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Never in his wildest dreams had Jungkook imagined he would find himself in the middle of a trendy bar in Hongdae with an angel in his arms.
Quite literally in his arms. Jungkook’s cradling the angel bridal-style, one arm under his shoulders, the other hooked under his knees, in a near-perfect position to stare directly down at his face, the overwhelming din of the bar so faint and far away it might as well be in another dimension.
He can only be an angel. His beautiful eyes are framed by beautifully long eyelashes, set under beautifully shaped eyebrows and on either side of a beautifully sculpted nose. His beautiful cheeks are dusted with a layer of faint, beautiful freckles, and are turning a beautiful shade of pink. His beautifully plush lips are parted in surprise, revealing a beautiful set of teeth, one of which is slightly crooked and also extra beautiful.
“Oh,” he says, and his voice is beautiful, too. “Um. Thanks.”
Jungkook blinks for what is maybe the first time in his life. The angel doesn’t disappear. “Yes,” Jungkook breathes. The movement presses his chest more firmly against the angel’s body. He feels a bit faint. “Thanks.” He doesn’t think that’s the word he’s supposed to use in this kind of situation, but it’s the only one he can seem to remember, and he has to say something.
The angel’s beautiful lips spread into a beautiful, lopsided smile. His beautiful eyelashes flutter against his beautiful cheeks. When he giggles, it fizzes down Jungkook’s spine like the bubbles in the champagne he’d had at Namjoon and Yoongi’s housewarming. “That's my line.”
Jungkook's heart kicks into high gear. He swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Y-yeah. I guess it is. Um. Sorry.”
The angel’s beautiful smile spreads further, no longer lopsided. He rests one beautiful, dainty hand, decorated with dainty silver rings, against Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook is surprised he doesn’t fall over, or ignite in spontaneous combustion.
“You’re apologizing for saving me?”
Jungkook hadn’t saved the angel.
Jungkook had been walking past the bar on his way back to his table from the bathroom. He’d dodged a well-dressed woman’s wild gesticulating as she told some other well-dressed women a story about which she clearly felt passionate, and he’d felt something brush against his shoulder, and the next thing he knew his ears were filled by the sound of violently ringing bells. His arms had tightened around the body that had fallen into them, and something he hadn’t known was misaligned clicked into place, and the rest of the world had fallen away.
Fate had brought them together. Jungkook had only followed where it led.
If they’d been in a drama, that would’ve been the moment the director would pull out the soft focus, the slow motion, the millions of panning, zooming camera shots set up to catch the auspicious moment from as many angles as possible. The soft love pop ballad full of lyrics about falling and catching would start to play over close-ups of Jungkook’s eyes widening in surprise, and the angel’s eyes searching Jungkook’s face. It would end on a mid range shot of the two of them, staring at each other, with pastel pink hearts and curlicues framing them, before launching into the end credits and the preview for the next episode. The audience would be left screaming in anticipation, and Jungkook and the angel would have a full week to savor the full glory of the moment before they had to move from the spot.
If they’d been in a drama, Jungkook would have someone else writing lines for him. He wouldn’t be left standing with his mouth hanging open, mind empty except for the lingering echo of the angel’s beautiful giggle, trying to remember what he'd been asked.
“I can't believe you fell off another chair!”
Jungkook frowns. That was not the angel’s voice, and the angel’s lips hadn’t moved. Someone else was talking, but to find out who he would have to look away from the angel’s face and he can’t, not while the angel’s beautiful brown eyes are staring directly into Jungkook’s soul.
“Honestly Jimin, I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”
The angel — Jimin, a name as beautiful as the rest of him — looks away from Jungkook, and presumably toward the speaker. The loss feels like Jungkook had failed to block one of his boxing teacher’s punches to his gut, and breaks whatever spell he’d been under. He’s aware now of the weight of Jimin in his arms, and the empty stool in front of them Jimin must have tipped off, and Jimin’s — friend? date? — clutching his chest with one hand while he giggles into the other.
“Hyung,” Jimin whines, tilting his head as if to hide in Jungkook’s chest. The movement makes his dangling silver earrings fall enticingly along his neck. Jungkook’s ears start ringing again. “Don’t be mean!”
“It’s not mean if it’s the truth!”
“Eugh!” Jimin does actually bury his face in Jungkook’s sweater then. It’s Jungkook’s favourite sweater, the soft, thick-knit one with the black and white stripes that he was wearing when Namjoon said he could really tell Jungkook had been making gains in his chest. Jungkook is never washing it again. “It’s not my fault the stool is wobbly!”
Jimin’s friend takes the hand from his mouth, revealing a heart-shaped smile, and pushes firmly on the cracked brown leather of the recently vacated barstool. It doesn’t wobble at all. It doesn’t even turn.
Jimin’s beautiful forehead furrows in a beautiful, petulant frown. “But it did!”
“Stop lying to yourself, Jimin-ah. And get down from there, it’s not nice to make someone else carry you for so long.”
Jimin’s beautiful eyes turn back to Jungkook’s face, somehow stealing all the breath from Jungkook’s lungs, along with every word Jungkook had ever learned. “He's got strong arms. He doesn’t mind. Do you?”
A direct question, but at least one that Jungkook can answer easily. He nods, agreeing. “I don’t.”
It’s clearly the right answer. Jimin beams at him. Jungkook wonders if this is what a religious experience feels like. His lungs are empty but he never needs to breathe again, and his heart is overflowing with syrupy molten gold light, and his trembling arms seem to have forgotten how deceptively heavy Jimin is. Given his size, the weight must be densely packed muscle, firm, strong, powerful—
Jungkook looks away, face burning, throat so dry he wonders if he’ll ever speak normally again. Those are inappropriate thoughts to think about an angel, let alone an angel who he just met. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to stop.
In his arms, Jimin cocks his head to the side, his earring once again catching the light. Jungkook sees the movement out of the corner of his eye, a mere second before Jimin says, “Let me down, please?”
“Yes,” Jungkook says at once, although his arms need a stern talking to before they’ll release their hold on Jimin. “Sorry, I’m— sorry, I’ll—”
“Oh my God,” Jimin’s friend says, covering his face with his hands.
“Be nice, hyung,” Jimin says firmly as he gets his black chelsea boots back underneath him. Jungkook fights to keep his eyes focused somewhere that will keep his thoughts appropriate but it proves impossible in the face of Jimin’s black pants, so tight they might as well be painted on, and his black shirt, made of some silky material with billowing sleeves and the top two buttons undone, revealling the smooth line of his neck and collarbones. He is a vision that Jungkook will see whenever he closes his eyes for the rest of forever, and so distracting that Jungkook almost misses what he says next. “Can I buy you a drink? As thanks for saving me?”
Jungkook has never been bought a drink before, probably because when he goes out he rarely leaves the safety of the circle of his hyungs. He glances back at his table, for encouragement, or moral support, or some hint on what to do next. It’s a mistake. Seokjin and Taehyung are no help at all, watching his interaction with rapt attention, whispering to each other behind their hands, and when he turns back to Jimin he can see that Jimin’s beautiful smile has dimmed.
“Or not,” Jimin says, the brightness of his tone mismatched with the way he’s curled in on himself, a flower blooming in reverse. “Sorry, it was—”
“Yes.” Jungkook is firm with his answer. He needs Jimin to believe him. He needs Jimin to blossom again. “Yes please. I'm Jeon Jungkook.”
“Oh my God,” Jimin’s friend says again, but Jungkook doesn’t care. Jimin is smiling again, and if Jimin is smiling everything else is all right.
“Nice to meet you, Jungkook-ssi,” Jimin says. Hearing his name pass through Jimin’s lips makes Jungkook feel ten feet tall. He thinks he could run to the top of the Namsan Tower without a single pause. He might never need to sleep again. “I’m Park Jimin. What are you drinking?”
Jungkook isn’t drinking anything in particular. He’d had the beer Namjoon ordered for his first drink, and whisky Yoongi ordered for his second, and whatever colourful monstrosity of a cocktail Taehyung ordered for his third. He knows the name of none of them, but he’s not about to tell Jimin that. “I’ll have whatever you’re having?”
He means it to come out confident and flirty, like he gets bought drinks all the time and knows what he’s doing, but Jimin seems to find the uncertainty charming. He winks. Jungkook’s heart gives up completely. “Okay, two Heinekens, coming up.”
“None for me?” Jimin’s friend asks, gesturing at his empty glass.
“Did you save me from certain death, hyung?” Jimin asks, twining his arm around Junkook’s waist and pulling him closer to the bar, out of the way of anyone who might try and pass behind them. “I don’t think so. Plus you’ve already had two drinks, and I don’t want to hear you complaining about a hangover tomorrow. Hoseok-hyung is a lightweight” Jimin adds in a stage-whisper, leaning in close to make sure Jungkook can hear him. His breath ghosts along the shell of Jungkook’s ear, sending shivers rippling down Jungkook’s neck and arms. His hair is soft against Jungkook’s cheek, and he smells like soap, with a hint of something floral. Forget never doing laundry — Jungkook is never going to have another shower, ever.
“Yah! Jungkook-ah!”
Jungkook twists in the light embrace of Jimin’s arm, unwilling to lose the contact, until he’s once more facing the table where Seokjin and Taehyung sit. Taehyung is waving to get Jungkook’s attention. Seokjin is gesturing at the two unclaimed chairs at their table, where Namjoon and Yoongi had been sitting earlier. At the time Jungkook had been sad to see them go. Now he couldn’t be more grateful.
“Hey listen,” he says, as someone walking past jostles him closer to Jimin, “We've got some extra space at our table? If you want to join us?”
“Do the chairs have backs?” Hoseok asks with a serious expression. “It might not help, I’ve seen Jimin fall out of chairs with backs before—”
“Hyung,” Jimin whines.
“— but it happens less often when there are back on the chairs.”
“They have backs,” Jungkook assures him, grinning and gesturing at the table. “And my friends are there? And it’s less crowded than sitting at the bar.” As if to prove his point, someone walking by sticks their elbow in his arm.
“C’mon then,” Hoseok says, trying to wrap his long, delicate fingers around the three Heineken pint glasses an unconcerned bartender had just set in front of him. Jungkook hadn’t even noticed Jimin place the order. “Let’s go meet your friends. Are they single?” Hoseok blinks, pausing in his glass-wrangling efforts to squint at Jungkook. “Are you single? Jimin is single. That’s why he’s all dressed up.”
“Hyung!” Jimin whines again, louder this time. The blush from his cheeks has spilled down his neck, and over his collarbones, and at least as far as the third button of his shirt. Jungkook is seized by the urge to rip open the rest of the buttons too, to see how far it goes.
“I’m single,” he says, pushing past the embarrassment of having been asked by a near stranger because he really, really needs Jimin to know the answer. “And my friends— they aren’t taken, at least?” Jungkook has wondered that himself, but reasoned it wasn’t really his place to question it. As long as they were happy doing whatever they were doing, he was happy. He watches Hoseok struggle with the pint glasses for another second before saying, “Do, uh, do you want help?”
“He should have to carry them all for being rude.”
“Saying the truth is rude now?”
“When it undercuts my game it is.”
Jungkook snags the closest of the pint glasses, staring at the precariously balanced head of foam instead of at Jimin. “So you didn’t want me to know you’re single?”
Jimin smacks him in the chest, hard. It’s a miracle Jungkook’s beer doesn’t spill. “Not like that! I was going to be smooth about it! I’m usually very smooth!”
The opening is too good to pass up. “Smooth enough you fall off completely stationary stools?”
Hoseok sets the pint glasses in his hands back on the bar so he can laugh properly, while Jimin shifts his menacing glare between Hoseok and Jungkook. “That’s a joke that’s going to grow old, fast. You better find a new one soon.”
He’s fierce enough in his delivery Jungkook might have believed his anger, if not for the way his hand is still resting possessively on Jungkook’s waist, or the way a giggle escapes at the end of his sentence. Jungkook will find another joke, a million more jokes. He’s going to listen to Jimin’s happy giggling forever.
“Jungkook-ah!” It's Taehyung again, shouting loud enough that the patrons at the tables nearest him turn in his direction. He’s waving, bigger now, making clear what's taking so long? I want to meet them! gestures with his arms. Seokjin looks torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to join in.
“Sorry,” Jungkook says, ducking his head automatically. “He, ah, he can get really insistent, when he wants something.”
“Better not keep him waiting then,” says Jimin, patting Jungkook’s waist. “I hate being late.”
“Ha!” Hoseok says, picking up the two pint glasses again. “You! Not late!”
“I’m never late!” Jimin protests. He’s pouting now, and while his pout is as beautiful as everything else about him, the sight of it makes something twist in Jungkook’s chest.
“I think your timing is perfect,” Jungkook says with all the sincerity in his heart, and Jimin’s pout evaporates. He beams up at Jungkook, radiant and glorious. Jungkook beams back, fighting the urge to crow with triumph over the bells that have once again started to toll in his ears. He wants to bottle up the moment, preserve it carefully so he can relive it forever. Maybe he’ll ask Namjoon or Yoongi to help him turn it into a song later. It would make a really good song.
Jimin seems just as loath to break the moment as Jungkook, not looking away until there’s another yell from Taehyung and Seokjin and— Hoseok? Jungkook turns to look. Hoseok is already at the table, standing with Taehyung and Seokjin, his smile a near-perfect copy of theirs.
Jungkook can’t quite suppress his laugh. Jimin turns to see what he’s looking at, and when he spots their friends, now making ridiculous faces at them, he laughs, too. When he turns back to Jungkook his smile goes from broad, and a bit rueful, to something gentle, more private — a precious gift that Junkook intends to keep always in his heart.
Just as Jungkook starts to worry they might be entering another smile-standoff, which will undoubtedly prompt their friends to enter further depths of ridicule, Jimin breaks the stalemate. “Like I said,” he says, looping his arm through Jungkook’s. “Better not keep them waiting.”
“Better not,” Jungkook agrees and, after a fortifying breath, takes the first steps he will ever take with Jimin by his side. It feels momentous, exciting, and terrifying all at once. Fate might have brought them together, but Jungkook’s determined to take it from here.