loving is easy

he can’t help the fond smile that spreads across his face as reads through your messages from the day. his heart beats just a tiny bit faster as he reads each text - all sent at various times, all filled with hearts and smiley’s and “xo” ‘s.  you’re more than understanding of the expectations placed upon hoseok, and know that sometimes long days in the studio with hardly any communication with the outside world is demanded of him. when these days roll around, you never fail to text hoseok with hourly updates about your day. you share how the bus was 5 minutes late and you had to jog to your office, how the latte you’d had at lunch was arguably better than the ones you two had gotten in greece last summer, and how much you missed him and hoped he was taking care of himself. every text included that last sentiment in one form or another - he knew you were busy that day if they included just “ily :)”. but he also knew you’d snuck an extra 5 minutes at lunch when you included a thinly veiled threat about changing the netflix password if he hadn't had a break yet. he can’t help but be a little disappointed when there’s no mention of you snapping his kneecaps as reparations for not resting, but he figures that you’d get around to dismemberment at some point tonight.

as the last notes of the track die in the background, hoseok mutters a quiet “fuck it”, and quickly decides that he’s earned a break. he allows screaming muscles and stiff joints to relax back into sticky leather and clumpy sweatshirts. his head flops backward, the back of his neck catching on the top of the couch, landing with a definitive thud. he runs a hand through his fringe, mussing up the bits that stick to his sweaty forehead and brushing them backwards. his eyes droop to a close and he swallows hard, trying to relax the stress and tension in his neck. his phone vibrates in his lap and he tosses it with a whine. your last text had come in more than an hour ago - reporting that you’d gotten home safe and couldn’t wait to see him. he had a sneaking suspicion that the most recent text was from jimin, and if he had to put into words how fucking awful the routine was looking, he was sure he’d decompose on the spot. to save himself and his last functioning brain cell, the phone has been listlessly thrown and left to buzz incessantly on the soft wooden floor, just out of reach of hoseok’s hearing. another track begins to play on the studio speakers - and it’s one of hoseok’s new favorites. loud, full of thumping bass and tinny additives. the beat settles nice in the top of hoseok’s head and eases him into sleep. 

it’s not the speakers that continue to blare that wake hoseok up, nor is it the heavy studio door opening with a creak. it’s not even the crinkle of take-out bags or the strong scent of spices that stir him. instead, it’s your whispered “baaabyyy” that drags him out of his slumber.

bleary eyes crack open and hoseok’s barely granted an inch of sight before your lips are pressed firmly to his. you giggle into his mouth and a small smile crosses his face. He nearly starts to glow as his exhausted mind begins to put the puzzle together.

you, dancing, music, food, sleep…

he blinks once, twice, and then a third time for good measure before your face really comes into view. there you are, sat on his lap with a leg on either side of his hips, hands pressed to his chest and nose smushed so endearingly close to his. you can feel the warmth radiating off of hoseok’s body – and it makes you remember how much you missed the sunshine today.

“hi”, you whisper softly.

“hi”, he coos back.

“aren’t you surprised to see me?” “to be entirely honest, I’m not too sure I’m completely awake right now.”

hoseok is dead serious as his lips morph into a full blown pout, eyes somehow twisting downwards to create the perfect mixture of confusion and sleepiness.

“oh trust me, it’s really me and I really am here. and I really did bring a ton of that god-awful spicy ramen from the restaurant down the street. I don’t understand how you can eat that stuff and not have your intestines fall out of your ass afterwards.”

hoseok lets out a deep and throaty laugh, one that starts out as a nasally snort but soon turns into a guffaw that he has little hope of controlling. you beam down at him as he lets out the rest of his giggles, cupping his face in your palms. he lets his neck roll to the side, using the couch and your hands as a safety net to catch his head. hoseok smiles softly and nestles further into the softness of your palm, seeking nothing more than comfort and warmth. you lean down, landing a kiss square on his lips. your kisses travel upwards – if they can even be considered kisses. they’re feather light, simple soft presses of your lips to tired skin. cupid’s bow, nose, cheekbones, eyelids, temples, eyelashes – they all fall victim to the delicate onslaught of your gentle love. you come to leave a final, firm kiss on his forehead – followed with a unyielding “eat. food. now… please.” hoseok hums, snaking his hands between both your bodies, palms finding the supple round of your hips and massaging soft circles into the skin.

“hoseok, c’mon,” you say with a gentle flick of your fingers to his tummy, “you’ve got to be hungry.” hoseok doesn’t grace you with a response, instead he just whines again and raises his hands up higher, hitching underneath the hem of your t-shirt and scratching blunt nails along the expanse of your lower back.

“it’s getting cooooold…” you continue to tease, only to be met with a grunt and a flick from hoseok himself.

you take a moment, letting hoseok’s wandering hands find all the soft dips of your back before you lean in with a rather menacing statement of: “eat the food right now or the hulu password gets changed. You’ll never watch the end of game of thrones, you insipid toddler.”

hoseok smiles. there it was.

one minute, you’re nestled comfortably in hoseok’s lap, his hands languidly feeling you up while he simultaneously falls asleep. the very next minute, you’re being hoisted into the air and your pelvis is forcefully sat upon slender hips. two firm forearms come to settle underneath your ass and your torso jolts forward from the volition. your chin rattles on a firm shoulder and your nose bumps into hoseok’s soft and sinewy neck. you offer your thanks for the rather unwelcome ride with a quick nip to the corner of hoseok’s jaw, an injury that you quickly smooth over with a brush of your lips and a lick of your tongue. he sighs at your ministrations, doing his best to ignore your kitten licks as he carts you over to the table that holds the glorious (and ridiculously cheap) feast. before he plops you down, hoseok turns his head to nip at your earlobe and nuzzle the ticklish spot right behind your ear. “bitch” he hisses, with every ounce of love and sarcasm in the world. “your bitch,” you purr, and he just rolls his eyes with a muttered “fuck”.

hoseok can’t move. there’s no possible way. containers among containers were scattered around the studio, discarded napkins were hiding under the table, and there were at least 6 grease stains on the floor that he was gonna have to hear about tomorrow. but for right now, hoseok’s happily struggling through his 5th container of ramen and watching his favorite form of entertainment: you.

“so you never told me about your day”, you say, walking back to hoseok. you’d begun collecting the trash and trying to shoot 3 pointers from the mid-studio line. you were such a horrible shot that hoseok had to ask you to stop after he snorted ramen into his nose for the second time.

“it’s been this,” he says, gesturing with a greasy chopstick to the expansive studio. “these same 4 walls. I don’t even know what the weather was like today. the fucking sun could have not even risen and I wouldn’t have known,” he grumbles, his speech garbled from a mouth halfway full of food.

“that’s unlike you,” you say softly, plunking down in front of him, legs crossed while your hands cradle your cocked head. “what’s wrong?”

“jimin, this stupid routine that I can’t get down, my shattered ass, the bruises I’m gonna have for weeks, and don’t even get me started on my ruined pride… ‘delicately, hobi’” he says with a snarl, rolling his eyes and poking at the leftover noodles.

the room falls into a comfortable silence and hoseok is quietly grateful you don’t say anything right away. he doesn’t need every problem to be fixed all the time, just listened to. a beat passes, then another, then a third before you pipe up with a confident “show me”.

“show you what?”

“the routine. show me what jimin did. I’ll perform it for you and then you can tell me what I did wrong.”

hoseok squints at you and you can tell the idea went straight over his head.

“wait, just hear me out. you know how you are hoseok. mistakes are so much easier to spot when other people make them. you can watch me from every angle and doing each individual step, instead of just catching a glance of yourself in the mirror. you’ll be able to tell me what doesn’t look right and then fix it when you go to try it.”

hoseok pouts, but you can hear the gears turning in his head.

“you know what they say. those who can’t do, teach.”

hoseok’s container hits the floor. 

 the sky is beginning to lighten by the time the both of you call it quits. you’ve ran through the routine a countless number of times and your knees and ankles are burning from the effort. but you can tell by hoseok’s confident smile that it was all worth it. he understands the steps in an entirely new way after watching you stumble through them for the past 3 hours. now, you’re no dancer (not unless you count the tap class that you quit when you were 5), but your tiny contribution has made all the world to hoseok. the transitions, the steps, the whole body elements – they all come together in his mind, blending into one seamless piece of art.

your feet clomp down on the last step of the routine, the music dying out behind you. you expect to hear “that was great, but this time, y/n, I wanna see if you can,” coming from behind you as the track starts again, but this time you’re met with silence. you turn around and see hoseok silencing the speakers and sauntering up to you with a satisfied smile.

“good?” you ask.

“great, baby” hoseok beams. he takes in your flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat covering your skin, and the accelerated rise and fall of your chest.

you return his grin and shrug, “what can I say, I was trained by the best”.

“funny, I don't remember training you. In fact, if I remember correctly, we’ve been watching jimin this entire time…”

this rebuttal earns him a half-hearted slap on the chest. you drift forward, resting your head on his shoulder and peering up at him with tired, but happy, eyes.

“you’re sure it’s good enough?” you check.

“trust me babygirl, I’ve got it down now.”

“good.” you hum tiredly, leaning up to rub your nose against the column of his neck.

“thank you. for everything. you could never know how much I appreciate it. the food. your time. you’re…. incredible. you’re just fucking incredible.” he coos quietly. he wraps his arms around your waist, hugging your sweaty body to his. his heart pounds against your chest and sure, he’s trying to show you how grateful he is through physical affection – but mostly he’s just trying to figure out if you really are real, and not some figment his hopeful imagination dreamed up.

“I know, I’m like, pretty fucking awesome, huh?” you quip, and you’re quickly rewarded with a giggle and a kiss.

“by the way,” you drawl against hoseok’s cheek as you smother him in kisses, “did you ever take any breaks today?”

hoseok grins as he reports, “I did actually. I took a nap right before you came.”

“good,” you yawn, “someone gets to watch game of thrones.”

“guys wait, really,” you whine, not giving on up on trying to convince the boys (who seemed a little too hopped up on adrenaline and jell-o shots to be making any sound decisions right now), not to fuck with fate, but they ignore your incessant whimpering - opting instead to march up to the broken wooden gate like they owned it.

seokjin wipes the dust off the metal nameplate of the gate with his sleeve. the rusted iron reveals “home of the sanderson sisters - renowned salem witches. sanderson residence 1692-1693” seokjin turns around, pouting his full lips and wiggling his eyebrows at you. while everyone yells and squeals you opt instead to cross your arms and roll your eyes skyward, instantly regretting answering the group text when jimin’s cheeky little spooky emojis came through at 1am. the pouting only earns you a sharp slap on the ass from aforementioned adventurer, who makes sure to drink in every moment his hand gets to make contact. yoongi takes the opportunity to flick him sharply between the eyes, throwing you a knowing smirk as the younger boy drops and rolls around in mock pain on the ground.

seokjin, who has mastered the art of selective listening and pretends not to hear the chaos behind him, cracks open the rusted gate, and pushes it to the side to reveal an overgrown front courtyard, full of wispy dark green vines, that have created a jungle-like covering over what used to be a cobblestone path. the parts of the house that aren’t covered in sickly green vines reveal crumbling red bricks. the front door is solid, dark wood and iron, the once clear glass pane now faded amber with age. you didn’t seem to notice the wind before, and you almost seem to think that it’s only windy here, in this one spot. the breeze ruffles the vines and dried leaves, making them shake and rustle with noise. the inky blackness of the sky provides no light by stars, and only the dim light of the full moon shining through the clouds gives you any sight. the gate creaks as the wind blows it open further from seokjin’s grasp, and clangs against the fence. an eeriness settles over the scene, the house, looking so small and tiny, but yet so menacing against the black of night.

“fucking lit”, jeongguk chirps, and takes it upon himself to shove everyone else out of the way, in favor of proving he really does have the biggest dick and he’ll walked on cursed ground like it’s a catwalk thank you very much

the boys start to gas each other up, taehyung clapping a well-aimed slap on namjoon’s chest, jimin turning around to yoongi, giving him his toothiest, most encouraging grin.

“c’mon yoongles, this is your shit. you goth piece of ass, shouldn’t you be creaming your pants over the prospect of eternal damnation right now?” jeongguk hollers back, turning towards the pair of you, both standing firmly by the gate while hoseok fiddles with the locked door.

“they’re gonna get us killed,” you humph to yoongi, who’s all but disappeared into his thick black sweatshirt. he shrugs his shoulders and tosses his bangs out of his eyes. “either kill yourself or get killed, whatcha gonna do” yoongi hums to himself as he saunters down the path, joining the boys at the door.

you stand, an incredulous gape on your face as you really can’t absorb the stupidity and misdemeanor-potentional-felony occurring right in front of you. you decide to let it happen, hoping they’ll get bored.

“pst, y/n! do you have a bobby pin?” hoseok whisper yells, his black hair popping up above the crouched shoulders of the other boys, who are currently absorbed in trying to bust open the iron lock.

“you know what fuckers, you’re in luck. i just so happened to bring along my nancy drew detective kit.” this gets the boys attention, and they all stop to stare at you, who’s now conjured up the bravery to stand behind them on the path.

“really?” namjoon squeaks.

“no, you absolute cocks. i don’t even ha- you know what, not the point. the point is that i’ll pick that lock for you. yes, i’ll break you dumbasses in there, because apparently some of us have too much of a horror hard-on to see what a bad idea this is, and maybe if you get to see the inside of this crusty shack, you’ll leave it the fuck alone. but i have rules.”

a collective whine comes from the group, and a quiet mumbling of “why is there always rules?”

“listen, we don’t know what’s in there. there could be rabid animals, dead bodies, spiders, all sorts of fuckery. and i want nothing to do with it. at all. i’d like to survive, thanks. so. no. one. touches. anything.” you hiss this last bit through your teeth, your eyes turning to venemous slits to drive your point home. a beat of silence passes, and then taehyung snorts: “holy shit you guys she’s scaaaared.”

a round of jeering and jabbing starts up, each of them shoving each other, laughing maniacally and imitating you in an irrationally high chipmunk voice. they do, to their credit, part the seas of masculinity to allow you access to the lock - which, in a few quick seconds, pops free.

silence falls over the group as you grasp the freezing iron handle of the door. you twist, and give it a solid shove, budging it barely. namjoon settles next to you, resting his shoulder on the door and giving you a nod. you push it open again, and this time it creaks open, swinging backwards into a black abyss. you can make out what looks like a register counter on your left, and something black and ominous in the middle, but other than that, the entire place is bathed in darkness.

seokjin and jimin flick out their phones, taking point and illuminating the dusty cabin in light. the first thing you see is the absolute blanket of cobwebs hanging down from the ceiling, adding to the thick, musty scent of the air.

the boys branch off in different directions, but you opt to stay with jimin - he’s the asshole that got you into this mess, and if you’re gonna be killed by whatever’s lurking in these dark corners you want jimin to watch the soul leave your body.

jimin settles in front of a glass case, and gives the top a definitive wipe of his sleeve. “winifred sanderson’s spellbook” he reads aloud, smirking as he reads what it’s actually made of, but one slight glance at you and he can tell you’re truthfully uneasy, so he decides he’ll tell you it’s bound out of human skin another time. maybe over dinner.

seokjin and jeongguk are having far too good of a time swinging the cauldron back and forth, while taehyung and hoseok chase each other, holding dusty vials and cackling like witches.

“see y/n, this is what you needed. some good old fashioned halloween fun. aren’t you glad we dragged you out? what were you gonna do all night, study? on halloween? c’mon, that’s boring,” jimin feigns a pout in your direction, opting to bend down and nuzzle his nose against the underside of your chin, wide kitten eyes boring up at you the whole time. you swat his face away playfully, but don’t miss the opportunity to grumble, “we could be handing out candy like regular people.”

from the other side of the room, seokjin calls out a “hey guys, over here!” and it takes you a good 5 minutes of white knuckling it on jimin’s hand to make it across the cabin without tripping to your death.

“look at this,” yoongi muses, clicking his tongue as he squints at the sign mounted to the wall.

“the black flame candle. made from the fat of a hangman. legend says that on a full moon it will raise the spirits of the dead when lit by a virgin on halloween night.”

yoongi glances back at the group, finding seven pairs of eyes staring at him with wonder. “sounds like fun,” jeongguk concludes, far more interested in trying to wack seokjin in the balls with the iron cauldron than some virgin candle.

hoseok reaches into his pocket, and flicks out a lighter. “anyone wanna try their luck at disneyland’s newest boardwalk game: who’s really a virgin?”

“absolutely not, i’ll pass,” you snort, intending to walk away, and maybe even join in on a game of cauldron balls with jeongguk.

“no, wait, come on, this could be fun,” jimin whines.

“jimin, buddy, this is becoming increasing less fun. you bring us to this den of mold and asbestos, show us some dusty old fake books, and now want us to play virgin roulette?” namjoon asked, obviously less than pleased with his halloween night.

“yes,” jimin says firmly, pursing his lips together and trying to convince namjoon the only way he knows how - “that’s exactly what i want.” namjoon sighs, promises himself they’ll leave after this one last thing, and leans against the creaky wooden wall. he gestures to hoseok, who’s still holding the lighter uncertainly. “have at it, boys.”

jeongguk rips the lights from hoseok’s grasp, confidently sauntering up to the candle and brazenly showing everyone how the wick won’t light. “it’s just the wind, that’s why it won’t light,” seokjin whines from behind you, but jeongguk wears his accomplishment like a badge of honor, tossing the lighter to taehyung.

taehyung takes his place and dips the flame towards the candle. again, it doesn’t light. he tries it one, two, three more times, and it refuses to light. “must be the breeze,” he shrugs, but has the audacity to throw a wink at you.

hoseok, seokjin, and namjoon go next, much to their whining - namjoon would rather be home, and seokjin’s too busy threatening to kick jeongguks balls up into his brain stem to focus on getting the lighter anywhere close to the wick. namjoon sighs and guides his hand, opting to help the eldest at least try and light it, so that jimin doesn’t call foul play and make them do it all again.

yoongi grabs the lighter next, and takes his spot in front of the candle.

“how cool would this be if it worked?”

“yoongi why do you have to be to such a sadist all the time”

“why do you get off on the prospect of rising the dead?”

“that’s fucking sick, dude”

“hey can we get pizza later?”

you roll your eyes (oh yes, yet again) at the nonsense that surrounds you, and yank the lighter from yoongi’s hand when the candle fails to light. “you guys, it’s obviously a trick candle. they probably used to have people pay to have the chance to light it, and everyone who paid was just as stupid as all of you,” you grumble, and flick the lighter, bringing the flame close. but something happens that the boys had failed to mention, the candle doesn’t just not light, it flat out rejects the flame. it’s almost as though the wick is pushing the flame away, like some impenetrable forcefield prevents it. a strange hissing noise comes from the candle the more you try, and you feel not a single gust of wind. weird.

accepting defeat, you toss the lighter to jimin. you’d been expecting some jeering about “oooooh, y/n, who’s the lucky guy???” but the general consensus appeared to be that the candle really was just a trick, a bunch of stupid hocus pocus.

the little group huddled around the candle has dispersed, and you turn away from jimin in favor of watching yoongi threatening to turn seokjin into a rat, who somehow is still very much in character and believes this hoax-y museum.

it isn’t until loud pops sound from above you, and your head snaps upward in alarm. the light fixtures which had been hanging from the ceiling, holding candles that had most definitely seen better days, suddenly spring to life. flames ignite the worn yellow candles, a loud gunpowder like popping sound accompanying the light of each one. without warning, each fixture starts to pop to life, and candles frozen solid to the wall by firm wax light on their own - fire consuming the wicks and bathing the room in orangey candle light.

you all turn around abruptly, everyone’s terrified stare landing on jimin - who’s standing there, lighter in hand, candle lit, a velvety black flame licking upwards from the base.

“you fucking idiot”, you hiss, feeling the heat of anxiety rising to your cheeks. of course, it was some kind of trick - light the black flame candle, candles around the room pop on, scare the shit out of everyone, clever trick for a dinky little museum. but why the hell did it go out of business if it was so interactive?

you don’t have much time to muse, however, as the floor underneath you begins to shake. and no, not just rumble a tiny bit. completely shake, shatter the floorboards from their resting spot of 400 years, jostle every single piece of furniture in the house, shatter every glass display case, and rattle every poor unfortunate human soul. green light bleeds up from underneath the floor, thick grey smoke trailing upwards in columns. you let out a shriek, and fall onto the cauldron, clinging onto it for dear life.

the convulsing stops as soon as it starts, and everyone is left breathless, wide-eyed, and clinging to whatever they could find.

“what happened?” taehyung asks in disbelief, peeking his head over the bannister of the stairs he hid behind.

yoongi stands first, pushing his black bangs up and out of his eyes, “a virgin lit the black flame candle,”

“but i’m not-“

just as you begin to wonder how much production value this place really had, a bolt of light explodes outside the door.

“hide, now!” namjoon hisses, confusing the flash of white light for headlights in his terror. everyone scrambles, and you dive behind the cauldron, while jimin ducks behind the desk that holds the candle. he manages to make eye contact with you, and dare you say it - big balled jimin looks a little bit scared right now.

without warning, the front door to the house swings open with a crack of thunder, and a shriek sounds from the doorway behind you.

“sisters! we’re home!”

you manage to catch jimin’s eye, and his face has gone stark white, mouth hanging wide open and brown eyes wide with fear.

no. fucking. way.

——————————

i’ve had that sitting in my drafts for two weeks i’m so sorry. also uwu all credit goes to hocus pocus and the lovely people who made it i love u sm pls make another one

this morning is one of those mornings, the mornings that keep jeongguk going. he’d be lying if he said this idol lifestyle wasn’t hard. but he’d also be lying if he said he wouldn’t do it all over again in a heartbeat. sure, it was hard - sometimes downright impossible - but jeongguk felt (truly, deeply), that if you were by his side, he could do anything. this was a moment that energized him, charged his battery leaving him ready to take on the day, a man with renewed strength. and he will take on the day, and absolutely smash practice and kick ass in vocal rehearsal and model the fuck out of that photo shoot. in 5 more minutes. after he gets his daily dose of cuddles. and kisses. and maybe a massage.

he’s drinking in every single moment, snaking his body around so you’re both lying face to face. one arm is tucked underneath, gently tracing tiny hearts in between your shoulder blades. the other has found the supple flesh of your hip, massaging circles into the skin. just as jeongguk feels himself falling back to sleep, a warm peck on his nose stirs him back awake.

“good morning, sleepyhead,” you coo, eyes puffy and slitted, beaming up at him with the hugest of smiles. jeongguk’s heart beats just a little bit faster.

“morning, princess”, he mumbles, returning the kiss times a million. he litters soft kisses everywhere he can feel, his smile breaking his pout when he hears you laughing. fuck, that’s his absolute favorite sound.

“i have something for you,” you whisper, and try to climb out of the cage jeongguk’s arms have created. he whines, and clamps his grip down tighter. “i don’t want it,” he groans, voice high and tinny.

“i wanna snuggle,”

“and we can snuggle. in two minutes. can’t i give you your birthday present? i’ve been waiting for forever, pretty please?” you ask, finally freeing yourself and sitting up. you bat your eyelashes down at the boy, who’s wearing a content, sleepy smile - looking more than happy to do whatever you want so long as he doesn’t have to leave this bed.

“you can’t keep it together when it comes to gifts, can you?” he asks, smiling at his own question and chuckling when you leap out of the bed, taking off down the hall. you’re gone for just a minute too long - jeongguk can feel the warmth of the bed start to fade when he calls out for you.

“did you go on a transatlantic trip to find it? is my birthday gift a missing girlfriend? does this mean i should go on craigslist and find a new one?”

“very funny, smartass.” you say, walking back into the bedroom. in your hands is a giant white box, nearly bigger than you. jeongguk sits up in bed, and you watch as his eyes stay glued to the box. his brown doe eyes get bigger by the second, and your heart flutters just the tiniest bit.

“please tell me it’s a puppy. holy shit, if it’s a puppy, y/n, i’ll freak the fuck out-“

“not a puppy. it’s been in the coat closet for two weeks - definitely not a puppy.”

he feigns a pout, but you know he’s even more excited than before. he sits forward, box sitting on the bed in front of him. you settle next to him, and give him a little nudge when he just stares. “go ahead. it’s not gonna open itself.”

his fingertips ghost over the giant silver bow tied at the top, obviously done by you. you’ve drawn on little hearts and doodles, mostly stick figures of the two of you. but the little pictures were more than just your failed art class, they were teeny-tiny diaramas of your favorite moments.

drawings of the practice room, where you’ve spent many an hour watching jeongguk dance endlessly, sitting on the sticky leather couch for the sole purpose of making sure he drank enough and took breaks in between the sets. wiping down his sweaty forehead with a dry towel, being rewarded with a peck inbetween. he’d smooth over the worried wrinkles on your forehead with his thumb, insisting “just one more time”, knowing that you’ll carry him out of this dance studio and into the comfort of your bed. another one of jeongguk, holding a little gold key - the spare key to your apartment. he’d been so happy the day you gave it to him, and you thought he was just excited because now he could come and go as he pleased, stopping by late at night and early in the morning. but to jeongguk, it was so much more. you were letting him into your life, inviting him to be a part of your home. encouraging him to build that home with you. jeongguk couldn’t believe you’d chose to do this with him. another drawing was of you, hand in hand with jeongguk, hearts where your eyes should be. that was a failed date 6 months ago, where your heel had decided to completely give out at the very beginning of your date - after walking the scenic route to an adorable little coffee shop, where jeongguk just had to get “perfect golden hour pictures of you in this dress”. he had ended up giving you his black boots to wear instead, even though they were 4 sizes too big. he walked all the way home in his socked feet - holding you in one hand, heels in the other.

and the final picture, drawn right under the bow, was how you expected this morning to be: the both of you, cuddled under blankets, while the sun rises through the window.

jeongguk takes his time, carefully admiring each and every drawing, realization dawning in his eyes when he remembers the event, chuckling or “aww”ing softly when the memory comes back to him.

“y/n,” he breathes, and your ears perk to listen, “there could be nothing in this box and this would still be the best birthday present i’ve ever gotten.” he says it so quietly - so sincerely, that you can’t help the softness that settles in your heart, the tears that threaten to prick at your eyes.

“oh, just open it, you big softie,” you wave away, and he smiles, before gingerly undoing the bow. he murmurs a soft “‘don’t wanna ruin it”, before undoing the bow completely and lifting the top of the box.

“y/n,” he exhales, your name more a breath than a word. his eyes are completely blown, jaw hanging slack and hands still holding the lid in his lap.

“do you like it? if you don’t, it’s fine, i could return it or something and we could-“

“h-how did you even get this?” he asks, tenderly lifting a smaller black box out. the box has SONY written on the front, and a glossy picture of a high-tech, shiny looking camera on the front.

“i knew you were looking for a better camera, and you’ve been tracking this model for months,” you start, growing quieter and a little shyer as you finish.

his shocked gaze turns from the box to you, and his face is almost comical.

“this, this isn’t supposed to be out for the next three weeks - i don’t understand - how could you have - they don’t have it for -“

“let’s just say,” you cut him off, “that i called some sony people, and i begged. and i pleaded. and i sold some things. including our first born, that’s been promised to a sony executive.”

never before, in your entire life, had you seen jeongguk move that fast. one second, he’s holding the camera box in one hand, and is at least a foot away from you. the very next second, there’s a flash of pink hair, and he’s buried you underneath him, using the bodyweight of his torso and legs to keep you in place. he kisses you everywhere he can reach; neck, ears, lips, cheeks, eyes, forehead, collarbones. your hands, your wrists, your chest, and your shoulders are all lost in the attack. the only thing you can hear are your gleeful giggles, his hungry kisses and the occasional, winded “i love you, thank you, holy shit, thank you so much”.

he finally relents, pushing himself back up to balance his weight on his forearms. you both catch your breath, and he leans down to land one final kiss square on your hairline. “this is honestly the best birthday present i’ve ever gotten. really, ever. you’re the absolute best person in the entire world.”

you close your eyes and smile, basking in the new onslaught of smooches, now tender and soft in their delivery. “also, i may have marched into bighit and demanded the day off.”

“i was wondering why my phone wasn’t ringing incessantly by now.”

“i brought a pitchfork. and a torch. i was very convincing.”

jeongguk smiles, leaning back to look at you, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky. funny enough, in that very moment, you were wondering the same thing.

jeongguk hadn’t been too gleamingly pleasant in life, but was all the more sour in death. his penchant for being an absolute douchebag during his lifetime granted him an early pass to the bowels of hell. (i mean really, who gets into a drinking match with the town drunk, who’s at least 200 pounds heavier and a foot taller than our determined, giant-chip-on-his-shoulder protagonist? hope you enjoyed alcohol poisoning, jeon). jeongguk had always been aching for an opportunity to make his bones, to show and to prove he was worthy. abandoned by his mother at a young age, with no father in sight, he lived with his grandparents - who were far too old and frail to properly raise a child. and so, jeongguk became the sob story of the town, the ho-hum, the “poor dear look at him”, the assumed sad little broken down sheep with as rough a start as any.

jeongguk determined early on in life that this path wasn’t the one he wanted to take. he wanted to be one of the heroes, he wanted to scale olympus, he wanted a heroic welcome - one that would rival jason’s homecoming from his argonautic travels.

zeus had other, grander plans for the boy so desperate to be a man, but zeus was thrown for a loop when his dear brother hades decided to send the boy into the pits of hell early, with no explanation. but no matter, zeus and the universe were already hard at work, intertwining the paths of both you and jeongguk.

you kinda had to admit, greece wasn’t your thing. scratch that - being the daughter of a goat farmer, shoveling actual shit all day wasn’t your thing. living on a mountaintop with your irrationally huge family meant chaos, noise, and the stench of goat wherever you went. but, it was also beneficial when it came to the racous insanity of the town below you. you were untouchable, unable to be marred by politics, economics, or social problems. no, you lived in your boring little bubble on the mountaintop. until the sickness spread.

many a plagues had come before this, and many would come after, but this one in particular ravaged towns and showed no mercy. it was quick, flighting, and stole without reproach. the town below had been hit first - hard and fast, without any warning. however, unlike the others before it, this one didn’t stay in the valley below. it crawled up the mountaintop, clinging to the cliffs and grassy hills, until it popped the bubble completely, taking you down with it.

your descent into hell was, for the most part, not entirely unpleasant. something different, something new - and while entering through the firey iron rod gates of hell shouldn’t be at the top of anyone’s bucket list - it wasn’t the mountaintop, there weren’t any screaming children, no bubble to keep you swelteringly secure. this was independence, this was defiance, this was... death.

standing in line, (waiting for what, you weren’t entirely sure - was this the purgatory part?) you began to wonder. wonder how your life could have gone, had it continued. wonder about all the possibilities that could have awaited you, wonder if this place was without its own opportunities. you began trying to remember what your life was like before, and you realized you couldn’t remember much. only the mountaintop, and the warmth that would shine on it. early spring mornings and late summer nights meant a baking heat on the summit, warming you straight up to the tips of your ears. it isn’t until a sharp “next!” is barked are you called back to attention, and beckoned into a cold, dimly lit room.

candlelight flickers, the streams of yellow dancing off of wet stone walls. you can’t tell where the light is coming from, but you get the sense that it’s just always been there, that this room has always just existed below the crust of the earth, right underneath your feet. the slick stone floor gives way to a few ascending steps, and then a marble throne, aged dark grey with flecks of white, worn after eons of holding gods and kings.

now, it holds jeon jeongguk, wearing a full black suit, black dress shirt, and a (kinda silly looking?) black cape, which looked far too formal for whatever this occasion could be. long, white fingers dance delicately on the marble, an impatient rythm that gives off an air of “i have much better things to be doing right now”. he’s deliciously tall, legs draped over one armrest of the chair, the other supporting his back as he sat sideways on the throne. he lets his head lull backwards, eyes closed as he stretches out the muscles in his neck. but the thing you find most transfixing about him is his hair: long, wavy bangs hang down in his eyes, just begging to be petted. the locks are a deep jewel tone red - the kind of red that reminds you of perfectly ripe strawberries, of luxurious cardinal silk, of passion and fire and desire. fear, mingled with just a hint of peaked interest, rises in your throat as you stop in front of the figure.

he lets his head drop to the side, chin knocking on his shoulder as he looks at you. what was first complete disinterest suddenly shifts to somewhat genuine intrigue - but his body language remains the same, entirely unbothered. the only cues you get are a slight twitch of his eyes, and a shuffle of hair.

“you don’t seem too broken up about dying and being sent to the underworld,” he speaks, and you swear his voice shook the floor underneath your feet. the deep baritone settles nicely in your ears, and you find yourself wanting desperately to hear that velvety voice again.

“what should i be doing, screaming and crying? begging you to take me back?” your voice sounds confident to your own ears, but the shakiness in your throat reminds you that you’re here, with the king of the underworld, and you couldn’t be more out of your depth.

“why?” he questions, leaning forward slightly, devilish grin appearing on his face as he slowly minimizies the gap, “do you wanna go back?”

the instant answer that leaps to your mind is, no, absolutely not, but the more rational, human part of your mind convinces you that wishing for eternal damnation isn’t necessarily everyone’s first choice. or their second, for that matter. but an air settles around the both of you, hugging you tight in the damp, cold room. a heat rises up your body, starting in your toes and ascending to the very top of your head. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather cozy, pleasant, trustworthy.

“i mean - ,” you start, and he quickly waves his hand. the intrigue in his eyes fades, the warm feeling leaves you far too soon, and he sits up straight on the throne. “enjoy hell”, he mumbles grumpily, and with a snap of his fingers, the room disappears. you’re now on the bank of a river, one that’s an unhealthy looking deep green, with grey foam clinging to the top of it. people are everywhere - on the banks, in boats on the river, and wading through the water. so this was hell.

to say jeongguk was pouting would be an understatement. throwing a world class, god-like tantrum would be a better description.

but, it’s all with good reason: the pretty village girl that lived on top of the mountain, the girl he’d been pining after for months, finally stumbles into his neck of the woods, and she wants to return to that sad excuse of an existence?

jeongguk had taken his role as king of the underworld very seriously, and he was doing a kick-ass job until one day he decided to take a little walk on the earth’s surface. he couldn’t tell you what has possessed him to do it - he’d been cozily nestled in the flames of hell for decades now, and never once even considered traversing earthside. but, that day, something in the wind called him to that tall, green mountain. (call it zeus, call it destiny, call it love), something drove him to you, the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen. and though jeongguk had never been to heaven, (he didn’t have a snowballs’ chance in hell of getting that promotion) he was sure he was there, surrounded by clouds and sunrises and heavenly happiness whenever he looked at you. the cold heart that had laid dormant in jeongguk’s chest for so many years stirred that day, awaking something in the scarlet headed boy that he wasn’t ever sure he was capable of having. love.

blind with sheer terror, jeongguk raced back to the comfy confines of the underworld, intent on never thinking of the day again. the warm breeze, the scent of fresh grass, the sun shining on his black dress shirt. try as he might, he just couldn’t forget, and couldn’t stop going back. some days, if he found a shadow close enough to you, he could hide there and wait, wait to hear the only song he’d ever want to listen to - your precious, perfect laugh. forcing himself to forget you proved to be a fruitless task, and our firey hell-god found himself returning to that mountain every day, the flowery scent of your skin pulling him out of the deep, dank cave he’d built for himself. he’d ride that heavenly rollercoaster to you, and thrive on the moments when he got to be close enough to you.

now, the plague - that wasn’t him. he had no idea who it was. but he’s definitely sending a thank you card to whoever did it.

and now, after getting to be in the same room as you, after you knowing he was there, after being close enough to touch you, jeongguk had been completely and entirely denied. now you were here, in his world, and you didn’t even want to stay? the thought makes jeongguk’s insides burn, and kick yet another brick, scuff another corner of the marble throne.

all this said, jeongguk was more than surprised when his door slammed open. he thought he’d specifically said no disturbances for at least the next thousand years. he pauses, and turns his head to face the now open doorway.

his mouth drops open, in a confused gape. there you are, standing in his throne room, with your hands on your hips and that adorable, determined little pout on your face like you’ve got something to prove. jeongguk fights the smile that’s begging to stretch his face wide open, and instead swallows down his beating heart and puts on his mask of blasé disinterest.

“can i help you with something,” he starts, wiping his palms on his pants, and roughly tugging a hand through his hair. his fingers get caught in the knots, fluffing up the cherry hair into a puff. you do your best not to melt on the spot.

“you know, you never let me finish - you kinda just snapped your fingers and whisked me off to a river full of dead people,” you hiss. he starts walking towards you with an agitated gait, hands placed squarely on his hips, only to stop inches from your face.

“that’s kinda how it works, sweetheart,” he seethes in return, poison dripping from every word. he tilts his chin downwards slightly, so his eyes can look up and meet with yours. the deep black of his irises taunt you, beg you to say something you’ll regret.

“what i was going to say was that i’m more than fine with being here, but that most normal people probably don’t wish for a one way trip to the underworld,” you say, your confidence building by the second. and then that warm feeling is back, heating up every nerve ending in your body, and it pushes your feet to move you closer to him.

“that’s a shame, i kinda liked that little mountain,” he pouts, pretty pink lips on full display as he tilts his in head in closer to yours.

“how do you know about that?” you question, and jeongguk just continues to lean in closer to you, slyly placing a firm hand on your hip while he knows you’re distracted.

“this whole god of hell thing comes with a couple perks - including knowing everything about everyone who walks through that door, the one you just so expertly kicked in by sheer force - thanks for that, by the way.”

you can’t but grin and raise a quizzical eyebrow at the crimson haired god in front of you, not completely believing that excuse, but you’ll let him run with it for now - only because his lips are inches from yours and he smells so unbelievably amazing and you want nothing more than to crash his carved-from-marble face into yours.

“so, you’re fine with staying?” he murmurs lowly, breath tickling your lips as his eyes search yours for the answer he wants to hear.

“yeah, i think i could get used it here,” you hum, pressing your palms flat onto the black silk that drapes over his firm chest, feeling the cool slip of his shirt and the warmth of his skin underneath.

“good,” he purrs, “because you’re fucking mine.”

he grabs onto the back of your head, weaving his fingertips into your hair, attaching your lips to his with bruising force. his mouth entangles flawlessly with yours, dancing in a melody that neither of you can hear but both of you can feel.

you dare to open your eyes, for just a second, too eager to see the blissed out look on his face. when you do, your gaze can’t help but travel upwards at his hair. the previously vermilion locks now burn, a deep and intense flaming red-orange, that lights up the air around you, bathing the both of you in warm, orange light. the very tips of his hair catch fire, tiny candle flames tickling the edges of his skin and putting off a warmth that you distinctly remember.

kim taehyung played many roles in your life: absolute number 1 best friend in the entire world, champion beer bong partner, flawless wingman, and the greatest, strongest emotional crutch you could ever ask for. he was so unbelievably important to you in so many ways, and you value the friendship above any others you had. he was sweet, caring, attentive, funny, outgoing - to sum it up; fucking perfect. which was why hearing his voice at the tail-end of such a disaster day like today was such a godsend.

“driving home from my last class. tae, im not kidding, i’m dropping out. i don’t even like college. who even cares? i don’t, i honestly do not ca-”

“alright miss y/n, queen of mental breakdowns at the worst times, let’s take a breath here, hm? how about you focus a little less on your day, and focus a little more on driving? or do i have to come get you, again? for the what, tenth time this week?”

you can practically see the smile on his face, one meant to be cute, annoying, and maybe a little sarcastic - but you see right through the playful little face - the smile is meant to calm you, relax you and bring you back down to earth, instead of stuck in your own head. taehyung is sunshine, freshly cut grass, and a warm breeze - whereas sometimes your mind (mixed with the perfect concoction of stress and exhaustion), sometimes results in rainy, stormy days. but taehyung always knows how to bring you back to the meadow-like paradise he creates just for you.

“you had to come pick me up once and you act like you rescued me from the pits of hell,” you grumble into your phone, “but i wanna hear about your day instead,” you say, waiting patiently for an answer from him.

“honestly, nothing special to report. other than seokjin passed his midterm - which, he’s a little too over excited about if you ask me. it was an art history class he took once a week, for fuck’s sake. but we’re going out tonight to celebrate - he’s buying, trust me - i wouldn’t go otherwise.”

“so, you and the boys are planning on having a drunken night out,” you sum up as you pull into your apartment complex.

“that’s it y/n, you’re all caught up in the dramatic and glamorous life of kim taehyung. by the way, you’re more than welcome to join us. drunk you is the funniest version of you anyway.” he says with a chuckle, and you physically wince as you recall the last time you’d been drinking together: it involved one too many shots of vodka and a ruined pair of taehyung’s jeans.

“i’m good,” you tell him, trying to hide all the little tells of disappointment in your voice, “i have more homework than i know what to do with. i’ll gladly take a raincheck, though?”

taehyung laughs through the phone, his deep giggle crackling over the phone speaker. “suit yourself. i just don’t know how many opportunities you’re gonna have to relive seokjin’s glorious victory of a B+ in a class about dead artists.”

“tell you what,” you offer in return, “take an extra shot for me,” you can’t hide the smile on your face, and take a moment to imagine what his might look like on the other side of the phone. butterflies flit around in your stomach, and you push them back down before you get the chance to even wonder why they would be there. that was way too much to even think about right now. taehyung? god? the perfect human? the only person you trusted and loved completely? um, yes, obviously. whoa wait, love?

your distracted mind is suddenly yanked back to the present when you hear taehyung’s low voice growl back at you, “do you one better”, he mumbles, “i’ll take three.”

the day’s earlier conversation had all but faded from your mind, and you were balls deep in a massive midterm paper that you’d waited until the last possible moment to complete. you’re perched on the couch, coffee table covered in articles and sources and books, looking more like a warzone that a living room. you barely hear the knock at the door, or the three knocks that follow. you don’t register seoyun’s annoyed and over-dramatic huff as she rises from her bed, or the pounding of her feet as she stomps to answer the door. you don’t hear the door open either, but your ears do finally perk to attention when you hear taehyung’s voice.

it’s low, the sound rising from somewhere deep in his throat and bubbling out of his mouth, just like the foam that rose off the top of the beer that put him in this state. taehyung’s voice is low, his words are slurred, and you wish, selfishly for just a moment, that he could bury that slow and heavy tongue of his somewhere deep in your mouth. you can’t hear what he says, but seoyun gives a “wait here”, and walks into the living room, hand on her hip.

“taehyung’s here. he says he needs to talk to you. that it’s super important - which, i don’t know what could be so important at 2 am on a thursday but -”

“nO” you squeak, fighting to keep your voice above a detectable level, “seoyun, whatever you do, don’t let him come in. he can’t see me like this. i’d rather die. i’d rather drop dead right now. i’m covered in pimple cream, my hair is a disaster, i don’t have -” you’re panicking, the sheer thought of taehyung seeing you, seeing this,

“since when did you care?” seoyun cuts in, giving you a raised eyebrow. it takes all of 4 seconds of eye contact for it to completely click for her, and your deepest secret becomes seoyun’s little secret too.

“you like the cute little drunk boy stumbling around in our hallway right now, don’t you?” she asks with a sly smile, and you can only stutter. “i have a genius plan, follow me.”

before you can say “god seoyun please no”, she has you tucked you behind the front door, opening it just so that you’re perfectly concealed. she throws you a wink, and then gives a whistle to taehyung, who’s successfully bumbled his way to the neighbors.

“tae! hey, hello, you alive there buddy? i’m really sorry, but y/n went to bed, she’s asleep right now. can i take a message?”

taehyung whines from the hallway, and you can hear his arms and shoulders hitting the doorframe as he throws himself around like a child.

“but i reaaaaally need to talk to her, seoyun, it’s so important, the most important,” he says with a bubbly hiccup, and seoyun laughs, turning to the side and wiggling her eyebrows at you. you squint, imploring her to please not give you away, but you know taehyung is too drunk to probably know his own damn name right now. “well, how about you tell me, and i’ll tell her in the morning?” she offers, and taehyung scowls, concentrating hard on seoyun’s face as he tries to decode what she said. he takes a deep breath, and says:

“okay, but you have to promise to tell her. but first, you should know that i’m *hiccup* drunk. i’m pretty drunk. i don’t think i remember getting drunk, but i know that i am very drunk right now. which is why *hiccup* i’m saying this. because i’m drunk. because the boys made me. well, that’s not true. not really. ‘cause the boys went *hiccup* to another bar, and i didn’t want to go. i wanted to come *hiccup* here. i wanted to see y/n. i wanted to see her pretty face when opened the door, how her whole stupid pretty little *hiccup* face lights up. she gets so excited when she sees me, seoyun. did you know that? she gets so fucking excited. like seeing me makes her whole day. and my heart just turns to a mushy pile of mush. i’m not kidding it turns to *hiccup hiccup* complete mush. everytime i see her, i wanna pick her up. i wanna give her the biggest hug, and just wrap her up in my arms. i wanna bury her inside my coat when we walk around campus and she gets cold. i wanna kiss her forehead and watch her nose scrunch up. i wanna *hiccup* cuddle with her, i wanna fall asleep with her head on my chest. i wanna fall asleep knowing that she’s right next to me, that she’s safe and that nothing bad can happen to her while she’s there. i *hiccup* wanna love her forever and ever, seoyun. i love her so much, but we’re friends. and i’m, i’m okay with that. i think. i know she *hiccup* just wants to be friends right now, and i don’t wanna push her to be something else. but, i love her. so much. you *hiccup* don’t understand. i love her alot.” taehyung finishes, and lowers his head to look at his shoes, shyly playing with his hands.

“oh. my. god.” seoyun takes a step backwards to see you behind the door, eyes wide and a panicked gape on her face. “do something” you hiss, and she just shakes her head in shock. seoyun doesn’t have the time to do anything, before taehyung speaks again, “seoyun, remember how i said i was really drunk? c-can i sleep here? i’m too tired to walk home,” he slurs, and seoyun rolls her eyes, before grabbing him by the jacket and yanking him into the apartment, slamming the door and shoving him towards the kitchen. she catches your incredulous look, and she simply shrugs with a grin, “i am not gonna let your secret lover get arrested for public intoxication, or let him sleep on a park bench. what kind of friend would i be, hm? to ruin the romance before it’s even started, i would be -”

but neither you nor taehyung are listening to her. his searching eyes finally find you, pressed up against the wall, the same spot you’d been glued to ever since taehyung started his speech. “y/n” he breathes out, a grin breaking onto his face. his eyes are hooded, bloodshot, and he looks so, so sleepy. the alcohol buzzing in his blood seems to make him glow, the golden radiance that always surrounded him burning brighter than it usually does. you can practically feel the warmth radiating off him, and the only thing you can think about is how nice it would be to feel that warmth pressed up against you right now. taehyung’s own mind might be fuzzy, and he feels like he’s floating in his own head, but one clear, undeniable thought comes through, one that rings in his eardrums and makes his blood buzz even harder than the vodka does: cute. wanna kiss.

he drunkenly pushes seoyun out of the way, and stumbles his way down the hallway, pushing open a door he just knows is yours. taehyung collapses facedown on the bed, humming softly as he gathers the pillows and blankets around him, bundling himself up into a nice little cocoon in your bedsheets, and within seconds, he’s out.

“make yourself at home,” seoyun snorts, leaning on the doorframe to your bedroom. she turns to you with a clever smile, “so what do we do now?” you shrug, and sigh, “let him sleep it off, i guess.” seoyun returns the shrug, and brushes past you. you grasp her arm as she passes, and whispers, “do you think he really meant that? like, all that stuff he said, that was real?” seoyun sighs, glancing back towards his sleeping figure on the bed. “honestly, i don’t know. i hope so,” she says with a wink, and saunters her way down the hall, waving behind her, “after all, they do say that alcohol is the best truth serum.” and tonight, you really hope she’s right.

morning light breaks through the living room windows, dappling across your face, and instantly waking you up, a whole half hour earlier than normal. you groan, before rolling over and realizing your bed must have most definitely shrunk during the night. flailing your arms around, you realize that you’re not in your bed at all, but yet on the sofa. your blurry and sleep deprived mind puts two and two together much faster than you’re ready for, and the memories of last night come rushing towards you at full blast. taehyung. his drunken ramblings about being in love with you. him. asleep. in your bed. you secretly hope that someone will come knock you out.

a door opens, and seoyun emerges from her bedroom, puffy-faced and pouting at the light of morning. her expression changes to confusion at the sight of you on the couch, but it soon fades into a knowing smile as she shakes her head and shuffles to the kitchen.

you follow close on her heels, and lean against the counter. “so what’s the plan here, just wait for the drunk boy to wake up?” you question anxiously, and seoyun takes a nonchalant sip of her coffee. “that’s the plan. unless you’ve got something better,” she smiles with a wink.

the smell of coffee and toast wakes the sleeping boy, and he manages (with great effort) to wrangle himself out of the cocoon he created. the morning of sheer confusion and then muddled understanding continues, as it dawns on taehyung - the memories of last night come raining down on him. all that he did, all that he said - fuck.

taehyung lets his nose guide him to the kitchen, where he finds you and seoyun, talking closely together with only a coffee mugs’ length between you both. you glance up and see him standing there - wrinkled t-shirt, crumpled jeans, and hair mussed to high hell. seoyun chokes on her coffee, and manages to splutter out “i’mgonnagoshower” before racing off to the bathroom.

taehyung shuffles towards the counter, and settles as close to you as he dares - close enough to feel remnants of warmth radiating off you - the exact warmth that both of you had dreamed about last night.

“listen, about last night -” he starts, but you cut him off, strongly and abruptly.

“did you mean it? if you remember it, i mean. and if you do remember, then you know exactly what i’m talking about. but i - did you mean it?”

he frowns ever so slightly, and bends further into your space. you wish you could move, towards him or away, it didn’t matter - but right now, the proximity has you paralyzed. the warmth you yearned for last night now swirls around you in columns - encompassing the pair of you, making you feel more loved, more cared for, than anything ever before.

he leans in so close that you can feel the light tickle of his breath on your earlobe, as he gently lifts a finger to brush your hair away. he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, gnaws it for a second, before letting his full pout gently rest on your ear. when he speaks, it’s like the earth underneath your feet shakes. your entire chest shutters, your bones rattle, the deep timbre of his voice threatening to make you crumble into a heap of rubble on the ground. that hand that isn’t toying with your hair finds your waist, and you hope that the heat radiating from his hand leaves a golden tattoo on your hip. he speaks, slowly, sure, his tongue full of confidence and his voice full of love;

“every word, baby. i meant every word.”

your stomach drops, your heart rises, and your pupils blow. you pull back ever so slightly, and your eyes meet. a gentle smile spreads on his face, and his face lights up with anticipation. the butterflies you’d been feeling for weeks now suddenly explode - creating a scene of gnashing teeth, sore lips, fingers tangled in hair, breathless panting, and an explosion of gold.

hours later, taehyung is waking up from his second hangover nap of the day. he whines as he rolls over, reaching his arms out and wishing you could be there to fill the empty space, instead of your pillows. he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand, planning to send you a plethora of sad faces, hopefully enough to convince to skip your last two classes and come home to him. instead, he sees his groupchat exploding with messages:

2:45pm

jimin: everyone alive?

jungkook: barely

hoseok: define “alive”

2:46pm

namjoon: you guys won’t believe the night i had

yoongi: no yOU guys won’t believe the night I had i’m not kidding when i say being abducted by aliens would have been a more likely way for my night to go

jungkook: it’ll be a weak ass story compared to mine this i promise

seokjin: NOT ONLY was the night meant to celebrate MY accomplishment, but i have one-up-ed you guys YET AGAIN my night was superior no one can tell me any different

2:47pm

taehyung: well, come on guys. i wanna hear all about it.

2:49pm

hoseok: hold onto your panties, ladies.

even as jimin stands here, watching you expertly put together a mango smoothie, he’s annoyed at how goddamn perfect you are. really, seriously, how much was jimin expected to take? you coming in with an adorable little outfit, disguised by the juice bar apron?? and that sweet little visor that cast the cutest shadow on your face, and if jimin looked up at just the right moment, the light would catch your eyes, and they’d be the only thing illuminated on your face?? how you always were so friendly with customers, and whenever one of them made you laugh loud enough and he could hear it from his register, he debated running out into open traffic at that very moment??? no, this abuse was too fucking much, he wouldn’t stand for this, he was a man with morals after all… the juice girl, of all people? the person who worked 9-5 in his direct eyeline? he couldn’t have fallen in love with someone in his peripheral vision? not someone he had to see every single time he glanced up? this was god-tier level stupidity, this was -

“hey dumbass, anyone home?” the charming question is followed up with an even more loving knock on jimin’s skull, and he turns to the side, eyes burning with hatred, tongue full of fire ready to be spat at whoever interrupted his existential life crisis. said assailant quickly draws his hand, tucking it cutely into a fist under his chin and feigning innocence.

“what i meant to say was, ‘hyung, i’m going on break, so i won’t be at the register. unfortunately, that means i won’t be here to watch you ogle poor y/n, but since you insist on taking your breaks at the same time she takes hers just so you can stare at her world class -” this final comment goes a little far for jimin, and he draws back an open hand, poised and ready to land a loving, brotherly slap. taehyung jumps away, and wiggles his eyebrows towards the juice bar. if it weren’t for taehyung’s impossibly long legs (and head start) jimin would have beaten him to a pulp. taehyung escapes and jimin pulls himself away from the younger boy’s jeering to mentally prepare himself for the next customer, who’s already lining up their items on the conveyor belt.

jimin glances up past the belt, towards the juice bar, like he’s done at least a million times a shift. but this time, the scenery has changed. no longer are you digging out smoothie contents, arm deep in a blender, or furiously stabbing away at your own outdated register. no, this time, you’re standing calmly at the bar, looking directly ahead of you, locking eyes with the blonde haired angel prince who’d been staring you down from your first training shift.

jimin freezes, and his mind comes to a complete stop. surprisingly, panic doesn’t set in, and he finds himself entirely content to ignore the line forming to instead stand here all day, looking at you looking at him. it’s only when your eyes break with his, glancing over at the overgrown toddler taehyung, who’s still jeering his way down the storefront and making kissy noises, does jimin understand what’s happening here. suddenly, like those atypical war flashbacks that happen in every hollywood blockbuster, the entire scene comes rushing back to jimin in the form of flushed cheeks and a gnawed lip. he’d been staring at you, cursing the angel who’d decided to materialize in the form of a juice bartender, when taehyung had started messing with him. you’d so conveniently looked up, and caught taehyung’s wiggly eyebrows, and jerked thumb, right towards you at the juice bar. jimin’s palms go sweaty, beads of sweat break out on his hairline, and the flawless, uninterested facade he’d kept for exactly 7 and ½ weeks came crumbling down in the form of a laugh.

your laugh, to be exact - loud, tinny, high and full of hope and clouds and sunshine. laughs that were usually reserved for only the funniest customers, or a super good joke from one of your coworkers. jimin never believed, in a million fucking years, that that laugh would be directed towards him.

but as soon as the moment started, it ended. reality came rushing back to the both of you - items that needed scanning, fridges that needed restocking, and smoothies that needed blending. the rest of the afternoon keeps the both of you pretty busy, and jimin spends every break in the action praying he’ll get to recreate it, maybe later on, during your lunch break. he only ends up heartbroken when he’s told the juice bar was swamped today, and that you hadn’t even ended up taking a lunch break, let alone a shorter break, where jimin could duck out of his register and pretend he was just dying for a stale package of cookies from the break room vending machine.

jimin knows his shift has come to an end when taehyung clocks out of his register, only to reappear in jimin’s line, holding a massive energy drink.

“big night planned?” he asks, giving taehyung a broad smile.

“oh you know, the usual - papers to write, video games to play, dicks to suck,” jimin snorts, any sentence he had planned turning into a throaty laugh.

taehyung fakes a heaving sigh, and smiles, “never off the clock…” his gaze travels to the godforsaken juice bar, where you’re tiredly wiping down counters and blenders, cleaning up only for it to be dirtied all over again the next morning.

“you should talk to her, at least once.” taehyung whispers, leaning over the edge of the conveyor belt towards jimin’s ear. jimin gives a little humph - half annoyance, half a poor coverup of the crippling fear of being afraid to talk to you. he hands taehyung his receipt, and waves the boy away. “one of these days… maybe”, jimin mutters under his breath, and taehyung answers with a cheery, “before you die, park jimin!”

jimin’s eyes keep glancing anxiously towards the clock. only five more minutes, then he’s freed from this endless purgatory. it’s your tiny “hey,” that breaks him from his obsessive clock watching, and it takes every ounce of energy that jimin has left in the tank to keep from collapsing right there on the spot. there you are, in his line, looking like heaven dumped everything beautiful and perfect right in front of him. jimin offers an even smaller, “hi, how are you doing?”, his obligatory company line.

“i mean, i only got 4 smoothies and a wheatgrass juice poured on me today, so far, i’d say i’m doing pretty good,”

jimin can’t mask the surprise on his face, eyes glancing up to meet yours. he laughs, out of genuine humor, or out of the fact that you said it so carelessly, so easily, like the pair of you were friends talking about a long shift - he can’t decide, but he does know one thing: he thinks the sound of your voice is the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.

“you looked like you were handling everything pretty well over there,” jimin says, the timid shyness that had settled in his chest now blossoming into a rosebud of confidence.

“well, if anyone would know, it would sure be you, mr. park jimin.” you say with a smile, drinking up the confused, caught-in-the-act expression on the boy’s face. plump lips puffed out into a surprised pout, eyes opening a little larger than normal, but he shakes the expression off pretty fast, replaced with a look of concentration as he rings up your groceries.

“not that i mind,” you add quickly with a smile, and the boy glances up again, gifting you with the smallest of grins.

“we are across from each other, every day, all day,” jimin adds, bagging up your final items. “kinda hard not to look, i mean, you know, the juice bar just happens to be in my natural eyeline, so when people look up, it’s where your eyes naturally fall, and there’s that huge neon sign…” jimin knows he’s starting to ramble, and in order to save him any more mortal embarrassment that he knows he won’t recover from, he decides to cut his losses and stop talking, rubbing the back of his neck as he waits an eternity for your receipt to print. your eyes meet again, and you grace him with the prettiest smile. jimin waits for the sound of his body hitting the floor.

“your shift ends soon, right? do me a huge favor and help me carry this out to my car?” you ask, and jimin smiles.

“meet you outside in two minutes.”

after your groceries are packed away in your trunk, you take the opportunity to look at jimin’s face. you turn around to see him, and here, under the soft yellow lights of the parking lot, you can appreciate the features of his face much better than under the flourescent light of the store. the sweet, quick slope of his nose, the hillside ending in a sweet little button tip. the fluffiness of his blonde hair, moving slightly in the breeze and looking all that more golden in this light. the curve of his cheekbones, slender and slim, turning into pinchable, kissable little pouches on his face when he smiles. the eyes that are wide, curious, but also so full of happiness and sheer joy. and his lips, a perfectly formed pout, pink and full, sitting on the bottom half of his face. your eyes move upwards to meet his, only to find him fixated on your own pair of lips.

“park jimin, are you thinking about kissing me?”

jimin’s eyes meet your own, a mixture between tenderness and shyness. “maybe,” he giggles, and takes a nervous step back.

“well, then do it already,” you say, lips curling up into a cat like grin, enjoying teasing the boy who was practically shaking with nerves. what you didn’t expect was that he’d actually do it.

soft, pillowy lips attach to yours, gentle at first. his hand creeps up to cup your jaw, and he softly deepens it, aligning himself to gain better access to your mouth. it’s his turn to tease you, landing sweet kitten like licks and nips, before pushing his mouth deep into yours. you try your best not to lose yourself in how intense this kiss is getting, but every swirl of jimin’s tongue is driving you further and further to the edge of euphoria. he can’t help but hum as he explores your mouth, tasting the sweet strawberry banana smoothie you had for lunch, melting into your flavor that only he gets to taste, to remember. it’s when you’re both breathless, heads spinning, do you break away, opening your eyes only when you’ve committed the taste to memory.

“do you, um, wanna know something funny?” you ask, too distracted by jimin’s swollen pink pout too even finish your thought.

“what’s that?” he breathes out, moving in closer with every breath, not quite done with the bruised, swollen artwork he was making on your face.

“i just bought 57 dollars worth of groceries that i didn’t need. i literally grabbed the first shit i saw. i just wanted to go through your line and talk to you, because, i’m not sure if you know this, park jimin, but i stare at you at least twice as much as you stare at me.”

jimin stops his descent to your lips, and pulls back, a smile sitting pretty on his face.

“adorable,” he murmurs, and within seconds, his lips attach to yours, returning to the place that already feels like home.

now, whenever jimin glanced up from his register (who had been treated much kinder in recent weeks, thank you very much), he would find you looking at him, offering a sweet smile, a little wave, and if he was lucky - a kiss, blown from your lips, landing right on his heart. joint lunch breaks were no longer coincidence, but yet the best part of both shifts - lunch breaks that sometimes ended a little early for PG-13 romps in the nearest custodial closet.