Chapter Text
Jungkook grunted as he hauled two boxes up the stairs to the new apartment. A flush rose to his face with each step, and his arms ached.
He told Jimin that he had no problem carrying the boxes up the stairs on his own—the strongest man Jimin knew. He hadn’t realized that the first boxes he grabbed were filled with books. Instead of setting one down and risk looking weak, Jungkook fell farther and farther behind as Jimin bounded up the stairs with his own moving box.
Jungkook stopped on a landing and leaned against the windowsill to reduce the weight of his load. He barely caught his breath when he heard footsteps coming down to meet him. With no time to wipe the sweat from his brow, he pulled his shoulders back as though he had never even thought about taking a break.
Jimin hummed as he came back down the stairs with a bright smile.
“Need some help, muscleman?” Jimin asked. He stopped next to Jungkook and didn’t get much more than a grunt in response. Jungkook tried to muscle past, but Jimin rolled his eyes and stepped in the way. “Come on, give me one.”
Jimin didn’t wait for a response and grabbed a box to ease the burden. Turning on his heel, he ignored Jungkook’s half-hearted grumble and instead marched right back up to the apartment.
Jungkook followed, creases deepening between his brows. “I had it.”
“I’m sure you did,” Jimin said, cooing indulgently.
The apartment door creaked open, and Jimin nudged it wider for Jungkook to enter. He slipped past, heading to the smaller of two bedrooms and set his box down near the window. Jimin followed, handing over the second box. Jungkook stacked it on top, still winded.
“This room’s got a fair bit of space.” Jungkook stood and flexed his fingers, working out the tension. He held up a hand and measured the space with his eyes. “We could set it up and game together on the weekends.”
Jimin sighed, crossing his arms. “This is supposed to be the office, remember?”
“Multi-purpose,” Jungkook retorted.
Jimin’s mouth quirked, eyes narrowing.
Jungkook relented, adjusting the boxes against the wall. “Fine, fine. Desks and a filing cabinet—real thrilling stuff, babe.”
Jimin was gone, though, wandering towards the doorway and peering into the hall like the apartment might have changed since he last saw it that morning. “Come look at the bedroom.”
Jungkook followed behind, his feet dragging more from habit than reluctance. The room was bigger than he’d expected, with ample wall space that prompted him to start calculating where the bed would go versus where the morning light would hit best. He rapped his knuckle against the wall, testing it, and nodded his approval.
“Good walls,” he said, as if that settled something important.
Jimin had already moved to the window, tugging at the blinds to test them. “The bathroom’s across the hall. Did you see it when the realtor showed us?”
“I saw a bathroom. I don’t remember it having any personality.”
“Bathrooms don’t have personality, Jungkook,” Jimin replied.
“Yours might. You seem like you’d have a themed bathroom.”
Jimin shot him a look over his shoulder, equally unimpressed and amused, then breezed past him back into the hallway. Jungkook trailed after, glancing into the bathroom just long enough to confirm it was, in fact, a bathroom, before Jimin was already talking again from somewhere down the hall.
He found him in the kitchen.
“Plenty of counter space,” Jimin said, picturing something out loud. “I could do a proper breakfast setup here. Egg-rolled omelets with rice, and maybe homemade side dishes. You’d actually eat before noon for once.”
Jungkook made a noncommittal sound and opened a cabinet, more to have something to do with his hands than out of real curiosity. The idea did something to him, deep inside his chest, and he was grateful the cabinet door hid his smile, because he couldn’t wipe it away.
He could see it—Jimin, up early, humming to himself, making a mess of a stove he barely knew how to use, all for a version of mornings neither of them had shared before. It didn’t matter if it came out burnt. Jungkook decided then that he’d eat it anyway and mean it every time he said it was good.
He shut the cabinet and cleared his throat. “Sounds perfect.”
Jimin moved toward the stove, testing the burners with a click-click-click that lit nothing. He murmured something about getting it serviced.
“We’ll get takeout until then, I guess.”
“Works for me.”
Jimin gave him a small, satisfied nod and drifted toward the doorway that opened into the living room.
The room opened up wider than Jungkook remembered, afternoon light spilling across the floor in long stretches. Jimin didn’t stop moving right away. He crossed to check the air conditioner, turning it on and off. The outlets on the far wall needed inspection too—Jimin muttered something about extension cords under his breath. He was restless, but in the way he got when he was excited about something and hadn’t quite figured out where to put his energy.
Then, he reached the window, and he stopped.
Jimin didn’t say anything at first. He rested a hand against the windowsill, his gaze fixed on the view. He saw something past the rooftops and grey edge of the skyline, as if the view was the best thing he’d seen yet. The restlessness drained from him, and for a moment, he wasn’t planning ahead. He was just looking.
Jungkook opened his mouth, reaching for something easy to say as he came to stand beside Jimin. Nothing came. He watched Jimin’s face instead—soft and unguarded—and the words he’d meant to say vanished.
“I love you.”
It came out before he’d decided to say it, like the words had gotten ahead of him and his brain only just caught up.
His hand, sliding along Jimin’s waist, stilled. For half a moment he considered making a joke to fill the stretch of silence that followed.
Jimin turned from the window slowly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right, then his whole face changed. It was caught somewhere between surprise and delight, the corners of his mouth pulling into a grin.
“I usually say it first,” Jimin said, stepping closer, arms coming up to loop around Jungkook’s shoulders. He stood on his toes so they were eye to eye. “Is the apartment doing this to you? You’re already falling madly in love with me.”
“Even more than I already am?” Jungkook rolled his eyes, going up on his toes so Jimin dropped back down half an inch, evening things out again. “Yes. Must be that.”
He kissed the tip of Jimin’s nose before Jimin could get another word in. Jimin huffed, grabbed Jungkook’s face with both hands, and planted a loud, deliberately sloppy kiss on his mouth. Pulling back, he looked entirely too pleased with himself while Jungkook wiped at his face with an indignant noise.
Still, when Jimin’s hand found his, Jungkook laced their fingers together and didn’t let go.
“Just think,” Jimin said, turning back to the room, gesturing with his free hand, sketching ideas in the air. “Your easel could go right there, where the light hits. And we could get a couch that actually fits people—not that ratty futon—and have everyone over. No more meeting up somewhere halfway across the city.”
Jungkook let him talk, watching him sketch the room out loud.
“And think of all the places we can do it here, with no one interrupting us,” he added, pulling Jimin into his side.
Jimin went still.
“You’ve ruined it.”
He peeled himself out of Jungkook’s grip, unhurried, and started toward the door without another word.
“I’m leaving all the heavy boxes to you,” Jimin called over his shoulder.
Jungkook grinned and went after him, the lock clicking into place behind them a second later.