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“Let me wake up next to you, have coffee in the morning and wander through the city with your hand in mine, and I'll be happy for the rest of my fucked up little life.”
Charlotte Eriksson
_ _
He hates Heathrow, with its crowded terminals and endlessly delayed flights, and how long it takes to get there. Unless you want to pay £20 for the express, of course, but Jimin doesn’t really have that kind of money to spare. All of it has gone to tuition and art supplies and rent for his admittedly tiny studio flat.
So he’s on the tube, rattling his way out to Heathrow to meet Jungkook. It’s six a.m. and he was up all night working on a project, which means he can see the bags under his eyes even in the distorted reflection of the train window. And as usual, he has paint flecks all over his hands and trailing up his arms, dotting his sweater and jeans with bright spots of red and blue and green and purple. His hair is a lanky mess, shoved beneath a beanie, and he ran out of time to put his contacts in.
Essentially, he looks like a disaster of a human and it has anxiety curling sharp in his stomach. He’d been hoping to show up looking … more put together than this. Stylish. Elegant, maybe. An outfit that would knock Jungkook off his feet and remind him why this long distance thing is worth it.
Because he’s pretty sure Jungkook is going to break up with him during this visit.
( He’s not going to break up with you, Namjoon assured him over Skype last week, you’re just being paranoid, Jimin-ah. You guys have literally been together for years.
Which means he’s probably grown tired of me, right? he’d asked. Because he was Jungkook’s first boyfriend and he … wasn’t that much of a catch, really. Too needy, probably, and clingy sometimes. Prone to deep insecurity that could sometimes spill out in poisonous ways - like too much alcohol and not enough food.
You’re a catch, Jiminie, Seokjin pointed out, like a mind reader - face very close to the screen. Wipe that mopey expression off your too-pretty face.)
And okay, maybe he is being paranoid. But there have been signs. Plenty of them. He has a whole list from the past month:
- Jungkook has cancelled on Skyping with him three times.
- The last time they did Skype Jungkook seemed distracted and distant and hung up after after only thirty minutes.
- Jungkook’s text messages have shrunk to only a few sentences here and there, scattered across days instead of hours.
- Usually, Jimin is the one initiating conversations - wakes up to no new notifications on his phone, when Jungkook used to ramble at him all the time, if only to annoy him.
- They haven’t had a meaningful conversation in at least a month. Maybe two.
- Jungkook called him hyung during that one weird Skype call and he never does that, no matter how much Jimin bitches at him for it. It’s always been Jimin-ssi or Chim or on rare, rare occasions babe.
Jimin can almost feel him slipping away, piece by piece, and it hurts. Sure, relationships rarely last forever, especially long distance ones. They knew it would be hard, being so far away from each other, being nine hours apart. Jimin expected a measure of disconnect, also factoring in their busy schedules, and braced himself for it. But not this much.
Relationships don’t last forever, but he thought he’d have more time. He isn’t ready to let go yet. Sometimes, it feels like yesterday that he met Jungkook in dance class and they bonded over being artists, being from Busan, being ace. Went out to dinner after the practice ended and wound up talking all night as they wandered around Seoul - from a noodle bar to a noraebang to McDonald’s and then finally back to campus as the sun was coming up. And Jimin has always been great at making friends on the surface levels - loves people and company and noise and energy - but not as much deeper than that. Years of feeling five steps out of tune with everyone else built up walls inside of him to hide all the messy parts away, all the seething insecurities, but Jungkook plowed through them instantly. Knocked them out in a crumble of bricks like Saitama.
Now, nearly four years later, Jimin isn’t sure if he can rebuild them again. Not in the same way.
You’ll be okay, he tells himself as the train finally pulls into the Heathrow station. You’ll have a good long cry and you’ll watch stupid shows and call Tae and you won’t drink and eventually you’ll move on.
It sounds implausible, but surely he can do it. People recover from heartbreak all the time. It’s normal.
He adjusts his scarf and glasses as he gets on the escalator that will take him up to arrivals. His stomach is fluttering so bad he wants to throw up, but that’s another thing he isn’t going to do. He is going to take this one step at a time like a grown adult. First: meet Jungkook. Second: get Jungkook back to his flat. Third …
He’ll work on that.
For now, the escalator is spitting him out into the baggage claim area and he follows the signs until he finds the place for international arrivals. Finds a spot near the exit from customs and curses himself for running out of time to make a sign. Or buy flowers. Or do anything remotely romantic.
Someone definitely give him a Boyfriend of the Year award.
He grits his teeth against a fresh wave of anxiety and watches the sea of people emerging in a steady stream, searching for a familiar face.
And suddenly, there he is. Drowning in his usual oversized hoodie and carting the ugly, beat up camera bag he’s had for at least the past two years. He’s got earphones in because travel stresses him out and music calms him and his slender fingers are tapping out a staccato beat against the green cover of his passport. He looks tired and a little washed out - bangs falling messy across his forehead - and Jimin’s chest seizes at the sight of him.
He’s gotten so used to making do with a pixelated screen that he almost forgot how gorgeous this boy is.
Jungkook’s head turns and his eyes land on Jimin. Jimin watches them light up immediately as recognition washes over Jungkook’s face, replacing exhaustion with excitement, and he breaks into a run. Jimin has just enough time to brace himself before Jungkook’s body crashes into his and he’s being lifted nearly off his feet by a familiarly strong grip.
This is a good sign, right?
“Hi,” he breathes into Jungkook’s neck, shifting to clutch the back of Jungkook’s shirt and hoping his desperation isn’t too obvious. God, Jungkook smells just as good as always, almost like flowers, and his skin is warm and Jimin’s missed him so so much.
“Hi,” Jungkook whispers back, still clinging. Jimin is vaguely aware of the flow of people around them, that they probably need to move, but he can’t bring himself to pull away.
What if this is the last time he gets to hold Jungkook like this?
Eventually, it’s Jungkook that separates them.
“You look good,” he says with a smile that starts in the corners of his eyes and spreads slowly to his mouth.
“I’m a mess,” Jimin points out, glancing down at his paint-stained jeans.
“An artistic mess,” Jungkook counters. He reaches up to touch the strands of Jimin’s hair poking out from his beanie, smile slipping into a frown. “You … dyed your hair?”
Oh right. He had. Two weeks ago he’d put blue into the silver on a 2am, sleep-deprived whim, and he thought he’d sent Jungkook a picture of it, but now he realizes that he didn't. He remembers taking a selfie and grimacing at the bags under his eyes and the way the bathroom light washed out his skin. He’d been afraid of bothering Jungkook after nearly four days of radio silence and so he deleted the photo without pressing send.
And now Jungkook is frowning at him with what Jimin thinks might actually be hurt.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d told you…”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook insists and smiles again, but far less genuine. “It looks good.”
Then he leans forward and actually pecks Jimin on the cheek. Jimin fights the urge to gape. Jungkook will often hold his hand in public, or wrap his arms around Jimin’s waist, but rarely more than that. He explained once that PDA makes him nervous, even in a city as big and rushing as Seoul, and Jimin has never pushed him on it. Knows that sometimes touch is a lot for Jungkook in general, so has always been happy with fingers laced together out on the street and kisses in private.
“I missed you,” Jungkook mumbles, flushing, when he pulls back.
Jimin fights the urge to touch his cheek like a schoolgirl with a crush and also the warring urge to ask did you? He reaches for Jungkook’s hand instead, squeezing it tight. “I missed you, too.”
“We should probably get my bag,” Jungkook says after a strange, heavy pause.
“Right. C’mon.”
_ _
The tube ride back to Jimin’s apartment is … strange. Quiet. Strangely quiet. He can’t put his finger on what feels off between them, just that it’s more of the same from the past month. He tries to tell himself that they’re just tired - Jungkook had a long flight and Jimin had a long night - but it feels like more than that. Something deeper that’s eating away at them.
They’ve always been able to talk. It was part of what attracted them to each other in the beginning: the fact that they could literally talk for hours without running out of topics.
Now, it feels like they have nothing to say and Jimin tries not to fidget anxiously in the silence, or let the panic overtake him. He looks at Jungkook, peering intently out at the London scenery passing outside the train windows, and wonders when the boy he used to be able to read like an open book suddenly became such a mystery.
_ _
His studio is on the third floor of an apartment building in what he supposes is a decent neighborhood. A little rundown and scruffy around the edges, but so much of this sprawling city is like that. There’s a little park up the street and a corner store with an owner who always gives him a discount when he’s looking a too worn thin. It’s close to a tube stop and only a twenty minute walk from campus and he was lucky to get it at such a discounted price. His landlord bought it for her son when he was in college and has since retired to Spain. She stops by to visit whenever she’s in town and brings a tin of biscuits with her, making sure to ask when she’s going to get a chance to meet his mysterious boyfriend.
He likes her and his flat and this city. He just wishes it wasn’t such a mess right now. He didn’t have time to clean up after painting last night and so most of the furniture in the main area is still covered in paint-stained drop cloth and there’s a pile of abandoned canvasses in the corner, right beneath spot of bright yellow he’s been trying to remove for weeks.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he lets Jungkook inside, cringing when he also remembers that he has dirty dishes piled up in the sink and laundry drying in the kitchen. Jungkook is a clean person, very meticulous about his space, and the mess will probably bother him. “I was working on something and ran out of time to clean…”
Fuck he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. This is his boyfriend of four years, who has seen him sweaty from dance practice, puffed up from a cold, vomiting all night from alcohol poisoning, and battling an eating disorder. Jungkook has literally been there for his worst and lowest and most fucked up and now Jimin is freaking out about some paint and dirty dishes and laundry?
Is this what long distance does to you? Make you forgot so much of the person you used to be close to that they almost become a stranger?
“It’s fine,” Jungkook insists, setting his suitcase down just inside the door. “I like your place. Lots of natural light.”
It was another reason Jimin fell in love with it. The big windows and hardwood floors. It’s tiny, but he still has enough room to paint and all the kitchen appliances are new.
It really was a miracle find.
“Thanks,” he says and once again tells himself not to fidget.
He wants to kiss Jungkook, now that they’re in private, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed.
Jungkook makes the decision for him, crossing the small distance to bend down and press his mouth to Jimin’s and oh. This is good. He’s missed this, too: the spread of Jungkook’s hands on his waist and the arch in his back as he shifts up to deepen the kiss. Neither of them have ever been very interested in full blown sex, but Jimin’s always liked somewhere between it and kissing. Just being able to touch Jungkook - have him close and make him feel good … it’s the best thing.
But Jungkook steps back again before Jimin can get his hands under that massive hoodie.
“It was a long flight,” he says quietly. “Mind I take a nap?”
Oh. Jimin deflates, but arguing would make him seem like an asshole. So he tamps back on the all questions he’s been storing up for Jungkook over the last few weeks ( how are your classes? Are you eating enough? Sleeping enough? Do you still love me? Are you breaking up with me?) and nods.
“Of course, let me just….” He pulls the dropcloth off the bed and dumps it in the corner. Then takes a moment to nervously fold back the covers and fluff up the pillows, feeling like an idiot and far too aware of Jungkook’s eyes on him. When he finally risks a glance over his shoulder, Jungkook is watching him with a quizzical expression.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks with rare hesitancy. “You seem … tense?”
“Just tired,” Jimin deflects. “I was up all night trying to finish a project.”
Surprise washes over Jungkook’s face. “What? You should have said something. You didn’t need to come all the way out to pick me up if-”
“Of course I was going to pick my boyfriend up at the airport, Kook,” Jimin cuts in. “Especially when I haven’t seen him in nearly eight months.”
Jungkook’s mouth snaps closed and he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Right. Well we should both nap, then.”
That actually sounds really nice. But Jimin should also clean. And restock his fridge because he’s just remembered that he literally only has cup ramen, milk that expired two weeks ago, and lettuce that is probably molding.
“I…”
“Jimin-ssi,” Jungkook says, patting the bed, “get over here.”
Jimin rolls his eyes in a well-worn reflex, but goes, letting Jungkook grasp his arm and pull him onto the mattress. “When are you going to stop calling me that?”
“On your deathbed,” Jungkook says with a shit-eating grin, “I promise I’ll call you hyung.”
You called me hyung two weeks ago, remember? Jimin doesn’t say. It was like you were talking to someone else.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he goes with instead and burrows under the covers, shoving his face into the pillow.
Jungkook lies down next to him - throws an arm across his waist - and it’s weird having someone else in his bed after so long alone. Nice, too, though. He’s missed Jungkook’s warmth and his weight and the little stutter in his breathing as he sinks into sleep.
It’s strange, Jimin thinks, watching the flutter Jungkook’s eyelashes in the early morning light, the things that you forget. The things that you remember.
_ _
They sleep longer than Jimin intended to let them - well into the evening. When he finally drags himself back to the land of the living, it’s dark outside and he feels like he’s been passed out for at least a decade. At first he panics at the feel of someone’s breath on his neck and the heaviness of a body curled around his own. Then he remembers: Jungkook.
Jungkook is here. Maybe for the last time.
He shifts, careful not to jostle Jungkook, and buries his face in Jungkook’s neck so that he can soak up the smell of him and cling without feeling ashamed.
It’s quiet for a few long moments - just his own breathing and the distant rush of the city outside his windows - then Jungkook starts to stir, making little grunting noises that Jimin’s never stopped thinking are cute.
“...time is it?” he asks, slurred with sleep, and his hand shifts to cup the back of Jimin’s head - fingers tangling in Jimin’s hair.
Jimin pushes himself up to squint at the clock on the wall - barely illuminated by the street light piercing the curtains. “About six p.m. We slept all day.”
“Fuck,” Jungkook mumbles, a strange note to his voice. Guilt? “Sorry.”
“I think we needed it,” Jimin points out and sits up all the way, grimacing at the greasy feel of his hair.
Jungkook sits up, too, and drapes himself across Jimin’s back, chin on the top of Jimin’s head. It’s so nice Jimin almost wants to cry.
It’s going to be so hard: letting go of this after he’s had a taste of it again - remembered all the reasons he loves having Jungkook in his life, all the reasons he loves Jungkook. But he’ll do it. He won’t drink and he’ll finish his program strong and he’ll be okay one day. Maybe in a decade or two.
“D’you want to go out?” he asks Jungkook, sinking back into him for the moment. “I don’t have much food right now. We could get dinner? And the city’s lit up really pretty at night.”
“Jimin…” Jungkook says - familiar trepidation leaching into the word.
“I’m eating,” Jimin promises him. “I swear I’m eating. It’s just been a long week.”
Yes, he’d had a really bad night two weeks ago, but he’d called Seokjin and let Seokjin talk him through the panic, then through a meal, and he’d been okay, in the end. He’s okay.
He’s going to be okay.
“Okay,” Jungkook says, trusting him - and Jimin’s heart squeezes at that. “Then yeah, let’s go out. Okay if I bring my camera?”
“Film student,” Jimin teases and Jungkook nips at his shoulder. “Course you can. Gonna make a video for the trip?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says, voice gone all soft. “Plus I need new footage of you.” He pokes Jimin in the side, but then his hand stays there, curving over Jimin’s ribs like an anchor.
Jimin’s never been the most comfortable in front of the camera - nervous about his appearance and his weight and how to act - but he trusts Jungkook to only show the best parts of him, to put him at ease. Knows, too, that sometimes filming is Jungkook’s way of coping with the world - filtering all of the sensory input that can often overwhelm him - and Jimin would never take that away.
“Fine,” Jimin grumbles with mock indignation, “I guess you can film me.”
“Thanks, Jimin-ssi,” Jungkook says and kisses him on the cheek.
“Shower first, though,” Jimin decides and catches Jungkook’s eyebrows going up in his periphery. “And before you say anything, no. We won’t both fit. I barely fit.”
Jungkook sighs in exaggerated disappointment. “You go first, then.”
Jimin makes it quick - both because he’s eager to explore the city and he doesn’t want to use up all the hot water before Jungkook gets a turn. He shows Jungkook how to work the controls after, explaining that you have to twist the knob really hard to get the water to come on and that it’ll be ice cold for about a minute before the heater kicks in. Then, he stands in the main room, listening to the creak and hiss of the old pipes and Jungkook singing to himself, and marvels at how much more like home this apartment suddenly feels, now that Jungkook is in it.
_ _
He loves London at night. The way the Eye lights up, and parliament and Big Ben across the river. The lights they string across Oxford Street during Christmas and the massive tree that sits in Trafalgar Square. The markets that pop up all over the city - Hyde Park and Southbank and Leicester Square - and are bursting with color and people and life.
For now, he takes Jungkook to a little Italian place not far from his apartment and they share a pizza, bickering (as always) over the toppings until they reach a compromise. They order wine, too, and clink their glasses together in a toast to their reunion - Jungkook’s eyes sparkling in the ambient light as if they’ve got stars in them.
I missed you, Jimin thinks. I didn’t realize how much.
Once they’re full to nearly bursting, they head towards the river. Jungkook skips all around him, filming the scenery and Jimin’s back as he moves through the crowd, then Jimin’s face from various angles. He makes faces behind the camera that get Jimin laughing, oohs and ahhs quietly over Tower Bridge and the Tower of London - expression open and awed in a way Jimin doesn’t think he’ll ever stop loving. Jungkook is so good at appreciating beauty, at stopping and letting it pull him in, and it’s just another thing they’ve always had in common.
But the tension doesn’t leave his stomach. He noticed at dinner that Jungkook isn’t wearing his ring. He’s not as into jewelry as Jimin - never has been - but they got matching rings on the only other trip they’ve ever taken as a couple. They’re cheap silver bands, purchased in Tokyo three months before Jimin was meant to leave for London. It was a promise, of a sort, that they’d make it through the separation looming before them. That they’d stick together.
Jimin’s ring hasn’t left his finger since then - except to polish it when it starts to go a little green at the edges and stains his skin - but Jungkook isn’t wearing his anymore and Jimin is panicking. It builds slowly as they continue down the river and cross Westminster Bridge to see Parliament and Big Ben, as they veer off down the tree-lined bank toward Whitehall Gardens.
“Jimin,” Jungkook says as they pass through the wrought iron gates into the quieter green, “are you okay?”
His face is all concern in the dim light of the streetlamps and Jimin tries to muster a smile for him, but fails.
“Yes, I-” the lie won’t come out, either. Not when so many questions are bubbling at the back of his throat. And fuck, he wasn’t going to do this. Be confrontational and desperate and pathetic. But the words spill out almost unbidden, before he can stop them. “Are you going to break up with me?”
Jungkook freezes, eyes blowing wide. “What?”
Oh god, now Jimin really can’t stop. More words keep coming, pouring from his lips in a messy jumble. “Because you’ve been so distant lately, it’s like you don’t want to talk to me anymore. And I know this is hard - us being so far apart. It sucks and I hate it and I’m sorry for coming to school so far away and I don’t know how we’ll do it for another year. I understand if you don’t want to do it for another year. If you want to find someone else closer. In the same time zone and city and country who can be there and hold you at night and isn’t just a face on a fucking computer screen. And I just - you’re not wearing your ring, either - and I love you, I do, but I understand. If you don’t want to keep doing this. If it’s too much. I just - please tell me? Please be honest? I can’t take this … this divide anymore.”
Oh shit. Oh god that was too much. Way too much. And now Jungkook is gaping at him like he’s sprouted ears and a tail and the sudden silence in the wake of his word deluge is excruciating.
“You…” Jungkook starts at last and then takes a deep breath. “You think I came all the way to London just to break up with you?”
Jimin kicks a stray pebble with the toe of his boot, afraid to look at him. “I think you’re too good of a person to break up with me over KakaoTalk.”
“Oh my god,” Jungkook mumbles and he sounds vaguely angry now - shit shit shit. “Park Jimin, I’m not going to break up with you.”
It’s nice, hearing the words, but Jimin’s having a hard time believing them after a month of distance and the awful, empty space on Jungkook’s right ring finger. “Why then?” Jimin presses, hating the tears that are flooding his eyes. He’s such an easy crier and it’s always annoyed him. “Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”
“No,” Jungkook insists and then mutters under his breath, “shit.” He shifts his camera to his shoulder and goes digging his bag. “Just so you know, this was gonna be a surprise and it was going to be romantic as fuck and I was finally gonna beat Jin-hyung for Best Boyfriend of the Year.”
Jimin blinks, now wondering if the garden gate was actually a portal into another reality. “Is that … a competition you have?”
“Yes,” Jungkook grumbles mutinously. “And he always wins. Probably because Namjoon-hyung is so easy to please - ha.” He pulls out an envelope and then extracts a folded piece of paper from that and hands it to Jimin. “Read it,” he says in response to Jimin’s questioning look.
It’s dark in the garden, so Jimin shuffles awkwardly towards one of nearby lights to unfold the paper. His breath catches in his lungs when he sees the contents. “This … this is an acceptance letter? To the London Film School?”
Jungkook nods, blushing when Jimin whips around to stare at him. “I applied a couple months ago to their postgraduate program. Got in last month and wanted to surprise you. Since I know I’m not always the best at big romantic gestures. I thought I’d take you to a nice restaurant with those fancy tablecloths and mood lighting and spring it on you over dessert.” He shrugs. “Only I’m a shit liar, I know that. So I guess, to keep myself from telling you I just … stopped talking to you. Fuck, I’m sorry.” His face twists in an awful grimace and Jimin wants to cry for a different reason now - too many emotions crashing around inside of his chest to separate and identify.
“But … you love Seoul?” He finally gets out. “And hate change.”
Jungkook shrugs again. “I figured out, in the last eight months, that home is where you are. I want to be where you are. I’ll get used to London. I’ve even been taking English lessons.” He straightens and says in a ridiculous British accent, “nice to meet you, sir.”
Jimin laughs and wipes at his leaking eyes. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” He closes the distance between them so he can smack Jungkook on the arm. “You scared me so much!”
Jungkook winces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize - I didn’t know it would affect you that much.”
Another smack. “Why wouldn’t it affect me?”
“I don’t know!” Jungkook blurts. “You’re really strong. And cool. And the best person I know. I guess … sometimes I forget you’re just as invested in this as I am.” He reaches into the collar of his jacket and fumbles for a minute before pulling out a familiar ring on a chain. It glints brightly, reflecting the yellow of the lamps. “It got a dent in it and started cutting my finger. I had a really embarrassing freak out about it until Yoongi-hyung pointed out I can just wear it on a chain instead.” He drops the ring and it thunks gently against his chest. Jimin reaches out to touch it with trembling fingers and Jungkook’s hand wraps tight around his own.
“I love the shit out of you, Jiminie,” he says softly. “I thought you knew that.”
He did. He does. And now his own guilt is bubbling to the surface - that he let his insecurities color their relationship, something he promised a long time ago he’d stop doing.
“I love you, too,” he says now. “So fucking much.”
Then it hits him properly.
“Oh my god,” he says, glancing back down at the letter still held tight in his hand. “You got into the London Film School. Love, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you.”
Jungkook laughs, high-pitched and giddy.
“You’re moving to London!”
“This spring,” Jungkook says, nose scrunching with the force of his grin. “Five months.”
Jimin swallows down the shout of joy that wants to escape his mouth and surges up to kiss Jungkook instead. Jungkook’s arms immediately go around his waist to steady him and he melts into the kiss. Presses their foreheads together when Jimin pulls back again. “I’ve missed you. So much. Everyone says we’re too codependent and I’ve been a pain in their ass.”
Jimin giggles, so happy he thinks he could float. “They said the same thing to me.”
“Oh good, we’re on the same page, then.”
Another lingering kiss to Jungkook’s lips. “I’ve missed you, too.”
Missed you like breathing. Want you in my bed, my home, my life, always. Always always always.
But he doesn’t say that, because he thinks Jungkook already knows. Instead, he sinks back down off his tiptoes and grins up at Jungkook. “I’m going to frame this,” he announces, waving the acceptance letter.
Jungkook flushes. “Ah, you don’t have to.”
“I want to. And I’m sorry I ruined your surprise. But we’re in a garden! That’s romantic. And you can still take me to dinner. And you’ll always be the Best Boyfriend of the Year in my book. Which should be the only book that counts, you know.”
“It is,” Jungkook agrees, reaching down to thread their fingers together. “It is.”
_ _
The next morning, Jimin wakes to Jungkook setting a fresh mug of coffee down on the bedside table - hair rumpled from sleep and baggy shirt hanging off one shoulder. It’s cold in the apartment, the old radiators doing very little to combat it, so the tip of Jungkook’s nose is an adorable red and he’s always going to be the most beautiful thing Jimin’s ever seen.
“God, I love you,” he murmurs as Jungkook climbs back into bed, holding his own mug.
“Back at you, Jimin-ssi.”
“Ugh, nevermind.”
Jungkook cackles and kisses his temple as he sits up and grabs the coffee. They drink in companionable silence for a few minutes - the fingers of Jungkook’s free hand slipping down to play with Jimin’s ring. “We should upgrade.”
“We should,” Jimin agrees, even though they’re just as broke as they were in Tokyo. Maybe more so. “What do you want to do today?”
Jungkook shrugs and his eyes crinkle up, all gentle affection. “I dunno. Show me around some more. Make me fall in love with London. Hold my hand in a Christmas Market. Whatever you want, babe.”
“Those all sound like good things,” Jimin says and twines his fingers with Jungkook’s on the bed. “We don’t need to rush, though. We have all week.”
Jungkook hums. “And more time after that.”
“Yeah,” Jimin agrees and squeezes Jungkook’s hand tight. Presses a tender kiss to the bare curve of his shoulder. “All the time in the world.”
“All the time in the world,” Jungkook echoes and shifts to kiss him.
Jimin leans into it, opens his mouth beneath Jungkook’s, and tastes coffee and sunlight on Jungkook’s tongue.
It’s going to be a good day , he thinks. Maybe even a good year.
After months of distance, his home is finally here, holding his hand.