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When all it’s said and done—
(When selcas are taken and videos recorded; when thanks are given to staff, technicians, stylists and back-up dancers; when goodbyes are given to other nominees, old friends, new ones, acquaintances and dongsaengs alike—)
(When the car finally drops them at their flat and the managers and the camera crew drive away—)
(When Seokjin sets their drinks on the living room’s table; and Jimin comes back from his room in his pajamas and slippers, sheet-mask on; and Yoongi is almost passed out on the couch, leaning on Namjoon’s shoulders, melting into him; and Taehyung is furiously typing away on his phone, boxy grin so big it splits his face, tucking his feet beneath Jungkook’s thighs; and Hoseok drops down right next to Yoongi, rubbing cream into his hands, happily chatting about who said what—)
When all it’s said and done, Jungkook looks up from his phone towards the room, towards the six most important people in his life — towards the eight awards littering the table among their drinks and their snacks and his heartstrings—
Snap.
“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to it.” He whispers, feeling chocked up. His eyes sting with tears, as if he had any more to cry. As if they hadn’t all broke down into tears the moment the cameras rolled away. Jimin sits on his lap almost immediately, hugging him so tightly he can’t breathe for a moment. But it helps. It contains his overwrought emotions. His excitement. His love, enormous and all-consuming; a drowning tide.
He feels Tae’s feet squirming beneath him, toes wriggling, and he smiles against Jimin’s collarbones. He sets one hand against Tae’s ankle and lightly taps his skin. Thank you.
“I still can’t quite believe it,” Namjoon pipes in, voice rough. Jungkook turns to look at him, free arm curling around Jimin’s waist, and the way he’s carding his hand through Yoongi’s hair makes him feel A Certain Way.
“I do,” Yoongi grunts, eyes still closed. “We worked our ass off and they finally recognized it. ‘Bout damn time.”
Namjoon’s smile dimples as he leans down to kiss the crown of his head. Yoongi smiles too, small, sincere; his hand crawls over Namjoon’s lap until he finds his hand and laces their fingers together. The moment is sickly-sweet and Jungkook, ever the romantic, feels his chest tighten up. He wants that. He wants that. His hand presses harder into the dip of Jimin’s waist, fingers slotting perfectly into place like they were meant to fit there. His skin is warm through the soft fabric of his shirt and Jimin smiles down at him. The sheet-mask grants him a funny look when he does, but his eye smile is still the prettiest thing he has ever seen. Will ever see, he thinks. He wants and maybe—
One day.
Always one to know when to reel back in a moment, Hoseok kicks Yoongi’s side playfully and he opens his eyes and kicks back; they roughhouse like children until Seokjin finishes pouring everyone a drink and calls them as such:
“Yah, if you kids are done?” He says, raising an eyebrow. Yoongi rolls his eyes but accepts the drink he’s handing him. Jimin grabs two of them and passes one to Jungkook; their fingertips brush when he handles over the glass and, absurdly, as Jimin’s literally draped all over him, it’s that small point of contact that raises a flush to his cheeks. He can hear Tae snickering next to him and he flickers him in the shin, embarrassed.
Once everyone is holding up their glass of soju, they all turn to Namjoon, expecting one of his long-winded, profound speeches. But he just smiles at them. His eyes sparkle in the low light of the room, over brimming with pride. Love.
“This is not the end,” he says, but he is looking at Jungkook. His expression softens even more. “We will keep going. And we’re going to reach new highs.”
“Whether they like it or not,” Seokjin adds, with a bit of a ruthless grin.
“God knows they’ll never like it,” Yoongi says, smirking. “Might as well give them hell.”
“Yeah, it’s so cute how they think that not broadcasting us is gonna do anything,” Hoseok snorts, shaking his head.
“Makes me feel bad about our dongsaengs, though,” Taehyung cuts in, frowning. “They really deserved that TV audience.” And it dampens the mood for a moment, as everyone thinks about Soobin’s soft smile and Yeonjun infectious excitement and remember the warmth of their support. True, genuine, absolute support.
“They will have it, Tae.” Jimin says, soothingly. “I believe in them as much as I believe in us. We will show them.”
He needn’t specify who them is.
And they all turn to Jungkook, waiting for his words, and Jungkook just feels—
“It’ll be okay. As long as we’re together,” he says, voice wavering. Their smiles are as soft as Jimin’s hand on the back of his neck.
They clink their glasses and drink up; stand up and group hug once again, dangerously close to toppling the table as they stumble in a mad tangle of limbs; shuffle in different directions, as they prepare to get ready for bed; and when all is said and done, only Jungkook remains in the living room, still emotional, still feeling soft and raw — but also convinced, he thinks, as he stares at the MMA awards, that he never wants to get used to this feeling.
He never wants to let this happiness go.