break too. They’re worn out.”

Yoongi can practically feel the guilt emanating from the other man, and sighs softly, extracting an arm from around Jungkook to reach up and gently touch the elder’s cheek.

“So are you,” he reasons softly. “Hell, so am I. We’re all tired. It’s a shitty schedule and we’re all sick of long-ass interviews about superficial topics from MCs who’d literally never heard of Kpop before Monday. We all want to go home. It fucking sucks, but there’s no use whining about it – three more days and we’ll be out of this hellhole and back where we belong.”

Jin gives him a wobbly sort of half-smile. “You say such beautiful things.”

“Mm.” Yoongi pats the area of mattress on the other side of Jungkook. “Now shut up and come snuggle, you gangly dork.”

The taller idol moves as prompted, settling down on the maknae’s other side, long arm curling protectively over the younger man’s midriff, hand coming to rest on Yoongi’s hip.

“I’m still older than you, you know,” he mutters wearily, eyelids fluttering closed. “Brat.”

Yoongi allows his lips to curl into a fond smile, one that Jin can’t see with his eyes shut, and doesn’t allow his own eyelids to droop until the man’s breathing has evened out. Tomorrow, there’ll be interviews to plan and photoshoots to prep for and English phrases to practice, but right now none of that matters.

He’s gonna indulge himself in the best goddamn nap of his life.

.

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Chapter Text

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A quiet knock on the door to Yoongi’s studio startles the rapper out of his thoughts, and he glances up from his notebook, pushing at the rim of his glasses where they’ve begun to slip down his nose.

“Come in.”

The handle turns, and a familiar mop of brown hair appears as Jungkook pokes his head into the room.

“Hey, hyung,” the maknae greets, gaze flickering from the rapper’s face to the plush leather couch nestled up against the far wall of the small studio. “Um, do you mind if I crash here for a little bit? I promise I’ll be super quiet.”

“Quiet? You?” Yoongi teases, fighting a fond smile even as he beckons the younger man inside with a casual gesture. “That’ll be the day.”

Jungkook leans back against the door to push it closed, bottom lip jutting out in a faux-sulky pout, and Yoongi finally gives up fighting his smile at the sight of it. Kookie uses aegyo on the members so rarely these days, insisting that he’s too mature to act cute as much as he used to (his last birthday having officially branded him an adult). However, during quiet moments such as this when the cameras are off and it’s just the two of them, his dongsaeng’s grownup persona will recede a little and he’ll become the cute, chubby-cheeked teenager who’d so easily weaselled his way into Yoongi’s affections all those years ago.

“So, what brings you by?” the rapper asks casually, setting his notebook aside on the desk and spinning his chair around to face Jungkook properly. “I thought you said something about wanting to work on your ‘killer abs’ before practice?”

The maknae pulls a face at that, crossing over to the couch to flop down with a noisy sigh. “Don’t feel like working out today.”

Yoongi huffs a quiet laugh. “Welcome to my world, bud.”

He scoots his chair along the width of his desk, wheels rolling smoothly across the laminate flooring, and pulls open one of the fitted drawers. Rummaging around for a moment, he pulls out a couple of heart-shaped chocolate lollipops, ripping the clear wrapper off one and popping it in his mouth before holding the other out towards Jungkook.

“Here,” he offers. “The stylist noonas gave me a ton of these this morning, I’ll get fat if I eat them all myself.”

Jungkook had been sitting with his head tilted back, staring up at the ceiling as he lounged comfortably, but at Yoongi’s words he lowers his gaze to the proffered Valentine treat. The maknae pulls another face, a far more convincing sort of grimace than before, an expression that almost appears nauseated, and groans loudly, shaking his head.

“Nooo, don’t show me that,” he moans, arms crossing over his midriff. “Ugh. I hate chocolate.”

The rapper arches an incredulous eyebrow, taking a bite out of his own sweet. “Since when?”

“Since today,” the singer insists, and flops sideways dramatically so that he’s laid out across the cushions, toeing off his Timberlands (when is the boy ever going to learn how to tie shoes properly, he’ll break his ankle one of these days) so that he can tuck his legs up on the couch. “I never want to see another chocolate ever again.”

An amused smile curls at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. He watches Jungkook closely for a moment, saying nothing as he finishes his own chocolate and reaches beneath the desk to toss the tiny pink stick into the small trashcan tucked away there. Pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose as he straightens, he sends the maknae a knowing sort of look.

“How many did you eat?”

Jungkook moans again, arms tightening around his midriff, face pinched in a sickly grimace. “Too many.”

“Aish, this kid,” Yoongi sighs softly, shaking his head. “C’mon, ‘fess up. Five, ten, how many are we talking here?”

“…more like twenty?”

Yoongi sends the maknae an incredulous look. “You seriously have zero self-restraint, don’t you?”

“But hyuuung, they tasted so good…”

“They’re not gonna taste half as good coming back up again,” the rapper informs him blandly.

Jungkook groans, rolling back over onto his back, arms tightening around his stomach.

“Don’t talk like that, you’re gonna make me hurl,” he whines, and honestly looks so woefully pathetic that Yoongi feels a genuine twinge of guilt at his teasing.

With another sigh, the rapper pushes his chair back and stands up, crossing the room slowly to crouch down in front of the couch, lifting a hand to push Jungkook’s fringe back from his clammy forehead. To be fair, the kid does look a shade paler than normal, and although Yoongi sometimes enjoys poking fun at his dongsaengs whenever they (regularly) beckon misfortune down upon themselves through acts of sheer idiocy, he doesn’t actually want Jungkook to be sick.

“You did this to yourself, kid,” he murmurs, not unsympathetically. “You know that, right?”

Jungkook winces at him. “I knoooow,” he moans. “But I didn’t want to offend the noonas by saying no when they kept bringing me sweets during vocal practice.”

“You didn’t have to eat them all right away. You could’ve just told the noonas you’d save the gifts for later. That’s what I did.”

“I’m not good at thinking up excuses on the spot,” the maknae protests plaintively. “And I can’t say no to chocolate.”

Yoongi finds the youth’s sulky expression far too adorable, but he doesn’t say as much (Jungkook would probably stop pouting the moment he pointed it out), and can’t resist leaning in to press his lips to the maknae’s brow, hand cradling one of his cheeks carefully. Kookie tilts his head into the touch with a soft hum, his pout softening a little as his eyelids flutter closed.

“Hyuuung,” he whines, after a few beats of silence. “I don’t feel so good.”

The rapper sniffs a quiet little grin. “Yeah, kiddo, I got that part.” He brushes his thumb tenderly along the line of Jungkook’s cheekbone. “I’m afraid there’s nothing hyung can do, though; you’re just gonna have to wait until it goes away on its own. If your stomach hasn’t settled by the time practice starts, you might need to sit this one out. The rest of the team will understand.”

“Noooo,” the maknae complains miserably. “The others are gonna tease me when they find out.”

Yoongi sighs. Aish, he really is way too soft when it comes to this kid.

“They don’t have to know the whole story,” he reassures. “Aside from Jin-hyung. He’ll only worry if I don’t properly explain your absence.”

“But he’s gonna be so mad at meee.”

“Jin-hyung doesn’t get mad,” Yoongi reminds him patiently. “He fusses and he lectures, but that’s the sum of it. And honestly, Kookie-gah, you kinda deserve a good serving of both. I still can’t believe you ate twenty chocolates, aigoo.”

Jungkook lightly beats at Yoongi’s shoulder with a loose fist, with about as much strength as a particularly sleepy toddler.

“Don’t scold me, I’m sick,” he whines. “You’re supposed to be cheering me up.”

He sighs again, shifting more comfortably onto his knees and catching Jungkook’s hand in his own, heart swelling with warmth when the maknae immediately laces their fingers together. Yoongi slowly begins to lean in, holding Jungkook’s gaze.

“I just like your company, hyung,” Kookie murmurs. Then the younger man tilts his head cutely, a flicker of his usual smile ghosting at his lips. “And you have the comfiest couch.”

“Oh, is that why you came to find me?” Yoongi quips, fighting to suppress another smile (and failing abysmally) as he leans back again quickly. “I see how it is-”

“Nonononono, I was joking,” Jungkook hastens to amend, tugging on Yoongi’s fingers, his other hand reaching out to latch onto the front of the rapper’s sweater. “Don’t go, kiss me. Please?”

Fuck. You used to be stronger than this, Min Yoongi.

He used to be single too. It’s a good trade-off.

“C’mere,” he grunts, leaning in to press his lips to Jungkook’s, keeping the kiss fairly gentle in light of the maknae’s present condition.

The younger man exhales a happy sort of sigh through his noise, before he suddenly makes a startled noise of disgust, turning his head to one side with an exaggerated grimace.

“Eugh! Hyung, you taste like chocolate.”

Yoongi gives him a look. “Do you want kisses or not?”

“…kisses, please.”

 “Twenty chocolates,” the rapper mutters again, ten minutes and two-dozen kisses later, stretched out along the couch with his youngest dongsaeng pressed up against him, a dark head of hair resting on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Aigoo. You’re so dumb.”

Jungkook’s fingers curl lightly in the fabric of his sweater. “You love me anyway.”

“Mm,” Yoongi acknowledges, because there’s no use in denying it. “Guess I’m pretty dumb too.”

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Chapter Text

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Something hits them from behind.

Tires squeal against wet asphalt as the van lurches off the road, throwing Jungkook forwards hard against his seatbelt, the tight strip of woven fibre punching the breath from his lungs.

There’s a deafening bang, then his ears pop and his stomach swoops as the van drops suddenly, his body rising up out of his seat, hair grazing the roof above his head for a split second before he’s thrown down against the backrest by a second, more jarring impact.

The window beside him shatters, murky water pouring in to soak his clothes, stealing his breath a second time with how frigidly cold it is. Someone’s shouting frantically nearby, yelling at them to get out, and he quickly reaches down with fumbling hands to try and unfasten his seatbelt.

The clip won’t budge.

Another pair of hands push his own out of the way, tugging at the belt’s clasp with increased urgency as the water continues to rise around them. It’s coming in so fast, he’s only got seconds to get out, but he can’t-

“Fuck, fuck, come on!” his rescuer yells, and it’s Yoongi, the man crowding in close to share the small pocket of air that’s left in the back seat. “Kookie, it’s not gonna open, you gotta twist out of it!”

It’s getting harder to see with every passing second, the water lapping at his chin, and he tilts his head back to gasp in a lungful of air, bracing his feet against the floor of the van to try and lever himself up, but the iron-like band of the seatbelt against his chest keeps him pinned to the backrest, its grip unyielding.

The water rises above his mouth and nose and he flails against his restraints, yanking at his own clothes in an effort to create enough wiggle-space so that he can slip out from underneath the belt’s hold. But it’s dark, and so cold, and he’s running out of air. Yoongi’s hands are still working on the jammed buckle, but there’s no way the rapper can keep it up indefinitely.

Oh god, he can’t breathe, he’s gonna drown…

“Jungkook!”

He lurches awake with a ragged gasp, fighting against the tightness on his chest, hands coming up to scrabble against the force that’s gripping him there.

“Hey, hey, easy!” Jin soothes, drawing Jungkook back against his solid chest. “Shh, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He realises the pressure on his chest is simply the older singer’s arm wrapped snugly around him in a reassuring hold, and the panic cloying in his throat immediately recedes, awareness returning to him slowly as he clings onto Jin’s forearm to ground himself in reality.

It wasn’t real. None of it was real. He’s alive.

“You’re okay,” Namjoon echoes, shifting on his knees beside the pair, mattress dipping as he leans in closer, smoothing Jungkook’s sweaty fringe back from his forehead. “We’re right here with you. Everyone’s safe.”

The maknae blinks back tears, his frantic gaze darting around the dimly-lit bedroom, desperate to verify this fact for himself. He finds Yoongi perched on the eddge of the mattress nearby, regarding him in open concern, his hair mussed and eyes puffy from sleep, but alive and breathing, thank god. Tae and Jimin stand only a few feet behind him, Hoseok’s arms slung across their shoulders comfortingly. They’re all looking a little spooked, but less so than they had been four nights ago when that god-awful nightmare had struck for the very first time.

Jungkook struggles to regain control over his breathing, his body still trembling faintly with adrenaline and residual fear. Perspiration has made his pyjama shirt stick to him in places, the dampness there cooling rapidly, turning his skin to gooseflesh.

For all intents and purposes, it truly feels like he just got dragged out of the Han River.

“Was it the same dream again?” Yoongi asks quietly, a hand coming up to settle over one of the youth’s knees, thumb stroking back and forth against the skin there.

Jungkook nods jerkily, throat still too clogged to speak, lips pressed together tightly because he’s seriously this close to breaking down and crying in front of everyone. Again.

“We know it felt real to you,” Namjoon murmurs, perhaps seeing in the maknae’s expression just how close he is to cracking. “It’s okay to be upset, Kookie.”

Fuck. Every damn time.

He brings both hands up to his face, grinding the heels of his palms against his eyes in an attempt to physically hold back the tears, but part of him already knows it’s a futile effort.

Jin’s arms tighten around him, Namjoon’s hand slipping down to cup the side of his neck in a gentle, reassuring grip, but that just makes things even worse, and as much as he tries to muffle the sounds of his crying, in the silence of the bedroom it still sounds pretty fucking loud. He hates this; hates how miserable these stupid dreams are making him feel, how scared he is about something that’s all in his head, haunted by the memories of an event that never even happened.

“It’s late,” he hears Yoongi murmur after a few minutes of silence, the rapper still rubbing his knee soothingly. “You three should head on back to bed.”

“I wanna stay with Kook,” Taehyung protests.

“Me too,” Jimin seconds.  

Jungkook feels Jin’s quiet sigh, a warm puff of air against the side of his head. “We can’t all fit in the same one room, guys.”

“Not with that kinda attitude, no.”

“Tae,” Hoseok chides, but there’s a touch of amusement there too. “Hyung’s right, it’d be too much of a tight squeeze even if we camped out on the floor; none of us would be able to sleep properly. We’ve got a schedule later today, we can’t all look like zombies on-set.”

Fuck, Jungkook had forgotten about their filming schedule. They’re due to shoot the next episode of BTS Run this afternoon, and the only heads-up they’ve been given is that it’ll involve an obstacle course of some kind, which means physical challenges. And he’s already so exhausted, aigoo. After his fourth consecutive night of interrupted sleep, their pending schedule seems all the more unappealing. 

Long fingers curl around his wrists gently, tugging his hands down from his face. His tears have stopped now, but his cheeks are still damp, and he probably looks like shit.

Taehyung still leans in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, squeezing his hands briefly, reassuringly.

“Things won’t seem so bad in the morning,” Tae promises. “We’ll have fun, okay? You won’t even have time to think about shitty nightmares.”

Jungkook doesn’t feel much like having fun at the moment, but he appreciates the sentiment nonetheless, letting go of Tae’s hands reluctantly when the older maknae steps back in order to allow Jimin to take his place.

“What Tae said,” the dancer murmurs, giving him a tight hug and pressing a kiss to the younger man’s temple, before leaning back a little to place a chaste peck against his lips. “Night, Kookie.”

Hoseok moves to replace Jimin a moment later, his touch more lingering, taking his time to gently swipe away the remaining tear-trails on Jungkook’s cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, cupping the maknae’s face between his hands. There’s still a faint crease of worry in his brow, but his expression is full of warmth and love, and Jungkook finds himself relaxing further when the man leans in to kiss him, closing his eyes as the last of the tension bleeds from his posture.

These moments of intimacy between them isn’t entirely new, not exactly; ever since Jungkook became an adult, casual affection has become a normal part of his daily interactions with his hyungs (off-camera, of course). But it’s only been a few months, and he still feels butterflies when the others kiss him like this – softly, tenderly, like he’s something precious. The fear he’d felt only minutes ago in the wake of his nightmare is becoming hazy now, little more than an unpleasant memory that his mind and body seem more than happy to forget in favour of concentrating on far nicer experiences.

Hoseok pulls back after a few moments, and following a quick murmured exchange of goodnights and love you’s between the seven of them, Hoseok leaves with the other two members of the maknae line. The room suddenly seems a lot bigger and quieter in their absence, but Jin doesn’t give him time dwell on it too much, squeezing him again from behind.

“Why don’t you get changed?” he suggests gently. “You’ll feel better once you’re out of these damp clothes.”

Jungkook nods slowly, letting Yoongi help him up from the bed, grateful for the rapper’s support when he struggles momentarily with jelly-legs. He’s weak and exhausted in the wake of his ordeal, and finds he can’t even muster up the energy to protest being babied when Yoongi picks out a shirt for him (one of Jin’s), carefully tugging off his sweat-damp top and helping Jungkook thread his arms into the new one.

Namjoon and Jin have already fixed the twisted bedsheets by the time he turns back around to face them, and this is the part Jungkook’s been dreading – going back to sleep after everything that’s happened, closing his eyes again when there’s always a possibility of waking up in the back of that submerged minivan.

“It’ll be okay, kid,” Yoongi reassures quietly, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “We’ll be right here with you.”

Under different circumstances, Jungkook would jump at any excuse to cuddle up with three of his hyungs like this, Jin and Namjoon’s cosy beds having been pushed together and padded out with extra pillows to create a space that’s big enough to fit all four of them comfortably. But sleeping means dreaming, and dreaming means nightmares, and there’s only so many times he can relive that imagined-event before he’ll start to come unhinged.

Still, his body’s so exhausted that he’s in no fit state to try and put off the inevitability of sleep any longer.

“Do you want to talk about it first?” Jin murmurs, spooning up behind Jungkook as he and Yoongi settle down in the centre of the bed facing one another, Namjoon turning off the bedside lamp before slipping in behind the elder rapper.

Jungkook shakes his head ever so slightly. “Nothing new happened,” he whispers into the semi-darkness. “We crashed again, the van broke through the barrier and fell into the river, my seatbelt got stuck...”

His voice cracks at that last detail, and he swallows hard, determined not to start crying again.

“Shh.” He feels Yoongi’s hand settle on his side, the shorter man’s lips brushing a feather-light kiss against his jawline. “You’re safe.”

“We’d hoped things might settle down if you weren’t sleeping alone,” Namjoon comments softly, regretfully. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Kookie.”

“No, it helped,” Jungkook reassures, his aching eyelids already beginning to droop despite his best efforts to keep them open. “I woke up a lot sooner than usual.”

At least I didn’t die this time.

Jin presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “You started panicking in your sleep. We tried to wake you up straight away, but it’s like you couldn’t hear us, at least not until I yelled at you. Sorry about that, by the way.”

He shakes his head again. “It worked, that’s all that matters. Thank you. I…” Jungkook breathes a shaky sigh, angry at himself for getting upset again. “I just don’t understand why this keeps happening to me. I’m sorry, I know I’m being a baby about all of this-”

“Don’t apologise,” Yoongi murmurs, a warm hand cupping over the side of his neck. “Don’t ever be sorry for needing us, Bun. That’s what we’re here for. You’re going through a hard time, this isn’t your fault.”

The bed shifts as Namjoon leans over Yoongi to stroke a hand over Jungkook’s head, fingers combing through his hair soothingly.

“We’ve been pretty busy lately,” he remarks. “But comeback’s over now, I think we deserve a break. I’m gonna talk to the managers tomorrow about giving us a few days off to recover. These nightmares of yours are probably stress-related; if we eliminate that variable entirely, maybe they’ll go away.”

Jungkook finally feels the faintest glimmer of hope at that. “You really think so?”

“It seems pretty plausible,” Yoongi agrees. “We’ve had back-to-back schedules recently, but you’ve had two sponsorship shoots to juggle on top of everything else. Maybe your dreams are just the manifestation of what your body’s been going through these past few weeks.”

Honestly, that does make a lot of sense now that he thinks about it. And Jungkook can’t deny that a break from schedules sounds amazing. He can finally watch all the webtoons he’s fallen behind on, maybe treat himself to some fried food, catch up with Yugyeom and Moonbin someplace other than the group chat…

“I’ll talk to Sejin in the morning,” Namjoon tells him comfortingly. “Go to sleep, Kookie. Everything’s gonna be okay, you’ll see.”

….

“Four days!” Jimin whoops, jarring Jungkook out of his semi-upright doze as the shorter maknae barrels into him in a sideways tackle-hug. “They’re giving us four whole days!”

Struggling to regain his footing, startled and a little confused, Jungkook returns the hug nonetheless. “Oh, cool. Four days of what?”

Jimin beams at him. “Of nothing! Joonie-hyung talked the managers into clearing our schedules until Monday. We’re on break!”

Relief hits him with enough force to make him sag against his shorter hyung, an exhausted smile finally blooming on his own face. “Wait, for real?”

“For real,” Namjoon confirms, appearing suddenly beside them, his expression fond and amused. “Sejin-hyung agreed that it isn’t good to overwork the group so soon after comeback. He wanted to give us longer, but there’s a radio interview booked in for Monday, and it’d be rude to back out at the last minute. We’ll have to make do with four days.”

Aigoo, four days will be more than enough. He’s going to spend the whole of tomorrow in his pyjamas, eating snacks and messaging his friends. Maybe he can finally book another bowling date with Binnie and Eunwoo. And he still owes Sanha ice cream after losing that arcade battle to the other maknae last month. With four days, there’s so much he could do, the possibilities are endless!

“The van’s here,” Hoseok calls from the doorway, bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly as eager as the rest of them to get home and officially start their holiday period. “Time to go.”

“You might wanna zip up that jacket, Jimin-ah,” Jin adds knowingly, joining them as they head towards the front entrance of the climbing centre. “It’s pouring it down out there.”

Honestly, Jungkook hadn’t even realised it was raining. But as they near the glass front of the building, the dreary weather becomes apparent, huge puddles amassing in the almost-empty parking lot (BigHit had really splashed out on this episode of Run – no pun intended – booking out the centre exclusively for their filming schedule this afternoon). The sky overhead is a muggy sort of grey, with no promise of sunshine in the near future.

Who cares? They’re on a break now, and nothing, not even a little bit of bad weather, is going to dampen Jungkook’s good mood.

“Hey, is that a new van?” Taehyung pipes up curiously.

The vehicle that has pulled up in front of the entrance isn’t their usual car – this one’s a slightly different colour and shape, wider and more squarely built compared to the darker, sleeker van they usually travel in.

 “It’s a temporary hire,” Hoseok answers, holding the door open for the rest of them, the hood of his jacket tugged up to protect his styled hair. “Apparently the other car was due for servicing this afternoon.”

Jungkook feels a weird sort of fluttering in his stomach.

“Cuties first,” Jin prompts, opening the sliding-door and ushering Jungkook into the backseat with a cheerful smile.

The maknae obeys on auto-pilot, sitting down and strapping himself in without protest as they others pile noisily into the car after him. He keeps quiet, but there’s still that strange uneasiness buzzing at the back of his mind, an unsettled something that’s making him feel weirdly on-edge.

It’s probably because of those stupid dreams, and he knows it’s dumb, but he just can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. He stares dazedly out of the window as the van begins to move out of the parking lot, trying to suppress his growing nerves.

“Hey.” A hand settles on his knee, and he glances to his right to find Yoongi regarding him in quiet concern. “Is everything alright?”

Jungkook stares at him, wide-eyed, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

Yoongi is sitting next to him. Yoongi never sits anywhere except the front seat if they’re all riding in a single vehicle because he sometimes gets travel-sick. It’s been that way for four and a half years, why the hell has that suddenly changed now? Why today, of all days, when it’s raining so hard outside and the van isn’t their usual model, and why is he getting this horrible sense of déjà vu?  

“You’re not in the front,” he points out dumbly.

“Nice of you to notice.” Yoongi gives his knee a gentle squeeze, the corner of his mouth kicking upwards. “You’ve had a rough week. So sue me, I wanted to keep an eye on you.”

The rapper suddenly seems to read something in the maknae’s expression, because the smile slips from his face, that crease of concern reappearing.

“Kookie? Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?”

This, Jungkook wants to say. This is wrong! You shouldn’t be sitting here!

The thing is, he’s never told Yoongi and the others that particular detail about his nightmares. He just couldn’t bring himself to confess it. What was he supposed to say? Oh by the way Yoongi-hyung, you tried to save me but you couldn’t get my seatbelt off, so I drowned. He’d mentioned the whole drowning thing (because dying three nights in a row had been pretty fucking traumatic, even if it hadn’t really happened), but Jungkook had carefully left out the other’s involvement. Nobody else had needed to know.

Big fucking oversight on his part.

“Aigoo, it’s really coming down out there,” Jimin remarks from the other side of Yoongi, his face pressed against the window as he watches the torrential rainfall. “It’s a good thing they hadn’t scheduled outdoor activities for Run today, we’d all be soaked.”

Jungkook’s gaze darts towards his own window, eyes widening as he sees the towering bridge that crosses the Han River looming up in the distance. He’s driven over it hundreds of times before, but somehow he just knows this time will be different, he’s positive they aren’t going to make it to the other side. In fact, he’s never been so sure of anything in his life.

“Stop the car!” he blurts, his voice managing to carry above Namjoon and Hoseok’s casual chatter and Taehyung’s quiet singing.

There’s a beat of silence, Yoongi leaning in closer to grasp his hands, his concern more evident.

“Kookie, what-”

“No seriously, we need to stop!” Jungkook insists, gripping onto Yoongi in return, staring at the rapper beseechingly. “Hyung, please, I wanna get out.”

Jin twists around in the front seat to look back at them, openly worried. “What’s going on? Is he alright?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi replies, lifting a hand to try and cup the maknae’s cheek, but Jungkook pushes it away, panic cloying in his chest because why aren’t they listening to him? “But he’s freaking out, I think we need to pull over.”

“Sejin-hyung, can we stop for a few minutes?” Namjoon requests, already unfastening his belt to twist around in his own seat, reaching back towards Jungkook. “Kookie’s not feeling too good.”

A few moments later, their manager’s safely pulling the van into the layby and slowing to a halt. It’s only a hundred yards or so from the entrance to the bridge, but far enough from the river itself that Jungkook feels reassured that they won’t be in any danger here, and finally he can breathe again.

“You look like you’re about to pass out, kid,” Yoongi murmurs worriedly, a hand squeezing the back of Jungkook’s neck in a steady rhythm to help boost his circulation. “Joonie, could you open the door? I think he could use some air.”

Jungkook exhales slowly, dragging a shaky hand through his hair as he tries to calm his racing heart, that awful feeling of dread from before slowly beginning to fade.

Aish, what the hell is he doing, making the manager pull over like that? He’s being stupid. Those dreams have really started to mess with his head.

The maknae reaches down to unbuckle his seatbelt, needing a little more freedom to move, keen to step out of the car for a few seconds even if he does end up getting soaked in the process. He presses down on the catch, but it doesn’t give under his thumb, so he pushes against it a little harder. When that doesn’t work either, he tries using two hands, panic beginning to bubble up in his chest again.

“My seatbelt’s stuck!”

“Hey, hey,” Namjoon soothes, leaning over into the backseat to gently pull the younger man’s hands away so that Yoongi can take over, his expression calm but serious. “Look at me. Yoongi’s gonna get you out, okay? You need to calm down, baby. Take a deep breath.”

Jungkook does his best to follow his leader’s instructions, clinging onto Namjoon’s arms like a lifeline as he tries to slow his breathing to a more regular rhythm.

“There, you see?” Yoongi murmurs, freeing the belt from its clasp easily. “There’s nothing to be afraid of-”

A series of loud bangs and the sudden screeching of tires in the distance cuts him off mid-sentence.

A startled hush descends over the van as they all glance towards the bridge in time to see a delivery truck skid sideways to avoid hitting the immobile car in front of it, colliding instead with a smaller vehicle in the outer lane and sending that car careening into the metal railing that separates the road from the footpath, all three vehicles bouncing off each other like the bumper-cars at Lotte World. There are car horns blaring faintly in the distance, and it’s clear the vehicles at the mouth of the bridge aren’t the only ones to have been involved in the accident.

“Holy fuck,” Taehyung breathes shakily. “Oh my god. Jungkook, you-”

The maknae makes a noise of alarm, hunching forwards and clutching onto the back of Namjoon’s seat as his stomach churns, fear and panic and shock all accumulating into an overwhelming feeling of nausea.

“Gonna be sick,” he warns.

There’s a mad scramble as everyone rushes to find a potential vomit-bowl, until seconds later someone (maybe Hoseok?) shoves an empty gift bag under his nose. And not a moment too soon.

Jungkook usually hates throwing up, but in all honesty? Right now he doesn’t care. There are things in life far, far worse than puking. Things like dying.

He’s never been so happy to throw up in his life.

…

Jungkook pads quietly into the darkened bedroom, arms wrapped around himself against the chill of the evening air.

He tiptoes over to the occupied bed, slipping beneath the duvet as quietly as he can and inching his way closer to Jin’s side. His efforts to remain undetected prove to be unsuccessful, the older singer rolling over to face him almost immediately, eyes opening to sleepy half-moons.

“What is it, baby?” Jin murmurs, his voice low and roughened from sleep even as he reaches for the maknae. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Jungkook shakes his head, snuggling close without further prompting. “No, I…I just can’t sleep.”

To his (and everyone else’s) utter relief, Jungkook hasn’t had any further nightmares since that whole scary incident a week ago. They haven’t really talked about what happened that day as a group, and there seems to have been a general unspoken consensus between his hyungs that they aren’t going to talk about it unless Jungkook wants to, which the maknae really appreciates.

Because quite frankly? He doesn’t know what the fuck to say about it.

He’s heard of people having premonitions – dreams about future events that actually end up coming true – but he’d never really believed in all that predestined bullshit before. Not until he actually lived that bullshit.

It’s all so fucking trippy, and he keeps giving himself a headache every time he tries to think about it. Could it have been nothing more than a circumstantial happenstance? Quite possibly. But if so, he’s the luckiest fucker who’s ever lived, because if not for the instinctive fear those awful nightmares had instilled into him, he never would’ve insisted that they pull over. And if they hadn’t pulled over, there’s a good chance their van would’ve been involved in the thirteen-car pileup along the bridge that afternoon, adding their names to the long list of existing casualties.

Maybe, just maybe, some higher deity had been looking out for him and his team that day.

Jungkook’s never been a particularly religious person, but he’s questioned his existence and his place in the infinite cosmos more times this past week than he’s ever done in his entire life. Deep contemplation hadn’t really rendered any decent answers, of course, and he’s pretty much given up hope trying to fathom out the reasoning behind this particular event.

Bottom line is, they’re all really fucking lucky, and he’s glad to be alive.

“You’re thinking about the accident again, aren’t you?”

“No.” Jungkook squirms, practically able to feel Jin’s arched eyebrow even though he’s looking everywhere but the man’s face. “Well…maybe a little.”

Jin sighs softly, fingers slipping into Jungkook’s hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Burying his face against his hyung’s chest, the maknae shakes his head. He knows, despite the man’s admirable academic achievements and his seemingly vast pool of trivia knowledge, that not even Kim Seokjin will have the answers he’s seeking. Some things just can’t be explained, he needs to resign himself to that.

“Joonie’s been doing some research,” Jin mentions quietly, fingers combing through the younger man’s hair. “About the bridge and the accident. Did you know that an average six RTA’s occur on that stretch of road every week?”

Huh. No, that was definitely news to him.

“That’s almost one accident a day,” the older singer continues calmly. “And the probability of accidents occurring increases by eighty-something percent when conditions are wet. Joonie sat there and did the calculations himself, so the figures are reliable. But you know what else? Out of all those incidents over the past six years, there’s never once been case where a vehicle’s broken through the outer barrier of the bridge. Apparently they reinforced the structure back in 2012 to stop cars from ending up in the river, and it works.”

Jungkook pulls away an inch or so, his eyes wide as he stares up at the older man in the semi-darkness. “Really?”

“Really.” Jin presses a kiss to the centre of his forehead. “Those reinforcements are pretty tough, y’know? Apparently a minivan like ours would need to be travelling at twice the speed limit to have sufficient enough impact force to break through the barrier. I don’t think Sejin-hyung would willingly put us in danger by speeding like that. Do you?”

The maknae shakes his head silently, his mind buzzing as he absorbs this new information.

Jin cups his jaw, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. “I’m not saying your dream didn’t mean something, Kookie. By all accounts, if you hadn’t freaked out in the car like that and made us pull over, there’s a good chance we would’ve been involved in that accident too. But I don’t think we ever could’ve ended up in the river. Not unless the car suddenly grew wings and flew five feet over the guardrail.”

“But…but I was so sure, something was gonna go wrong,” Jungkook insists, his voice hushed. “The minute I saw the bridge, it felt just like my dream.”

“I know.” Jin’s thumb strokes back and forth against his cheek soothingly. “I know it did. But you’d had that same dream four nights in a row, and you were sleep-deprived, and you were scared. Sometime our minds can play tricks on us and make something seem real, even if it’s not.”

Jungkook swallows, wanting desperately to believe him, but at the same time clinging to that instinctive feeling that his dreams had been a warning, somehow.

“And your seatbelt,” Jin adds softly, carefully. “In your nightmares, it always got jammed, right?”

“Yeah,” the maknae whispers. “Yoongi…he could never open it before.”

And this time it hadn’t even been jammed at all. Jungkook had simply been too nervous and butter-fingered to press down on the catch properly; Yoongi had unfastened the belt in seconds, with none of the frantic tugging and urgent cursing that had always featured in his nightmares.

“So it was just a coincidence?” he asks softly. “Me having all those nightmares right before the accident happened?”

Jin smiles at him, a gentle curl of his lips. “I never said that. Joonie would argue that science trumps superstition, but I believe dreams have a power of their own. I’m certainly not suggesting you have the ability to predict the future – and I’m not sure I’d ever want you to have that gift, either – but there’s no denying that the fear you felt as a result of your nightmares played a significant part in saving us from become another RTA statistic.”

Jungkook finds the affirmation of his own beliefs comforting. If Jin feels that way too, maybe he’s not going crazy after all.

“But don’t get me wrong, some dreams are just weird,” Jin adds, his voice full of warmth and quiet humour. “If Tae has another nightmare about horse-sized ducks, you won’t see me avoiding any ponds because of it.”

The maknae gives a startled laugh, the sound echoing loudly in the otherwise silent bedroom, and Jin quickly presses his long fingers over Jungkook’s lips with a breathy little giggle.

“Shhh,” the man cautions. “You’ll wake Joonie.”

“Too late.”

The rapper pushes himself up on one arm to peer at Jungkook over Jin’s shoulder, his hair cutely mussed and his eyes squinting sleepily in the darkness.

“You okay, kid?” the rapper mumbles, reaching around Jin to stroke a hand down the younger man’s side. “Bad dream?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I’m fine, hyung, promise.”

“Promise?” Jin echoes, and he knows it’s a genuine enquiry.

The maknae smiles quietly, leaning in to kiss the older singer. “Yeah. I promise.”

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Chapter Text

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Jungkook bundles the duvets and pillows from both beds into his arms, turning his head to one side in order to avoid being smothered by the bedding.

“You can’t manage all of that in one go, Kook,” Jimin points out, glancing into the room on his way past, two pillows tucked under each arm.

Jungkook grins at the older boy challengingly. “Can too. My arms aren’t as short as yours.”

“Yah!” the dancer protests, but he’s laughing. “Just wait until I’ve put these down, brat, you’re gonna get it.” He starts to head off towards the stairs, but stops after a moment and backs up a few paces to give his dongsaeng a look. “I’m serious though, Kookie – don’t try to carry all of that downstairs, you’ll fall.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jungkook reassures easily. “It’s not like it weighs anything.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You can’t even see where you’re going, babe.”

“Sight is overrated.”

“Jungkook.”

“Okay, okay,” the maknae relents with a giggle, lowering his arms to rest the bulging load of bedding on the edge of the mattress instead. “I’ll take half.”

Jimin flashes him a bright smile. “Thank you. Now hurry it up, slowpoke, we haven’t got all day.”

Jungkook sticks his tongue out at the man just because he can, grinning when the older singer walks away laughing, and turns his attention back towards the mound of duvets and pillows. Seriously, does he really have to do it in two trips? The bedding’s light as anything, and if he’s careful and takes it slow, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be able to carry it all downstairs in one go. Jimin doesn’t have to know – he’ll be busy helping Tae set up the living room in preparation for their movie marathon, so Jungkook could just be really quiet about it and the dancer probably wouldn’t even notice.

His mind made up, Jungkook bundles the bedding into his arms once again, walking sideways so that he can vaguely see where he’s going.

He has to turn back the right way around when he reaches the stairs (it’s too narrow to go down sideways with the pillows bulging out from beneath his arms, he’ll end up knocking all the framed photos off the wall) and takes extra care in feeling for that first step, slowly beginning his descent.

Aigoo, Jimin sure is turning into fussy hyung in his old age. There’s nothing to worry about, Jungkook’s managing just fine. It’s a good thing he decided against doing the task in two trips, it would’ve been such a waste of time-

The ground suddenly seems to disappear from underneath him without warning as he misses the second-to-last step, his feet shooting out in front of him as he drops down hard onto his butt and skids down the final few steps before coming to a halt at the foot of the staircase in an ungraceful sprawl, a stray pillow thwacking him in the face.

Ow.

“Kookie?” Jimin calls from the living room after a brief moment of silence. “What was that?”

Eyes widening in alarm and heart still thudding rapidly at the base of his throat from the shock of the fall, Jungkook scrambles to his feet hurriedly, tossing the bedding out in front of him just in time as Jimin pokes his head out of the living room, his brow immediately knitting in concern as he takes the maknae in at a glance.

“Did you just fall down the stairs?”

“What? No,” Jungkook scoffs, forcing a laugh, and gestures to the discarded bedding in front of him. “I just, y’know, figured it’d be quicker to toss this downstairs and then pick it up afterwards. That way it only takes one trip, right?”

Honestly, the lie comes out of nowhere. Normally he’s really shitty at making up false excuses, so the fact that this one actually makes sense comes as a genuine surprise.

“Huh.” Jimin cocks his head to the side, then a grin tugs at his mouth. “You know what, that’s actually a pretty good idea. Tae! C’mere, Kook’s got a new strategy.”

“Oooh,” Tae responds curiously, following Jimin out of the living room a moment later. “Our little Jungkookie’s a strategist now? Aigoo, they grow up so quickly.” He pretends to dash away a tear, one hand clutched dramatically to his lack-of-bosom as he gives Jungkook an exaggeratedly tremulous smile. “I’m so proud.”

“Dude, shut up,” Jimin gripes fondly, shoving at the jokester. “And get ready to catch. Kookie’s gonna toss the rest of the bedding from the top of the stairs, that way we don’t have to keep going back and forth all the time.”

“Oh, cool.” Taehyung gives the maknae a double thumbs-up. “Good thinking, cutie.”

Jungkook tries not to blush too hard – both at the praise and the knowledge that he’s basically just lying to their faces in order to avoid embarrassment and any potential scolding from Jimin about carrying all that bedding downstairs when the older singer had explicitly told him not to.

“Thanks,” he replies, as un-awkwardly as he can manage. “I, uh, I’ll go grab the rest of the stuff from upstairs. Be right back.”

Turning around and taking the stairs two at a time, Jungkook grimaces when the movement worsens the dull throbbing at the top of his butt to a sharp sort of twinge just below the small of his back. Aish, he must’ve hit that spot against the edge of the stair when he fell.

Serves you right for being a dumbass, the sensible part of his brain chastises cynically.

And yeah, okay, he knows the fall was entirely his fault. Jimin had cautioned him against it, but he’d gone and done it anyway, and now he has to live with the consequences. Karma got him good this time.

Still, he’d much rather live with a bruised pride and an aching coccyx than be forced to endure a scolding from Jimin. His shortest hyung is always so bubbly and cheerful, but that only makes it ten times worse on the very few occasions when he briefly has to play the stern-hyung. Juungkook hates getting scolded, and he knows Jimin doesn’t like doing it, so this way it’s mutually beneficial, right?

Bending down to gather the pillows and duvets from Yoongi and Hoseok’s beds, Jungkook sucks in a startled breath, reaching behind him to press a hand against his throbbing back when it twinges in protest.

Fuck, it hurts. He’ll need to put something on it before the others get home from the studio; sitting through a movie marathon isn’t going to be much fun if it carries on like this.

“Yah, Kookie!” Jimin’s voice calls from downstairs, a smile in his voice. “We’re supposed to be saving time here, what’s taking you so long? You need a hand?”

Jungkook grimaces, holding the bedding against him as he straightens up carefully and retreats back out into the corridor.

“Nah, I’m good,” he reassures, relieved when he’s able to maintain a casual sort of tone despite his existing discomfort. “Heads up!”

Tossing the padded bundle down the stairs only serves to worsen the ache in his bruised sacrum, but he’s careful not to let it show in his expression until he’s turned away from his hyungs and set off back down the corridor towards Jin and Namjoon’s shared bedroom.

“This is the last of it,” he tells Jimin half a minute later, tossing his armload towards the older singer. “Do we need anything else from upstairs while I’m here?”

Jimin ponders the question for a moment, then shrugs. “Not that I can think of.”

“Awesome.” Jungkook jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I think I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Better make it quick,” Jimin advises, pillow held against his chest as he smiles up at the maknae. “The hyungs are due home any minute now, and you know Tae’s not gonna leave you any fried chicken if you take too long.”

“Damn right I won’t,” Taehyung agrees, his voice carrying back faintly from the living room.

Jungkook pulls a face in response just to make Jimin laugh, before turning away to head towards the bathroom. It’s been a while since they last treated themselves to takeout (with comeback promotions finally over, they can ease up on their healthy-eating regimes a little), and he’s actually been looking forward to their ritual post-comeback movie marathon all week because of the promised fast food, but honestly? He’s lost his appetite a little since the fall.

Hopefully a hot shower will take care of that niggling ache. And if all else fails, there’s usually a can of deep-heat spray kicking around in the bathroom cabinet.

…

Jungkook shifts subtly in his seat on the couch for the fourth time in as many minutes, trying not to let on just how uncomfortable he’s feeling.

The shower had turned out to be woefully ineffective, and the heat spray only marginally less so, resulting in a rather painful ninety-minute wait for the first movie to finish before he could excuse himself to the upstairs bathroom again in order to apply a second coating.

“Feeling okay?” Hoseok had murmured, as Jungkook carefully settled himself back down next to the rapper and tucked the duvet around himself.

“Yeah, sure,” the maknae had reassured with forced cheer. “Never better.”

He seems to be getting pretty good at this whole lying malarkey. Not that it’s doing his aching coccyx any good; the longer he sits still, the sharper the pain seems to become, the throbbing sensation intensifying steadily like there’s pressure building up beneath his skin or something.

They’re halfway through the second movie now, some sort of American psycho-thriller that Namjoon had recommended, but Jungkook has no idea what’s going on, too distracted by his own discomfort to focus on the TV screen. He’s begun to envy Tae and Jimin’s position on the floor, stretched out on their stomachs with a bowl of popcorn between them, empty Choco-pie wrappers scattered all around. They look so comfortable.

Jungkook knows they wouldn’t have an issue with him joining them on the carpet. No, the real issue is the effort it would take to push himself upright and then somehow manoeuvre his aching body onto the floor between the two men without gasping and/or grimacing, thus giving himself away in the process.

So he’ll just have to sit here and wait until enough time has passed that excusing himself to the bathroom (again) won’t raise any suspicions. The last thing he wants to do is make the hyungs think he’s sick or something.

“-ook-ah? Hey.”

Fingers snap in his line of sight, jerking him from his thoughts (nope, ow, don’t tense up like that, fuck), and he glances sideways to see Yoongi regarding him in quiet amusement, leaning over Hoseok from his seat on the far side of the couch. The rapper’s lips curl into a tiny, fond smile at the maknae’s startled expression, but he doesn’t comment on it, instead gesturing with a nod of his head towards the array of snacks and drinks stacked up on the small coffee table nearest to Jungkook.

“Could you pass me another beer?”

With what he hopes is a cheerful smile (because honestly, he feels anything but), Jungkook carefully scoots forwards on the couch cushion, trying to reach for the requested bottle without actually needing to bend. Unfortunately he falls about three inches short of his target, and is forced to lean closer in order to grasp the drink, an action which actually goes a lot more smoothly than he’d anticipated.

Until he tries to straighten up.

Pain lances across his lower back, hotter and sharper than he’s ever felt before, and it’s enough to induce a full-body spasm as all his muscles jerk at once, the bottle falling from his clumsy grasp and hitting the carpeted floor with a dull thud. He ought to be grateful, really, that it doesn’t shatter on impact, but given how much pain he’s in (and the fact that for a brief moment he can’t actually breathe), it’s difficult to see the silver lining.

Additionally, the sound of the beer bottle hitting the floor happened to coincide with a lull in the movie’s dialogue, so now he’s got everybody looking at him in varying degrees of curiosity and concern.

“Kookie?” Jin prompts from the second couch, lifting his head from Namjoon’s shoulder with his brow knitted in concern, already beginning to push the duvet off his legs.

Jungkook wants to reassure him that everything’s fine, wants to flash them all an easy smile and laugh it off as an accident; but the initial flare-up of pain isn’t fading like it’s supposed to, and it’s starting to frighten him a little. He tries to sit up again, gritting his teeth in preparation for the agony he’s sure will come, only to find his spine doesn’t want to uncurl itself from its current position.

Fear wells up in his chest, reaching a hand back to grip onto Hoseok’s knee as he starts to panic.

“I can’t move,” he blurts. “Guys, I can’t, I…I’m stuck.”

…

“Careful,” Jin cautions, arm wrapped bracingly around Jungkook’s lower back, letting the maknae use his other hand as a crutch. “Easy, take your time. You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

Jungkook exhales shakily, taking another cautious step and trying to ignore the way the world spins around him. It’s ridiculous how low it’s taking him simply ascend the staircase, and how fucking exhausted he is after his little expedition to the local private hospital, but he’s glad it’s almost over. He’ll be in bed soon, and so help him he’s going to sleep for an entire week.

Namjoon’s waiting for him at the top of the stairs, ready to offer a hand to Jungkook and resume his position on the maknae’s other side, the extra width of the upstairs corridor allowing them to walk three abreast the way they hadn’t been able to on the narrower staircase.

“Good job,” the leader murmurs. “Nearly there, kiddo. A few more steps and you can rest, okay?”

Jungkook nods sleepily, blinking hard to keep his eyes open. He knows a lot of his weakness and general uncoordinated wobbliness stems from the drugs they’d given him at the hospital – strong painkillers and muscle relaxants to help ease his discomfort while they waited on the results of a multitude of x-rays and scans. It feels like he’s had a full MOT, when in the end it turns out all he’d really done was badly bruise his sacrum to the point where the surrounding tissues became swollen enough to inhibit the normal musculature movement in his lower back. Or something like that.

The doctor had used a lot of fancy words, but as far as Jungkook could understand, that was the basic gist of it.

He can hear Hoseok and the others following close behind him, and under different circumstances he’d probably feel really embarrassed about being in such a pitiful state. But thankfully there are a lot of drugs in his system, so he doesn’t really give a shit.

“Slowly, slowly,” Jin warns, when Jungkook moves to sit down on the bed too quickly. In his defence, he doesn’t feel entirely in control of his own faculties. “There you go. I’m gonna take off your shoes, okay?”

Jungkook blinks, glancing down at his feet, only then realising that he’s still wearing his trainers. He watches as Jin sinks to one knee and begins unlacing them, long fingers working deftly on the knots, turning his head when he feels Namjoon lift up his shirt at the back to check on the adhesive heatpack they’d stuck on him at the hospital.

“How is he?” Yoongi asks from the doorway, letting Hoseok brush past him but keeping Tae and Jimin back for a moment.

“Still pretty out of it,” Namjoon answers quietly, lowering the maknae’s shirt again and stroking a gentle hand up his spine, carefully avoiding the injured area. “Those shots they gave him back at the hospital were the good stuff.”

“Aw, Kookie.” Hoseok crouches down beside Jungkook and settles a hand on his knee, looking up at the maknae in sympathy. “They gave you shots?”

Jungkook nods slowly, blinking hard when Hoseok’s face goes fuzzy for a moment. “S’okay,” he slurs, trying to reassure the dancer. “It didn’t hurt too bad. An’ I was brave, right? Didn’t even cry.”

Namjoon brushes the youth’s fringe back gently, leaning in to press a kiss to his hairline. “Toughest kid I’ve ever seen.”

Pleased, Jungkook smiles dopily and lifts a hand to loosely grip Namjoon’s wrist, feeling compelled to keep the man close. In the midst of the panic he’d felt earlier that evening, locked in his position on the couch because his stupid spine seemed to have forgotten how bending worked, Namjoon had been a calming force, keeping up a steady stream of reassurances that had continyed throughout his trip to the hospital and the barrage of tests that had followed.

“Hyung,” he mumbles, heavy eyelids drooping a little. “Stay? Please?”

Another kiss, and Namjoon loops an arm around his shoulders in a gentle side-hug. “Sure thing, kiddo. Let me just grab a few things from downstairs, alright? I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, baby,” Jin suggests, setting the maknae’s shoes aside and tapping the side of his trouser-leg. “You want pyjamas?”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“Shorts?”

Another shake.

“Sleeping naked isn’t an option, Kook,” Hoseok reminds him, a smile in his voice.

“Don’t wanna get changed,” the younger man protests, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. “Wanna sleep. Tired.”

A hand strokes over the back of his head to settle on his nape. “It won’t hurt to let him sleep in his clothes just this once, hyung,” Yoongi reasons. “He’s only wearing joggers.”

“Yoongi-hyung is my favourite,” Jungkook murmurs gratefully, and hears the older man breathe a quiet, fond laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too, kid.”

Getting settled on his side isn’t actually as painful as he’d anticipated, the still-warm heatpack keeping his muscles from cramping. Jin fusses for a moment with the duvet and extra pillows, creating a padded wall along the maknae’s spine so that he won’t roll over in his sleep and pull anything. Jungkook appreciates his efforts despite how exhausted he feels, and manages another sleepy smile as the older man leans in to kiss him goodnight.

“I’ll be okay,” he promises, his words coming out slower than he’d intended. “I…I’m sorry for making you all worry so much.”

Jin strokes his cheek tenderly. “I’m just glad we found out when we did. But you understand how dangerous it was, don’t you, hiding something like that from the rest of us? Spinal injuries can be serious, Kookie.”

The younger man winces, ducking his gaze away. “I know, it was dumb. I just felt so stupid about it because Jiminie-hyung had already told me not to.”

“A bruised pride is one thing,” Yoongi comments quietly. “But when you’ve actually hurt yourself, you can’t be keeping secrets like this, Kook-ah.”

“I know.” Jungkook glances over Jin’s shoulder towards where Jimin and Taehyung are lingering a few paces away, locking eyes with his shortest hyung for a brief moment. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

The line of tension in Jimin’s shoulders seems to ease in the blink of an eye, his expression softening as he inclines his head a little. Apology accepted.

Jungkook doubts it’ll be the last lecture he hears on the subject of hiding injuries from his hyungs; with at least two weeks of mandatory rest laid out in front of him in order to allow his back to heal properly, the others are going to have ample opportunity to remind him of that particular rule and why they put it in place to begin with. He can’t say he’s looking forward to those particular discussions, but he knows it’s only his just desserts.

Note to self: bad things happen to dumb people.

Also, staircases are bastards.

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Chapter Text

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Lights and colours swirl in a dizzying vortex in front of him, the ceiling rippling like the surface of a pond every time he closes his eyes. Maybe someone’s throwing pebbles? They really need to stop, it’s making his head spin.

There are voices nearby, their conversation overlapping in a quiet murmuring chorus of nice, safe, home, hyungs that makes him want to listen in and try to decipher what they’re saying. He can feel some of the fog around him slowly beginning to dissipate, and with a quiet grunt of effort, he tries to turn his head towards the sound.

His neck, apparently, has other ideas. Wrong way. That’s a wall. Try the other way…

“Jungkook-ah?” a voice calls out, clearer than before. “Guys, I think he’s waking up.”

There’s a warm hand on his cheek, turning his head gently in the right direction, and a vaguely familiar face swims into his line of vision. It looks unusually large, and floaty, and his hair seems even brighter than usual.

“Oooh. Blue.”

Huh. Was that his voice? He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Had he said that out loud? He can’t feel his lips, maybe he doesn’t have a mouth anymore.

“Blue?” the face above him echoes cautiously, his brow creased in concern.

Wait, how had the pretty-blue-man heard him when Jungkook didn’t have a mouth? Maybe they were speaking telepathically? Yoooo, superpowers!

“Maybe he means your hair, hyung,” a second voice pipes up. “It’s pretty bright today.”

“Pretty,” Jungkook agrees tiredly, reaching out to pet it.

Unfortunately, gaining the power of telepathy seems to have drained the strength from the rest of his body, because his coordination is a bit off, and instead of touching the handsome guy’s soft, fluffy-looking blue hair, he ends up with his hand splayed clumsily across the man’s nose, mouth an chin instead.

There’s a muffled snort of laughter somewhere off to the side, but pretty-guy just catches his wrist gently and pulls his hand away, still wearing that faint look of concern. Jungkook doesn’t like seeing it, not one bit. It makes his stomach all bad-fluttery.

“I think he’s still pretty out of it,” the blue-haired angel murmurs in that pretty velvety voice (Jungkook wants to roll in it; can you roll in voices, is that even a thing?), glancing away from him briefly. “Maybe we should wait a while before taking him home.”

He feels a ping of familiarity at that. He doesn’t really know where he is or what’s going on, but he knows home, and he wants to be there more than anything. His current location, wherever it may be, is all bright and floaty and spinny, and he doesn’t feel safe here at all.

“Home,” he echoes, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth (ooh, he has a tongue!), the word slow and a little slurred.  

There’s a beat of silence, and then a second giant-floaty-head appears above him, every bit as nice and handsome and hyung-y as pretty-blue-hair-guy, although his dimpled smile looks a little tight and there’s worry-lines pinching at the corners of his eyes.

“We can go home if you want to, kiddo,” the man tells him, fingers gently touching Jungkook’s cheek.

“Joon,” pretty-blue begins to protest.

“The doctor said as long as he was awake and talking, it’d be alright to leave,” squishy-dimple-Joon counters softly. “He’s gonna be high for a while after the cocktail they gave him, wouldn’t it be better for him to recover at home? The longer he’s here, the greater the risk of someone hearing about it and kicking up a media frenzy. The last thing we want is a bunch of reporters shoving cameras in his face when he’s vulnerable like this.”

Jungkook blinks, trying to process all the complicated words. It’s hard for him to focus on their meaning when the two men are hovering above him like that, close enough to touch. If only his arms weren’t so heavy…and also something feels kinda oww, so maybe he shouldn’t move that around too much.  

“Home,” he says again, more clearly this time, and the two men above him stop sharing significant looks with each other long enough to glance down at him. “Wanna go home.”

Someone off to the side claps loudly. “Well, I guess that settles it! I’ve already texted Sejin-hyung, he’s signing Kookie’s discharge papers. I’ll go get a wheelchair. Yoongi-hyung, your phone’s pinged like thirty times in the past two minutes, you might wanna answer Jin-hyung’s messages before he calls a cab and hunts you down himself.”

“Ah, fuck,” Yoongi mutters (Jungkook knows him, of course he does, how could he have forgotten pretty-blue’s name?), wincing a little as he leans back. “I promised him five-minute updates until Kookie woke up.”

“Sucks to be you, hyung.” Another angel appears above him, pretty silver hair tickling Jungkook’s eyebrow as the man leans down to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be back in a few, beautiful. Don’t say anything funny while I’m gone, I’m getting enough blackmail material to last a lifetime here.”

“Tae!” Namjoon gripes, but he’s smiling (squishy, squishy dimples).

Laughing, the cute guy kisses Jungkook’s cheek one last time before vanishing into thin air. Whoa. Angels, new superpowers and now real-life magicians?

He’s having the best day ever.

…

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jin closes his eyes and prays for strength from any deity who might be listening. Surely one of them must be looking down on him with pity for having to constantly put up with such a bunch of nitwits.

“You brought him home half-conscious?” he grits out. “When he can’t even walk?”

Namjoon winces, carefully adjusting his grip on Jungkook, who’s cradled in his arms bridal-style and appears to be mostly asleep, his head pillowed on the rapper’s shoulder.

“Oh, he can walk,” Taehyung supplies cheerfully, stepping around the pair and further into the house, kicking off his shoes. “He just looks like a drunken giraffe, so we figured it’d be safer just to carry him.”

Yoongi nudges Jin in the side with a pointed look. “What happened to your crutches?”

Seokjin waves a dismissive hand. “My ankle’s fine, it’s just a sprain. How’s his hand? What did the doctors say?”

“Four weeks in the splint,” Namjoon supplies. “Check x-ray next Tuesday to make sure everything’s still aligned. Pain meds and anti-inflammatories until it’s started healing up, and no weight-bearing with his right arm until the splint is off. But the specialist who realigned the joint says it shouldn’t cause any long-term problems as long as he’s careful with it for the next few months.”

Well, that’s certainly a relief. But it does little to ease the knot of worry still balled up in Jin’s chest after having been forced to sit at home all afternoon and wait, knowing that his baby was having bones snapped back into place at the hospital without general anaesthetic.

Carefully sliding past the older idol, Namjoon moves into the living room and makes a beeline for the couch, laying his dozing burden down across the cushions with a sigh of relief. Jin watches fretfully from the doorway, subtly leaning against the frame to take the weight off his left foot (which has started to throb in the wake of him pelting downstairs to greet his dongsaengs the moment he heard the door being unlocked). To his left, Yoongi heaves a tired-sounding sigh, and pulls Jin’s arm across his shoulders without comment.

“I’m fine,” Jin tries to insist, but the tightness in his voice betrays him, and before he knows it Taehyung is slipping in on his right side to help support him.

“Hello fine,” the younger man chirps gleefully, “I’m dad.”

“Dad?”

They all freeze at the quiet call, glancing towards the couch as one to see Jungkook clumsily pushing himself upright. Namjoon gives a startled yelp as the maknae begins to list dangerously to one side, leaping forwards to catch the kid before he can topple onto the floor.

“Dad’s here?” Jungkook slurs confusedly, seemingly unaware of his most recent near-death experience as he squints at his surroundings. “I can’t see him.” The youth’s eyes widen suddenly. “Holy shit, did he turn invisible?”

Jin stares at his apparently-inebriated dongsaeng for approximately four seconds before lifting his gaze to where Namjoon is wincing at him, already lowering Jungkook back down against the cushions.

“He’s okay,” the rapper hurries to reassure, likely reading the fear in Jin’s expression. “He’s just a little drugged up, that’s all.”

Stepping away from Yoongi and Taehyung, and determinedly ignoring the protesting twinge in his ankle, Jin crosses the room quickly, sinking to his knees beside the couch. Jungkook’s unfocused gaze shifts after a moment to settle on his face, lips curling up in a wide, drunken smile.

“Hyung!” he greets cheerfully. “Hiiiii.”

Jin gently catches the splinted hand that threatens to clonk him in the face, wincing when he sees how swollen the maknae’s fingers are.

“Hi, baby,” he returns, brushing the kid’s bangs back from his clammy forehead. “How are you feeling? I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you at the hospital.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen again. “I was in the hospital? Am I sick? Oh god, am I dying?”

Startled by the question, Jin apparently takes a fraction of a second too long to answer, because the maknae’s face crumples and suddenly there are tears welling in his eyes thick and fast. Jin panics, leaning in to drape himself over the younger man in an awkwardly-angled hug.

“No, hey, you’re fine,” he soothes quickly. “You’re not dying, I promise. You just had to go see a few doctors to get your arm fixed up.”

The maknae sniffles. “My arm?”

“Yeah, buddy.” Namjoon perches on the arm of the couch, fingers gently carding through Jungkook’s hair. “You fell down the stairs back at the studio, remember? Dislocated your wrist pretty bad and broke a couple of fingers.”

“Oh.” Jungkook gives a quiet little sniffle, appearing to think this information over for a long moment, before peering up at his leader again. “Am I gonna be okay?”

“Physically, yes,” Taehyung answers, leaning over Namjoon’s shoulder with his iphone held aloft. “Can’t guarantee your pride’s ever gonna recover after I show you this footage, though.”

“Kim Taehyung,” Jin warns quietly, sending the maknae a look that immediately has the singer pocketing his phone with a hastily squeaked ‘sorry, hyung’.

The sound of the front door unlocking distracts him briefly from where he’s been drying Jungkook’s tears, and seconds later a short figure comes hurrying into the room, worry written across his features.

“Where is he?”

Jungkook’s expression brightens immediately at the voice, and he throws his uninjured arm in the air, very nearly smacking Jin in the face again.

“M’heeeere!”

“Oh, thank god.” Jimin visibly sags in relief, a little out of breath, and stumbles over to the couch to drop to his knees beside Jin. “Hey, Kookie. Do me a favour and stop scaring me like this, okay?”

The younger man stares at him dazedly for a few seconds, then reaches up without warning to poke Jimin’s nose with a quiet little “boop”. The dancer blinks, startled, as Taehyung tries to muffle his laugher behind his hand, leaning against Namjoon’s shoulder for support.

“Yo, where’s the invalid?” Hoseok calls, strolling into the living room casually and dumping a couple of overfilled plastic bags on the coffee table, their contents (which seem to be copious amounts of Jungkook’s favourite snacks) spilling out across the surface. “I hear we’ve got another boo-boo to kiss better.”

“Wooo, kisses!” Jungkook throws both arms up in celebration, and Jin hurriedly reaches for the splinted one, gently guiding it back down again.

“Guys,” Jimin breathes, still wide-eyed. “What the hell is he on?”

“The good stuff,” Yoongi supplies helpfully, leaning around Namjoon to pass Jin a bulky-looking dish towel. “Here – his doctor said we needed to ice it for the first couple of days until the swelling goes down.”

“Kisses,” Jungkook stubbornly demands, his eyes narrowing a little as he pouts cutely.

With a laugh, Hoseok crawls up from the bottom end of the couch, careful not to put any weight on Jungkook as he leans over the maknae to press his lips to the younger man’s cheek with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ sound. Jungkook giggles, high and childlike and adorable, and Jin feels the day’s stresses melt away instantaneously.

“So,” Hobi says cheerfully as he leans back again. “All those in favour of eating our own body weight in junk food and binge-watching Eunwoo’s new drama?”

Eight hands immediately shoot upwards (Jungkook using both arms again and consequently sending the icepack flying), and Jin actually manages to laugh along with the others, a heavy weight finally lifting from his shoulders.

Everything’s going to be okay.

-15 hours later-

Jungkook stares up at the ceiling, eyelids feeling dry and gritty as he blinks hard, trying to bring his blurry vision into focus. There’s a dull sort of throbbing in his right wrist and hand, and he feels a lurch of panic when he tries to flex the joint and finds his efforts halted by something hard and uncomfortable.

Raising the appendage up to his face, he frowns at the sturdy splint, memories of the previous day coming back to him in jumbled fragments. He remembers falling down the stairs (because man, that had sucked) and what had felt like the longest car journey ever as he sat hunched over his dislocated wrist, trying to take deep breaths and not puke all over his shoes from the pain as Namjoon rubbed his back in soothing circles and promised him everything was going to be alright.

He remembers white corridors, and sucking in bitter-tasting air from a weird mouthpiece until he felt light-headed, and then huge needles, and Taehyung holding his good hand while Yoongi gently covered his eyes so that he couldn’t see the shot coming, and Namjoon resting his big hands on his shoulders when everything started spinning…

After that, things are too foggy and disjointed to make sense of.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Taehyung’s smiling face appears above him, and Jungkook drops his hand back down against his chest with a wince. “How’s the wrist?”

“Kinda aches a bit,” he answers honestly, his voice croaky from lack of use. “Um. Why am I on the couch?”

Tae moves around to perch on the edge of the cushions beside Jungkook’s hip, reaching for the maknae’s injured hand and carefully encasing it in a towel-wrapped gel pack. It’s fucking freezing, but the cold helps to distract him from the ache in his swollen joint almost immediately.

“You were kinda out of it last night,” Taehyung tells him. “We weren’t sure in your, uh, condition if you’d be able to figure out how stairs were supposed to work, so we decided to camp down here overnight.”

“We?” Jungkook echoes, finally glancing at his surroundings and spying five of his hyungs curled up in armchairs or sprawled out on pillows across the floor, empty snack wrappers scattered around them. “Oh.”

“Jin-hyung’s making breakfast,” Tae continues, idly combing his fingers through Jungkook’s hair to neaten it. “Seems to be mostly fruit and steamed vegetables; I guess he’s trying to compensate for all the crap we ate last night.”

Brow furrowing a little, Jungkook slowly pushes himself upright. “What happened?” he asks blearily. “After the hospital? I don’t remember much.”

Taehyung’s face lights up, and the slightly manic quality to his grin gives Jungkook a very bad feeling indeed.

“Luckily for you, I got most of it on camera,” he tells the younger man cheerfully. “Jin-hyung stopped trying to scold me for it after a while because Yoongi-hyung was filming too. Also, my answer is ‘yes’.”

The maknae tilts his head, confused. “Yes to what?”

“You proposed to me. Several times, actually.” Taehyung clutches a hand to his chest and sighs dramatically. “It was all very romantic, you know. At least up until the point you starting proposing to the TV.”

“I did what?” Jungkook croaks, mortified.

“Can’t say I blame you, man,” Taehyung mollifies, pulling his phone from the front pocket of his hoodie and tapping away on the screen for a moment. “Eunwoo’s, like, the definition of handsome.”

Jungkook feels his cheeks heat up. Okay, so he can’t deny that he maybe finds Cha Eunwoo insanely attractive to the point where it’s sometimes difficult not to just stare at his perfect face in awe whenever they’re at a music event alongside Astro, but seriously, how high must he have been last night to actually act on those feelings in front of his sort-of boyfriends?

“You think that’s embarrassing?” Tae comments lightly, scooting closer so that Jungkook can see his phone. “Let me show you the ‘love rap’ you improvised in honour of Joonie-hyung’s dimples.”

Oh.

Oh fuck.  

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Chapter Text

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It’s Yoongi who finds him that first night.

With comeback promotions finally over, they’ve all been given a short but much-appreciated break from activities, and Yoongi’s taking advantage of the lack of any early morning schedule to stay up late on his laptop browsing social media.

He generally avoids the BTS tag if he can help it (there are always Knetizens lurking out there who love to criticise them over the dumbest shit), but during comeback period they’ve all been so focused on their own progress that he’s fallen behind on what’s happening in the rest of the Kpop world. Apparently three new groups have announced their debut during this past month alone. Aish, they all look so young. There was once a time when Jungkook had been considered one of the youngest maknaes in the industry, but these days companies seem to be putting actual children onstage. Talented children, sure, but Yoongi hates to think of the physical and mental strain they must be going through. He remembers how hellish things had been for himself during Bangtan’s debut, and he’d been an adult at the time without the stress of schoolwork or studies (or puberty, damn) adding to that burden. He honestly doesn’t know how these kids cope with it, working hectic schedules on minimal sleep and following stupid-ass diets, unable to hang out with their friends and families like healthy, happy children ought to be doing.

Ugh, fuck. He’s starting to sound like a grumpy old man.

Yoongi snorts derisively at the thought and pulls off his headphones, closing his laptop and pushing himself back from the small desk, stretching both arms above his head with a low groan. Maybe it’s time to turn in…

The creak of floorboards from across the room has him craning his neck around, and he startles at the sight of a tall shadow lingering in the darkened hallway directly outside his bedroom doorway.

“Aigoo! Jungkook, what the fuck?”

Yoongi may have recognised the familiar silhouette at first glance, but his heart is still pounding a mile a minute at the base of his throat.

“Geez, kid, you scared the hell out of me,” he gripes, dragging a hand down his face as burst of adrenaline begins to fade. “How long have you been standing there?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, and after a moment he takes a handful of slow, meandering steps, crossing the threshold of the bedroom and into the dim light that’s coming from the lamp on Yoongi’s desk. Now that he’s out of the shadowy hallway, Yoongi can see his face better, and feels something uneasy flutter in his chest at the maknae’s unfocused gaze.

“Kookie?” he tries again, more gently this time. “You feeling okay?”

The younger man rubs at his arm like he’s cold, but in super slow motion, turning his head in the other direction to peer blearily towards the nearby built-in closet, his eyes still heavy-lidded and unfocused as he stared at his reflection in the mirror that lines the closet door.

“Are they here yet?” Jungkook asks, a strange cadence to his voice. “We need to leave.”

“Uh,” Yoongi answers, intelligently.

Jungkook stops rubbing his arm and turns, resuming those slow, meandering sort of steps towards the mirror and reaching out to slide one half of the closet door open. Then, quite without warning, he steps inside between the rows of shirts and jackets and hoodies, and promptly sinks down to sit cross-legged on the floor, his back to Yoongi.

It can’t possibly be comfortable (the kid’s sitting on a bunch of shoes and a couple of fallen clothes-hangers), but Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s simultaneously both the strangest and most alarming thing that Yoongi’s ever witnessed. And he’s seen Jimin drunk off his face trying to sweet-talk a hotel room’s decorative plant into a date, so the bar for weird shit had already been set pretty high.

But holy freaking hell, what is going on with this kid?

It’s such a bizarre situation that Yoongi finds himself feeling totally and completely out of his depth; one of those rare occasions where his first instinct is to find Jin, get help. But it’s super late, and Jin’s probably fast asleep by now, so he’s torn. Besides, what exactly is he supposed to say? Oh hey hyung, Jungkook’s acting like that kid from The Conjuring and it’s freaking me out, do you mind getting him out of my closet?

Aish, he’d never live it down.

“Jungkook-ah?” he calls, keeping his voice hushed as he approaches the youth, sinking down into a crouch behind him and gently laying a hand over the kid’s nape.

No fever. So he’s not sick, at least.

Maybe he’s still dreaming? Wait, fuck, is he sleepwalking?

Yoongi’s never had any first-hand experience with people who sleepwalk, but he’s heard it’s a bad idea to wake them up, even though logically to him that seems like the easiest thing to do. Thing is, though, he can’t exactly carry Jungkook back to his bedroom; the maknae’s bulked out a lot these past six months, and grown another inch or so since his last birthday, so the days of being able to scoop the kid into his arms and lug him around have long since passed. But Yoongi can’t just leave him here, either. Not in a fucking closet.

“Kookie?” he tries again. “How about we go back to bed, kiddo? Come on, up you go.”

With his hands hooked under Jungkook’s arms, he guides the maknae to his feet, both surprised and relieved at how easy it is to coax the younger man upright and steer him carefully across the room, letting go of the kid briefly to yank the covers back on his bed before gently nudging him forwards again.

Jungkook crawls up onto the mattress without a word. He scoots over to the far side of the bed nearest the wall, curling his arms around Yoongi’s Shooky plushie and promptly closing his eyes, relaxing into a far more natural-looking sleep.

Yoongi stands there for several minutes just watching him, heart still beating a little fast, his own exhaustion a distant memory. The kid’s done now, right? Because if Jungkook’s suddenly going to spring up and start trying to cram himself into the bottom drawer of the dresser or something crazy like that, Yoongi is calling for backup, his reputation as the ‘calm and collected hyung’ be damned.

Thankfully, Jungkook appears to have no lingering inclination to go walkabout, and after a couple more minutes of watchful silence, Yoongi finally switches off the lamp on his desk and crawls into bed beside the maknae, looping an arm around his dongsaeng’s waist a little tighter than usual.

Just in case.

…

“He was sleepwalking?” Namjoon echoes in surprise, eyebrows shooting up.

Yoongi nods tiredly, elbow braced against the edge of the kitchen table and chin propped up in his hand. After Jungkook’s late-night antics, the maknae had slept like a log (albeit a very cute, cuddly log), but Yoongi hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep himself, convinced that the kid would jump up the moment he closed his eyes. Knowing the youth’s propensity for accidental injuries, it had been a very real possibility (at least in Yoongi’s mind) that Jungkook would careen headfirst into a wall and concuss himself the next time he went sleepwalking.

“That’s new,” Hoseok remarks, sharing a concerned glance with Jin. “The kid’s had night terrors before, and he can say some weird shit when he’s running a fever, but he’s never been a sleepwalker.”

Jin sets down his cup of coffee. “Maybe he’s getting another ear infection,” the singer muses aloud, pushing his chair back from the table. “I should check his temperature-”

“He’s not sick,” Yoongi interjects, reaching for Jin’s discarded beverage to down the coffee himself in three large gulps (he needs the caffeine, dammit). “I checked for a fever already, the kid’s fine.”

Namjoon leans across the table to refill Yoongi’s cup (and that’s why he was made leader, bless him).

“What does Jungkook think about all this?” the younger rapper asks. “Must’ve been pretty weird for him, waking up someplace different. Does he remember any of it?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head. “Kid isn’t bothered in the slightest. He crashes in my room often enough, so he didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary. Just gave me that huge, dumb smile of his and told me I ought to go to bed earlier because my eyes were getting puffy. The little shit.”

“Well,” Hoseok says cheerfully, spearing a slice of melon on the end of his chopstick. “At least we know his sense of humour’s still intact. Maybe we shouldn’t blow this out of proportion, y’know? Lots of people sleepwalk. And it’s only happened this one time, right? The kid’s probably just exhausted after comeback promotions – his sleep schedule’s been all over the place, maybe this is his brain’s way of coping with that.”

Namjoon nods, his hand squeezing Yoongi’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Hobi’s right,” he agrees. “Kookie’s behaviour last night was probably a one-time thing.”

Jin makes a noise of protest, still wearing that same worried expression, his brow faintly creased in concern.

“But-”

“But we’ll keep an eye on him over the next couple of days,” Namjoon reassures smoothly, settling the other’s nerves with an easy smile. “Just in case.”

Chapter Text

.

A whole day without any cameras? Fuck yeah. Jungkook could get used to this.

It’s not like he hates having the film crew following them around all the time (the production team have planned out so many awesome things to do during their vacation, so the whole video-diary thing really is a small price to pay), but still, sometimes it’s nice to just relax and not have to think about how his expression looks or whether his makeup is starting to sweat off his face. Sometimes it’s nice to just be average-Jungkook and not Golden Maknae.

The resort they’re staying in this week isn’t as busy as he’d anticipated it might be, given how popular the area is with tourists. Then again, that might be attributed to the fact that BigHit has booked out at least half of the rooms to accommodate for all the managers and tour guides and stylists who’ve come along with them, plus their entire production crew (far bigger than the two-person team who’d travelled around Europe with them last year). Like Jungkook, most of the staff are taking advantage of their day off to rest and relax at the resort, so there isn’t anyone bothering him either. The managers have even trusted him (for once) to handle himself without supervision, on the condition that he doesn’t leave the hotel.

It’s so peaceful out here. Aside from a handful of young kids splashing in the far end of the pool under the watchful eyes of their parents, and a few elderly couples sunbathing on the loungers, the place is wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

“Kookie!”

Or not.

Pushing his sunglasses up a little, Jungkook smiles as Taehyung comes jogging over, wearing the new sunhat he’d bought yesterday during their ‘group shopping trip’.

Taehyung always looks so enviably good in everything – he even pulls off that gaudy yellow and green Hawaiian shirt (decorated with tiny palm trees and coconuts) and makes it look like the latest line from Vogue. Jungkook’s pretty sure it would look hideous on anyone else.

“Jimin says there’s an arcade nearby,” Tae tells him cheerfully. “Wanna go check it out? I’ve already told Sejin-hyung, he says it’s okay as long as we take one of the tour guides with us.”

Jungkook stretches as he hums in deliberation, torn between his eternal sense of adventure and his body’s physical need for rest and recuperation. Although hanging out with the guys in an arcade does sound pretty fun, he’s still bone-tired from all their recent travelling, and the time zone shift has been playing havoc with his insomnia this week. He kinda just wants to chill out here by the pool and people-watch for a little while. To be honest, it’s nice to just be able to sit outside in such a public area without being stared at by a hundred fans – nobody recognises him here, or at least they’re all too polite to say so, and it’s awesome.

“Nah, I’m good,” he decides, slipping his sunglasses back into place. “You guys have fun.”

Stepping closer, Taehyung reaches out to play idly with Jungkook’s hair for a moment, tilting his head a little to the side.

“Are you sure?” the older boy presses. “Everybody else is going, it’ll just be you staying behind. Are you sure you won’t get lonely out here all by yourself?”

“I’m not by myself,” Jungkook insists, gesturing to the handful of people lounging about in deckchairs on the opposite side of the pool. “Besides, I’ll probably head back upstairs soon anyway. I wanna take a nap before dinner.”

Taehyung shrugs and ruffles his hair one last time. “Okay, suit yourself. You’ve still got the keycard to our room, right?”

Patting the pocket of his shorts to make sure, Jungkook nods.

Truthfully, BigHit has given them each their own private room in the hotel (compared to last vacation’s cosy campervan, BangPD has really splurged on them this year – probably as a belated “thank you for making me a multi-millionaire” present, come to think of it), but Jungkook’s learned from past experience to avoid trying to sleep on his own in a strange place. It’ll only result in a potentially disastrous combination of insomnia and anxiety, which might trigger his sleep-walking (again), and none of them are willing to risk that.

So he’s basically been bedroom-hopping these past four nights, waiting until the staff have gone to bed before sneaking out of his own suite (which he’s really just been using as a glorified storage room for his luggage, although he does feel a bit guilty about the unnecessary expenditure) to go crash in bed with one of the others. Despite his subtlety, he suspects Sejin knows about it anyway – there aren’t a lot things that escape their loyal manager’s notice these days. Jungkook won’t let that deter him, though. He’d rather Sejin think that he’s too much of a wimp to sleep on his own than risk a full week of sleepless nights in an effort to preserve his dignity.

“Don’t stay out here too long,” Taehyung cautions with a smile, already walking away. “You’ll fry in this heat.”

Jungkook acknowledges the older boy’s words with a distracted hum, already fishing in his other pocket for his headphones. Another fifteen minutes or so and he’ll go back inside for a nap – that’ll give him just enough time to listen to Astro’s summer album and chillax.

Putting the buds in his ears, Jungkook reaches up to adjust the parasol above him so that the shade properly covers his face and shoulders – the stylist noonas will freak out if he gets panda-eye tan lines beneath his sunglasses, or browns to the extent that his previous makeup palate no longer matches his skin tone. Although he doubts he’s in any real danger; the sun doesn’t feel too intense this afternoon. Its glow is a gentle warmth on his bare arms and legs, the dull heat eased by the cool breeze that’s been teasing at his fringe pleasantly this past hour.

Mmmm. He’s so damn comfortable.

Maybe he’ll just close his eyes for a spell. He’ll wake up when the album comes to an end, he’s sure of it…

…

“Jungkook!”

Startling, the maknae moans softly, prying his heavy eyelids open to squint up at Namjoon as the rapper leans over him, shaking him roughly by the shoulders.

Ow.

“M’awake,” he mumbles, raising a hand to push the leader back, surprised at how little strength he’s able to put behind the shove. “You don’t have to shout, hyung.”

Namjoon looks relieved, shifting to perch on the edge of the sun-lounger, his worried expression relaxing a little.

“Aigoo, don’t scare me like that. You took forever to come round.” The rapper’s brow is still creased as he studies the younger man intently. “How long have you been asleep out here?”

Jungkook shrugs. His tongue feels weird and thick in his mouth, and for some reason he’s having a hard time staying conscious, despite the vigour with which Namjoon had shaken him awake. Pushing his sunglasses back to rub at his eyes, he forces himself upright on the lounger, head spinning a little.

God, he’s thirsty.

“…time is it?” he slurs, closing his eyes again briefly when dots swim in his vision.

“Almost five-thirty,” Namjoon answers, keeping his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder as though to steady him (judging by how the world is still tilting on its axis, that’s probably a good thing). “We went to find you so we could all head down to dinner together, but you weren’t in Tae’s room. Sejin-hyung thought you were with us – think we gave the poor guy a heart attack when Tae suddenly announced you’d gone missing.”

Aw hell…

“It’s okay,” the rapper reassures, smiling wryly at Jungkook’s guilty expression. “I already texted him to call off the search. Figured if you weren’t upstairs I’d probably find you by the pool. But you weren’t out here all afternoon, were you? Tae said you were supposed to be taking a nap in his room.”

Jungkook winces as he rotates his neck, the muscles feeling cramped. “Guess I must’ve fallen asleep. Sorry.”

“Aish.” Namjoon gives his exposed limbs a quick once-over. “You’re lucky you didn’t burn, kid. The stylist noonas would’ve pitched a fit if your skin was damaged. You’re gonna bronze up pretty good, though.”

Shrugging again, Jungkook blinks hard and give himself a mental shake, trying to tear his mind away from the heavy fatigue that’s still clinging to it. He must’ve been even more sleep-deprived than he had originally thought if a four-hour nap hasn’t sufficiently boosted his energy levels.

“I should go change for dinner,” he observes, glancing down at his casual pool attire. “Gimme ten minutes, okay? I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

…

“Oh my god, I’m gonna puke,” Taehyung moans, flopping backwards onto the double bed dramatically, arms wrapped around his stomach. “Why did you let me eat so much?”

Jungkook snorts, drying himself off with a towel, water from his recent shower rapidly cooling against his heated skin. “I told you not to compete with Jin-hyung. He’s got a bottomless stomach – you don’t.”

“But I like being competitive,” Tae whines, rolling over to bury his face in the pillow.

“Dude, at least dry your hair first,” Jungkook laughs, chucking a spare towel at him. “You’ll get sick if you go to bed with wet hair.”

Taehyung sits up to point a finger at him. “Oh no, bucko, you’re not in any position to lecture me on self-care, mister oops-I-fell-asleep-under-the-scorching-hot-sun. You’re lucky our forgiving leader didn’t tattle on you to Jin-hyng. And I still can’t believe you didn’t burn, lucky bastard.”

Smirking, Jungkook pulls on a clean pair of shorts and collapses into bed beside Taehyung.

“I’ve got thick skin,” he quips smugly, deciding not to mention just how many layers of sunscreen Jin had coated him in earlier that day before he was permitted to step one foot outside.

“A thick head is what you’ve got,” Tae mutters, hitting him with a pillow. “That’s the last time I leave you alone, dumbass. Congratulations, you’re stuck with my constant supervision for the rest of the summer.”

“Oh god, stop, it’s too weird when you pull the Hyung Card,” Jungkook groans dramatically, and mimes smothering himself with the pillow to hide his grin. “Kill me now.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Despite the older boy’s words, Taehyung still cuddles close to him once the lights are out, his slow, even breathing a reassuring tickle against the back of Jungkook’s neck as the older maknae hugs him from behind.

Jungkook wishes he could drop off to sleep so easily. His current wakefulness likely has something to do with the extended nap he’d taken earlier (rather than helping matters, he’s probably just fucked up his internal body clock even more). Then again, he really does feel tired – his muscles are sore and weary, and there’s a strange heaviness to his limbs that makes him feel like he could sink straight through the mattress.

So why can’t his dumb brain just accept that he’s exhausted and shut down for a bit? Even his eyes are aching with fatigue. Aigoo, and his head’s starting to throb something fierce.

Lifting a hand, he grinds the heel of his palm against the side of his forehead, trying to knead out the sharp twinge that’s building up beneath his skull. Seriously, he’s already battling insomnia, he really doesn’t need a migraine on top of everything else.

He can’t say for sure how long he lays there rubbing at his eyes and pressing his fingers against his brow to easy the growing discomfort there, but all of his efforts prove to be futile. The headache seems determined to stay. And aish, why did he eat so much at dinner? He hadn’t even been all that hungry, it had just looked good – and now his stomach’s rolling too. His body probably isn’t used to digesting so many carbs, he should’ve stopped after just one serving of pasta…

Oh god. He’s going to be sick.

The feeling hits him quite suddenly, an overwhelming nausea that has him lurching out of bed with a speed he’d thought his aching body incapable of, acid already burning at the back of his throat. Jungkook staggers blindly towards the bathroom in the dark, not bothering to turn on the light in his haste as he dives for the toilet and crashes to his knees on the hard floor in front of it, gripping the seat on either side as his stomach twists painfully and ejects its contents into the porcelain bowl.

Yup. Definitely shouldn’t have gone back for seconds.

“Kookie?”

Bright light fills the bathroom and Jungkook groans when the daggers behind his eyes skewer themselves deeper into his skull, the pain triggering another wave of cramping that has him vomiting into the toilet a second time.

“Shit.” There’s suddenly a hand on the back of his neck, cool against his flushed, sweaty skin. “Okay. You’re okay. Better out than in, right? I guess something you ate for dinner must’ve disagreed with you.”

Jungkook nods, unable to answer verbally as he heaves his guts up again.

“D’you want me to go wake one of the others?” Tae offers gently, stroking down Jungkook’s hair at the back. “Maybe Jin-hyung?”

The maknae shakes his head, spitting into the bowl and reaching up to flush before the smell makes him puke again.

“M’fine. Just give me a minute.”

But the pounding in his head is only getting worse, and the swirling spots in his vision are coming together to form larger splodges, obscuring his vision almost entirely as the dizziness worsens and…

Oh. Oh fuck, he knows this feeling

“Tae,” he managers, pawing behind him unto his fingers meet something solid. “Tae, m’gonna pass out.”

His words slur off until they’re almost unintelligible, but clearly Taehyung seems to get the gist of it anyway because suddenly there’s a strong pair of arms around his torso, holding him up as the world tilts and he starts to list sideways.

Sound goes weird after that, all muted and raspy like he’s underwater, but he knows he’s not because he can feel the bathroom tiles beneath him, blissfully cool against his burning skin. There’s something soft and padded slipping beneath his head too, a little harder than a pillow but comfortable enough for now. He isn’t complaining.

Mmm, this is nice. Maybe he’ll just stay here for a little while and take a nap. He’s so tired.

Ow, ow, ow, that hurts!

He lurches painfully back to awareness with a low groan, a dull throbbing exploding in his chest because some jerk is rubbing their knuckles against his collarbone. The fuck?

“Sorry, kid,” his attacker murmurs (a polite jerk, then). “I was having trouble waking you. Yah, don’t go back to sleep. Come on, open your eyes for a sec.”

Jungkook obeys, having already placed the speaker as Yoongi, although his vision is so blurry and blotchy that it’s hard to make out his face at first. The rapper’s hovering above him (weird), looking calm but grim as he gently cups the maknae’s jaw.

“This isn’t your fault, Tae,” a voice is murmuring nearby (Namjoon?). “I knew about it too, I should’ve checked on him earlier. He’s Kookie, of course he’d sit out in the sun too long and wind up getting heatstroke.”

There’s a cool breeze coming from somewhere, and it feels awesome. Jungkook tilts his head towards the source, blinking in surprise when he sees Jin kneeling next to him flapping a magazine vigorously in his direction to fan him. The older singer smiles when he notices Jungkook’s gaze, reaching out with his free hand to brush back the maknae’s fringe.

“Hey, baby. How are you feeling?”

Jungkook wets his lips, his tongue feeling dry and swollen again. “Thirsty,” he admits, a faint croak. His brow creases a little. “Did I pass out?”

“Dramatically,” Taehyung confirms, and Jungkook turns his head again to see his fellow maknae seated nearby against the wall of the bathroom, tucked up against Namjoon’s side beneath one of the rapper’s arms, his eyes looking unusually puffy. “Scared the shit out of me, you punk.”

“And me,” Hoseok agrees, and Jungkook realises the not-as-cosy-as-a-pillow-softnesss beneath his head is in fact a folded towel placed in the dancer’s lap. He can feel Hobi’s hands squeezing his shoulders gently. “You looked pretty grey when I first came in, so it’s nice to see some colour back in those cheeks. Now you just look like shit.”

Despite his bodily aches, Jungkook feels his lips twitch up. “Gee. Thanks, hyung.”

“Anytime.”

“Here, Kook.” Jimin leans over him from the opposite, holding a drink and a straw. “Sejin-hyung says electrolytes are important. Just take little sips, okay?”

Jungkook complies as instructed, grateful for the cool, sweet liquid that wets his mouth and replaces the acrid taste from before. His gaze shifts over Jimin’s shoulder to where their loyal manager is hovering in the doorway to the bathroom, giving them the respectful distance he always has but maintaining that worried-uncle sort of air that he’s carried since way before debut.

“There’s a hospital forty-five minutes away,” Sejin tells the room at large. “We should probably get him checked out, just to be on the safe side.”

“M’fine,” Jungkook immediately insists.

He’s genuinely alarmed at the thought of being stuck as an inpatient in a foreign hospital, surrounded by people he can’t communicate with. And what if the news somehow got out? That’d be so embarrassing. He can see the headlines now - ‘BTS maknae hospitalised after falling asleep in 30 degree weather’. Aigoo, he’d never live it down. Yugyeom and Moonbin would tease him about it for the rest of his life. 

Determined to prove his point, Jungkook pushes himself into an upright sitting position, closing his eyes briefly as his head spins. He still feels like shit. But at least he’s not dying anymore. The discomfort is tolerable.

“Hey, take it easy,” Yoongi cautions, as Hoseok’s hands shift to help support him. “If Sejin-hyung thinks you need to get checked out, then that’s what’s going to happen.”

“But I’m feeling better now,” Jungkook presses, a teeny tiny whine making the argument sound a lot more pathetic than he’d intended it to. “Really. I just need to drink something, I’ll be okay.”

The others share lingering glances, Jimin looking uncharacteristically serious as he kneels beside Yoongi, clutching the electrolyte drink to his chest like a lifeline. Taehyung still looks vaguely freaked out by everything, still tucked up against Namjoon. The rapper appears to be his usual unruffled self, but with a slight pinch around his eyes that betrays his lingering wories.  

“We’ll wait another hour or so, Jungkook-ah,” Sejin finally bargains from the doorway, ever the voice of reason in these situations. “If you’re still feeling peaky by the then, we’re getting you checked over by a professional, no arguments. Agreed?”

Jungkook nods, as does the rest of the group.

“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Namjoon promises, smiling calmly at their manager. “Why don’t you go back to bed, hyung? I promise one of us will call you if his condition deteriorates. But there’s no use in all of us staying up.”

Despite his statement to the contrary, that’s exactly what ends up happening.

Clearly still spooked by Jungkook’s sudden collapse, the rest of his hyungs stay behind even after Sejin has gone back to bed, fussing and supervising and sharing meaningful looks with one another as Jungkook gets settled back down in bed, his head spinning and his muscles throbbing but feeling miles better for having an empty stomach again. Maybe he’ll avoid foodstuffs for a little while.

“Get some sleep while you can,” Jin murmurs, settling into bed alongside him, Taehyung tucked in close on his other side. “We’ll be waking you up every thirty minutes for the rest of the night to get you to drink something.”

Jungkook groans in weary protest, but he knows it’s not a punishment for being dumb enough to fall asleep outside or anything like that – he’d given the guys a good scare tonight (again), and they’re probably still a bit twitched thinking about what might have happened if Jungkook had been sleeping in his own room, all alone, with nobody there to keep him from splitting his head open against the tiles.

To be honest, it’s not something Jungkook’s too keen to think about in any real detail. Things could have been so much worse, after all.

But hey, at least he didn’t get sunburnt.

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