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It is a simple fact of the life they live that if any one of them is still for longer than five minutes, they will fall asleep.
Their schedule spreads them thin and it’s inevitable after so many late nights and so much hard practice to see one of them slip over the edge into unconsciousness whenever they are warm, safe, and vaguely horizontal. All of them are prone to it. Jungkook especially, with his innate ability to fall asleep practically anywhere. Even Seokjin and Yoongi, if they find somewhere to stretch out, quiet enough for the both of them. When they’re being run particularly ragged, the quiet doesn’t matter as much. A stolen five minutes is a stolen five minutes.
This is why Hoseok is absolutely unsurprised to find Namjoon in one of the lounges, head back, feet kicked up onto a low table, book splayed open in his lap, snoring softly. Dead to the world.
“Ah, Namjoonie,” Hoseok murmurs. He takes the book, carefully marking its place before he sets it to the side and just. Sits down. Not right against Namjoon. Somehow it feels like too much, when Namjoon isn’t awake to stare at him, wide-eyed but permissive. Just close enough that Hoseok can feel the dip in the couch and wonders if he can slide closer on accident.
But for now, Hoseok sits. And breathes.
For all that he is best known in motion, it is these moments of stillness that Hoseok feels the most aware of himself, of the way he occupies space and how his mind occupies that space within his skin.
Exhaustion pulls at Hoseok’s eyelids, settles into his bones like a physical weight. He aches in a way that will never fully go away and he’s tired and all he wants is his bed and a couple of hours of uninterrupted rest, which sounds like an unimaginable luxury right now. They’re all tired, the stress of comeback riding them as hard as it always does.
“What am I supposed to do?” Hoseok sighs, twisting his fingers in the space between his knees, pulling and pulling until something is bound to pop but never quite does. “Hm, Namjoon?”
Perhaps predictably, Namjoon doesn’t answer aside from another snore. Chuckling, Hoseok shifts back, letting his muscles relax as the couch supports him in their stead, and he wonders again how much longer he can bury everything he doesn’t want to carry before someone comes asking.
And then something shifts. Hoseok doesn’t open his eyes at first, until there’s a new weight on his shoulder. The following collapse as Namjoon snuffles against his clavicle and pushes further in. Hoseok, stiffening, is pinned as Namjoon landslides into him and settles in to stay.
Carefully, Hoseok touches the tips of his fingers to Namjoon’s hair. Pets, gently. Just the barest bit, as though Namjoon will startle if he’s touched too much.
It’s easiest with the kids, easier to impose on them, to shower them with physical affection, and they open up to it like flowers opening to the sun. Taehyung’s boxy smile whenever Hoseok hugs him and Jungkook’s pleased-disgusted little nose-wrinkle at his kisses and Jimin reaching back as he’s excited to be indulged, and all of their compliments on how he’s the best to cuddle.
Somehow, he’s unable to escape the idea that everything will be okay, as long as he can hold the rest of Bangtan in his arms.
It’s not that easy, of course. He knows it isn’t. Logically. Hoseok knows the boundaries and limits of his own body the way he knows nothing else. He can’t pull other people within himself, no matter how much he wants to or tries. The curl of his hand against Yoongi’s nape cannot suck out the screaming void that still resides under his skin, and his arms can never be solid enough to hold Jungkook steady during the earthquakes that break his ribs open. He cannot soothe Taehyung’s worry or Jimin’s insecurities with his hands skimming their flanks. His body wasn’t made to uphold other people like that.
But it helps. Maybe it helps Hoseok more than it helps them, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that it will all be okay when he has Seokjin breathing damply into the curve of his neck. When Hoseok drags his nails down Namjoon’s arms, light and grounding, their ankles pulled together.
(It helps Hoseok. It calms the white-sick twist of worry. It gives him something to do when the others are upset.)
Perhaps even more simply than that, though, Hoseok just likes it. Likes curling up with the other members, his face pressed against the backs of their necks, their shoulder blades. Likes hooking his ankle between their legs. The quintessential complex gravity that weighs them all down within their skins. All he has to worry about is finding out how well he fits to each of them, how to ease them further into slumber because there is nothing cuter than their faces when they wake up and realize they've been cuddling with him for a while.
It used to be shock. Embarrassment.
Now it's acceptance. A quiet breath of "Hobi-hyung" or "Hope-ah" before they settle against him again or let him noisily fuss them into full consciousness.
And right now, with Namjoon leaning heavily against him, relief brims in his stomach. The rain-drop tremble of everything falling away. There he goes. Now, if Namjoon can just stay here-
And like the thought pops the bubble, Namjoon wakes up.
“Hob-ah?” he mumbles, sitting up, and Hoseok wrestles back a noise that is far too close to a whine for his comfort. Namjoon scrubs at his eyes, uncoordinated and a little clumsy, then jolts. His hands pat around for something, something, until Hoseok presses his book back into his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. Or at all, really.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Hoseok tongues the back of his teeth. Sucks in the request for Namjoon to lay back down. To relax and let Hoseok keep petting the prickling soft short hairs at the nape of his neck. It’s too much for him to ask.
“Did you bookmark my place? Thanks. That’s so nice of you?”
It isn’t, really. But the way Namjoon looks at Hoseok, all bleary and sleep-crusted, has Hoseok a quick five seconds away from grabbing a wet wipe and cleaning him up, wanting to dote and to care and to make things better, and instead Hoseok rockets out of his seat. Namjoon blinks up at him. His fingers twitch on the spine of his book.
Clapping his hands, Hoseok grins. “Welp, time for me to see where everyone else is! Good talking to you, Namjoonie, and don’t let them work you too hard! Love you!”
And with that, he ducks out of the room. Too close, he thinks. Too close and too much.
Behind him, there’s a quiet echo of a confused, “Love you too?”
Oh god.
The nervous-sick jittery energy propels Hoseok from one lounge to another, prowling through BigHit’s halls for signs of his members. He bows politely at the staff members and producers he passes, wiggles his fingers at a bemused and still oddly star-struck Taehyun and Beomgyu. The others have to be around here somewhere, he’s sure. Yoongi’s bound to be in his studio, which leaves the gym for Jin and Jungkookie maybe, and-
He throws open the doors to the third floor lounge, the good boy picture of Jimin smiling benevolently down on him, and sure enough. Hoseok has lost count of the number of times he’s walked into a situation remarkably similar to this.
“You are all,” he intones benevolently, not trying to keep his voice down even a little bit as he surveys the mass of blankets and people on the couch in BigHit’s common lounge, “like puppies. Or maybe kittens. Baby birds? You are all impossible, is what you are. Adorable and impossible.”
The pile of limbs and skin before him shifts. Taehyung’s face emerges, still somehow managing to look like the epitome of human beauty even with a reddening crease on his cheek and his eyes puffy with sleep. “Hyung, hi.”
Beneath him, Jimin grumbles. His hand, fisted in the back of Taehyung’s shirt, tightens and he petulantly drags him back down. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes beyond a disgruntled squint. Hoseok should get a medal for not immediately rushing over to squish his cheeks or play with the soft skin beneath his chin. An actual, shiny medal because Jimin is criminally cute when he’s waking up and his eyes are full crescents, hair all floppy. He does coo, though, patting at the covers until he finds the firm bodies beneath.
“Why are we birds today?” Taehyung asks the curve of Jimin’s collarbones.
“Huddled together for warmth, sleepy,” and here Hoseok runs his hands through Taehyung’s hair, marveling at the soft strands and the quiet, pleased hum he gets for his efforts before he continues, “adorable, fluffy.”
Jimin’s eyes blink open, one a little faster than the other. Another medal for Hoseok not immediately telling him how adorable he is. So so many medals. Infinite medals for Hoseok, courtesy his increasingly adorable, sleepy members. “Do you usually have birds on the couch, hyung?”
“Not one of the qualities I brought up.” Hoseok laughs. “Did I work you too hard during practice, Jiminie?”
“Mm, no, just tired. Waiting to go home with Joonie and the others.” Jimin kisses the side of Taehyung’s face absently, the way he does when it’s there and it’s close and he wants to. Hoseok knows the feeling. He likes the moments where they can let the skinship between them relax into the intimacy it truly is, leaving kisses in their wakes, and Jimin has quite the perfect mouth for it. Jimin with his perfect mouth, and Taehyung with his perfect, kissable face.
Hoseok leans down and brushes a kiss across the soft upcurve of Jimin’s cheek. Smiling at the way Jimin tilts his face for more, he indulges him with a few quick pecks before he straightens. “Get some rest then, Jimin-ah. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“Yes you did, you jerk. You didn’t even try to be quiet.”
Hoseok straightens with a grin. “No, I didn’t.”
“Hoseokkie-hyung,” Taehyung whines. “You’re not coming to cuddle?”
“There’s not enough space on the couch for me and you know it. I’d crush Jiminie if I got in there right now, Taehyung-ah.” Hoseok drags his hand through Taehyung’s hair, scratching at his scalp with gentle fingers. “Don’t worry about it. Just get some sleep. Love you.”
That earns him an agreeable mumble and Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed before he goes still, heavy with the kind of gravity that comes with being asleep, suspended and weighed down all at once. Maybe less of a tangible reward than a medal, but one that Hoseok can hang in his heart instead of on a shelf. He pets Taehyung again, smiling. Worth it. Beyond worth it.
“You’re okay, though, aren’t you, hyung?” Jimin asks, a certain sharpness to his sleepy gaze.
Static breaks out over Hoseok’s skin. He can feel the way his smile gets a little brittle around the edges, but he smooths it out with a quick shake of his head. “I’m fine! Practice went a little long, you know.”
Jimin hums. Shit. He’s suspicious, gearing up for what’s bound to be a full interrogation.
Abruptly, Hoseok does not want to talk about this. This, being his emotions. This, being the way exhaustion is a deep, never-ending river inside of him that sometimes swirls around his ankles and other times threatens to pull him under. This, being the way he-
(Emotions are fine. Other people’s emotions, especially, are fine. As long as Hoseok is left out of it, like an island bared to the sun and surrounded by the sea, it’s fine. Everyone is allowed to have their feelings, but only around him, not expecting him to join in, not expecting him to react or even acknowledge them if they’re about him. Otherwise, Hoseok’s skin feels too small for himself, tight and uncomfortable. They only see what he wants them to.
The idea that they could see more, that anyone understands him outside what he performs for them-
He can’t fucking stand it.)
“Really, Jimin, I’m okay. Get some sleep. I love you,” he says, and that’s the thing, isn’t it? He means it. He means it every time, which makes hiding it so so much easier and so so much worse. He can say it to them as much as he wants to and does, frequently, always quick to whip out the finger hearts and kind words and showers of praise. Because he means it. He means it down to the last drop.
They just don’t have to know how much he means it. How he means it, exactly. Where Hoseok would like to press the words into the divot of Jungkook’s smile, the curve of Jimin’s cheek, the nape of Taehyung’s neck, Namjoon’s dimpled cheeks, the soft skin of Yoongi’s palms, and Seokjin’s whole aggravatingly handsome face. He wants to leave the words like gifts.
Wants them to be accepted like gifts too. Cherished.
He knows better than that.
Right before he leaves the room, he hears Jimin mumble, “Love you too,” and swallows it down. Swallows it deep enough to take root. To slake his inexorable thirst. The barest relief.
Yoongi’s studio beeps open when Hoseok knocks. He isn’t Jungkook with his automatic access, but Hoseok prides himself on not having to bring by offerings of coffee in order to gain access to the illustrious studio of the one, the only Min Suga.
“Hyung?” He peers around the door, spotting Yoongi squinting at his screen. Some scratching thing inside of him eases. “You’re still here? I was wondering why the kids were still around.”
Yoongi makes a noise that’s deep and considering and sends a shiver up Hoseok’s spine with the gravel of it. “Yeah. Wanted to wait for the schedule to be done, and Joon’s still working on stuff with them. Think it’s some interview nonsense. They’ll probably try to get us all, but.” He rubs his face, the rasp of skin and stubble loud in the crafted silence of the studio. “I’m avoiding it as long as I can.”
“Very professional,” Hoseok teases, and Yoongi smiles. Not quite at him, in that way that Yoongi has where he doesn’t look directly at the person he’s focused on, but definitely because of him. He even leaves the curled comfort of his desk chair to sit, thigh to thigh with Hoseok.
“Is everything alright? You look tired, Seok.”
Hoseok laughs. “Speak for yourself. I look like a fresh daisy compared to you.”
Yoongi, not squinting so much as flat out closing his eyes and pretending he can see through them anyways, does not argue. Just shakes with the force of repressing his yawn as he leans steadily against Hoseok’s side. “If I lay down,” he starts. Stops when a yawn tears through. Starts again, satoori strong enough to drink, “If I lay down, will you wake me back up again?”
“If you go to sleep, I’m just going to fall asleep with you.”
A considering grumble. Yoongi nods. “I’ll set an alarm then. Come on, Seok-ah. Come lay with hyung.”
It’s a bad idea.
For now, though, Hoseok lets the inexorable wash of sleep subsume him.
“Hoseok.” A rasp, spoken into the hollow of his throat.
Hoseok hums in answer, or at least as much of an answer as he’s willing to give right now. Everything is cozy and warm, and Hoseok feels like he’s found his perfect groove, right here in the studio couch against Yoongi. Gravity itself is conspiring to keep him here, safe and secure.
Yoongi prods him in the side. “Hoseok-ah. Get up.”
Why would he get up? He’s in the perfect groove. Cradled. Like an egg yolk. But Yoongi is unsympathetic to the relative sanctity of Hoseok’s naptime and keeps poking him, disruptive. Hoseok flails an arm out, managing to snag Yoongi by the wrist, but nothing he tries convinces Yoongi to switch to the long, gentle strokes that will send Hoseok straight back to sleep.
“Seokseok-ah, stop muttering about eggs and get off of me.”
Ah. That would explain why Hoseok is so comfortable. With a grumble, he slides to the side, freeing Yoongi from underneath him. He hisses as the air settle back around him. Cold. Much colder than his one of a kind Min Yoongi-shaped body pillow. Hoseok shivers once. Then again, more dramatically, just to hear Yoongi click his tongue and fuss as he tucks something around him. Something that, when Hoseok cracks an eye open, proves to be Yoongi’s overlarge down jacket.
“It’s not that much colder, you big baby.”
“But hyung, ‘m freezing,” he whines pitifully.
Yoongi ruffles his hair, sending a rush of pleasure down Hoseok’s spine. “Quit bitching. I’ll send in one of the kids to cuddle you.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” Hoseok asks, squinting blearily past his cocoon of jackets.
Shrugging Yoongi turns to leave. “That depends on who I find first. Now go back to sleep.”
“Mmkay, love you.”
A pause.
The brush of something immeasurably soft across his forehead. “Love you too, Seok-ah.”
But without another body there, it’s hard for Hoseok to settle down. He tosses and turns, piling up his jacket over his stomach and chest, resting, flopping over onto his back, resting, the burn of being awake skittering down his jittery limbs. He lets out a dissatisfied huff. Nope. No more naps for Hoseok. Awake it is.
The door opens just as he huffs and fully gives up.
“Aw, Hobi-hyung, were you getting up?”
“Ah, sorry Jungkookie.” Hoseok scrubs at his hair, fussing until the strands get out of his eyes and he can send an apologetic look Jungkook’s way. “I can’t really get back to sleep.”
Jungkook’s mouth twists into a frown. He hums under his breath.
He’s not exactly sure what Jungkook sees when he surveys the room. Hoseok, certainly. Hoseok with Yoongi’s coat piled on top of him, hiding the way his hand is tucked delicately into the waistband of his pants to make sure it didn’t go anywhere it wasn’t supposed to as he napped. Hoseok, still sleep-warm and skin vaguely fabric-creased, every soft breath a tilt of the head away from being a snores. Hoseok tilts his head the other direction. They have nowhere to be for a while. Film crews are following the others for the moment, getting shots of Seokjin and Namjoon, so neither Hoseok nor Jungkook are necessary right now.
Which is good. There’s a hollowness, a sinking in of Jungkook’s skin, now that Hoseok has noticed it, the weight of exhaustion and expectation wearing down on them all. He deserves some rest. It’ll suck to give up the warm spot on the couch, but he’d do just about anything to ease that weariness.
He looks, Hoseok thought, very cute. Very cute and very tired, and oh, this is why Yoongi sent him over here, isn’t it? Hoseok’s hands itch, twitching with the need to do something. To roll out the squirming feeling in his chest physically, the way he likes to solve everything.
And then, the final nail in the coffin: Jungkook shivers.
Just a little bit.
Just enough.
And like a sigh, the collapse of a softly feathered thing, Hoseok moves before he puts active thought into it. No thought, only action. Just how he likes it, because thinking means questioning what he’s doing. This is a little more than back hugs, more than putting his arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. He presses Jungkook, sweetly resistant, back into the couch, ignoring his half-hearted protests. A knee here between Jungkook’s, their chests brushing as Hoseok settles on top of him. Much better. Now, Hoseok lets out a breath, sinking back into the warm spot he and Yoongi left behind. Beneath him, Jungkook makes a quiet noise, confused but not alarmed as Hoseok indulges himself and runs his hand through the short, dark hair at the nape of Jungkook’s neck.
“Hoseokkie-hyung?” he mumbles. “What are you doing?”
Hm.
What is he doing?
(Aside from being an idiot, that is. That isn’t a question, it’s just his natural state of being these days.)
Letting his weight go slack, cementing them both to couch just that much firmer, Hoseok hums. “Cuddling you, clearly.”
A huff of a laugh. “Yeah, but why?”
“I am your contact-battery hyung,” he coos, playing it up, rubbing his face against Jungkook’s shoulder. “Charge me!”
His entire body shifts a little with the jolt of Jungkook’s laughter, and-
Jungkook cups the back of Hoseok’s skull, nails scratching lightly in a way that makes him go a little boneless. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one charging here? You just had a nap, thank you very much.”
Looking up, Hoseok grins at the pout Jungkook sports, shifting closer. “We can both charge up. Reciprocal contact-charging. It’s a thing.”
“That’s definitely not a thing, hyung.”
“Shh,” says Hoseok, patting Jungkook’s mouth. His fingers settle into running over the soft swell of Jungkook’s lips without further input from his brain, something about the smooth texture overriding any higher thinking processes. It slips out again. Helpless. Against his will, almost, except for how badly he’s bursting to say it always. “Shh, Jungkook-ah. I love you. Let’s get some rest, okay?”
A breath stutters against the pad of his fingers.
And then.
“Ah, hyung,” says Jungkook with a soft sigh. His nails drag against Hoseok’s scalp again, and Hoseok’s eyes flutter closed. “Alright. You too, though. You too.”
Hoseok holds Jungkook until he stills, until his hands stop wandering, lighting pleased-hot paths across Hoseok’s hungry skin, and then he rolls up and out of Yoongi’s studio, awake and aching with the force of it. Yoongi mentioned schedules.
If he finds the film crews, he’ll find the others.
The crew has managed to wrangle everyone else in as well, it seems, and the ramp up of things to film fills a few hours where Hoseok can step outside of himself and become someone else. J-Hope is performative, absolutely, and it is a relief to pull that over his mind and not let anything else crack through. Not the way he keeps saying “I love you” to everyone.
Towards the end of it, though, when Namjoon goes with the producers to make sure they’ve fulfilled all their obligations, the maknae line gently harassing an indulgent Yoongi on the other side of the room, Seokin finally corners Hoseok.
“So,” Seokjin says, laying his weight firmly across Hoseok’s back so Hoseok has to stumble to stay upright. “I’ve heard from the babies that you’ve been cuddling everyone today! Jung Hoseok, where are your cuddles for your favorite hyung, hm? You’ve been holding out on me!”
Hoseok wriggles, but Seokjin has him in a full bind and is waddling them, slowly but purposefully, towards the couch. “Well, hyung, you’ve been busy?”
“I’m never too busy to have your attention.”
Fingertips trail up his side. Heat blazes in their wake, a shiver racing up Hoseok’s spine.
And Hoseok’s like this sometimes, isn’t he? Reactionary. Picking something up only once someone else has started it, and that’s what it feels like now, with Seokjin’s hand marking a hot, purposeful path up his body. The fire in him blazes best once someone else sets him alight. Wiggling again, Hoseok manages to turn around just as Seokjin successfully tips them over, landing in an ungainly heap on the nearest couch.
Is it better or worse to have Seokjin’s entire broad frame on him instead of one exploratory hand, Hoseok wonders as he stares at the ceiling. Seokjin is chuckling into the curve of his throat, delighted by his plan’s arguable success.
“Any part of the joke you want to share with the class, or are you just good hanging out?” asks Hoseok.
“I will be your very own weighted blanket,” Seokjin says magnanimously.
Hoseok’s snort moves him a couple of centimeters, and he giggles. “Ah, hyung. I love you.”
Seokjin cups the back of his head. His voice is far, far too serious, soft and solemn as he murmurs, “Love you too.”
The spark hits Hoseok wrong. All of his giddy, pleased, guilty warmth drains out and leaves him dry and exposed, the tide gone down and sea bridges exposed to the harsh, unforgiving sun; proof that Jung Hoseok is less the solitary island he makes himself out to be and more a lonely outjut of something much larger. Hoseok’s mouth dips into a frown and he ducks, sliding out from Seokjin’s grip suddenly. “Well,” Hoseok titters, fingers fluttering as he pushes himself up. “Of course! I’m very lovable and you do me such an honor, doing it! Good bros. Good found family, that’s us.”
Narrowing his eyes, Seokjin lets Hoseok retreat, physically at least. Hoseok is achingly aware of Seokjin’s steady stare, the way his hand hasn’t left Hoseok’s thigh, still sitting perhaps a bit too high.
It’s hard to say though. They’ve all gotten awfully comfortable with each other’s bodies over the years. It could just be nothing.
(Hah, hard.
Not that Hoseok is. Just that he also…. Isn’t not. Hard. A little bit. Maybe.)
“So that’s it, then,” says Seokjin.
“Hey they said we’re clear to,” and Namjoon stops as he comes into the room, picking up on the tension immediately. His eyes dart between everyone as he continues slowly, “They said we’re clear to go home?”
“That’s it!” says Hoseok, desperately looking anywhere except at Seokjin. “It’s probably time for bed! Finally, I thought we were going to be going forever today! I’m gonna see if they’ve gotten everything they need from us-“
Seokjin’s full mouth purses tightly. “Jung Hoseok, you are a fucking idiot.”
“I don’t want to hear that from you!”
“That’s why I’m the best person to say it! You’re an idiot because you think we don’t know that-“ and Hoseok’s throat goes tight, his eyes drop, the inevitable crash-wave of what he knows Seokjin is about to say catching him in its undertow. Seokjin pauses, though. Catches Hoseok’s wrist in his hand, thumb and middle finger a warm loop. When he continues, his voice is rough. “After everything you’ve done for us, all the ways you look after us and make sure we’re all taken care of, you think we don’t know that you love us?”
Hoseok makes a choked noise. Wow has that scuff on the floor always been there, or is that new? He really needs to get onto everyone about making sure they clean up the common rooms properly.
“Hoseok.”
“Mmhmm?”
“Hoseok-ah,” says Seokjin with a sigh, and his free hand curls across his cheek. Unfathomably gentle, a little crooked, entirely darling. “We love you too, you know.”
“Okay,” Hoseok says. His voice cracks. He swallows roughly, working through the ache like always. “Okay, but like. Do you really? Do you love me the way I love you? Because I want-“
Seokjin, as it turns out, has a perfect mouth for kissing. Warm and soft, pressing forward the instant Hoseok’s lips part, the little bite of teeth grounding him here, firmly in the present. Indulgent and hungry and slow.
“We love you too. I love you so, so much, you dumb fucking Aquarius,” Seokjin murmurs, resting his forehead against Hoseok’s.
Hoseok swallows. His mouth is all tingly now. Cautious, he hooks his fingers in Seokjin’s belt loops. “Really?”
Another set of arms wraps around him from behind. “No fair, hyung, I had dibs!” Jimin whines. “Hyung!”
Seokjin snorts primly. “You snooze, you lose, Jimin. None of the rest of you were getting over yourselves fast enough! The man is practically begging to be kissed on the daily!”
“Wait, dibs?”
Jimin stamps his foot. He’s so adorable. “Yes dibs! I’ve been waiting to kiss you for ages, Hobari!”
“Well then,” says Hoseok, possessed and wondering, a half-step outside of himself. “Why don’t you?”
Jimin growls – actually growls, and Hoseok hears Taehyung laugh as he slides in behind Jimin – and surges up to kiss Hoseok. His mouth is flavored with balm, just as soft as Jin-hyung’s, but Jimin is much quicker to use his teeth, tugging impatiently at Hoseok’s lips until he opens up and allows Jimin inside. Hoseok sinks into it. A soft touch at his neck, and Hoseok jolts.
“Sorry, Hobi-hyung. Didn’t want to be left out,” Taehyung murmurs, and oh. That’s okay. Makes sense, that the 95z are in on this together, even if “this” is Hoseok and “In on this (Hoseok) together” is a statement with truly dizzying potential that has Hoseok twitching in their grasp.
“S’okay, Taehyungie. You can-“ and Hoseok tilts his head, permissively baring his neck. “You can keep kissing hyung.”
But Jimin and Taehyung trade. Jimin’s plush mouth trails down his neck while Taehyung takes his spot. Taehyung is all teeth. It isn’t surprising and it is, because he’s ravenous with his kiss, adjusting the angle until he can get what he wants out of Hoseok. It leaves him breathless and overwhelmed, and Hoseok whimpers-
“No,” Yoongi interjects as he squirms his way through the grumbling maknaes. “You have to let us all kiss him. We’ve been waiting.”
Yoongi isn’t quick. He’s thorough as he tastes Hoseok’s mouth, methodical as he coaxes Hoseok to respond, laving his tongue over his sensitive, smarting lips. Hoseok winces.
A broad body braces Hoseok from behind. Good lord, how many people is he going to get pinned between, Hoseok wonders, delighted by this turn of events. “You okay? Mouth hurt?”
“Mm, Taehyung bit a little hard, but s’okay,” Hoseok mumbles. He tilts his head back and looks up at Namjoon starrily. “Joonie, you gonna kiss me too?”
“Yeah, Hobi.” Namjoon kisses him softly and Hoseok sighs, sinking into it.
“Wow.”
Hoseok laughs, reaching out for Jungkook, who comes eagerly over, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “What, you want a kiss too?”
“Yeah? Duh. Then we all get to kiss more.”
“Duh,” Hoseok parrots, laughing. Jungkook giggles as Hoseok peppers his face with kisses, rubbing their noses together before he catches Hoseok’s mouth gently. Once, twice, and a lingering thrice as his hands wander down to grip Hoseok’s hips.
“Wait,” Namjoon says. When they look at him, he’s frowning. “So everyone got to cuddle Hobi except me?”
Hoseok trades glances with Jimin.
“Kim Namjoon cuddle pile when we get home?” he asks.
Jimin nods solemnly. “Kim Namjoon cuddle pile. Come on everyone, let’s go home and get a piece of our fearless leader.”
“Dibs his thighs,” Jungkook interjects, because he’s a brat with no manners and all the cheek of someone who knows they could get away with murder.
“Dibs his shoulder,” says Yoongi.
“Shut up, neither of you were even part of this.”
(There is, of course, the awkwardness of the ride back home, where Hoseok, pinned between Jimin and Taehyung, wonders if this is really, actually happening. But they keep sneaking kisses whenever their driver politely pretends he can’t see them, and their group chat keeps pinging as Jin and Jungkook and Yoongi hash out the exact details of who is cuddling who.
“I love you,” says Hoseok when they arrive. He doesn’t know what else to say.
“We all love you too,” Namjoon says, warm and willing when Hoseok pushes him down onto the bed. Everyone choruses in agreement. Hoseok curls up beside him and hitches a thigh across his hips. He’s so cute, even if he does blush when Hoseok makes appreciative noises about the sheer breadth of Namjoon.
Taehyung noses up behind Hoseok, fragrant and warm. Hoseok links hands with Yoongi across Namjoon’s chest while Jimin and Jin make their way in around them too and Hoseok is anchored here. Moored. Held safe and cradled in the grasp of everyone else. Fact after fact after fact of these people grow, like vines, like grass, like plants finding the comfortable divots of each other’s bodies where they can take root and grow, cracking each other further apart and end up closer together.
He loves them.
It can be as simple as that.
Hoseok closes his eyes and just breathes.)