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Jungkook is burning up.
He groans and rolls onto his side, covering his face with both his hands. He presses his relatively cool fingers against his eyes, sighing when it brings some measure of relief. After a second his body feels coherent enough to move, rolling onto his back and squinting at the ceiling.
It’s not the sight he expected; there are glow-in-the-dark stars on it. He’s in Taehyung’s room, then, and—he realizes when he looks under the sheet at himself—wearing his clothes, though that’s less unexpected than waking up here. More often than not, he and Jimin and Taehyung sleep in a pile in Jungkook’s room, particularly the last couple of weeks.
He’s never woken up alone in their bed, though, not like this.
“What,” he whispers. His voice comes out croaky, and he squints at the flash of pain it brings to his head, forcing himself into a sitting position. The room spins around him, but his stomach settles soon enough, the walls only tilting slightly when he moves his head.
He’s focused, now, trying to figure out what’s happened to him; in that focus he can hear the shrieks of Taehyung and Jimin, something crashing in the kitchen, and—presumably from Hoseok—the running whir of a vacuum.
Everyone’s home, then. It’s a slight relief, knowing that if he dies he won’t be alone when he does, but that means they’ll all have to watch him die.
When you feel like you’re dying, Yoongi’s voice pops into his head, blessedly calm and quiet , come to hyung, he’ll help you out .
Jungkook doesn’t know if he trusts the mysterious hyung in his brain, but the thought of someone being able to help, perhaps stick him in the freezer until he cools down, is enough to get him on his feet and into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and washing his face without turning the light on.
He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut, and barrels out of the room, one arm out in front of him and one flung to the side, fingertips barely brushing the wall. He passes under the overhead light and it comes to him—“I have a migraine,” he says, blinking his eyes open in surprise.
Jimin is right there, close enough to nearly give him a heart attack. He clucks his tongue rather than worry about Jungkook’s poor nerves, reaching out and pinching his cheeks a couple times. “Oh, baby,” he coos, pressing a kiss against his forehead (he has to lean up to do it, which Jungkook is vindictively grateful for). “Come on. Let hyung make you some tea, hm?”
“Too loud,” Jungkook grumbles, but obediently goes along with him, squeezing his eyes shut. Then there are cool hands on his forehead (long fingers, he notices with only a small amount of hysteria—must be Seokjin) and another soft tsking noise.
“You’re burning up,” Seokjin says, and his voice has the tinge of worry at the end of it.
“It’s just a migraine,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing hot. He’s not sure if it’s visible, if any of them can see it, but the heat travels unpleasantly down his back and he grimaces.
“Here. Hyung will make you some tea,” Seokjin says, and then more softly, “take care of him, will you?”
And then Jimin is leading him to the dining table, squeezing his shoulders when he’s sat down. “Here,” he says a second later, pushing something plastic into his hand.
Sunglasses, Jungkook realizes, putting them on and blinking. His head gives a dull twinge, barely-there compared to the fire of before. “Shit,” he breathes. “Thank you, Jimin-hyung.”
Jimin grins down at him, ruffling his hair. “Ah, anything for our baby,” he says, pinching his cheek again, not hard enough to hurt but enough to be felt.
Jungkook dutifully swats at his arm, grimace only deepening, but he’s filled too with a fondness he doesn’t know how to handle.
It’s not more than a minute before Seokjin sets down a cup of ginger tea, murmuring, “You drink that and hyung will fix you something up to eat,” with a squeeze to the back of his neck with cool, damp fingers.
“I’m fine,” Jungkook mumbles, though he leans forward over the tea, rolling his shoulders back. They make a noise like grinding, and a twinge of pain travels down his back again. He groans.
“Yah! Let hyung take care of you,” Seokjin insists in that squawky voice he always gets when arguing with him, though the volume is blessedly modulated.
“You’d better do it,” comes another, sweeter voice, curled around a laugh. “He’s got a knife in his hand.”
“The disrespect in this house, Kim Namjoon,” Seokjin starts, but Jungkook stops listening.
He squints at Namjoon, reaching out for his hand. Very seriously then, he tells him, “I’m dying, hyung.”
Namjoon looks alarmed, but only slightly. “Is that so?” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the back of Jungkook’s hand. “Can anything be done?”
“For the love of—do not scare him like that!” Jimin whisper-scolds, kicking Jungkook’s shin under the table with a socked foot. “He’s fine,” he tells Namjoon, “he’s just got a headache.”
Jungkook glares at him, taking a sip of tea a second later. It’s nice and warm, and having the mug there means he can’t say anything stupid.
“Oh, Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon breathes. He scoots his chair closer, resting the back of his hand on his forehead. “Do you feel alright?”
Jungkook shakes his head, letting the pout settle on his face. He’s being ridiculous, he knows he is, but this is Namjoon , the sweetest person he knows. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick if I don’t lie down again, but it was—was so loud in Taehyungie-hyung’s room.”
Namjoon lets his fingers drift a little, stroking through his hair, at the temples of his head. “Why don’t you lie down in my room?” he offers. “It’s quiet in there. Or Yoongi-hyung’s, he’s got all that soundproofing.”
“Is he up?” Jungkook murmurs, though he can’t help perking up a little at the thought of being in a Yoongi-Namjoon cuddle. It’s been nice, the way they’ve included him lately; he doesn’t know what he’d do if they’d stopped holding him now that they’re—well.
Namjoon grins, private like he knows something Jungkook doesn’t, and usually that would be annoying but right now Jungkook simply wants to get to the being held part. “I think he’d wake up for our sweet maknae,” Namjoon sighs, getting up and holding out a hand to him.
“I’ll bring your food to you,” Jimin offers. When Jungkook glances back at him, his expression is more serious than he expects, almost somber. Stupid , his eyes are saying.
“I’m fine,” Jungkook promises, blowing him a kiss obnoxiously, and that seems to calm him down somewhat.
They head down the hallway, Namjoon holding onto his hand the entire time. Jungkook doesn’t have the room to have feelings about it, too caught up in the thought of Yoongi, of them , both being with him. “Are you sure he won’t be mad?” he murmurs.
Namjoon looks at him, a half-smile on his face. “I’m positive, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and fond.
Jungkook flushes, mouth curving into a grin as Namjoon knocks, opening the door a second later.
“Joon-ah? D’you forget something?” Yoongi asks from the bed, voice low in a mumble. He doesn’t look like he was deeply asleep, at least, which Jungkook is glad for; sleep is hard enough to come by as it is, he doesn’t want to add to that.
“Nah. Jungkookie needs a cuddle,” Namjoon says, tugging him into the room, fingers still locked together.
Yoongi looks immediately more alert, blinking. “Is that why he’s got those stupid glasses on?” he asks. The words are gruff but his voice is tender.
Jungkook makes a face at him, pouting. “Hey! I need these. I’ve got a migraine,” he insists, voice trailing off into a whine, high enough that it hurts his own ears.
Yoongi laughs, though it’s sweet. “Come here, then,” he tells him, holding up the edge of the blanket.
Jungkook crawls into bed as soon as he’s allowed, sliding an arm around Yoongi’s waist. He presses his nose into the space between his neck and shoulder, inhaling greedily. He smells warm, like sweat and Namjoon’s cologne, and he has to stop the rough noise that wants to crawl its way out of his throat.
“Hey,” Yoongi’s voice comes then, one hand protectively resting over Jungkook’s exposed ear. “He needs you to cuddle him too, idiot.” The word sounds like a pet name, like a Sunday morning, like a warm bath, and Jungkook tries not to let his desperate jealousy show.
There’s more conversation that he doesn’t pay attention to, not until Namjoon is sliding into bed behind him, fingers slipping around his waist, pressed against the soft skin of his belly. “This alright?” he murmurs.
“Mm,” Jungkook says, relaxing bit by bit. He’s not tired, not really, but he’s happy to drift right here, the taste of ginger in his mouth and contentment in his body. “Yeah. Both spoons, you know.”
Yoongi laughs at that, turning over so he’s on his back, kissing his forehead. “Both spoons?” he murmurs.
Jungkook squints, taking the glasses off and tossing them aside. “Yeah,” he murmurs, wrinkling his nose at him. “You know. You’re little, Namjoon-hyung’s big, I’m both.”
Namjoon huffs out a laugh, pressing the length of his body against Jungkook’s. One foot slips between his legs.
Jungkook tries not to think about it, to focus on something, anything else, but something in his face gives him away, it must. As if in a dream, Yoongi leans in close and then says, voice barely a whisper, “I bet he’d kiss you if you asked him.”
He swallows hard. Namjoon’s fingers press into his skin for a second, the blunt suggestion of nails against his stomach. So he’s heard, then, but—Jungkook notices with a small, hysterical feeling—he doesn’t deny it, doesn’t say anything .
“What about you?” he finds himself asking, voice shaking, and he means it in every way. His vision is swimming, pinpricks of pain at his temples, but he needs to ask this, to know if this—if the last few months have been teasing or something more.
Yoongi looks away, smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I would,” he says easily. Only the slight twitch of his face gives his nerves away.
Jungkook swallows again, throat feeling dry. “Will you kiss me, then?” he breathes.
Behind him, Namjoon sucks in a breath, pressing his mouth against the back of Jungkook’s neck.
“Your head,” Yoongi hums, running his fingers through Jungkook’s hair like he did before.
“No, my mouth,” Jungkook answers.
“Brat,” Yoongi whispers, but then he’s leaning in, and—they’re kissing. It tastes like breath and ginger, stale and sort of weird, but Yoongi keeps that hand in his hair, and Namjoon keeps touching his skin, and Jungkook feels like he’s floating.
The kiss ends, and before he can complain Namjoon is pressing him onto his back so, so gently, whispering, “Ask me.”
“Kiss me, hyung,” Jungkook breathes, eyes wide. He keeps them open for this one, wanting to catalogue everything on Namjoon’s face—the way he licks his lips, how he glances just below Jungkook’s mouth, how he rests his thumb on his chin, keeping him in place without holding him.
It’s even quicker than the one he shared with Yoongi, but Jungkook is left even more breathless, flat on his back between them. He stares blankly at the ceiling, mouth open slightly.
“Baby?” Namjoon murmurs, rubbing circles over his belly now.
“I think we broke him,” and that’s Yoongi’s voice, low and amused.
“Not broken,” Jungkook whispers. He clears his throat, wishing for his cup of tea back, for Seokjin’s food, for anything to distract either of them from the way they’re looking at him. “I’m—I’m good.”
Yoongi laughs, a bright, loud sound right next to Jungkook’s ear. “You worried us,” he murmurs, poking his side before he settles down next to him, hand resting on top of Namjoon’s.
Jungkook nods. “Sorry,” he makes himself say, the words barely more than air. He licks his lips, about to ask something— anything , but:
“We’ll talk about it when you feel better,” Namjoon promises, dropping a kiss onto his shoulder.
Jungkook can still taste the kisses, heart still galloping somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. “Okay,” he whispers, makes himself say, biting his lip.
Yoongi tugs it down with his thumb, grin wide, gums showing. “No hurting yourself,” he says, less a scold than a kind word.
Jungkook nods, blinking at him. He swims in and out of focus, his eyes never quite catching on him, but—“Pretty,” he makes sure to say, looking between the two of them. “You’re both so pretty.”
Namjoon laughs again, his overwhelmed laugh, cuddling close to him. All the places they’re touching light up, Jungkook blushing red again, but he makes himself settle.
When you feel better , Namjoon promised, and he’s never been one to break his word.
“Sleep well, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi whispers as he’s dragged into sleep.
(He does.)