Chapter Text
Before they learned how to live together, before they learned how to hurt each other, and before they spent nights whispering promises in rooms too small for their dreams —
They were just two boys who didn’t know the rest of their lives had already begun.
Jeon Jungkook was fifteen.
Kim Seokjin was twenty.
And fate—rude, dramatic, unnecessary fate—threw them at each other in the crowded hallway of a run-down rehearsal building in Seoul.
Literally threw.
Jungkook sprinted in late for his vocal evaluation and crashed into a broad chest, ricocheting backwards and landing flat on the floor.
“Ow—hey—!”
A hand appeared in front of him, long fingers, perfect nails, annoyingly beautiful.
Then a voice, soft but unmistakably smug:
“Kid, if you wanted me to hold you, you could’ve asked.”
Jungkook blinked up.
The man was blinding. Handsome to the point of rude. Wide shoulders, dark hair pushed back in a way that should’ve been illegal, pink lips shaped like he was born smirking.
Kim Seokjin.
The oldest trainee. The guy who apparently never failed an evaluation. The one everyone called hyung with equal parts awe and mild irritation.
Jungkook grabbed the offered hand.
The moment their palms touched—something clicked.
Neither of them recognized it yet.
They would.
God, they would.
Jungkook spent the entire day trying to avoid Seokjin after that.
He failed.
Everywhere he turned—water cooler, practice room doorway, cafeteria—Seokjin was there. Leaning. Smirking. Inspecting him like a shiny new toy.
“So, Bunny,” Seokjin said that evening as Jungkook attempted to flee again.
“B—Bunny?!”
Jungkook felt his ears burn.
“You hop. You panic. You look like you’re about to bolt. Bunny.”
“I’m not a bunny!”
Seokjin leaned down, far too close.
“Then stop doing the bunny face.”
“I DON’T HAVE A BUNNY FACE.”
“You just did it again.”
Jungkook stormed away, cheeks burning, heart doing things teenage hearts should not be allowed to do.
That night, the trainees gathered in the basement dorm, exhausted, sweaty, hungry.
Seokjin plopped himself next to Jungkook on the floor mattress.
“Why are you sitting here?” Jungkook mumbled.
“Because I want to.”
He said it with the kind of simple confidence Jungkook had never possessed.
The kind that made Jungkook’s stomach go warm.
“You’re weird,” Jungkook whispered.
Seokjin grinned, broad and bright, revealing the first hint of the softness behind the arrogance.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Jungkook didn’t realize it then, but that was the beginning.
The very beginning.
Three months later, after exhausting training and brutal evaluations, their debut lineup was announced.
They made it.
Both of them.
Jungkook cried.
Seokjin didn’t.
Instead, he placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and said, voice steady and heartbreakingly gentle:
“You’re not the kid that crashed into me anymore.”
Jungkook sniffled. “I’m still sorry about th—”
Seokjin shook his head.
“No. I meant… you’re someone I’m proud of.”
Jungkook’s heart threatened to combust.
Later that night, while the others slept, Jungkook sat alone in the kitchen staring at a cup of instant ramen he didn’t want to eat.
Seokjin walked in quietly.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know,” Jungkook whispered. “I’m happy. But… scared.”
“Me too,” Seokjin admitted.
“Really? You don’t look scared.”
“I’m good at hiding things.”
Jungkook hesitated, then confessed:
“Hyung… I really, really want to be someone you’re proud of.”
Seokjin’s gaze softened so suddenly Jungkook nearly forgot how to breathe.
“You already are.”
Jungkook felt his entire chest melt.
And in that soft, quiet moment, a line they could never uncross was drawn between them.
Years passed in a blur of fame, stages, award shows, mistakes, victories, late-night ramen, back-to-back flights, and the unique ache of growing up in front of the world.
They were brothers.
Bandmates.
Friends.
Something unnamed.
Everything unnamed.
Seokjin dated once or twice in the early days—short-lived, shallow attempts that fizzled for reasons he never explained.
Jungkook felt sick every time.
But he said nothing.
Because who was he?
Just the kid Seokjin called “Bunny.”
Just the kid who tried too hard.
Just the kid who wanted too much.
Then came the night that changed everything.
2017
Japan. After a grueling tour show.
Jungkook couldn’t sleep.
Seokjin couldn’t either.
They ended up in Seokjin’s hotel room, eating convenience store rice balls and complaining about the humidity.
Then—
“Bunny,” Seokjin muttered, staring at Jungkook like something inside him had snapped loose, “you grew up.”
Jungkook froze. “Hyung?”
“You’re not a kid anymore.”
“No. I’m not.”
Silence.
Thick. Charged. Dangerous.
Then Seokjin’s voice dropped, lower than Jungkook had ever heard:
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Jungkook whispered.
“Like you want me.”
Jungkook swallowed hard.
“I do.”
It hung in the air.
Bare. Honest. Terrifying.
Seokjin’s breath hitched.
“Come here.”
Jungkook moved without thinking.
Seokjin kissed him like he’d been waiting years—slow but certain, confident hands guiding Jungkook onto his lap, thumbs stroking his jaw like he was memorizing him.
Jungkook melted, soft and pliant, every part of him yielding instinctively.
And when Seokjin whispered against his lips—
“Bunny, let me take care of you.”
—Jungkook shivered so hard he nearly broke.
He had never wanted anything so much.
He had never felt so seen.
They didn’t rush.
They didn’t stumble.
It was slow.
Sweet.
Explosive.
And when Seokjin held Jungkook afterward, murmuring nonsense into his hair, Jungkook knew:
This was the man he would love for the rest of his life.
Idol life didn’t allow romance.
So they learned secrecy like it was choreography:
• shared hotel rooms
• midnight rendezvous
• overlapping schedules
• pretending not to touch on camera
• touching too much when no one watched
Jungkook became the confident, devastating man the world adored.
But with Seokjin?
He was soft. Playful.
A little needy.
And loved being guided, held, kissed breathless.
When Jungkook followed Seokjin into the hotel room that night, he wasn’t thinking he’d end up pressed against the wall five minutes later with Seokjin’s breath hot on his neck.
But that’s exactly what happened.
Seokjin kissed him like he’d been holding back for years—slow at first, teasing, then suddenly deep, tongue sweeping into Jungkook’s mouth until his knees went weak.
“Hyung—” Jungkook gasped.
Seokjin smirked against his lips.
“I like the way you say that.”
He guided Jungkook backward, hands firm on his hips, steering him with confident pressure that made Jungkook melt. Every touch said you’re safe, you’re wanted, you’re mine.
Jungkook’s breath hitched when Seokjin whispered:
“Turn around.”
He obeyed instantly.
Seokjin’s hands ran down his spine, the slow drag making Jungkook shiver.
“You listen so well,” Seokjin murmured, kissing the back of his neck. “Been wanting to see you like this.”
Jungkook whimpered.
Seokjin chuckled softly.
“Beautiful sound.”
He pressed their bodies together from behind, one hand sliding around to Jungkook’s stomach, pulling him flush.
“You okay?”
“Yes—god, yes—”
“Good,” Seokjin breathed. “Because I’m going to take my time with you.”
He did.
He kissed down Jungkook’s throat, sucked a mark into his shoulder, whispered praise directly into his ear as Jungkook arched helplessly:
“Good boy.”
“That’s it, let me hear you.”
“You feel so good like this.”
Jungkook was shaking by the time Seokjin carried him to the bed—literally lifted him, Jungkook’s arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder.
Seokjin laid him down gently.
Then he hovered above him, eyes dark, voice low:
“Tell me you want me.”
Jungkook’s voice broke.
“I want you, hyung. Please.”
“Then I’ll give you everything.”
And he did.
Slow at first—deep kisses, careful hands tracing every line of Jungkook’s body, learning him.
Then more intense—mouth dragging down Jungkook’s chest, tongue teasing heat out of him until he was breathless.
When Seokjin finally moved between Jungkook’s legs, guiding him open with sure hands, Jungkook’s entire body flushed hot.
“Look at me,” Seokjin murmured.
Jungkook did.
Seokjin smiled—soft, warm, devastating.
“I’ve got you.”
He held Jungkook’s thighs, kissed the inside of his knee, and pushed forward slowly, carefully.
Jungkook gasped, back arching.
“Hyung—please—”
“I know,” Seokjin whispered, kissing him again, steadying him. “You’re doing so well. Let me take care of you.”
The rhythm they found was perfect—deep, controlled, Seokjin guiding every movement while Jungkook clung to him, shaking, overwhelmed in the best way.
When Jungkook came undone, it was with Seokjin’s voice in his ear:
“That’s it, baby. Good. God, you’re beautiful.”
And afterwards, Seokjin didn’t move away.
He held Jungkook close, hand stroking his hair, whispering:
“Bunny… I think we’re in trouble.”
Jungkook smiled against his chest.
“Me too.”
And that was the night their future really began.
A hand on Jungkook’s hip.
A murmur of “good boy.”
A look that made Jungkook’s knees fail—
It was all there.
Jungkook reveled in it.
They built a life in secret:
A shared apartment under a friend’s name.
A dog.
A yearly escape to a lake far outside Seoul.
Plans whispered in the dark.
One day, when the world calms down.
One day, when we can breathe.
One day, when it’s safe.
And then—
The world calmed.
BTS grew.
They got older.
And one day arrived.
They moved in together openly after enlistment: rings not yet on their fingers, but in the drawer, waiting.
They didn’t know then how precious the next few years would be.
Their twentieth anniversary arrived quietly.
A shared breakfast.
A morning kiss.
Bam asleep on Jungkook’s feet.
Then Seokjin misread the stove settings.
Then he forgot whether he’d eaten.
Then he lost the word for “piano.”
Then the diagnosis came.
Early-onset dementia.
For a long time, Jungkook didn’t cry.
He couldn’t.
He had to be strong.
He had to be stable.
He had to be everything Seokjin needed.
Seokjin, stubborn as ever, said:
“I’m still me.”
And Jungkook whispered:
“You’re mine.”
Their love grew heavier.
More sacred.
More urgent.
Seokjin began writing a book—his own memories, his own voice, a way to leave something behind.
Jungkook began planning what he called his final concert—one last gift to Seokjin while he still remembered.
And they didn’t know yet that soon—
One of them would choose goodbye.
And the other—
The other would choose to stay beside him anyway.