Work Text:
Jungkook is familiar with his own restless energy, a buzz that hums under his skin, a static charge just waiting to leap from his fingertips into something productive, or more likely, something destructive. Seokjin had to tie him to the coffee table once to keep Jungkook from trying to jump from their building to the one next door “just like Spider-Man.” Taehyung came home to tally marks carved into the table with a belt buckle, sixteen of them, “one for every hour of imprisonment.” Jin later confirmed that he’d been there for 30 minutes, max. Jungkook hated it, his own body aching to be loud when all he wanted was quiet.
Sometimes cuddles help. Taehyung is all too happy to offer himself, when he’s home. Sometimes Hoseok or Seokjin come over and let him grab on, take all the love he needs, latch on to their back or lay in a lap while someone scratches his scalp until the buzzing turns into a low hum.
Sometimes he’ll put the energy into something good, into work, editing until spots fill his vision. He learned how to animate once, woke up to a dancing bunny on his desktop and no recollection of how he’d done it, really.
Sometimes it’s good; sometimes he makes a dancing bunny and gets cuddled.
Sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes Taehyung is out of town and Seokjin and Hoseok are busy, living their lives and being in love and reminding Jungkook that he’s alone. Sometimes, nothing Jungkook does can distract him from the shock in his veins and he electrifies himself. He does dumb shit. He tried a cigarette because his fingers itched, coughed through it because he had to try, sat in the shower for an hour afterwards trying to get the smell out of his hair. He stayed in the dance studio alone for hours, ignoring the burn in his lungs and the spots behind his eyes with the hope of expelling the sparks in his blood. He still doesn’t remember passing out, hitting the floor; he’ll never forget Hoseok’s scream, his eyes when he stumbled upon Jungkook on the floor, music blasting and breathing shallow.
It took too long, too many years of fighting himself with toothpicks and teeth, to find something that worked, a ground to plug his extra sparks into.
He found RM on instagram, or maybe twitter, he’s not sure. His new album was going viral or something, someone retweeted something or posted a snippet and someone else liked it and suddenly RM was all he listened to.
RM became his lullaby. Even when he hit those consonants like a blacksmith, sharp and with a purpose, Jungkook is the metal, letting the buzz get knocked out of him, letting RM take Jungkook with him. Jungkook found himself hanging off of every word, every uttered breath of poetry.
RM’s music doesn’t stop it; that’s not how it works, but he helps.
Jungkook chews on the back of his knuckle, which is better than wrecking another pen, but really it’s only a step above sucking on his thumb on the dignity scale. Taehyung reaches across the table, eyes glued to his sketchbook, pulls Jungkook’s hand back, and offers a pencil, the eraser already removed.
Taehyung is wonderful like that. Jungkook’s convinced he’s a psychic. Taehyung agrees because he likes the idea of being psychic. He’s working on some portrait project that requires hundreds of sketches of the same person. None of them really even look like Jungkook anymore.
(“It’s about the energy, Kook-ah. It feels like you.”
“Well it looks like a smashed taco.”
“Aw, Kookie, don’t talk about yourself like that! You’re beautiful even when you feel like a smashed taco and I love you.”)
Jungkook shoves his earbuds deeper in his ears, trying to drown out his own distraction. The assignment had been to produce a short documentary about an athlete, and he can’t quite figure out how to splice in the footage of Hoseok dancing, teaching, with the interview he’d filmed that morning. He always did this, got caught up trying to fit together the little irrelevant moments he caught on film. Hoseok smiles at Seokjin, just off screen, and that doesn’t matter in the context of the film but it makes Jungkook so warm he just has to include it somewhere.
This is how he works: with the taste of coffee and sugar on his tongue, laptop plugged into a hidden outlet under a carpet in the corner of The Magic Shop. The coffee bar in the back remains one of the university’s best kept secrets, just off campus, perfect for studying. That coffee smell, like sunrise and honey, only lingers in the corner behind philosophy and next to the comic books. The rest of the store hangs with old dust, the fun kind that builds up in old books and smells kinda like vanilla and grandma’s house.
Someone had scratched their initials into the table Taehyung and Jungkook liked the best, the one with the outlet under the carpet, smooth after years of a wet rag at close every night, but still not sanded away. Jungkook liked it, liked running his fingers over it while he read.
(“This place has such a warm energy.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“No one knows, Kook-ah. You feel it though, right?”
Jungkook breathed it in. “…Maybe, I guess.”)
Jimin from his dance class told Jungkook about it. He works the coffee bar and made heart eyes at Taehyung while Taehyung made heart eyes at him and soon they’re going to go on dates and Jungkook is in love with love, so it became a thing, to go to The Magic Shop on Tuesday afternoons for the tail end of Mingyu’s shift and the whole of Jimin’s to “study.”
Seokmin always shows up just after four, perpetually late, but so is Mingyu so it works out. Seokmin waves, smiles at Jungkook while Mingyu hangs up his apron in the back, and oh Jungkook loves it when pretty boys smile at him. Even when the said pretty boys are just friendly classmates in happy relationships with pretty boys of their own. He loves love, is ready for Jimin to come out after Mingyu and smile at Taehyung, blush, turn away, while Tae leans on his hand and smiles right back. Jungkook loves it, every time, refusing to let jealousy or fear of losing his best friend or any of that get in the way. He loves love, even when it’s not his.
Jimin is grace. He’s never dropped a cup, ever, not that Jungkook has seen, so when 4:07 rolls around and the crashes are like something out of a cartoon, pots and pans and shattering glass and maybe even a cat’s screech in the middle, Jungkook jumps.
Taehyung doesn’t, which is suspicious because Tae knows that Jimin doesn’t just drop things.
“What’d you break, hyung?” he asks, only taking a moment to take in Jungkook’s profile once more.
“Nothing!” a disembodied voice shouts from the back, decidedly not Jimin’s. Jimin sounds like a little flute until he gets mad, but if that voice was an instrument, it’d be a cello, that one word plucked too hard and gone sharp, but a cello nonetheless.
Taehyung laughs, snorts, cocks his head at Jungkook’s wide eyes before doing that psychic thing he does.
“Namjoon-hyung. Jimin is staying home to work on a paper slash nurse a hangover. Joonie normally works the front. He’s great, you’ll like him.”
And then Namjoon comes out and then Namjoon smiles and then oh—
Jungkook loves love and Namjoon smiles and that traitorous part of his brain says this is it.
Namjoon blushes, Namjoon scratches the back of his head, has the audacity to scuff his shoes on the floor like he’s embarrassed or something. “I may have broken some things.”
Taehyung laughs, squints his eyes at Jungkook, and grins, the fuckin’ psychic.
“Joonie-hyung,” he yells over his shoulder, smiling at Jungkook like he’s not violently shaking his head no, “come meet Jungkookie, my roommate!”
Namjoon drops the broom he’d just procured and wipes his hands on his apron and Jungkook is so not ready for that smile to be directed at him, not while he still has a chewed up pencil hanging out of his mouth and is only two years into his five year plan to marry Namjoon; he’s not ready. He spits out the pencil before Namjoon can fully turn around. Judging by the smile he tries to hide, Namjoon catches it anyway.
And oh Namjoon’s eyes are so warm and Jungkook loves love, wants Namjoon to look at him like this as the sunrise peaks pink between their blinds. Namjoon extends a hand, says something, fingers long and palms soft. He doesn’t have any callouses, must mean he’s a quieter, more intellectual type, and Jungkook wonders if Namjoon would like to read him poetry, wonders what it would sound like. Probably like this, a cello plucked with soft fingers. Namjoon’s not talking anymore, looking at Jungkook with something a lot like expectation, hand hanging in the air between them.
Taehyung hides his laugh by clearing his throat. It’s ineffective.
Oh— “Oh—“
He grabs Namjoon’s hand and winces at his own sweaty palms.
“Sorry,” he tells their hands, forgets to let go, and then does with a start, pulling away and wiping his hands on his sweats. Why did he wear sweats today? He swears, he’s going to upgrade his wardrobe tomorrow.
He can save this. He is a capable adult who pays rent on time and goes shopping every Thursday and knows how to work a slow cooker.
“Nice to meet you, Namjoon-ssi!” he says with too much excitement and two little bows, which isn’t perfect but better than what he expected to come out of his mouth, which was just “thighs” so he’ll count it as a win.
Namjoon laughs and it’s like his heart has been falcon punched into the fucking sun so maybe it’s a loss.
“Please, hyung is fine. Jimin and Taehyung tell me all about you. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”
Jungkook manages a perfectly normal, human, polite conversation about his major, about the shop that Namjoon apparently owns, about their friends, before Namjoon hears a customer and has to go back to work. That little murmur in his stomach pushes him to hide his smile as he sits back down.
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?”
Jungkook puffs his cheeks with air, puts an earbud back in.
“Eleven.”
Taehyung laughs, adds a drawing of Jungkook’s eyes, smiling, to his sketchbook.
Soon, it’s not just Tuesdays. Before he goes grocery shopping on Thursdays, Jungkook stops by The Magic Shop, smiles at Namjoon between shelves when he picks up his coffee, ignores the unsubtle wink he definitely did not order from Jimin. When Mingyu’s working, he’s oblivious, but then again, Mingyu’s always oblivious. It works for him. Jungkook is far too aware of the fact that Namjoon is looking at him, too, smiling at him too. On Fridays sometimes Namjoon is in the back, but he’ll always peek out a head and smile when the front door chime rings. Jimin says that he looks disappointed when it’s not Jungkook but that’s too much for Jungkook to think about too hard.
Yoongi, the grad student who works the front when Namjoon isn’t, is far from oblivious but really couldn’t be bothered by his boss’ love life or the quiet junior who sits at the same table every day, trying his best to keep the heart eyes on the down low.
It’s one of those buzzy days, like he’s had too much caffeine and not enough water. He saw a bird hopping around with a stick in the park, looking for a place to make its nest or something, and Jungkook feels like that. He’s hopping around with a stick in his mouth and nowhere to put it, but really he just wants a nest.
He’s drawing himself a nest, listening to RM, finding a place to put the stick. He’s got his earbuds in, dealing the only way he knows how. It’s forever rain right now but he knows that after forever rain it’s gonna loop to tokyo. tokyo has a perfect vibe for the piece he’s working on, an abstract piece of graffiti for his post-modern fine art class. It’s easy to lose himself in, a nest where the lines don’t have to make sense, don’t have to be perfectly straight. His hands shake with the pressure he’s using, and he knows from experience rather than sensation that there are tears welling up in his eyes. Art does that to him on days like this one. It just means so much, to be able to communicate in lines and emotions and everything is a lot, today.
His pencil is worn down to the wood when a white plate is placed in front of him, and then a mug.
The mug isn’t like the ones the Magic Shop normally uses for customers. It’s kind of silly, really. A little group of cartoon animals and some heart balloons. It’s stupid and it’s cute and before Jungkook can cry again, someone hands him a tissue. Namjoon hands him a tissue and he looks so worried that Jungkook has to laugh. He laughs out the tears, wipes his eyes, and pulls out his earbuds.
“Good tears, I think. Thank you, hyung.” he says, wiping his eyes.
Namjoon looks unconvinced, pushes the mug and the plate with a few little pastries on it towards Jungkook. “Dealing with something? You don’t have to talk, but Jimin is here and I don’t have to work anymore but if you don’t want to talk I’ll—“
“Oh, no, hyung, don’t worry. It’s just a day, I’ve got too many feelings for my head, you know? ADHD and all, but it’s not bad. I’m just getting emotional about how powerful art is.” He laughs again, at how stupid that sounds out loud, looking at the deconstructed nest in front of him.
He turns the sketchbook around on the table, pushes it towards Namjoon, and takes a sip of the hot chocolate to cover up his face. It’s way too sweet and full of marshmallows and it’s so good Jungkook wants to draw this feeling, minus the lingering embarrassment.
Namjoon doesn’t laugh at him, though. Namjoon pouts at the sketchbook in front of him, fingers hovering over the paper like he’s afraid of it.
Jungkook puts the mug back down. “Sorry, that was dumb.” He reaches out to take it back but Namjoon pulls it away.
“No, no, that wasn’t dumb at all.” Jungkook’s hand falls back against the table, thumbing over the familiar carved out initials. “I get it. I really get it. This is beautiful, Jungkook-ah.”
That’s the first time Namjoon has said Jungkook-ah, in that voice, fond and disbelieving like that. If anyone could hear his heartbeat they might be worried. He lets Namjoon look.
“That sounds like a perfectly valid reason to cry,” Namjoon starts, turning the page back to some thumbnails Jungkook’s working on for a final project. “I cry a little every time I see a crab. Or like, really unique things, like a flower that grew weird or a dead tree standing tall, something that can only exist in one place, you know? Like, when things have souls, right? I’m rambling.” Now Namjoon is doing that little embarrassed laugh too and for the first time, Jungkook thinks wow, we may be in this together.
Jungkook so knows. He knows. He knows what it’s like to look at a cloud and just be so filled with life that he can’t help but feel.
“I like clouds a lot.”
Namjoon laughs, loud, surprised this time, and lets Jungkook take his sketchbook back. “Me too.”
He rips one of the pastries in half, indicates Jungkook to take the other, and they share.
It becomes a thing. Jungkook draws, or just listens, or goes through photography assignments on his laptop. Namjoon talks, when he doesn’t have work to do. They’re friends, now. Really, truly, friends. Jungkook learns so much, about Namjoon, and crabs, the Magic Shop, about why a 22 year old recent graduate had decided to start a business in one of the most difficult industries around.
“I just want this place to exist. It’s not about money, for me. In fact, I think we still barely turn a profit. It’s about making a place that I want to be, that I can share with people. I think it’s sad that the world is all about making money. I just to make people happy.”
Jungkook cocks his head, contemplating the world Namjoon lives in. He keeps giving Jungkook free drinks. “How do you feed yourself? Keep the lights on?”
“Ah,” Namjoon rubs the back of his neck, “I… I write, on the side. It makes me enough that I don’t have to worry too much about profit here.”
Jungkook puts down his mug, the same silly heart balloon one that Namjoon brought him that first time, eyes going wide. “Hyung, that’s so cool! It makes so much sense! You’re so good at talking, and words, and like, thinking good thoughts. This makes so much sense.” He looks around the shop across from the bar. “Where can I read your stuff? I know I’m functionally illiterate but like for you—“
“Ah,” Namjoon cuts him off, getting redder by the second, “I mostly work freelance. Online and stuff. Boring. You know. Not in here.”
“Then you can send me some! I’d love to read your boring articles or whatever! Wow, you’re so cool, hyung.” He can’t hide the reverence in his voice, and Namjoon can’t make eye contact.
“Yeah, I will, Kook-ah. I will.”
Namjoon doesn’t send any articles, but before he can press too much, Taehyung has more important things to ask of him.
“You have to invite him! Jin-hyung will even do your makeup, you’ll look so hot. It’ll be good! And then I will kiss Jimin and you will kiss Namjoon and—“
Jungkook squeals, leaping over the arm of the couch to cover Taehyung’s mouth. “Shhhh. Don’t say it. I will cry.”
Taehyung licks his palm and Jungkook scrunches his face, wiping his hand down Tae’s front. Taehyung is, of course, unbothered by this, grinning like he won.
“But hyung,” Jungkook whines, going to the attached kitchen to wish the Tae spit off of his hand, and realizes he has nothing to follow that up with. Taehyung jumps up on the counter behind him.
“I’m asking my crush, you can ask yours.”
Jungkook scoffs and turns off the water. “Your crush is also in love with you. Big ol’ heart eyes, all the time.”
Taehyung sighs. “Yeah. I love his eyes.”
Jungkook groans, and Taehyung continues. “You know Namjoon-hyung looks at you the exact same way.”
If he was holding anything, he would have dropped it, so instead he just pouts at Taehyung. “Really?”
Taehyung nods, taking a bite out of an unwashed apple from the fruit basket next to him. Jungkook leans back against the counter.
“Fine,” Taehyung fist pumps with his free hand, “but if he says no and breaks my heart it’s your fault and also you suck.”
Namjoon doesn’t say no. In fact, he says yes, and Jungkook almost cries, because Namjoon looks so excited at the idea of going to a stupid kickback party at his stupid college kid apartment. He tells Namjoon how bad the alcohol is going to be, how the hot water in their bathroom sink doesn’t really work, how they don’t really have a balcony but pretend the fire escape is one, but somehow he still seems super excited, grabbing Jungkook’s hand as he rambles. It shuts him up enough to catch the sparkle in Namjoon’s eyes.
“Kook-ah, I can’t wait.”
He’s so fucked.
Seokjin and Hoseok come over early with the alcohol after Taehyung shared a picture of his bottom shelf vodka and Sprite in their group chat. Seokjin and Taehyung are fighting about whether to dump it all down the sink or not while Hoseok works on Jungkook’s face. Seokjin is better at it but Hoseok wants to work on his makeup skills, so Jungkook sits as still as possible.
“Look up,” he instructs, dabbing a little bit of concealer under Jungkook’s eyes. He’s oddly quiet, for Hoseok. Very little in the way of sound effects or little cooing noises whenever he thinks Jungkook looks cute, which is normally always.
“So…” he starts, holding down a smile, brushing the eye shadow primer across Jungkook’s lids, “who’s this boy you like?”
Jungkook whines. He’d pull away but he’s pretty sure Hoseok is doing something with eyeliner so he doesn’t move. “Hyung, he’s just a friend.”
Hoseok laughs, a short exhalation of disbelief, “Kookie baby, I don’t think you’ve ever pouted this much about a friend.” He taps the back of his makeup brush on Jungkook’s extended lip. Jungkook pulls the lip back in, bites on it, and opens his eyes. Hoseok is picking up some light brown sparkly powder on a fluffy brush.
“Close your eyes, baby.”
Jungkook complies, letting Hoseok blend it at the corner of his eyes for a few seconds. When the brush leaves him, he keeps his eyes closed, and Hoseok comes back to work on the other one.
“I like him a little.”
He can almost hear Hoseok’s smile. “That’s okay, babe. He’s a good guy.”
Jungkook chews on his own grin, fighting the scrunch of his nose. “You know Namjoon-hyung?”
“Oh, yeah, Joon and I were in the same music program back in undergrad. Yoongi-hyung too.”
Jungkook’s eyes shoot back open and Hoseok jerks the brush back so he doesn’t mess anything up. “Hyung is a musician?”
Hoseok’s question is in his eyes when he responds, “Oh my god, yeah, music is his life. He hasn’t told you?”
Jungkook’s hair bounces around with the fervor of his head shake. Hoseok hums. “Close your eyes.”
Jungkook does, letting Hoseok work while he thinks it over. Him and Namjoon have talked a lot; Jungkook knows how Namjoon feels about the sunny days versus rainy mornings versus snowy nights. He knows how Namjoon feels about the concept of adjectives. He didn’t know that music is Namjoon’s whole life.
Hoseok must feel him thinking, ruffling Jungkook’s hair before giving him the all clear on his makeup, nudging him towards the one shared bathroom to check.
Jungkook almost doesn’t recognize himself. He’d opted to keep product out of his hair, liking how it feels all soft and fluffy, but Hoseok loosely curled a few pieces in the front, falling against his forehead. The makeup is subtle but so effective at bringing attention to his eyes, a tiny bit of gold right at the inner corners.
“I look so pretty,” he tells Hoseok, who comes in behind him. Hoseok places a loud kiss at the back of Jungkook’s head.
“My Kookie is always pretty!” he yells, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Don’t worry about Joonie. He does things at his own pace. He’ll tell you about it when he’s ready. It means a lot to him.”
Jungkook nods, trying to let go of the worry gripping his over-large heart.
“Besides, have I told you about Yoongi-hyung? Jin-hyung and I have decided to have a crush on him.”
“What?!”
Hoseok laughs, Seokjin yells, and Taehyung yells just to be a part of it.
The music is playing before the doorbell even rings, Mingyu and Seokmin and Minghao and some more unfairly pretty people that Jungkook doesn’t know. Jimin is exactly fifteen minutes late and Taehyung finds himself in Jimin’s lap before another fifteen is up.
There aren’t many people, not really, and Jungkook knows pretty much all of them, says hi to the ones he didn’t know yet, tries to talk to a few girls that Taehyung invited from his life drawing class, fails, but the music is so loud. Some of the girls are dancing with Hoseok, perfecting the Twice moves that, for some reason, only Hoseok gets right, but it’s a little much. Too much sound, too much happening. It’s not bad, but he needs to breathe for a second before undoubtedly embarrassing himself in front of Namjoon and Yoongi, who is apparently coming at the invitation of Hoseok.
Hiding out on the tiny, unfurnished balcony is a bad idea at night in late March and he shivers, but here, he can breathe. The sky is pretty clear tonight, and even if he can’t see the stars, he can imagine them. There weren’t really stars in Busan either but the planes make a good constellation too.
The door slides open behind him, and he turns to tell Hoseok or Taehyung or whoever that he’s okay out here, but it’s Namjoon.
He does that smile and all the worry from earlier melts away.
“I brought you a drink.”
Jungkook reaches up to take one of the plastic cups from Namjoon. Jungkook bought these ones, a set with each of the Avengers. The printing is faded and scratched off in places from wash after wash, from being thrown across the room during horror movies, from being knocked off the table at parties. Jungkook loves them. Namjoon has Captain America; Jungkook has Black Widow.
“I like your cups,” Namjoon says, and Jungkook smiles so big into his cup that Namjoon definitely catches it.
“Thanks, hyung.”
Namjoon is settling next to him, backs pressed against the glass door behind them. His little flower bush is starting to sprout leaves again, the only furnishing out here, and currently, just a bundle of sad sticks.
“Do you ever think about making constellations with the airplanes.”
Jungkook doesn’t expect Namjoon to laugh at him, but there’s always a risk when he says something stupid like that.
“Do you remember that American song about airplanes being shooting stars?”
Jungkook takes another sip of his drink, sickly sweet, but with enough alcohol to know that Hoseok probably poured it for him. “If I do, I wouldn’t know. My English is bad. So is my Korean, now that I think about it.”
Namjoon does laugh at that, nudging Jungkook’s shoulder with his own. “You can be very eloquent when you want to be.”
The silence isn’t uncomfortable with them. Namjoon likes to get his thoughts together to speak. Jungkook is fine with waiting, two more distant red lights blinking in the distance.
“I think it’s a beautiful concept, airplanes as constellations. Because they’re always moving. The shape is always changing which means the picture is always changing. It’s a good way to look at life. Even when things change, you can find a new way to look at them. And it’s still beautiful.”
Jungkook blinks up at the sky, a third light flying across, different colors from the first one, maybe a helicopter. “You’re so good with words. I was just thinking about how sad it was to grow up in a city without stars. I never got to learn the constellations because I could never see the stars.”
Namjoon hums. “I grew up in a city on the edge of the woods, you know. Just had to drive a little bit to get the really great stars. My dad and sister and I would go all the time, and I think I get what you’re saying, but I don’t think you have to see it as a loss. I love nature, but you don’t have to, I don’t know, understand it to love it. I’ll take you some day. Until then, I think enjoying the airplanes is a great way to understand the world you live in.”
Jungkook lets his head fall against Namjoon’s, closes his eyes. He loves it when Namjoon speaks. He loves his voice, but god, the things he says always have Jungkook buzzing.
“I think real stars might calm me down more than fake ones, though.” The alcohol hums, low, in his veins.
“Ah. I get that. I like to go to the Han River for my little dose of nature here, but it’s not the same.”
“In Busan I loved the beach. No beaches here.” He takes another sip of the drink, lets it make him bold as he turns his cold nose into the side of Namjoon’s neck, feels him inhale all in a rush, exhale slow, with a tremor, like breathing is suddenly hard. Namjoon switches the drink to his left hand and wraps the right around Jungkook, hesitant, like he’s not sure what he’s doing until it’s done, until the heavy, warm weight settles on Jungkook’s shoulders.
Jungkook hums, happy. “This is nice.”
“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes, “it is.”
Jungkook downs the rest of his drink, tilting his head against Namjoon. Namjoon is staring at his throat but Jungkook discards the empty cup before he has too much time to think about it.
“I’m bad at talking.”
“No you’re—“
“Shhh, Joonie-hyung, I’m gonna talk now. Even though I’m bad ’t it.” Jungkook doesn’t see Namjoon’s nod, rather just feels it against his head. Namjoon puts down his empty cup, too. “I get all caught up in my head sometimes, you know? Like that first day you talked to me, like really talked to me, I was trying to draw this big feeling I had in the park, about a bird who wanted to make a nest. He was so cute, oh my god I wish you were there. Or maybe she was cute. Is it bad to assume a bird’s gender? Anyway. I get all caught up in my head and normally I do stupid shit to deal with it. I dance until I pass out or try to superhero jump across buildings—“ Namjoon tightens his grip, “—oh, don’t worry, Jin-hyung di’n’t let me do that. But what I’m saying, is like, with you? The buzzy ah feeling is easier. Like I can just listen or talk and it’s okay that I feel the way I feel.”
Namjoon presses his nose into Jungkook’s hair. The planes in the sky aren’t the same as before.
“D’ you know what I’m saying, hyung.”
“Yeah,” he whispers, “I think so.”
“You get me, it’s so nice.” Jungkook sighs, letting himself lean into Namjoon’s hold.
“You put a lot of trust in me,” Namjoon starts, “I’m not sure I deserve it.”
Jungkook frowns, turns back in to nuzzle Namjoon’s neck. “You’re good. Hobi-hyung said so.”
Namjoon laughs. “Hobi says a lot of things, but yeah, he knows me pretty well, I guess.”
“Hobi told me that you went to music school together,” the conversation reminds Jungkook, “that music is your life, he said.”
Jungkook hadn’t even realized Namjoon had been drawing patterns into his shoulder until it stopped. “Yeah, it is.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, more direct than he could ever be sober.
Namjoon breathes, letting the air out of his lungs. “Music means a lot to me.”
“I know that. But music means a lot to me too, you know. I love music and I love love and it’d be nice if we could talk about those things.”
Namjoon nods. “Me too.”
“I think that when I— that when people meet their soulmate they hear bells. Have you ever heard bells, hyung?”
Jungkook turns his head, uncoordinated, and almost falls off of Namjoon’s shoulder. Namjoon is staring at the airplanes, rubbing patterns into Jungkook’s arm again. He doesn’t respond. Jungkook watches the airplanes, too.
“I hear bells all the time. I think I love love too much.”
Namjoon tuts. “That’s not possible, baby.”
And oh that word does something to Jungkook’s insides. “It is when I break my own heart all the time.”
Namjoon squeezes, and Jungkook lets him think. “Sometimes I think I love music too much. I don’t think I hear bells, though.”
Jungkook hides his frown, and Namjoon continues. “I hear songs. I look at someone, or a leaf falling in spring, or whatever it is, and suddenly I have to write about that feeling, because I hear it so strongly. I just have to get it out.”
Jungkook’s frown softens. A siren passes them a few streets over.
“That kind of sounds like my, you know, my buzzy feeling. When there’s so much inside of me that I have to use it or I’ll die. I’ll explode.”
Namjoon’s breath is so warm when he responds. “If I write, what do you do?”
Jungkook smiles, now, so in love. “Oh, a lot of things. I draw. You saw my nest. I edit. But actually, music really helps. There’s one rapper— I actually think you’d really like him; he sees the world in such an interesting way. Kind of like you do, actually. He goes by RM and—“
There’s a thud on the door behind them, the party having faded into nothing but a dull pulse of muffled music behind them, but now it roars. Someone hoots, Jungkook hears Hoseok’s shout of get it!, and there’s laughing, and then Jungkook is laughing too.
He’d picked up his head to try to see what was going on, and now he can see how Namjoon just stares at him, his mouth half parted. Jungkook cocks his head, lets the buzz take over, watches Namjoon’s lips when he breathes.
Before he knows it, he’s leaning in, and god he hopes he didn’t read this wrong. His lips meet Namjoon’s, and for one, terrible, awful second, Jungkook regrets everything. Then Namjoon grabs the back of his neck with the hand that Jungkook had a dream about a few nights ago, and Jungkook loops his arms around Namjoon’s neck, and it’s good. They don’t move fast; they never have. Just lips on lips and a smile on Jungkook’s. Namjoon sucks on the bottom one, just for a moment; Jungkook can’t help the almost-whine that slips out.
And Namjoon freezes.
He freezes, and all of a sudden, his hands leave Jungkook. Jungkook still has his eyes closed when Namjoon gets up.
“What—“
“I’m sorry,” there’s panic in his voice, a tremble that hasn’t been there all night, “I have to go. I’m sorry, Kook-ah.”
“What—? Joon—“
“I’m so sorry. I have to go.”
The door is opened and closed before Jungkook has the time to even process the cold that fills his gut.
The airplanes keep flying by, but they’re not constellations anymore. Just stupid airplanes in a city where no one can even see the stars.
Seokjin finds him, sobbing on the balcony, after the music dies down. “Jungkook-ah? Why are you—“
He stops, halfway out the door, when he catches Jungkook hiding his face in his knees, pulled all the way up. “Oh, baby, what happened?”
“He doesn’t—“ Jungkook hiccups, talks to the space he’s made within himself, “I just messed it all up.”
“No, baby, you didn’t mess anything up.” Jin sits down next to him, just like Namjoon had, kisses his hair, just like Namjoon had, and Jungkook cries even harder.
He doesn’t tell Taehyung what happened. Hoseok and Seokjin threaten to beat Namjoon up for him, promise that Yoongi knows all of his weak points, but between tears, he’s able to talk them down. Hoseok keeps asking him what happened, how to help, promising that Namjoon didn’t mean it, that he likes Jungkook, but—
It doesn’t matter. Actions speak louder, and Namjoon left.
So Taehyung is on cloud nine, and Jungkook doesn’t tell him. He listens to his best friend talk about Jimin’s lips, the dates they’ve planned, and Jungkook tries not to imagine what could have been if Namjoon really liked him back. Every time Taehyung asks him to hang out at the Magic Shop with him, Jungkook has other places to be. Sorry, I need my desktop for this project. I can’t today, working on a dance with Hobi-hyung.
The bad days are a little bit closer together than they were before, but it’s not too much.
The bad days are a little bit lonelier, his best friend out loving love, but he’s dealing with it. He finishes his final projects without stopping by the Magic Shop again, instead holing up in his room, pumping out soulless project after soulless project.
He listens to a lot of RM. It’s been almost a year since he came out with any new music, the melodies and words so deeply ingrained into Jungkook that he doesn’t even really have to listen to feel what RM is feeling. It helps with the bad days and the loneliness; he can almost pretend that he’s back talking to Namjoon about airplanes and old trees and why video means so much to him.
They never even got to talk about RM before Namjoon left.
They never even got to talk about music, about the thing that made Namjoon’s heart pitter patter when nothing else could. Jungkook would have liked to sing for him.
Hoseok and Seokjin worry, having talked him down on that balcony weeks ago, but they’re pulling Yoongi into their relationship and have to go love love too. It’s not fair to put his pain on his friends, and he loves them enough to find joy in theirs.
Every time Taehyung talks about Jimin’s laugh or his dancing or his eyes, Jungkook still cries a little bit.
When Hoseok and Seokjin bring Yoongi to game night for the first time, Seokjin coos when Yoongi cheats. It’s beautiful. It’s love, and no matter how many times someone breaks his stupid fragile heart, he will always love love.
He doesn’t know how to put all these feelings into words. Namjoon was always better than him at communicating complex feelings like this, but he tries.
He just has to talk to somebody. He has all these feelings buzzing at his fingertips and he can’t just go and bother his friends in the middle of the night, but there’s too much going on in his head to leave it there.
RM hasn’t posted to his main twitter page in a while, but he has that green circle next to his name on instagram, so Jungkook is willing to try. He doesn’t expect RM to read it, or respond, and honestly, Jungkook doesn’t need him to. He just has to put everything he’s thinking somewhere before he explodes. It’s ironic, this is that feeling he had tried to describe to Namjoon weeks ago. That buzz, that electricity, like he’s static charged and all his hair is standing on end.
It's late enough that he's turned off his lights, that he’s made sure all his social media accounts are set to invisible so no one yells at him for being up so late. If Taehyung came in he’d pretend to be asleep.
Hi, RM! he starts, and then turns off his phone screen. This is stupid. He turns it back on.
Sorry, you don’t know me, but I just had to let you know how much your words mean to me. Your music is one of the only things that can calm me down when I’m anxious, or distracted, or just feeling Too Much. There really aren’t many people who can make me feel the way you do. There was someone who I really really liked who spoke kind of like you do. He’s really good at talking about the little things, and finding importance in them. The last night we spoke, we talked about how important it is to let things change, and to appreciate the beauty in them just as much when they’re different. We were talking about finding new constellations in airplane lights, if that helps with the context haha. Sorry I’m not making sense. He’s so good with words, like you are. I botched his speech, I’m sorry.
Jungkook really doesn’t know why he’s still typing.
I tried to kiss him. Or, I did kiss him. Sorry, I don’t even know if you’re okay with gay people? Your music is so—
He deletes the last two sentences.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Your music always helps me but there’s so much going on in my brain right now that even everythinggoes on loop can’t save me. Thank you for loving music so much, and for feeling so much, and for understanding. Your words are beautiful, your voice is beautiful, and thank you for talking to me, even if it’s just through your music. I hope to see some new songs soon! Whenever you’re ready.
Jungkook always cries easily, blinking away tears and breathing through his nose.
Thank you,
JK.
He flips the switch on his phone to do not disturb, plugs it in, breathes out his worry as he rereads the message one more time, and presses send.
He’s asleep before it’s even gone through, the energy used up and sent away.
Jungkook doesn’t check to see if RM’s read his message. It was never about that. He goes on with his life. He’s taking summer classes as well, is working a stupid retail job at a clothing store around the corner where he cares about nothing they sell and hates his manager, but it’s okay. He’s still editing and drawing and taking pictures of all the beautiful things in life. He doesn’t stop thinking about Namjoon.
It doesn’t make sense. Jungkook has always been either oblivious or hyperaware, over-ready to read love in someone else’s eyes, but the way Namjoon kissed him back. He can’t get it out of his mind. They’d been drinking the exact same thing, still cold on both of their lips. Jungkook barely even got a chance to kiss him properly, but Namjoon kissed back! Namjoon bit on his bottom lip, like he wanted to lick into Jungkook’s mouth, and then he left.
Hoseok says he’s just bad at feelings, that Jungkook should talk to him. Jungkook can’t believe that, not when Namjoon talks about the universe the way he does.
It’s been three weeks. He hasn’t heard anything from Namjoon. Jimin and Taehyung have already decided to be exclusive, Seokjin already high-fived Jungkook about his and Hoseok’s three-way with Yoongi, has already started denying his feelings for Yoongi far too loudly for Jungkook to believe him.
And Namjoon still hasn’t responded to Jungkook’s text from the night of the party, a string of question marks sent before Hoseok found him.
After walking the five minutes from work, he turns on the lights to an empty apartment. Today isn’t buzzy or anything; he’s just tired. He wants a hug and a nap. It’s only 8:30 but he’s just about ready to pass out in a heap on the couch while the Spirited Away dub hums along as background noise.
He throws his bag down with his shoes by the door, still in his stupid work polo, and gets ready to do just that when his phone buzzes. Probably Taehyung, asking about food plans.
It’s not.
RM’s posted a new single, the notification from twitter showing the start of a Melon link.
He clicks it so fast, gets mad at their wifi for not loading it immediately, switches to 4G for a second before back to wifi to save data. Fuck, where are his headphones? RM hasn’t posted new music in a year and the tweet says this is just the first single! Jungkook could scream.
When it finally pulls up, he realizes he hadn’t even checked the title.
New Constellations.
New constellations? Like… wow, what a coincidence. Jungkook tries not to put too much weight into it when he presses play.
Like all of RM’s work, it starts with the atmosphere. Ambient sounds, wind, city traffic, an airplane overhead. It sounds like the night on the balcony.
The first lonely chords pulse in and Jungkook is absolutely ready to lose himself in it.
And then RM starts to rap, low like always. He’s…
He’s talking about airplanes, about—
RM is Namjoon. It hits Jungkook before he even has a chance to consider it. Jungkook knows exactly what that voice sounds like when he’s talking about this, about growing and changing and learning to see something in a different light.
In this song, RM isn’t singing about something.
He’s singing about someone.
RM raps about the nest, about looking for somewhere to make a home, and Jungkook knows he’s not speaking in metaphors, that he’s talking about the Magic Shop. He’s talking about—
RM spits out lyrics about finding a home in a person.
A person who understands, who feels too much and sees too much and loves too much.
RM is singing about him.
Namjoon is singing about him. Jungkook was so tired just a fucking second ago but now his hair is standing on end, like with every word someone dragged a balloon across his skin, his skin pulled tight.
Jungkook has to pause it before he gets to the end of the song. He’s trying to hang on to every word but there are too many words, too many words from Namjoon and too many words in Jungkook’s head. He needs to parse them all out before he’s ready for more.
He listens to RM all the time. He listened to Namjoon whenever he could. So much is just settling into place, like sand in an earthquake. Everything is crashing down around him, but it’s just like the unessential is falling away to make room for understanding. Of course RM and Namjoon think the same things so often, they’re the same person.
Namjoon said that he’s a writer, that all his work is online, that he doesn’t have to worry about money. It makes sense. Jungkook’s trying his best not to beat himself up for not realizing sooner.
And here he is, staring at a track that RM, or Namjoon, or whatever Jungkook is supposed to call him now, wrote about Jungkook.
And Namjoon still left him alone in the cold, kiss still hanging off of his heart.
And RM hasn’t responded to that stupid long message he sent in the middle of the night, stupid and sad and heartbroken.
Taehyung comes home to Jungkook’s phone on the ground, a new crack in the screen, and Jungkook curled up on the couch. Jungkook doesn’t look up.
“Kook-ah?” he asks, picking up the phone, wiping the screen on his pants, frowning at the crack, “You okay?”
Jungkook huffs.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Taehyung unlocks the phone, the code long memorized. “A new song from RM? That’s awesome! Why are you all mopey.”
Jungkook chews on the inside of his cheek, a spot already bitten raw and swollen. “I kissed Namjoon a few weeks ago, at the party, and he literally ran away. He hasn’t texted me back in over three weeks.”
Taehyung coos, the sofa dipping under his weight. Jungkook lets himself fall into Taehyung’s side.
“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Taehyung is just as tactile as Jungkook, wrapping him up in his arms when the words aren’t good enough. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Jungkook hides his traitorous tears, keeping his head down, but he can’t keep it out of his voice. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. You were just happy, and I didn’t need you to tell me to move on or—“ Taehyung tries to interrupt, “—I know you wouldn’t actually say that, but I thought I could deal.”
Taehyung lets him have the silence to think.
“But he lied to me, hyung. He lied.”
Jungkook lets the betrayal take him for a second. Taehyung is so confused, he has to be. Jungkook hasn’t explained anything. He doesn’t know how to, and honestly he doesn’t want to, but Taehyung is good with that. He presses play on the movie Jungkook had paused to listen to the new song, lets Jungkook pretend his tears are about Haku not waking up, because if Chihiro can cry then Jungkook can too.
They fall asleep on the couch, cuddled up like they had when Jungkook was a lonely freshman who couldn’t make eye contact with anyone but Taehyung, and in the morning, he explains.
In the morning, Taehyung makes a plan.
The plan starts with a call. Taehyung sits across the table from him, urging him on. Jimin is on his side, too, saying over and over again on the phone that his hyung is stupid and can’t talk about real feeling if his life depends on it. Jimin says that Namjoon has been moping since the party, that he really likes Jungkook, and Jungkook can almost believe it.
Jungkook picks up his phone, scrolls to the contact lovingly labelled “joonie-hyung” with a disgusting amount of emojis.
His thumb hovers over the call button.
And hovers.
And hovers.
Taehyung moves first. “Gotta do it, Kooks,” and he presses call.
Jungkook yelps, hangs up, slides the phone across the table like it burned him. “You can’t do this to me!”
“You’ve gotta call him, babe, or both of you are just gonna sit and mope and have feelings for the rest of your sad, emo lives!” Taehyung gestures wildly, sliding the phone back to Jungkook with a huff. Jungkook lets his head thump down on the table.
“But what if I want to mope,” he says, muffled by the wood. This table hasn’t been cleaned in months. It’s probably terrible for his skin.
“If you want to mope, do it after you talk to the guy. Come on, Kook-ah, you can do it!” Taehyung’s voice goes soft. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Jungkook’s voice is muffled when he responds, head still down and hidden, “He could tell me he just liked my ideas and never wanted me.”
Taehyung’s silence is as much of a response as he needs. He gets up to go hide somewhere, lick his wounds, but Taehyung grabs his wrist.
“You know he likes you, right?”
Jungkook chews on his lip, that same raw, swollen spot. He shrugs.
“Hyung wrote a song about you. About your brain, and your eyes, and not just your muscles. Come on. You get that, right?”
Jungkook shrugs again. Taehyung gives him time to gather his thoughts as he stares at a crumb on the table. “There’s a difference between knowing and understanding.”
Taehyung’s grip loosens. “You’ve gotta talk to him, babe.”
Jungkook nods, sits back down. Taehyung places the phone back in front of him. Jungkook folds his hands, looks at it. “What do I say?”
“The truth, I guess? That you really like him and want to hold his hand or whatever?”
Jungkook scoffs, picks up the phone. “I kind of just want to hear him again, you know? I love his voice. RM and Namjoon. He’s just— there’s so much inside of him that I just want to know.”
There’s a beat of silence before Taehyung coos. “That’s so gay, babe.”
Jungkook laughs, turns off the screen of his phone. “I know, right? But I don’t think I can toni—“
—and the phone rings.
Jungkook drops it immediately, shocked by the buzz and the name that pops up, alongside far too many emojis.
“Pick it up!” Taehyung yells.
“Ah!” Jungkook yells back, frozen.
Taehyung, sensing the absolute lack of decisiveness in Jungkook at this moment, presses the green button. “Talk to him,” and he runs, probably off to ask Jimin to spy from the other side.
Namjoon’s voice is tinny through the tiny speaker.
“Fuck—“ Jungkook mutters, trying to pick the phone up, dropping it again with his shaking hands, “—fuck, hi, Joon-hyung? I’m sorry, I’m—“
He takes a breath, finally getting the phone to his ear.
“I’m kind of a mess right now. Hi. How are you?”
Namjoon’s laugh is small and breathless on the other side of the speaker. “Kind of a loaded question, no?”
Jungkook bites on his lip; not the bitten raw part, this time. “We kind of suck at this, I think maybe.”
“Maybe just a little.”
There’s a long stretch of familiar, comfortable silence. “Do you wanna start or?”
Namjoon sighs into the microphone. “I guess I should start. I’m kind of the one who fucked up, and I’m pretty sure you know how I feel anyway so—“
“I don’t,” Jungkook interrupts, “I mean I don’t know how you feel. And you did. So help me understand, hyung.”
Namjoon sounds pained when he finally responds on the other end. “I’m sorry, Jungkook. I guess I should start there? You really opened yourself up to me and I just ran. I’m not good at this, this communicating my actual feelings to actual people who know me and I guess I didn’t know how to tell you that I’m both this person you idolize and someone who really really likes you with feeling like I was using you or—“
“Wait,” Jungkook’s voice goes soft, “you like me?”
It sounds like Namjoon’s breath leaves him in one go, “Kook-ah,” he sighs, “I like you so much. I thought you knew.”
It’s only when Jungkook laughs that he recognizes the tears starting to well up behind his eyes. “How would I know, stupid?”
“Oh, Jungkook-ah… I’m sorry. I thought the song would explain it, but I guess there are some things you have to do in words, huh? I like you. A lot.”
Jungkook finds a light to stare at and blinks. “I’m so mad that we’re doing this over the phone. Months of pining and I can’t even kiss you for real.”
Namjoon squeaks, there are some crashing sounds, and some yelling that sounds mysteriously like Jimin, and this time, when Jungkook laughs, it’s tear free. “I’m on my way. Or— fuck, do you wanna come here? No, I’m on my way.” The next sounds are muffled, like Namjoon is holding the phone against his chest. “Does anyone here have a boombox? No, like an old school one. I’m trying to be dramatic.”
“Joon-hyung, I don’t really need the dramatic, I just want you,” he pauses, “and I already heard the bells.”
The words are out of his mouth before he can come to terms with the fact that yes, he really said that. Namjoon is spluttering into the phone and even though no one can see Jungkook, alone at the kitchen table as Taehyung inevitably eavesdrops from down the hall, he hides his blush in his hands. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“I’m going to write a whole song about that,” Namjoon says, almost reverently, “I wish I could see inside your head.”
Jungkook laughs. “You kind of already do.”
“This is unfair. I’m heading to your place right now. Fuck, where do you live? You texted it to me. I got it. Okay. I’ll be there in like— soon?”
Jungkook giggles, straight up giggles, covering his mouth. If he was in an anime there would be blush marks on his cheeks and god it’s so embarrassing to go from angst to whatever this is in one phone call. The thought sobers hims as Namjoon breaks something else on the line, cursing and scrambling.
“I really like you,” he says, picking at the table, “but I really want to talk about what happened. At like, some point. Make sure I’m not getting it wrong.”
“Oh,” Namjoon replies, and the crashing around him pauses. Jungkook has a brief moment to think he’s fucked it all up again, him and his stupid need for affirmation, before—
“Of course, Jungkook. That’s why I’m heading over, yeah? I need the boombox so you’ll know I mean it.”
Jungkook nods, blush still high on his cheeks, forgetting that Namjoon can’t see him.
“Kook?”
“Oh, yeah, yes. You still don’t need the boombox.”
Namjoon doesn’t bring a boombox.
He brings a little bluetooth speaker. It’s the color of those first new leaves in the spring, pale green like the start of something new, and the sound quality is stupid good because Namjoon loves music too much to subject Jungkook to boombox sound quality.
When Jungkook rings him up, he wipes the sweat off his hands, reorganizes the keys on the hook by the door again because everything has to be where it’s supposed to be. His hand is already hovering on the doorknob when a knock reverberates through the wood.
Namjoon’s a few seconds into the song, the instrumental intro soothing Jungkook down into that place RM always brings him to. He’s playing New Constellations, of course he is.
“Hi, Jungkook,” Namjoon says before Jungkook has a chance to think about what to do with his hands, “nice to meet you. I’m Kim Namjoon, 1994, also known as RM.” His eyes are tinged with nerves, but the smile reaches them anyway. “Can we start over?”
“Jeon Jungkook,” he smiles back, “1997, terribly bad at flirting, and big fan of RM.”
For them, starting over means Namjoon’s speaker on the coffee table, playing RM’s music and then when Namjoon gets too self conscious, a gentle lo-fi they can talk over. They’re not touching. Jungkook leads them down the entry and handing Namjoon a cup of tea. Jungkook didn’t really want tea but his energy had to go somewhere, so he made them tea, taking a few sips while they both decide on their words, sitting on opposite edges of the couch, not sure where to look.
Starting over means:
“I’m sorry I left like that. I’m not going to say that I’m sorry I hurt you because that makes it sound like I’m putting the blame on you, but I’m sorry that my actions hurt you.”
Jungkook cleans under his fingernail, not quite facing Namjoon, not quite facing away. He just needs something to do with his hands. “It kind of sucked. Jin and Hobi-hyung listened to me cry, like, a lot.”
Namjoon’s hands twitch like he’s aching to reach out. “I never, ever, ever want to make you cry. You know that, right? Hyung was just being stupid, and bad at communicating.”
“I know,” Jungkook says, still looking away, “and I don’t think you would, but that didn’t make it hurt less.” Jungkook fights every urge to squirm under all the emotions, hanging out there in the open. “I don’t need you to make it up to me or anything, that’s not what this is. That’s not how,” Jungkook pauses before letting the word fall out, “relationships should work. But like I had—have—this massive crush on you and kind of on RM too, who I guess is you, and it’s. A lot. To put myself out there like that and to get pushed away. And I still don’t even know why.”
Jungkook’s not sure that the tears will stay in his eyes when he looks up, but he has to see Namjoon, has to take that chance.
When he sees Namjoon, heart breaking so clearly in his eyes, the outer corners pulling down with the strength of his frown, Jungkook knows they’re going to fall. Namjoon is there before they can, swiping his thumbs under Jungkook’s eyes.
“God, I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” Namjoon says. Jungkook looks away, staring at a corner of the coffee table while he leans into Namjoon’s hand. He lets himself have that.
“I said I was going to start over but I’m doing such a bad job. Okay. Jungkook, I like you a lot.” Every part of Jungkook wants to look up, but he’s not ready for what he’ll find in Namjoon’s face. “I like you so stupid much. The first time I saw you in the store I broke that cup because you were just—so pretty. Your eyes are the size of the moon and I can’t stand seeing them like this. Seeing you, sad, because I ran away because I was afraid. You just, you loved RM. I didn’t even get a chance to tell you that I’m him before you kissed me, and then you were kissing me, and by the time my mind caught up I just didn’t know what to do.I was just being stupid. I’m so, so sorry, you have to know that.”
Jungkook grabs Namjoon’s wrists, eyes finally dry enough to chance eye contact. “I planned our whole life together the first time I saw you,” he says, fingers over Namjoon’s pulse point to keep him on track, “and I really thought I was just a dumb kid to you until the party. That night was so good, and that kiss was—would have been—so good. I get being overwhelmed, I was overwhelmed too.” He sucks a breath in before he speaks again. “But why didn’t you call me back? Or—my god, I sent RM that stupid message on instagram. Fuck. You read that. That never even occurred to me—fuck.” His fingernails squeeze into Namjoon’s skin and he has to let go. “I’m an idiot and I don’t get it.”
Namjoon pulls his hands back into his lap, both of them fully facing towards each other, now. “I, Namjoon, am really bad at dealing with emotions. My own emotions, I mean. That’s what RM is for, it’s what he’s always been for. I didn’t know how to tell you or talk to you or say I like you so much I can’t breathe, so RM told you. I’m sorry I had to go around it all like that instead of doing this earlier, but the song, that’s me calling you back and trying to explain.”
Jungkook gets it. He knows what that’s like, that buzzing under his skin that he doesn’t know how to communicate. Jungkook listens to RM; Namjoon becomes him.
Now, starting over means that Jungkook can’t decide if he’s done hurting or if he’s just really distracted by Namjoon’s mouth.
Now, starting over means:
“I wanna take you on a date.” Jungkook’s mouth always runs faster than his brain, and by the time he knows he’s said it, Namjoon has already said yes.
This time, the kiss is warm, honeyed peppermint on their tongues. Jungkook thinks Namjoon moved first, but he can’t be sure. There’s just this, them, Namjoon’s hand in has hair as Jungkook tries to figure out if his hands should pull at the front of Namjoon’s shirt or hold his waist, if this feels the same for Namjoon as it does for him, like his nerves are melting and skin is water, like those first new leaves in spring. Namjoon is pouring all of his apologies and all the things he can’t quite put into words yet onto Jungkook’s lips, the slide sweet and the sounds even sweeter.
Jungkook is being played like Namjoon’s music, every note another kiss, falling together into harmony. Kissing Namjoon turns the vibrations under his skin into a gentle hum, it channels the static into pure electricity. Every time they touch there’s a shock, and Jungkook is glad he sent Taehyung out before Namjoon got there. He wants to wreck, be wrecked, wants to listen to music and hold his hand.
Namjoon pulls away first, breathing into the space between them.
“This is good,” he says, barely a whisper, “you’re so good.”
Jungkook rolls his shoulders back into the shiver the words send down his spine. “Me too.”
Namjoon smiles, places another kiss on Jungkook’s sealed lips. The peppermint is gone, licked away already. “We’re both better at words than this.”
“Speak for yourself, I’m an idiot who almost let you get away with that song. I can’t believe RM wrote me a song.”
“RM didn’t write you a song,” Namjoon says, his thumbs rubbing circles on the back of Jungkook’s neck, “I did.”
“And what’s the difference?” Jungkook’s not sure if he’s staring at Namjoon or if his eyes are closed and Namjoon is all he can see.
“RM isn’t real,” he breathes, “and Namjoon really wants to date you too, for real.”
“You’re so cheesy,” Jungkook tries to tease, but the words come out too breathless, too soft.
Namjoon’s smile reaches his dimples this time, and lord, give Jungkook the strength to speak when he has to face that. “Maybe, but you deserve a little romance.”
“Bells.”
Namjoon nods, brushes his nose against Jungkook’s.
“I wanna date you.”
“I’d like that. You and RM. Like you both. You make me feel good. Right.”
Namjoon’s pout is unexpected. “You don’t need me to feel right. You’re perfect as you are, and another person isn’t going to change that.”
Jungkook laughs and lets himself fall sideways against the couch, looking up at Namjoon with what he expects are massive heart eyes. “I know. But you help.”
Namjoon falls too, pulling Jungkook forward into his arms, warm, safe, quiet, Jungkook timing his breaths with Namjoon’s just right, so that Namjoon breathes out when Jungkook breathes in.
It’s so right, so—
Taehyung’s door slams open. “Jimin owes me twenty thousand won!”
Jungkook can only groan. Namjoon laughs, pressing a kiss into Jungkook’s hair, and yeah. It’s still pretty great.