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There’s music playing when Jungkook gets home. He shouldn’t be surprised — it’s practically a routine by now to come home to their shared apartment to see Taehyung waltzing around to jazz music with a grin on his face in front of the stove.
The only problem is that they live in an apartment block full of old ladies, and so far it’s only been Jungkook that’s had to deal with the noise complaints. Even though one of them had cheekily said that they appreciated the Etta James.
“It reminds me of slow-dancing with my husband!” She had winked, and then nodded to Taehyung, who was dancing in the background (a bit badly, but Jungkook didn’t care). Jungkook had blushed very hard, stammered a quick apology and then slammed the door in her face a bit when he realised she had thought they were a couple.
The exchange still haunts him to this day.
Especially since every now and then, he finds himself thinking about Taehyung in a way he’s pretty sure doesn’t quite fit their unspoken ‘Roommate Agreement’. It’s getting frightening the amount of times he catches his heart racing around Taehyung, or the way thinking about him happens often enough to distract him from uni.
He loves Taehyung, Taehyung loves him. That’s not in debate. They’ve said it to each other after multiple rounds of soju, but it’s all a friend love. Jungkook loves Taehyung like he loves Namjoon, like he loves Jimin. They’re best friends, they love each other. That’s how the world works.
Even though Jungkook has thought about the cadence of his voice when Taehyung said it enough that it drowned out his lecturer in astrology 101. When he won’t let Taehyung unlock his phone anymore so he doesn’t see the creepy screenshot of the texts that Taehyung had sent after Jungkook promised to bring him cake, and figure out that Jungkook has looked at said screen shot enough that he has memorised every word since.
It’s fine. He’s fine. They’re not a thing, even though every new person he meets seems to think so. He can’t love Taehyung like that. It’s simply not possible.
But when Taehyung looks up at him from the stove and grins at him, mouthing the words to the Etta James song humming from the record player — a new favourite, something about a Sunday kind of love — and as the all-too familiar warm rush of butterflies flood him, Jungkook realises that he might not be quite as fine as he hoped.
“You look like a mess, Kookie,” Jimin says over a bowl of ramen. “Please don’t take offence. But,” he waves his hand at him. “I don’t think this is what I’d call the pinnacle of success.”
Jungkook looks down at his pants, stained with oil from the shift he just pulled at the burger joint, and then realises he has sauce all over his front, and that his hair is abysmal enough that he’s pulled a beanie over it to hide the grease. In summer.
“I’m doing absolutely fantastic,” he deadpans. “Everything’s going really well.”
Jimin sighs. “You don’t ask to meet up for random lunches in the middle of exam week, Jungkookie.”
“It’s a new habit of mine. A nice study break?”
“A study break away from Taehyung?” Jimin smiles, and Jungkook groans.
“I think I have a problem.” Jungkook plays with his hands in his lap. The ramen place has inexplicably decided to play Etta James, of all things, because for some reason it’s torture Jungkook day. Like he needed to have more reminders of his roommate.
I want a Sunday kind of love, she croons in the background, and it just makes Jungkook’s heart hurt.
“Is it possible to love someone but like. Not like that?” He says.
A love to last past Saturday night
Jimin blinks at him.
“I mean, yeah. I love you, and I’m certainly not attracted to you,” Jimin says, and turns back into his bowl of noodles. “You can definitely have platonic love that’s not romantic at all.”
And I’d like to know it’s more than love at first sight
“But love is still pretty strong even platonically,” he continues. “Like I love you, so I’ll pay for this ramen and put up with your annoying questions even though I also need to do things, because it’s about caring enough to put someone before yourself.”
And I want a Sunday kind of love
Right. Okay. So this is good. This is fine. Taehyung and Jungkook have said they love each other, and there’s no romance, because it can be platonic. They just care a lot. Besides, Taehyung always seems to be into other boys, off on dates with new partners. Even though they never seem to stick around long.
Can’t seem to find somebody, someone to care
He can’t have said he loves Jungkook and mean it like that. Which means that he doesn’t have to think about the whole Romance question. “Okay,” he says. “I think I get it.”
“But Jungkookie,” Jimin says, grinning at him. “Who is this about? I didn’t know you were that close with anyone apart from me and Taehyung.”
Jungkook gulps. “Just a general question. Philosophy paper,” his mind races. “What is love and all that.”
It can’t be about Taehyung because if it’s about Taehyung then that would probably disrupt the entire fabric of the universe.
Etta James’ voice floats in the background, an ever present reminder of all the things he feels like he’s missing.
He needs to help Taehyung learn to ballroom dance. It was all Taehyung’s idea, to be fair. Something about student balls and needing to look good.
But it means that Taehyung is very much wrapped in his arms, with Jungkook’s hands on Taehyung’s annoyingly tiny waist, trying to guide him through the steps. The shirt fabric slips between his fingers, soft and warm, thin enough that he can feel the muscle underneath. Taehyung looks concentrated, tongue poking out and frowning as he tries to get the steps right.
Jungkook might as well be buzzing with how much static electricity he feels is locked in his stomach.
Taehyung is pretty. Jungkook’s always thought that. But the thoughts of the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones, framed by curly black hair to make him look like an angel are getting a bit out of hand.
I do all my Sunday dreaming, and all my Sunday scheming, every minute, every hour, every day
Especially when he’s resting on him, and it’s their song playing in the background, that Etta James one that Taehyung seems to love so much.
“You learned to dance for ten years, Jungkookie,” Taehyung whines. “Why do you keep stumbling?”
“Be grateful I’m giving up my exam study time at all, Tae.” He groans back. Especially for something like this, which seems like a form of cruel torture designed to make Jungkook’s heart race uncontrollably and apparently to trip over his feet.
“You didn’t have to agree. I could have had someone else teach me.” Taehyung says, his voice softening as he slips his hands around to trace lines down Jungkook’s back. For some reason, there’s a stab of pride that Taehyung did ask him, not Jimin, the undoubtedly better dancer.
“I know I didn’t have to.” It’s unspoken, in the back of his mind, what that implies.
They continue to dance, holding each other in time to the record player warbling in the background. A Sunday Type of Love, Taehyung had said it was called. A new jazz favourite.
He likes it, even if it keeps reminding him of Taehyung at inconvenient moments.
He leads him into a slow turn in the living room of their apartment, trying to ignore the way that Taehyung so easily seems to follow him.
Oh, I’m hoping to discover
“I’m going to try to spin you now, okay?” He murmurs against his cheek.
A certain kind of lover
If Taehyung shivers, he doesn’t pay attention to it.
Who will show me the way
He just steps out slowly from Taehyung and keeps his eyes locked on him, blindly reading for his hand and spinning him slowly. They come to meet in the middle, fingertips just gracing his palm, Jungkook’s other hand coming to rest at his waist again like some magnetic force.
And my arms need someone
Taehyung presses his fingers in-between his, a slow clasp.
“This is more secure, yeah?” Taehyung says, and Jungkook feels his heart stop because Tae’s palm is warm and his fingers feel like they’re beautiful. Every part of him is beautiful.
Someone to enfold
He keeps his eyes on Taehyung’s as he wraps a hand around him to hold the small of his back, his fingers tracing around his stomach. “I’m going to dip you, okay?”
Taehyung gives a slight nod. Jungkook slowly lowers him down, keeping his eyes on him. The v-neck of his silk shirt billows slightly, and Jungkook watches as his eyes flutter closed. Then brings him back up to rest quietly in his arms, smiling softly against his cheek. He spins him around in a slow circle as they silently transition from ballroom dancing to a moving slow dance, arms intertwined.
To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold
Taehyung is so warm. The skin of his cheek is unbearably soft. “That’s okay, yeah?” Jungkook breaths out, all at once. Just to try to exhale any and all of the butterflies in his stomach. “You’ll be fine to do that at the arts ball.”
Love for all my life to have and to hold, the record player warbles on, and he feels Taehyung nod silently against him. He’s still not letting go of his hand. Their bodies are pressed as close to each other as close as possible, Taehyung’s leg pressed in between Jungkook’s, inadvertently bringing their chests and hips together.
It feels intimate. It feels like home.
The butterflies are still there, but Jungkook doesn’t dare think of them or interrupt this moment as he watches Taehyung’s eyes open and close softly, his head resting against his shoulder.
Jungkook keeps his hands around his waist, and Taehyung wraps his arms over his shoulders, and they keep spinning in slow circles until the record player scratches to a complete stop.
When Jungkook slips his fingers out of Taehyung’s and runs out of the room with a rushed excuse of studying for exams, it occurs to him that this might have been the biggest mistake of his life.
This time, it’s Namjoon that laughs at him over lunch.
“Have you considered that this might be the gayest thing you’ve ever described?” He laughs, wiping his mouth and taking another piece of chicken.
“Please don’t say that, hyung,” he mumbles. “We’re not dating. Taehyung’s even going with some other boy to the arts ball.”
Jungkook just has a problem.
“Jungkookie,” Namjoon says, and this one feels like it has weight to it. “You know that it’s okay to have feelings for Taehyung, right? It makes sense that you do. Everyone around you can see it.”
“That’s — that’s not true,” he says. “I love him. But I can’t love him like that.” He can’t even think about the connotations of like that or his head will explode.
“Why not?” Namjoon looks at him curiously.
“We’re friends. Every time he’s said he loves me he’s meant it platonically.” They’ve been friends for so long, albeit touchy-feely friends, for so long, Jungkook doesn’t know where he could even draw the line between platonic love and romantic love.
But Taehyung probably can, and that’s the hard part to remember.
“But you do love him like that.” Namjoon probes, and Jungkook swallows.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. But it’s not good.”
“That’s a hard thing to admit.”
“Considering I can’t stop thinking about how small his waist is or how soft his cheeks are or how much I want to kiss him, I think it’s about time.” It all rushes out at once. How much he wants to hold Taehyung and how every time he walks in the room, all he wants is to touch Taehyung.
Namjoon smiles at him. “I’m proud of you.”
He groans, putting his head in his hands. The chicken is remains forgotten on the table. “It’s so bad, hyung. I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like he’s. I don’t know. A weird super strong magnet or something.”
“That’s kinda how having a crush feels, Jungkook.”
“It’s terrifying.”
“Only if you know the other person doesn’t feel the same.”
“He doesn’t.”
“You don’t know that, Jungkookie.” Namjoon says, reaching out to take his hand. Jungkook notices annoyingly that he doesn’t feel anywhere near the same level of butterflies he feels when Taehyung does the same. In fact, all butterflies seem absent.
Check, you can love someone not like that.
Uncheck, he can love Taehyung not like that.
But his hand is very comforting. Until he remembers that he's in love with his roommate, best friend, all around beautiful human, Kim Taehyung. “I can’t get over him,” he says, somewhat panicked. “It doesn’t work.” He’s tried for so long, subconsciously. It’s become more panicky now that he realises that he does. Love him, that is. Like that.
“Then don’t get over him,” Namjoon grins. “Just tell him that you like him. Or sorry. Love him. Like that.”
Jungkook wants to scream.
Okay, the first song was perfect. Jungkook liked the first Etta James song. He really liked it. Is willing to sell his soul to Jimin, the probable devil, to have Taehyung play A Sunday Kind of Love again instead of the one he is currently playing. On the day that Jungkook finally decided to have the courage to do something about this whole mess.
It’s admittedly a sweet song. The lyrics aren’t dirty or about anything too sexual like some of the current ones on the radio. It’s about love and devotion. The record player gives it a raspy feel, like it’s something out of a jukebox.
He just wishes Taehyung would stop singing along like this.
“And I just wanna make love to you,” Taehyung mouths at him, grinning and walking towards him, holding a spatula, presumably from whatever pasta variety he’s making for dinner.
Jungkook has a problem. The problem is that he is trying to confess to the love of his life, his best friend and roommate (there goes the roommate agreement pack, definitely) and Taehyung is in front of the stove, cooking and singing and swaying his hips in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants that just shouldn’t be attractive.
But it is. It’s almost painful.
The walking bass and the brass hopefully cover the squeak of disbelief that Jungkook makes as Taehyung continues, shimming forward to Jungkook.
“Love to you,” He twirls, putting the spoon down on the counter, and grabs Jungkook’s hand, holding his waist with his other.
“I can dance now,” he giggles. “You taught me well.”
Jungkook just rolls his eyes. “You didn’t need me to teach you,” He follows, letting Taehyung lead him around their dining table, pulling him into spins and dips just like Jungkook did to him.
“But you liked it.” Taehyung says, matter of factly. He grasps Jungkook’s hands and plays with them, moving them up and down in some weird kind of worm dance. Probably to prevent his brain from short circuiting.
“Um. Yeah. I did.” He says, because there’s no way out of this now. He grabs onto Taehyung’s waist again, because his hands seem to have a mind of their own, and they start moving to the music together, swaying left and right. “How did you know?”
“Namjoon said you did.” He says softly, and Jungkook feels like he’s going to internally combust.
“Gonna kill him.”
“Please don’t. Jimin might kill you back, and — ”
I don’t wanna make you sad and blue Taehyung sings along, and Jungkook wants to roll his eyes even harder.
He slows them into a slow dance again, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s back, and letting him rest his forehead against his shoulder.
“Tae,” he says, and Taehyung looks up at him between long lashes. The butterflies are all consuming. “If I tell you something, promise you won’t run?”
“You already know I love you, Jungkookie,” he says back, eyes wide. It’s like he always says it. It’s warm, and it feels like home, and it’s said so matter-of-factly that it makes Jungkook’s head explode. He thinks his heart might have already failed.
“Yeah. Um,” he says. “I know you do. But, not. Uh. Like that, right?” His heart is beating fast enough to power a rocket.
It’s not his most eloquent confession. It might not even count as one.
Taehyung’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
Jungkook thinks he might murder himself now. Preferably yesterday, actually. “Like you don’t love me like that. Not. Romantically.” He manages to get out, and then immediately mentally kicks himself in the face.
This time it’s Taehyung that goes quiet. He almost looks nervous. “Please tell me what you’re trying to say, Jungkookie.” He presses closer to him, as if he needs support.
Maybe it’s Jungkook that needs the support. Maybe he should have realised that being this close to Taehyung is simultaneously best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, and takes a deep breath. “Not just as friends. Or whatever it was before. I think I’m in love with you like how Jimin loves Namjoon.”
He doesn’t dare look at Taehyung. He stares straight past him to the window that appears in their living room. Holds Taehyung closer because there’s a part of him that thinks he might go.
“Same,” Taehyung breathes out. Jungkook probably wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so close to his chest. “I talked with Namjoon and Jimin,” he starts. “And I think I realised something.”
“Wait,” Jungkook smiles as he pulls back. There’s a feeling of euphoria that’s threatening to overtake him. It might burst out of his chest at any moment. Happy explosion, impending. “You love me too?”
Taehyung nods. “What do you think these songs were for?”
“Oh my gosh. That was you trying to confess?”
He feels Taehyung wince. “I’m a coward, okay?” He holds him closer. “Was trying to get you to remember how much I love you. More than anything.”
“But all the dates—”
“Were me trying to get over you. It was hopeless.”
“I couldn’t either,” he says, and then laughs. “I can’t believe we both talked to Namjoon and Jimin about it.”
“Do you think they had something to do with it?”
“Definitely.”
Jungkook finds out that Taehyung’s lips are as soft as his skin, and that his waist is really that small under clothing, and when he crawls into his lap with their Etta James songs playing in the background, he really does think they might be forever.
Because they love each other, with a Sunday kind of love, and that’s enough for him.