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The bubbly atmosphere sets with ease like so many other times, as usual with them. Empty beer cans and shot glasses rest on different surfaces, all tables and chairs scattered away to let all seven of them sit and lay on the hotel room floor, close to each other — just the way they like.
Not all of them were naturally touchy people, but time and extreme fondness made them all grow accustomed to casual caresses, heads resting on someone else’s shoulders, and warm hugs.
Right now, though, Jeongguk feels like all touches are foreign and charged with electricity. He blames the alcohol, or rather, the stupid decisions they made because of it.
But when the bottle stops again and Hobi is laughing hysterically just before pecking Taehyung on the lips, he understands there’s no way back from this.
He’s sure he’s never been more nervous in his twenty years of life, torn between a deep desire to get picked and the panic of getting kissed by any of his friends.
Especially one of them. For reasons difficult to digest.
This big internal battle seems to be taking place only in his heart, though, because everybody else seems to be drunk not only on alcohol but on eagerness too. It’s just a playful something, a teasing game, a friendly dare.
Another spin and Seokjin is kissing Namjoon — a bit deeper than the kisses prior.
“Did I see tongue there?!” screams Hoseok, one hand hiding his laughter and the other one pointing an accusatory finger at them.
“Should we raise the stakes? No pecks,” intercedes Yoongi, shamelessly taking his shot.
“Funny way of saying you want to make out with us,” says Namjoon while sitting back at his place, cheeks a bit flushed (was it the alcohol or was it the kiss?) and a playful grin on his lips.
“We can do it in different steps,” suggests Taehyung, his words a bit slurred. “If it’s your first kiss, you give a peck. If it’s your second kiss, you give a proper kiss. The third kiss has to be a french kiss.”
“What if I’ve had my first kiss already but I have to kiss Jeonggukie, who hasn’t been kissed yet?” asks Namjoon, pointing out the gaps in Taehyung’s rules and giving Jeongguk a small heart attack while he was at it.
“Then you play rock, paper, scissors and the winner decides the kiss,” offers Seokjin, giggling in endless amusement.
“Seems fair,” Yoongi nods.
“And what if it’s your fourth kiss?” says Jimin with a dirty smile, eyebrows wiggling.
“Then you get out of here because I don’t want to see that,” intervenes Hoseok, already getting impatient with the rules discussion.
Taehyung is considering Jimin’s hypothetical case, though. “You could give a lap danc—”
“Let’s just spin the bottle!” cuts Hoseok again, and immediately resumes the game.
Jeongguk feels his shirt sticking to his back the second the bottle stops in front of him. Everyone chants his name, delighted, because it’s finally his turn to kiss someone.
He watches the bottle spinning again, his heart in his throat when the mouth of the bottle goes past a certain spot.
It lands on Namjoon, who’s already smiling bashfully when Jeongguk raises his eyes from the bottle to his face. The youngest’s face feels seconds away from combusting.
Hobi screams, hysterical.
“Your teenage crush!”
High pitched squeals follow the statement. Jeongguk can’t even blame their reactions; he would be doing the same if he wasn’t so beyond nervous.
“Play rock, paper, scissors!” shouts Seokjin.
“I think a peck is enough,” replies Namjoon, his dimpled smile still on display. He looks so pretty with his cheeks flushed. “Is that alright, Jeongguk-ah?”
Jeongguk nods, fearing his voice would make an embarrassing sound if he tried to speak. He didn’t feel prepared at all to properly kiss his former crush, as Hoseok accurately labelled their leader. His younger self would be freaking out with what was about to happen.
Namjoon approaches him, knees dragging across the floor. Jeongguk gets on his knees as well to match their height, eyes round and expectant. When they’re merely ten centimeters apart, Namjoon grins even brighter and closes the distance between their faces.
It lasts no longer than a second, but it gives Jeongguk a weird, pleasant feeling. It almost feels like some sort of closure, of making something right after years of being left hanging.
Among those feelings, though, Jeongguk catches a slippery thought:
They feel similar to Jimin’s lips.
He blinks twice, the clapping and howling of his bandmates like white noise in the background of the unwanted memory. It’s almost surreal — how his body remembers a touch he experienced only once, three years ago. Practice room’s mirrors, wooden floors and a feeling of burning desperation flood his mind and he almost feels it, the weight of Jimin on him against the floor, frantic lips trying to ease some hurt and loneliness.
The memory bursts almost as quick as their short-lived romance, which ended the moment the looming perspective of consequences dawned on them. With whispers of “we were confused” and “let’s not think about this, okay?” , they left the practice room and trapped that moment there forever.
Or, rather, until that exact present moment, when the touch of Namjoon’s lips seemed to open that door with such ease it’s like the key had never been properly hidden to begin with.
Round eyes look for little crescents and get rounder when they find them already staring back, an unreadable emotion in them.
Jeongguk wonders if the door also opened for Jimin.
The bottle spins again, unaware of what’s going on in Jeongguk’s mind, and it lands on Yoongi.
When it stops again, Taehyung claps eagerly and Yoongi gets to his knees with a sigh that’s supposed to feign annoyance, ready to kiss the one the bottle’s pointing at.
Jimin.
“It’s the second kiss for both of you!” scurries to announce Taehyung. Jimin had kissed Seokjin, and Yoongi had kissed Hobi before. “We want a proper kiss!”
The ones chosen by the bottle smile with the confidence that familiarity and being experienced bring.
Jimin, ever the playful, grabs Yoongi by the nape and pulls his face until their noses touch. Jeongguk feels his heart flutter at the intimate gesture, but something unpleasant churns in his stomach at the same time.
The kiss is phenomenal. Everyone is clapping and whistling at the show the pair puts on, managing to make it sensual without properly making out. Their lips move against each other once, twice, three times, before pulling out with a big smirk on both of their faces.
Jeongguk feels like getting out of there, for some reason. Inadequate and small. The uncountable amount of times he’s thought of how it always seemed like there was something going on between his two hyungs pass through his mind while he tries to act excited like the rest.
Before he can excuse himself, the damn bottle is spinning again, landing on Jimin once more. He has to talk himself out of forcefully stopping the bottle on him, blaming his tipsy state for such ideas.
Turns out his meddling wasn’t needed, after all. When the bottle stops, it’s pointing at him, and the first word that comes to Jeongguk’s mind is fate. He knows it’s childish, ridiculous even, because they’re just playing spin the bottle between seven people and the chances aren’t that low — yet his heart beats faster at the prospect of the universe moving for them.
All this is no coincidence.
Jimin looks at him with a faint blush on his cheeks and a timid smile on his lips — a stark contrast with how cheeky he’d been with Yoongi. Jeongguk can’t help but return the gesture, although he’s sure his whole being is flushed beet red.
Is Jimin thinking of that day, so many seasons ago?
“It’d be my third kiss already,” comments Jimin, voice soft. Jeongguk’s heart beats faster.
“Let’s play rock, paper, scissors, then,” Jeongguk lets out, the first sentence he’s spoken since the game started.
It’s when they close the distance between each other that Jeongguk becomes aware of how unnaturally silent their friends are, like they’re all holding their breaths. It’s obvious how different the air between him and Jimin is, and everyone seems affected by the electricity that fills the air whenever they’re too close. He usually tries not to dwell on it, but he’s too aware of the particular way they treat each other. The soft spoken words, the lingering touches, the unconscious orbiting around each other.
It’s almost too much. Too much to sit with it and untangle it all.
Jimin plays scissors, just like Jeongguk expected. He plays paper, naturally.
Jimin looks at their results, almost startled. He raises his eyes back to Jeongguk’s, a question visible in his face.
But Jeongguk doesn’t have an answer.
“Let’s have a number two kiss,” Jimin says, voice just above a whisper. Jeongguk barely fights the disappointment that sets in his chest.
When Jimin puts his hands on his shoulders, Jeongguk forgets they’re in a room with five other people, forgets they’re playing a drunkard’s game, and places his hands on Jimin’s waist like he’s done a million times before, but has never felt like that.
Their friends still hold their breaths when their lips touch. All the tension in Jeongguk’s body disappears with a loud sigh, mouth pressed against soft, plump lips. It feels great. It feels like belonging. It feels right, in a very different way than with Namjoon’s kiss.
When a couple of seconds pass and Jeongguk starts anticipating the mourning after they break the kiss, Jimin’s right hand goes up and caresses his nape. It’s so pleasant, Jeongguk lets out another sigh.
Then, a tongue is licking his bottom lip, giving him goosebumps all over his body.
There are whistling and gasps around them, but Jeongguk can only focus on Jimin’s wandering tongue and how tight their embrace has become. How he wishes they were alone, in this hotel room or a stinky practice room, nothing to be mindful of except themselves and this need. To be closer, to be one.
His tongue joins the kiss, slow and shy. As if getting too excited could burst the bubble and bring him back to that closed door.
Loud coughs are responsible for pulling them apart, in the end. A blush decorates everyone’s faces, mouths gaping and brows almost touching hairlines.
“Well, that sure was something,” comments Taehyung, casual. “Not that I’m surprised or anything.”
“No one is, babe,” snorts Seokjin.
“The interruption was just so you could finish this somewhere else,” states Yoongi, a teasing smirk on his lips.
“Hyung, what are you saying,” huffs Jimin, hands letting go of Jeongguk. His eyes seem hesitant (maybe hopeful?) when they meet Jeongguk’s stare, though.
The game resumes, but nothing can bring Jeongguk’s mind back to the gathering. His focus stays on the way Jimin’s hand finds his and casually caresses it, on the way their eyes meet and linger, on the permanent flush on his cheeks that suits him so much.
At one point, they’re all saying their goodnights because the plane back home is scheduled early in the morning and it won’t wait for them. They scatter in the hotel floor’s corridor, only Yoongi staying since they were playing in his room.
Jimin and Jeongguk’s rooms are next to each other at the end of the corridor, so everyone else has disappeared when they reach their doors.
“So,” Jimin starts, eyes focused on his doorknob.
“So,” Jeongguk mimics, heart in his throat and stare pinned to the other’s face.
Jimin breathes deeply and stares back. “Goodnight?” he whispers, the word voiced like a question.
Jeongguk understands, then, what Jimin is asking.
So he delivers his answer, nerves be damned, surging forward and kissing those plump lips.
With the certainty of the time, this time, being right.