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jimin is zoned out, even holding his own dick, aiming it at the bowl in front of it. it is kind of a weird word to describe something attached to his body but that’s what he feels like it is, some sort of extension of him, when he suddenly gains awareness when sneakers appear beside his own.
he jumps, but doesn’t splash. jeongguk stands beside him, undoing his own zip. he grunts in lieu of greeting. his eyes never drag up to meet jimin’s and he rocks on his feet. the exhaustion shows in his shoulders the most. they sink when he grabs at himself, like he can spare no more energy than what it takes to aim.
jimin doesn’t look, why would he look, and then he smells it. it’s acrid and sour and jeongguk’s stream is a deeply rancid looking yellow.
“jeongguk-ah,” he gasps, “go drink some water, gah.” he shakes his own shaft and stuffs it back in his jeans where, if dicks could frown, it would frown at it’s own suffocation.
“can’t.” jeongguk shakes the paltry stream off. “fasting. video shoot in two days.”
“gguk-ah,” jimin croons. his tone drops into something sweet. nurturing and sincere. he’s been there. he’s still got a foot in the door there. “water, jeongguk-ah, if you’re going to get rid of fat, your body has to have water,” he runs a hand down jeongguk’s neck and wonders if there’s any fat to spare.
he wants to drag him to his room and feed him. no forcing, just order something in and sit beside him until jeongguk can longer resist it. but they made a promise, the seven of them, to support each other. in whatever they’ve chosen.
“need to drop that half kg.”
“it’s just water weight,” jimin tells him quietly. “seriously, gguk. the fat cells can’t leave without water to usher them out. there’s no use dry fasting until 24 hours before.”
“how-“ jeongguk’s eyes crumple with concern of their own. “okay,” he agrees on the exhale.
they don’t talk as they shuffle back into jimin and hoseok’s space, the agreement to have come separately but leave together unspoken.
jeongguk rests on his bed and jimin comes back with a bottle. he doesn’t know it, but he also comes back with a tender hand to push the hair out of his eyes when jeongguk leans over his knees. jeongguk opens the bottle with shaky fingers and takes a hesitant sip, which quickly turns to a desperate gulp. he winces as his stomach cramps at the intrusion.
“jeongguk-ah…” jimin whispers. jeongguk’s fingers make the bottle crinkle and crack. jimin takes it from his hand and sets it on the table beside his bed. jeongguk turns over, and curls himself in.
jimin hadn’t thought to turn on a lamp but he’s now very aware of how the light from the window is long gone. the light of last week, when jeongguk was chasing around jin and debating about the age of a girl they drove by hotly with taehyung and laughing far too loudly at at namjoon’s joke that was just not that funny. that light lived in his eyes.
jeongguk curls in, and jimin thinks that if the darkness gets any greater, it might swallow him. if the emptiness inside grows an inch more vast, he’ll fall right through it.
“‘m fine, hyung.” he murmurs to a pillow. “‘s just a cramp.” it’s silent as jimin flicks on the lamp on his bedside table. “i hope they love it,” he sighs, and there’s no context provided because there’s none needed with jimin.
jimin cards his hand through his hair and sits beside his rolled up form. “they will, jeongguk-ah.”
you better, he thinks.
he loves you so much he’s going to let you kill him.