Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Jungkook had always imagined his life would feel like a movie, but lately, he had to admit: if someone had scripted the last couple of years of his life, they’d done a surprisingly good job. After finishing college—a blur of caffeine-fueled all-nighters, group projects with people who ghosted after the second meeting, and professors who either made or ruined his will to live—he’d somehow landed exactly where he was supposed to be, even though he hadn’t known where that was until it happened. The job at IGIN Creative came out of nowhere. A boutique media and entertainment company tucked into a slim building in Hannam-dong, Seoul, the kind of place that looked tiny from the outside but was full of surprises when you stepped in. It wasn’t one of those places where you felt small or invisible, not the way internships had made him feel, this was a place where his ideas were actually heard, where his weird, hyper-creative, slightly chaotic mind found space to bloom.

And he had Jimin to thank for that. Park Jimin, senior content strategist and accidental fairy godmother of his professional life, had taken one look at Jungkook’s portfolio during the interview and said, “He’s either going to break all our computers or win us an award, and honestly, I’m okay with either.”

Taehyung, who worked in brand development, had raised an eyebrow and said, “Let him do both. I’m bored.”

So that was that.

From day one, Jungkook was folded into their small circle like he’d always been there. He quickly learned that IGIN wasn’t just a job; it was a vibe. A strange, wonderful, caffeine-addicted, color-coded vibe with weekly brainstorming sessions that sometimes involved mood boards made of magazine cutouts and glitter. They had real clients, good ones, names that sometimes made his jaw drop, and they worked hard, sometimes too hard, but they also knew when to call it and go drink beers on the rooftop or get lost in Itaewon for the night. It helped that their boss was Kim Seokjin, who looked like a movie star, acted like the class clown, and ran his company like a camp counselor trying to make sure everyone had a good time and didn’t cry.

Jin was unlike any CEO Jungkook had ever imagined. No suits unless they were ironic. No yelling unless it was about someone microwaving fish in the office kitchen. No meetings that could have been emails. Jin was the kind of person who insisted on ordering group lunches when a project got approved and who said things like, “Let’s crush this pitch like it owes us money!” with a straight face. And he was also, Jungkook noticed with a weird ache in his chest, deliriously in love with his fiancé.

Namjoon.

The name alone made Jungkook feel like sighing into his cup of iced americano.

He’d met Namjoon a few times, during office events or the occasional lunch when Jin brought him around. And each time, Jungkook had barely spoken. Not because Namjoon wasn’t friendly, he was the opposite, warm and open and brilliant, but because Jungkook could barely form words around him. Namjoon had this calm, thoughtful energy that seemed to anchor the room wherever he stood. He was tall, absurdly attractive in a way that felt effortless, and had this low, rumbly voice that Jungkook was convinced could solve global conflict if broadcast through the right speakers.

He was also clearly, completely in love with Jin.

Which sucked. Not in a bitter way, Jungkook would never wish anything but happiness for Jin, and the two of them together were like some kind of magazine spread about queer power couples, both beautiful and successful and wrapped in this rare, easy kind of joy. It didn’t suck because Jungkook wanted Jin or Namjoon, it sucked because he wanted that. He wanted the kind of love that made you glow. The kind that felt soft around the edges and sharp in your bones. The kind that made you book a wedding in Thailand because your own country still didn’t see you as whole.

The announcement had come a few months ago, in the middle of a random Tuesday, when Jin stormed into the office with a grin that threatened to split his face and said, “Pack your bags my friends! We’re getting married in Phuket!”

Cue chaos.

Jungkook remembered blinking at his screen for a solid thirty seconds before realizing what he’d just heard. Jimin screamed. Taehyung dropped his boba. Jin had laughed so hard he nearly fell over.

It turned out that they were planning a beach wedding, something intimate and wildly beautiful, all soft linens and golden light and ocean waves. Jin had arranged for the whole company to get time off, and, because he was Jin, he also insisted that Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung be there as his special guests.

“Wear something slutty,” he’d said. “And bring tissues.”

And now, here they were. At Incheon International Airport at an unholy hour in the morning, all three of them clinging to overpriced coffee and half-dead from last-minute packing, standing in line to board their flight to paradise.

Jungkook was vibrating with energy, and it wasn’t just from caffeine. He hadn’t traveled outside of Korea since high school, and the idea of warm sand, tropical air, and days without checking his inbox made his whole body buzz. Taehyung looked like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine in oversized linen pants and a half-buttoned floral shirt, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. Jimin had gone full comfy-core in sweatpants and a hoodie that said I'm diamond, you know I glow up. Jungkook, trying to find the balance, wore cargo pants, a white tank top under a light zip-up jacket, and his trusty headphones slung around his neck.

“Okay, team!” Jimin chirped as they made their way through the jet bridge, clutching his boarding pass like it held the secrets of the universe. “We are officially on our way to the wedding of the century. Everyone say ‘thank you, Jin-hyung.’”

“Thank you, Jin-hyung,” Taehyung and Jungkook mumbled in unison, not quite awake but too obedient to protest.

“No seriously,” Jimin said, adjusting his tote bag. “I feel like I’m about to walk into one of those destination wedding movies. You know, where everyone’s tan, drunk, and accidentally falls in love.” Taehyung and Jungkook snorted.

As they stepped onto the plane, a calm wave of cool air greeted them, and Jungkook felt his shoulders relax. Something about the hiss of the AC, the muffled sounds of passengers settling in, and the low beeping of overhead bins made the moment feel real in a way that the last few weeks hadn’t—planning for the trip had been chaotic, filled with last-minute shopping, outfit debates, and Jin’s constant stream of messages in their group chat with updates like Wedding mood board updated again: I switched the florals because Namjoon’s allergic to peonies and love.

And now, here they were. Actually doing it.

Their seats were near the back of the economy section, of course, none of them were rolling in cash, but they didn’t mind, they were too excited. Three in a row, squished but together, and as soon as they spotted their seats, the chaos began.

“Okay,” Jimin said, dropping his bag into the middle seat. “Window’s mine.”

“Absolutely not,” Taehyung snapped, reaching for the window seat like a man on a mission. “You had it the last time we flew to Busan.”

“That was a train, and I was hungover!”

“Which is exactly why I deserved the better view.”

“I’m the shortest. I need the window to lean against.”

Jungkook watched them bicker with the weariness of someone who had seen this play out before and would likely see it again. He held his backpack against his chest like a shield and pointed at the aisle seat.

“Okay, I’ll take this one before someone stabs someone with a straw,” he said, sliding in.

Jimin and Taehyung froze for a second before Jimin, with a dramatic huff, flopped into the middle seat.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered to Taehyung.

“I am everyone’s blessing,” Taehyung said, smug, already tucking himself against the window like a cat.

Once they’d all settled and stuffed their bags under the seats, the momentary silence gave way to the soft rustle of seatbelts and the ding of the announcement system. The cabin lights dimmed to a soft golden hue, casting a dreamy glow across the cramped space.

“I still can’t believe Jin-hyung is getting married,” Jungkook murmured, stretching his legs as best he could. “Like… he’s really doing it.”

“To Namjoon,” Jimin added, smiling, his tone suddenly softer, sincere. “God. They’re so in love it’s disgusting.”

“I watched them build a shelf together once,” Taehyung said. “Namjoon kept messing up and Jin was having a hard attack, giving him instruction non-stop, hey, Namjoon never complained. They've married for so long" 

“I think I’d cry if someone looked at me the way Namjoon looks at Jin,” Jimin sighed.

“Namjoon is kind of perfect,” Jungkook muttered before he could stop himself.

Jimin turned to him, amused. “Oh? Someone’s been paying attention.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook said, tugging his hoodie over his head and sinking deeper into his seat. “I’m just saying. The guy writes lyrics, produces music, rescues cats, and has dimples. It’s objectively unfair.”

“Objectively gay,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook groaned. “I hate you both.”

They were still laughing when the plane started to roll forward, and Jungkook began to notice it. The shift. The strange, mechanical click under his thighs. At first, he ignored it, assuming it was just the plane’s movement or the seat adjusting with the tilt, but then it happened again, an odd dip, the right side of the seat sinking slightly, almost like a lever had been pulled halfway and then stuck.

He wiggled, testing it. Yep. Definitely weird.

“Uh… guys?” he said, frowning. “Something’s wrong with my seat.”

Jimin glanced over, more annoyed than concerned. “What now?”

“It’s, like… sinking?”

“Are you too heavy for airplane technology?” Taehyung said, clearly delighted.

Jungkook shoved him lightly. “I’m serious.”

“Stand up,” Jimin said, already twisting in his seat to investigate. Jungkook obeyed, and the second he did, the seat popped back into place like it had been exhaling under pressure. Jimin pressed on the cushion. It gave too easily on the right side.

“Yeah, no, this is busted.”

“Please don’t die before the wedding,” Taehyung said. “It would ruin the aesthetic.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes just as a flight attendant walked past, her gaze flicking to the commotion.

“Is everything alright?” she asked kindly.

“My seat’s kind of… broken,” Jungkook said.

She crouched beside it, tested the cushion, then nodded. “Hmm, yes, I see. It’s not a safety issue, but it won’t be comfortable for a long flight. One moment.”

She disappeared down the aisle and returned after a few minutes. “We’re completely full back here,” she said apologetically. “But we have an open seat in first class. Would you mind moving?”

Jungkook’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—what?”

“Excuse me?” Jimin said sharply, sitting up. “He gets promoted because his seat is defective?”

“This is classism in action,” Taehyung hissed, eyes narrowed.

The flight attendant only smiled. “We just want to make sure everyone’s comfortable.”

Jungkook could barely hold back his grin as he grabbed his backpack, rising with the air of a chosen one ascending to the heavens.

“Oh, I’m very comfortable,” he said, shooting Jimin and Taehyung a look as he backed into the aisle. “Don’t wait up.”

“Son of a—” Jimin muttered.

“May your in-flight entertainment crash,” Taehyung added.

Jungkook threw them a wink. “Think of me when they bring me a real meal with metal cutlery and champagne.”

“We will not.”

But they were smiling, and Jungkook was grinning too, too giddy to hide it, his steps light as he followed the attendant through the narrow divide between classes, past the curtain, past the place where economy faded into a dream. It felt like he was slipping into someone else’s story, a chapter he wasn’t supposed to be in, and then suddenly, he was there. First class. Wide leather seats. Whispered conversations. The kind of silence that made you want to sit up straighter, breathe a little slower.

The attendant gestured. “Here you go, sir.”

The cabin curtain swished open with a soft hiss, and Jungkook stepped into first class feeling like an intruder in a dream. His wide eyes swept the space as the flight attendant led him past rows of hushed luxury, soft leather seats, ambient lighting, passengers already reclining with champagne flutes, and he couldn’t help but glance back once at the economy cabin, where Jimin and Taehyung were probably already making plans to roast him for months about this upgrade. A real-life Cinderella moment, if Cinderella wore knock-off sneakers and a hoodie slightly too oversized for airline couture. And yet here he was, being led down the aisle by a flight attendant with a gentle voice and an air of quiet efficiency, until she stopped beside one of the last remaining seats in the front cabin and leaned ever so slightly toward the man already sitting there.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said softly, “we had a minor seating issue in economy—nothing serious, but this passenger’s seat was malfunctioning, and the cabin is full. Would you mind if he takes the empty seat next to you?”

The man shifted slightly, glancing up, and Jungkook got his first real look at him. He blinked once. Then twice. And nearly choked on his own tongue.

Because the guy was wearing a full sheet mask.

A pale white skincare mask covered his face, stark against his caramel-toned skin, making his eyes look wide and impossibly shiny beneath the eye holes. His outfit was so elegantly casual it hurt, a dove-gray cashmere cardigan draped over a crisp collarless shirt, tailored drawstring pants that probably cost more than Jungkook’s monthly rent, and some kind of sleek, minimalist designer slippers. He looked like a skincare commercial in motion, like a rich hermit who drinks green juice and controls fashion week from an undisclosed location.

Jungkook tried to swallow a snort and failed spectacularly. The man noticed. His eyes widened just a little.

“Oh—God—yes, of course,” the stranger said, voice muffled slightly by the mask but still low and smooth. He reached up instinctively to remove it. “Let me just—sorry, I didn’t think anyone would—”

“No, no,” Jungkook cut in quickly, grinning as he set his backpack down and slid into the plush seat. “Please, don’t take it off on my account. I get it. If I could fly looking like a spa treatment, I would.”

The man paused, fingers still grazing the mask.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Jungkook said, buckling his seatbelt with a grin. “In fact… got another one of those?”

The stranger blinked at him for a long moment, genuinely stunned, then let out a laugh so disarmingly bright that it filled the space between them like a warm breeze. “You want a sheet mask?”

“Absolutely. If I’m in first class, I want the full experience.”

He laughed again, this time a little softer, almost charmed, and reached into the tote bag by his feet, fingers sifting through what looked like half a skincare aisle. “I always overpack sheet masks,” he muttered, half to himself, before pulling out a sleek, glossy packet and handing it to Jungkook. “You just earned yourself my last rose water lifting treatment.”

“Oh wow, it’s fancy,” Jungkook said, turning the packet over and inspecting it like it might teach him French.

“Only the best,” the man replied, still grinning under his own mask. “Okay, lean back. I’ll help you” the man said gently, and before Jungkook could protest, there were fingers on his cheeks, warm, precise, gentle.

Jungkook stilled.

The man leaned in ever so slightly, carefully spreading the mask across Jungkook’s face, smoothing the edges with practiced ease. His touch was delicate, but present, fingertips brushing across Jungkook’s jaw, his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. The mask was cool, soothing, but Jungkook barely noticed. His pulse had picked up, not from nervousness, but from something… else.

The man adjusted the edges near his ears, their faces only inches apart now, and then gave a soft, approving nod. And that was how Jungkook, freshly promoted from the trenches of economy, ended up reclining in a luxury seat with a hydrating mask being carefully smoothed over his face by a man he had known for less than five minutes. They both started laughing halfway through, struggling not to peel the masks off with the sheer force of their amusement.

“There,” he murmured, “a perfect match.”

“Do you say that to all your sheet-mask seatmates?”

“You’re the first,” he replied with a wink.

And just like that, the ice was gone.

Their masks on, they settled back into their plush seats, now looking like two glow-up ghosts with a shared secret. Jungkook couldn’t stop smiling under the serum. The strangeness of it all, the absurdity, the closeness, the kindness, had collided into something unexpected and really lovely

“This is ridiculous,” Jungkook said, nose crinkling beneath the serum-soaked fabric, and trying hard not to laugh so not to ruin the beauty treatment.

“Absolutely,” the stranger agreed. “I love it.”

When they’d finally settled again, the cabin lights dimming further as the plane began its ascent, the stranger turned to Jungkook, holding out a freshly sanitized hand.

“I’m Jung Hoseok, by the way. Sorry for the… ghost face. I’m not a great flyer, and the mask helps me feel more in control. Like I’m doing something for myself, I guess.”

Jungkook shook his hand easily. “Jeon Jungkook. And seriously, no judgment."

Hoseok’s laugh was full-bodied and warm, and Jungkook felt a weird flutter in his chest at the sound of it. It was too soon, way too soon, but he also couldn’t deny the ease settling over him like a soft blanket, the sense that this man, in his ghostly mask and impossibly expensive outfit, was going to be a very good memory.

“So,” Hoseok said, turning slightly toward him, “what takes you to Thailand? Did you leave someone behind in the hellfire of economy?”

Jungkook grinned and chuckled softly, leaning his head back against the seat. “I was flying with two of my coworkers, well, they’re more like best friends, we all work at this boutique creative agency, kind of a little media company, so we’re tight. But I'm so never letting them forget that I got upgraded to First Class" Jungkook said smugly. “I’ll be that friend.”

Hoseok laughed again. “Wow. Ruthless.”

“And what about you?” he added, glancing at Hoseok gently. 

“Oh,” Hoseok said with a shrug that somehow looked graceful, “an old friend of mine is throwing a big celebration. Kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I couldn’t miss it. I live in Paris most of the year, so it’s rare I get to see him.”

“Paris,” Jungkook repeated, eyebrows lifting. “Fancy.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, playful. “I mean… I work in fashion. It’s almost legally required.”

“Wait—seriously?”

“Yeah. I’m a creative director. Mostly editorial work, sometimes campaign concepts, a lot of brand consulting. Think too many emails and not enough sleep, but make it aesthetic.”

“Damn,” Jungkook said, clearly impressed. “I just make videos. And pitch weird campaign ideas. And occasionally get coffee for everyone when the espresso machine breaks.”

“I like you already,” Hoseok said warmly. “You seem fun.”

Before Jungkook could respond, the plane shuddered.

A stifled gasp came from Hoseok.

The turbulence wasn't dramatic, not dangerous, but it was enough to jostle the cups, make the lights flicker a little, enough to remind you that you were metal and sky and sheer faith. Hoseok’s fingers tightened around the armrests, knuckles pale, the playful energy from before vanished behind wide, wary eyes.

Jungkook’s hand moved before he could think about it. Instinctual. Gentle. He reached over and covered Hoseok’s trembling fingers with his own, pressing softly, grounding him. “It’s okay,” Jungkook said, voice quiet and certain despite the flush creeping up his neck. “It’s just air. Nothing to be scared of.”

Hoseok turned his head slightly, surprised not just by the contact but by the calmness in Jungkook’s tone. His eyes dropped to their joined hands. Jungkook’s thumb moved without meaning to, small circles against the back of Hoseok’s hand, reassuring, careful.

The moment stretched.

And stretched.

And something in the air between them stilled. Slowed.

When the turbulence passed, and the plane evened out, the pressure of Jungkook’s hand didn’t disappear right away. It lingered a second too long. Then another. And then, as if waking from a trance, Jungkook blinked and pulled away, heat crawling up his ears.

“Oh—God, I didn’t mean to—sorry, that was probably weird—”

“No,” Hoseok said quickly, and his smile, slow, warm, curious, made Jungkook’s stomach flutter. “That was… nice. Unexpected. But nice.”

Jungkook didn’t know where to look. He fidgeted with the seatbelt, his hands betraying him, his cheeks warm.

“You’re really blushing,” Hoseok added, almost in awe. “Wow.”

“I’m not,” Jungkook muttered, but the pink blooming across his cheeks, even visible behind the mask, betrayed him, and Hoseok laughed, a quiet, delighted sound that felt like a reward.

They were silent for a few moments after that, but not awkward. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t empty, it was full. Full of something Jungkook didn’t quite have a name for yet. Something that felt suspiciously like a beginning.

Their masks came off eventually, and when they did, Jungkook got the full effect of Hoseok’s face, and yeah, okay, it was a problem. He was beautiful in the kind of way that made your brain lag a little. Sharp cheekbones, smooth golden skin, soft lips, and eyes that were always just a little too expressive. His smile came easy, and it was radiant, like it belonged in a montage at the end of a romantic movie. Jungkook stared a second too long and then quickly looked away.

Which Hoseok noticed.

And filed away quietly with an amused little curl at the edge of his lips.

A little while later, the flight attendants began preparing the meal service. Jungkook sat up straighter when he saw the carts rolling down the aisle, not with the usual plastic trays of airplane food but actual porcelain plates, linen napkins, cutlery that didn’t bend when you touched it.

When the meal arrived, plated delicately with seasonal vegetables, a choice of miso-glazed sea bass or mushroom risotto, and a dessert that looked like something from a patisserie, Jungkook blinked down at the tray like it had descended from the heavens.

“Is that… is that real food?” he whispered, like it might disappear if he acknowledged it.

Hoseok burst into laughter, covering his mouth. “You’re adorable.”

“I just—where are the plastic trays? The tinfoil? Why does this fork have weight to it?”

“It’s called ‘first class,’ mon cherie,” Hoseok said, drawing the last word out playfully, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Jungkook poke cautiously at the artfully arranged food like it might explode.

“Is that edible flower for decoration or do I eat it?” Jungkook asked, genuinely distressed.

“You eat it.”

“Even the petal?”

“Especially the petal.”

Jungkook took a bite and then made a noise of such genuine delight that Hoseok had to look away or risk combusting on the spot. “I feel like a fraud,” Jungkook whispered, chewing reverently. “I’m just a gremlin who makes videos and drinks gas station coffee.”

“You’re a very charming gremlin,” Hoseok said, smiling over his wine glass. “And I’m glad I got seated next to you. I was dreading this flight.”

“Really?” Jungkook asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Hoseok admitted, swirling the wine lazily. “Flying alone always gets to me. Something about being in the air just… unsettles me. I usually distract myself with movies and skincare and pretending I’m on a solo luxury retreat.”

“Well,” Jungkook said with a little shrug, “glad I could crash the spa day.” They both smiled.

The flight was long, so they also occupied their time with different entertainments. Reading a book, listening to music and watching different films with subtitles on, headphones in. Jungkook couldnt help but to steal a few glances to his companion, though. And he was not subtle about it. Hoseok’s profile was lit soft by the screen glow, and the black silk collar of his travel shirt was draped in a way that made Jungkook wonder what expensive hell it would be to iron something like that.

Just then, Hoseok removed one earbud and sighed, unbuckling his belt. “I’m going to the restroom,” he said casually, already moving to stand.

Jungkook shifeds slightly to give him space, eyes still locked on his screen as Hoseok turned, except the plane shuddered just then, not rough, but enough to tilt their shared universe off balance for a second.

“Oh—!” Hoseok gasped, his polished loafer slipping, knees buckling for half a second, and his body lurched toward Jungkook.

Time slowed.

Hoseok didn’t crash — he landed.

Half-falls, half-collapses right into Jungkook’s chest with a breathless exhale, his arms flailing for stability but catching nothing, while Jungkook, reacting on instinct, surged forward and wrapped an arm firmly around Hoseok’s waist. The other braced just behind his shoulder, steady and strong.

It was clumsy, but it was close.

Hoseok’s face ended up tilted just inches from Jungkook’s, noses bumping in a soft, startled collision, breaths mingling in a space too small for composure. Jungkook felt Hoseok's breath catch, sharp and warm against his skin, and something inside his chest flutters like a pulled thread unraveling fast.

Their eyes met.

Hoseok’s gaze was wide, still blinking in disbelief, but slowly, he looked into Jungkook’s eyes like he was reading them, trying to decode something quietly hidden between dark lashes and flushed cheeks. Jungkook’s pupils were dilated. His lips parted, but no words came.

God, he smells good. Jungkook thought when he registered it all at once: the heat of Hoseok’s body so close to his own, the press of Hoseok’s chest against his shoulder, the faint brush of their thighs touching, and the intoxicating scent of Hoseok’s cologne, something expensive and complex, with warm amber, hints of spice, something grounding and citrus-sweet, and it clung to Jungkook’s breath, curling into the corners of his brain where scent became memory.

Hoseok blushed, not dramatically, but a soft, rising pink that crept from the line of his neck to the high curve of his cheekbones, like blooming peonies in spring. He shifted ever so slightly, a small repositioning of weight that caused the most delicate friction between them.

“Sh—sorry, I—” Hoseok breathed, but he didn’t move yet. His hand was braced lightly on Jungkook’s thigh, the one nearest the aisle, and Jungkook’s hand remained firm around his waist. The hold was respectful but gentle, protective, like he’d caught something precious and wasn’t sure how to release it yet. “I—I didn’t mean to—” he tried again, flustered.

"It's okay" Jungkook reassured. "No harm done".

Hoseok left out a breath, half laugh, half exasperation, and finally, gently peeled himself back, using the armrest to stabilize himself. Jungkook instantly missed the other's warmth. 

Hoseok returned a few minutes later, face a bit more composed, though a faint blush still dusted his cheeks. As he stepped into the narrow space between the seats, Jungkook watching him already. “Don’t worry,” Jungkook said casually, eyes dancing, “I’m ready to catch you if you fall again.”

Hoseok laughed, more relaxed now, brushing his fingers through his hair as he stepped past Jungkook, and took his seat.

Jungkook rested his elbow on the divider again, chin in his hand. "Would you consider yourself to be clumsy?"

Hoseok snorted. "Actually no. I have great balance, I dance!"

Jungkook's eyes widened. "You dance?"

"Yeah, what about it?" 

"Nothing! I think it’s great, I mean, I could definitely tell..." Jungkook winked, teasingly, playfully. 

Hoseok laughed, tilting his head back, and smacking Jungkook softly on the arm. 

Over the next few hours, the connection between them settled into something unspoken but unmistakably there, like the hum beneath a song, the thread tying together soft, casual exchanges and the way they kept leaning slightly toward each other. There were more glances, some accidental, others less so. A moment where Jungkook laughed too hard and Hoseok touched his wrist without thinking. Another when Jungkook, too tired to sit upright, tilted his head slightly and found himself dozing for a few minutes, with Hoseok letting him, barely breathing to avoid waking him. It was easy. It was warm. And it made no sense at all.

And then, too soon, the flight attendant’s voice returned, announcing their descent.

Jungkook sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, already mourning the fact that this plane would eventually land. Hoseok stretched languidly, checked his hair in the tiny mirror, and waved over the attendant.

“Champagne,” he said, and when it came, he passed one of the glasses to Jungkook. “For surviving turbulence and broken seats. And for making this the nicest flight I’ve had in years.”

Jungkook clinked his glass against Hoseok’s, his heart suddenly heavy with something like longing.

They sipped quietly, watching the sea and sand come into view below.

As they prepared to disembark, Hoseok stood and retrieved his carry-on, pausing as Jungkook lingered awkwardly in the aisle.

“This was… really nice,” Hoseok said, soft and sincere. “Unexpected. But really nice.”

Jungkook nodded, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. I… yeah.”

He should have asked. Should have gotten a number, an Instagram, anything—but Hoseok’s eyes were kind and the moment was too big, and Jungkook hesitated.

So he smiled instead.

And watched as Hoseok stepped off the plane and into the heat of the Phuket afternoon, disappearing into the crowd of arriving passengers.

Jungkook stayed still a moment longer.

Heart full.

Palms still remembering the shape of a stranger’s hand.

Chapter Text

When Jungkook stepped back into economy, blinking against the sudden contrast of tight spaces, overhead bag Tetris, and a faint scent of instant noodles, he felt like he’d just been ripped out of a dream and tossed back into the regular, loud, elbow-bumping reality of his life. Jimin and Taehyung were mid-debate about whether the flight attendants were flirting with them or just being polite when they spotted him, instantly widening their eyes like they’d seen a ghost in Louboutins.

“There he is!” Taehyung shouted, drawing attention from two nearby rows. “The chosen one!”

“You smell like money,” Jimin said dramatically, waving a hand under his nose. “And look at his aura—it’s giving moisturized, champagne-sipping, has-a-villa-in-Capri vibes.”

“Did you take a bubble bath in caviar up there?” Taehyung added, already scooting over to make room for him, grinning like a devil.

Jungkook, usually quick with a playful jab, just dropped into the middle seat between them with a sigh so deep and forlorn it made both of them pause.

“What?” Jimin said, squinting at him. “You’re not smiling. You’re supposed to be gloating.”

“Did they run out of gold leaf on the foie gras?” Taehyung whispered.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. He slumped down into the seat, eyes glazed in the way of someone freshly heart-bruised, and after a beat he said, quietly but with all the weight of the world: “I just let the love of my life walk away.”

Both heads snapped toward him.

“Wait, what?” Jimin said.

“Who?” Taehyung asked.

Jungkook stared at the seatback in front of him. “His name was Hoseok.”

And then it all came tumbling out like confetti from a popped balloon—the way Hoseok had looked so effortlessly expensive and also so weirdly adorable with that sheet mask on, the way they’d talked the entire flight like they’d known each other for years, how Hoseok had laughed at all of Jungkook’s dumb jokes, how he had held his hand during turbulence, how his voice was low and rich and comforting, how his body felt between his arms when Hoseok stumbled onto his lap, and how, by the time they’d landed, Jungkook had been completely, hopelessly, stupidly gone for him. He even described the mask incident in detail, including how Hoseok had helped put it on, and Jungkook could still feel the phantom brush of his fingertips against his cheekbones.

“...And then I didn’t ask for his number,” Jungkook finished, staring down at his lap like it had personally betrayed him. “Because I’m an idiot. A coward. A fool. He even bought me champagne and I just… I smiled at him and left.”

Taehyung clutched his chest dramatically. “You were this close to starting your strangers-to-lovers fashion K-drama and you fumbled?”

Jimin, not one to let an opportunity for chaos pass, suddenly gasped. “We might still catch him! Baggage claim! Let’s go!”

“Really?!” Jungkook’s eyes lit up with such immediate hope it broke Jimin’s heart a little.

“Really,” Jimin said. “Come on, you dumb romantic!”

They practically threw themselves out of their seats, Jimin fake-coughed his way through the crowd, claiming he had “a weak bladder and a royal appointment.” Taehyung pretended he left his “grandmother’s ashes” and needed to get her back. Jungkook followed, red-eared and full of adrenaline and hope, as they weaved through people dragging suitcases and trying to grab overhead bags. But by the time they made it to baggage claim, hearts thumping, eyes scanning every well-dressed figure in sight, Hoseok was nowhere to be found.

Gone, like a dream you wake up from too early.

Jungkook sat on his suitcase, looking like a heartbroken puppy while Taehyung and Jimin exchanged looks that said: we’re going to have to babysit him for the next four days.

The taxi ride to the resort was quiet for the first few minutes, save for the soft swish of palm trees passing outside the windows and Jungkook’s sighs every ninety seconds.

Then Taehyung leaned forward. “Wait—did you get his full name?”

“Hoseok,” Jungkook said, eyes still on the road. “Jung Hoseok.”

Jimin and Taehyung froze.

“...As in Jung Hoseok?” Taehyung repeated slowly, pulling out his phone and typing furiously. It only took him thirty seconds before he gasped so loudly the driver flinched.

“Oh my god. Jungkook. You—you sat next to THE Jung Hoseok?!”

Jungkook blinked. “What do you mean the?”

Taehyung was already reading aloud from his phone. “Jung Hoseok, age 34, born in Gwangju, studied in Milan, former artistic director for several K-fashion houses, currently based in Paris, works in collaboration with Chanel, Loewe, Louis Vuitton—he was invited to the LV Spring-Summer 2026 show and sat front row with goddamn Lupita Nyong’o!”

“Jesus,” Jimin breathed, snatching the phone. “He’s insanely hot in all these pictures.”

“I know,” Jungkook groaned. “It’s not fair. Wait.. so he is famous?”

"If you're Korean and into fashion like Tae and me... yeah.." Jimin offered a little smile.

“Well…” Taehyung said slowly, trying to sound gentle, “maybe it’s for the best. He lives in Paris, he’s a full-on fashion mogul, probably too busy jet-setting to have a boyfriend.”

“Or even a casual skincare romance,” Jimin added, still scrolling through Hoseok’s Instagram, which was a curated dream of runways, late-night Paris cafes, soft-filtered portraits, and one blurry photo of a golden retriever in sunglasses.

Jungkook slumped back in his seat. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make it less sad.”

The rest of the drive was mostly silent, especially on Jungkook's side. Then, they arrived at the resort.

It wasn’t just luxurious. It was borderline heavenly.

Set along the coastline of Phuket, the resort shimmered like a postcard brought to life. Private villas hugged the cliffside, each with an infinity pool overlooking the sea, the kind of turquoise water that looked Photoshopped, edged by fine white sand and palm trees that swayed just enough to be cinematic. There were walkways of white stone, scattered lanterns glowing like fireflies at dusk, marble fountains trickling gently through courtyards, and a main lobby that opened into the horizon with no walls, just open air and sea breeze. The scent of lemongrass and jasmine floated through everything.

“This is what getting married to your soulmate gets you,” Jimin said reverently. “And we get to stay here. For free.”

Waiting at the entrance were Jin and Namjoon, both in resort linens, holding hands and glowing with joy. Jin immediately wrapped them all in hugs, talking a mile a minute about last-minute flower changes and how he still wasn’t sure about the petal color gradient on the aisle.

Namjoon rolled his eyes fondly. “We have three days. He’s going to check the flower arrangements five hundred times.”

They gave the boys a full tour, where the ceremony would take place (a garden terrace facing the sea at golden hour), where the reception would be (an elegant glass-roofed courtyard strung with fairy lights), the spa, the beach, the yoga deck, the breakfast buffet (“They have five kinds of croissants,” Jin whispered like it was holy), and finally their room: a triple suite with a sea-view balcony, a marble tub big enough for three, and beds that looked like they could seduce you into a coma.

Later, as they unpacked, Jin pulled Jimin and Taehyung aside with a subtle tilt of his head toward the balcony where Jungkook sat staring out at the ocean.

“Is he okay?” he asked, brows pinched. “He’s usually annoying me by now.”

Jimin exhaled. “He met someone on the plane.”

Taehyung added, “Like, really met someone.”

“We’re not saying love at first sight,” Jimin said, “but we are saying mutual sheet masks and champagne at 35,000 feet.”

They didn’t mention Hoseok’s name, though. 

Jin, ever the drama connoisseur, nodded solemnly and by that evening had organized a sunset cocktail party by the pool “for morale.” It worked, Jungkook smiled more, toasted to the grooms, got roped into a game of charades with some of Jin’s old college friends, and by bedtime, he was tired in the good way.

The sun was beginning its slow descent when Jin found them lounging on the terrace outside their suite, Jimin in sunglasses far too dramatic for dusk, Taehyung mid-rant about sea urchins, and Jungkook curled into a pool chair with his head tilted up toward the sky, soaking in the late afternoon gold like he could will it to burn away the lingering ache in his chest. Jin stood with his hands on his hips, looking between them with the smug expression of someone about to unveil something sentimental and dramatic at the same time.

“Alright, minions,” he declared, clapping his hands once. “Time for an official wedding matter.”

Jimin perked up immediately. “Are we choosing the cake?”

“No, Jimin,” Jin said. “That ship sailed and was frosted two months ago. I’m here to ask you three a very important question.”

Taehyung sat up. “Is it about matching tuxedos? Because I will not wear satin again. I have trauma.”

Jin ignored him. “Would you guys, my beloved, annoying, sometimes feral maknaes, do me the honor of being my wedding witnesses?”

There was a beat of stunned silence, then a loud screech from Jimin, who threw his arms around Jin like he’d just won a reality show. “YES! A thousand times yes!”

Taehyung clutched his chest. “Wait, do we get to sign something? Is there a pen? Do we wear sashes?”

Jungkook, blinking slowly like he was trying to catch up with the sudden emotional shift, looked at Jin. “Really? You want us?”

Jin smiled, softer now, leaning against the railing. “Of course I do. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have standing by me on the biggest day of my life.”

Jimin was wiping at his eyes like he hadn’t been planning to cry until the actual wedding day. “Okay but like, you’re not allowed to say stuff like that without warning.”

“But there’s a thing...” Jin added, turning to Jungkook. “I’d like you to be Namjoon’s witness.”

Jungkook blinked. “Me?”

Taehyung raised a brow. “Not to question the arrangement, but... wouldn’t it make more sense if Namjoon asked one of his own people?”

“He only has two super close friends flying in for the wedding,” Jin explained, folding his arms across his chest. “Both of them are going to be his witnesses, but since I want my brother to stand beside me—he’s already flying all the way from the U.S., and I haven’t seen him in a year—I can't have him and you three be my witnesses, it'd be unbalanced. So I asked Namjoon if he minded giving one of his spots to someone else. And when I suggested you, he didn’t even hesitate.”

Jungkook’s throat tightened. “Really?”

Jin smiled. “Namjoon thinks the world of you, Jungkook. He’s always said you’re mature and dependable and grounded... when you’re not falling off chairs or trying to eat three hot peppers at once.”

“I only did that once,” Jungkook mumbled, ears going pink.

“I want you up there,” Jin said, voice warm. “It just feels right.”

Jungkook nodded, trying to swallow the way his heart suddenly swelled with something sharp and beautiful. “Okay. Yeah. I’d be honored.”

“Alright,” Jin clapped his hands again. “Ceremony rehearsal’s tomorrow morning. You’re all mine at ten sharp, no excuses, and yes, there will be champagne.”

The next morning, the rehearsal took place in the cool, shaded garden terrace where the ceremony would be held—long wooden chairs arranged in tidy rows facing an arch of cascading white orchids, the ocean beyond shimmering like liquid sapphire. The grooms stood at the altar already, talking with the wedding planner, while the rest of the party trickled in.

“This is it,” Jimin whispered, clutching his bouquet prop like it was real. “This is where I’m going to cry so hard I dissolve into sea foam.”

“Focus, drama queen,” Taehyung said, adjusting his collar. “We have to practice not tripping.”

Jungkook looked around the venue, his chest still a little hollow, but feeling steadier today—stronger. The pain of losing his sky-born stranger hadn’t dulled exactly, but it had softened, settling into the kind of ache you could carry without stumbling.

Next to Namjoon stood a tall man with a kind face and soft, feline eyes, his hair was black, slightly tousled, and his posture gave off the ease of someone who was used to watching the world rather than dominating it. “This is Min Yoongi,” Namjoon said when they reached the altar. “My best friend since college, and now co-composer at the label.”

Yoongi gave a small bow. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yoongi-hyung will be my main witness,” Namjoon continued, then looked at his phone. “The other person’s running late.”

"Which is unusual on him, let me..." Yoongi pulled his own phone from his pocket, tapped out a message, and a moment later said, “He says he’s stuck with his tailor, last-minute fix on the suit.”

“Of course he is,” Namjoon said with a fond smile. “Hobi’s a perfectionist.”

“Hobi?” Taehyung asked curiously, eyebrows lifting.

“Yeah, it’s a nickname” Namjoon said. “He is my childhood friend. He’ll be the second witness. I guess we have to do without him, I'll fill him in when he comes back.”

Jin ushered everyone into place and going over the music cues with the planner. Jimin pulled Jungkook into a giggle fit by tripping intentionally down the aisle, and Taehyung tried to harmonize with the string quartet practicing nearby, earning a playful glare from Jin.

Jungkook went through the motions, practiced his position next to the empty place were Namjoon’s childhood friend was supposed to be standing, nodded when told where to stand, smiled when everyone else smiled, being a witness wasn’t as hard as he thought it would.

The rehearsal was followed by a light lunch and then a break for the rest of the day, which Jin declared “off-limits to wedding stress.” That evening, since the grooms were separating for the next 24 hours, the maknaes, with the help of Jin’s brother and a couple of his close friends, organized a relaxed, slightly chaotic bachelor evening that was perfectly Jin-coded.

They took him fishing off the private dock, where Jin yelled encouragements at his line and squealed every time a fish wriggled too close. They played ridiculous drinking games on the beach: “Truth or Coconut,” which involved answering questions or eating a raw coconut jelly shot; “Guess the K-drama line,” where Jin destroyed everyone with his encyclopedic knowledge of romantic monologues; and “Who’s Most Likely To,” which led to Jin defending himself against accusations like “most likely to own a real size figurine of an Alpaca.”

There was a surprise cake made to look like Jin in a tuxedo, courtesy of Jimin, who’d bribed the kitchen staff, and a round of toasts where everyone said what they loved most about Jin, ending with his brother tearfully hugging him and shouting, “You were always the princess of the family!”

At the end of the night, Jin stood barefoot on the sand, cheeks flushed from the wine and the laughter, looking around at the people who had shaped his life.

“I’m so happy right now,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “I’m marrying the love of my life. And I have the best idiots around me.”

Jungkook, sitting beside him with a blanket draped around his shoulders, smiled genuinely. It was warm, and real, and full of love. He couldnt wait for the wedding day. 

Chapter Text

Hoseok had never hated the sound of his own name until it was called out by the chauffeur just as he was teetering on the edge of turning back.

He thought about the soft click of the aircraft door behind which had seemed deafening, final, like a chapter shutting too fast. He’d walked briskly through the narrow tunnel, suitcase in hand and heart oddly heavy for a man who had only just spent six hours with someone he’d barely known, except it hadn’t felt like six hours, and it hadn’t felt like someone he barely knew. It had felt like stepping into a warmth he hadn’t realized he missed, like laughing too much over the smallest things, like having a stranger’s fingers brush yours mid-turbulence and realizing your skin remembers.

He’d told himself, reasonably, that he had a meeting. The tailor in Phuket didn’t usually do house calls, but for Hoseok, he’d made an exception. The suit needed final adjustments for the wedding, and there were only two days left. Still, as he had walked through the arrivals gate, his steps had faltered.

He could still hear Jungkook laughing, the way he’d looked at the first-class meal like he’d just discovered treasure. Could still feel the ghost of Jungkook’s cheek under his palm when he’d helped him with that ridiculous but charming sheet mask. How firm and warm his body felt when he had accidentally fell on him. And Jungkook had caught him. He caught him. He could still see, if he closed his eyes for even a second, the way Jungkook had blushed, looked down, glanced back with eyes so open, so honest, that Hoseok had nearly forgotten his own name.

But the voice calling him was insistent, and the tide of people moving toward the exit unstoppable.

He didn’t look back.

The tailor was waiting in his atelier when he arrived, immaculate and precise, and the suit itself was a work of art: midnight blue silk, hand-stitched accents, a lapel so clean it reflected light. Hoseok stood before the mirror and nodded as the tailor marked the hem with chalk, gave precise tugs to the jacket’s fall on his shoulders. On any other day, he would’ve been thrilled, he had impeccable taste, and this was a masterpiece.

But today, he didn’t see the suit.

He saw doe eyes and a shy, crooked smile and a hand reaching for his.

He left the fitting and his car drove him into the resort. Jin and Namjoon had chosen a breathtaking location for their espacial day. The gardens, golden sunset light painting the edges of the palm trees in amber, were magnificent. As he entered, he caught sight of two silhouettes at the edge of the private pier. Jin was curled into Namjoon’s side, both men looking out over the water in silence, their forms silhouetted by the dying light like something sacred. The mentioned couple were by the beach, embraced looking at the horizon. 

“You’re staring,” Jin said without looking.

Namjoon smiled, slow and full of wonder. “Can you blame me? I still don’t believe I get to marry you.”

Jin groaned, hiding his face in Namjoon’s chest. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I love you,” Namjoon whispered. “And I’m so blessed. You could’ve run the other way, but you stayed.”

“I’m regretting that now,” Jin muttered, though his fingers curled tighter into Namjoon’s shirt. “We still have ten things to finalize. The seating chart is a nightmare, I forgot to confirm the second violinist, and Jungkook might be—”

“I don’t care,” Namjoon interrupted, kissing him soundly. “Even if half the guests get food poisoning, or the cake falls into the pool, I’m still marrying you.”

Jin went pink, visibly trying not to smile, when footsteps approached.

“Interrupting the romance?” Yoongi asked, voice dry as ever.

“You always do,” Namjoon teased, and then stood to hug his friend.

Hoseok came up behind Yoongi, suitcase wheeling behind him, face brightening as Namjoon pulled him into a long, familiar hug.

“Hobi!” Namjoon beamed. “You made it!”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Hoseok said, gripping his old friend tight, heart momentarily soothed by the welcome.

Jin stood and smiled. “Wow, you look... exactly the same.”

“Offended,” Hoseok deadpanned, before they all broke into laughter.

The four of them grabbed drinks at the beach bar and took seats under a wide parasol, watching the sun melt into the horizon. The light painted everything with honey and nostalgia, and soon they were catching up, Yoongi talking about the studio’s latest artist, Jin fretting about seating again, Namjoon detailing his last trip to Kyoto to visit a library built inside a forest.

Jin did eventually leave, he had to take care of his guests as well, he hugged Hoseok goodbye, and then Namjoon, Yoongi and Hosoek continued with their bathing up. But at some point, Yoongi gave Hoseok a look. “You okay?”

Hoseok hesitated.

“I mean,” Yoongi added, softer now, “you’ve been kind of... distracted.”

Namjoon turned to listen too, concern written across his brow.

Hoseok took a sip of his drink. “I met someone on the plane.”

That got their attention.

“We talked the whole time. He laughed at my skincare. Held my hand when the plane hit turbulence, and I may I or may not have fallen on his lap one... We barely touched, but it felt like something more than it was.”

Yoongi leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “And now you’re regretting not getting his number.”

Hoseok nodded once. “I almost turned back, but—work. Timing. All the usual excuses.”

“You’re usually not like this,” Yoongi said. “You’ve been buried in work for years. I can’t remember the last time you mentioned someone.”

“I know,” Hoseok whispered. “It felt stupid. But it didn’t feel small. It felt like... like a spark. Like something waking up again.”

Namjoon reached over, squeezed his hand. “Maybe it was a gift in passing. Maybe you were meant to feel that and let it go.”

Hoseok looked at the sky. “Maybe.”

“But you know what I want to hear more about?” Yoongi said, sitting up. “You mentioned something in your last email, about moving back to Seoul?”

At that, Hoseok’s expression changed, less wistful, more alive. “I’ve been thinking about it. My contract with the atelier in Paris ends this year. I miss home. I miss... being present.”

Namjoon’s face lit up. “You better move back. We’ve been waiting.”

Yoongi raised his glass. “To Hobi’s homecoming.”

They clinked glasses, and Hoseok laughed softly, warmth blooming in his chest again—this time bittersweet, like fate had handed him one joy while tucking the other just out of reach.

The next day, Hoseok had fully intended to join the rehearsal. His suit was ready. His spot as Namjoon’s second witness confirmed. But just as he was getting dressed, a call came through from the tailor—there’d been a small issue with the seam under the lining, and if it wasn’t fixed today, it might risk tearing during the ceremony.

And so, reluctantly, he texted Yoongi, then called when the older man didn’t answer right away.

“I’m so sorry,” Hoseok said as he walked briskly through the resort’s hallway with a garment bag in hand. “But I have to take it in right now. The tailor says it’s urgent.”

“You’re gonna miss Namjoon’s run-through,” Yoongi said, but his tone wasn’t accusatory, just resigned.

“I’ll make it up to him,” Hoseok promised. “Tell everyone I’m sorry?”

“I will. Don’t stress too much. It’s just a rehearsal.”

“But the suit,” Hoseok sighed, “the suit has to be perfect.”

Yoongi laughed, amused. “Of course it does. You’re you.”

The rehearsal carried on without him, and Hoseok spent the afternoon in the tailor’s studio, sipping tea and reviewing the final stitches, but the restlessness didn’t leave him.

Friday dawned with a gentle breeze and pale skies, and while Jin was off on his bachelor day filled with fishing and chaos, Namjoon’s day was more introspective—crafted by Hoseok and Yoongi as a tribute to his quiet soul.

Their morning began at Wat Sri Sunthon, a local Buddhist temple nestled behind rows of frangipani trees and prayer flags fluttering like whispered blessings. They removed their shoes at the gate, feet brushing over the smooth stone, and entered the hall where saffron-robed monks were already seated, preparing for the tea meditation. The scent of lemongrass and jasmine hung in the air. Time slowed.

They sat cross-legged, warm ceramic bowls in their hands, the tea dark and earthy on their tongues. A monk with a voice like flowing water guided them through the ceremony, teaching them to breathe through the quiet, to listen to the stillness.

Namjoon’s gaze remained soft the entire time, head tilted slightly, as though absorbing every word into his bones. Hoseok didn’t speak much, watching his friend instead, finding a strange peace in how naturally Namjoon fit into the calm. Even Yoongi, whose version of meditation was usually napping with jazz in his AirPods, had seemed drawn in by the tranquility.

When they left, their bodies lighter, Namjoon paused outside the temple, staring at a weathered stone Buddha half-covered in moss. “I could stay here for hours,” he murmured.

Yoongi smirked. “You say that about every library and museum too.”

“And you say that like it’s a bad thing,” Namjoon replied, chuckling, the corners of his eyes creasing with affection.

Their next stop was a sprawling botanical garden high on the island hills. Hoseok had picked it for its rich diversity and quiet walking paths. Namjoon, the eternal scholar, moved through the space like it was sacred. He crouched to observe rare orchids, ran his fingers gently over waxy leaves, and named plants in Latin with a kind of reverent delight.

“Heliconia rostrata,” he whispered, crouching to take a photo of a dangling red bloom shaped like a parrot’s beak. “I wrote a poem about this once.”

“You write poems about everything,” Yoongi teased lightly.

Namjoon stood, brushing dirt off his hands. “It’s how I document the world.”

Hoseok smiled at that. “And how you make it beautiful.”

The sun began to dip lower in the sky when they arrived at the final stop: a small, tucked-away art gallery Hoseok had discovered by chance. The exterior was unassuming, shaded by tamarind trees, but inside, it bloomed with color and expression—walls adorned with contemporary Thai art, abstract interpretations of water, spirit, and identity.

A guide led them quietly through the space, pointing out symbolism, textures, and stories behind the works. Hoseok watched Namjoon’s face shift with each canvas—sometimes curious, sometimes intense, sometimes softly moved. When they reached a massive oil painting of waves breaking against the shore, violent and tender all at once, Namjoon stopped and stood still for a long while.

The late afternoon light filtered through the skylight above them, streaking the room in warm gold.

“This,” Namjoon said quietly, his voice barely above a breath, “This is the best day.”

Yoongi, ever direct, looked over at him and said, “You deserve it.”

Hoseok stepped closer, folding his arms. “Tomorrow,” he said with a soft smile, “you marry someone who calls you his universe.”

Namjoon’s mouth curled into something small and sincere. “Tomorrow, everything changes.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, letting the words settle. Hoseok’s gaze drifted to the painting again, the waves crashing forward, unruly, full of motion.

And without meaning to, his thoughts wandered.

To a pair of wide, curious eyes behind a sheet mask. To laughter shared over ginger tea. To a warm hand reaching for his in the dark sky of turbulence, grounding and gentle. To the way his balance had faltered, just for a moment, and he’d ended up in a stranger’s lap, heart hammering in his ribs like a wild animal trying to be set free.

Hoseok inhaled sharply, his fingers brushing his own wrist. Jungkook. The name sounded like a mantra in his head.  That boy had opened a door in him Hoseok hadn’t known was locked.

Yoongi glanced sideways, catching something flicker across Hoseok’s face.

“You okay?” he asked, eyebrow lifted.

Hoseok blinked, then smiled, as if shaking himself free of the thoughts. “Yeah,” he said, turning back toward the gallery. “Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Yoongi quipped, nudging his arm.

But Hoseok only laughed, soft and distant, gaze far away again.

Namjoon was right. Tomorrow, everything would change.

And the door that Jungkook had opened. Something told him... It wasn’t quite shut yet.

Chapter Text

The day of the wedding dawned over the Phuket resort wrapped in golden light and warm salt-kissed air, and everywhere, the subtle hum of excitement crackled through palm fronds and polished marble halls. Staff hurried in elegant uniforms, carrying floral arrangements of white orchids and lilies to the seaside ceremony site where the altar was being framed beneath gauzy white drapery, tied with silver thread. The sun was high but soft, casting a honeyed glow over the sparkling ocean, and the scent of frangipani drifted lazily on the breeze. The resort was dressed for magic.

In one of the high-ceilinged guest rooms facing the sea, Jungkook stood in front of the full-length mirror, buttoning the last of his slim black blazer, a soft charcoal sheen to the fabric giving it an expensive, modern touch, tailored to perfection on his broad shoulders and narrow waist. A silvery pin on the lapel caught the light as he adjusted it slightly, then ran a hand through his carefully tousled black hair. His eyes, large and expressive, were outlined just slightly with a subtle smoky shadow that made them look deeper, darker, and his lips had that usual hint of berry pink that required no help at all. “Okay,” he said softly to himself, staring at his reflection. “Don’t freak out.”

“Too late,” Jimin said behind him, fussing with his own cufflinks. “You’ve been pacing like a cat in a thunderstorm all morning.”

Jimin looked immaculate, of course, his suit was a deep navy blue with a satin sheen, double-breasted and cinched at the waist, giving him a princely air, his silver earrings glinting with every movement. He looked like he’d stepped straight off the cover of a fashion editorial, his hair perfectly styled in soft, romantic waves.

Taehyung, lounging with one leg crossed over the other on the bed, wore a dark green suit with black accents that complemented his bronze skin and rich brown hair, slightly longer now, styled back away from his forehead. His tie was off for now, shirt unbuttoned at the top, a signature gold ring on his finger. He looked regal and mysterious, every bit the charismatic artist he was. “You both look edible,” he said with a lazy grin, “and I look like I’m about to steal the groom.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Why is that your priority today?”

“Because I’m bored and dramatic,” Taehyung replied, then stood up and fixed his jacket. “Let’s go. I wanna see how many people cry when Jin-hyung walks down the aisle. I’m taking bets.”

Meanwhile, in another part of the resort, Hoseok stood in his room, adjusting his tie in the mirror with practiced fingers. The suit was delivered early that morning and fit like a second skin:midnight blue, nearly black, with subtle embroidery along the lapel that shimmered like glass threads. His dress shirt was pristine, collar sharp, and shoes polished to an obsidian mirror. He exhaled once, fixed his cufflink, and let himself feel the smallest flicker of pride. He looked exactly how a man of his profession should look — poised, elegant, flawless.

Next door, Yoongi stepped out of his own room dressed in a simpler but no less refined outfit, a classic black suit, matte finish, tailored perfectly to his frame, paired with a gray silk tie and dress shoes that were worn but polished. He carried no accessories, no pin, no embellishments, but the understated elegance of his presence made him one of the most striking men on the property. Hoseok smiled when he saw him.

“You clean up nice,” Hoseok said.

“I’m always nice,” Yoongi muttered, brushing invisible lint from his jacket. “But thanks.”

In the groom’s suite, Namjoon was trying, and failing, to calm his breathing. Dressed in a dark suit that was somewhere between black and obsidian, sharp and tailored and hugging his tall frame with sensual precision, he looked devastatingly handsome, his hair perfectly styled, his long fingers twitching slightly with nerves.

“Joon,” Yoongi said as he entered. “Stop fixing your collar. It’s already straight.”

Hoseok followed him in, letting the door close softly behind him. “You look amazing, man. Jin’s gonna cry.”

Namjoon turned, eyes wide. “Do I look okay? I don’t want to ruin his day. Everything has to go perfectly. This is Jin. If something goes wrong—”

“Namjoon,” Yoongi cut in, stepping forward. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Namjoon snapped, then exhaled loudly. “Sorry. Just... I don’t want to mess this up. I want Jin to feel like this is the best day of his life.”

“Trust me,” Hoseok said gently. “He will. Have you seen yourself?”

Namjoon gave a weak laugh. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

In another suite, Jin sat in front of a mirror, his white suit glowing against his skin like moonlight, sharp and majestic. His hair was perfectly styled, swept slightly back, crown-worthy. His skin glowing like porcelain, and a soft pink tint to his cheeks. He looked every bit the prince — no, the king — that he was, except he was chewing on his lower lip.

“Hyung,” Jimin said, crouching beside him. “Don’t chew. You’ll ruin the lip tint.”

“I hate being the center of attention,” Jin muttered. “This is too much. Everyone’s going to stare.”

“Because you look like an angel descending from heaven,” Taehyung said, placing a hand dramatically on his heart.

Jungkook stood beside him, gently adjusting Jin’s boutonniere. “You look perfect,” he said with all the reverence of someone speaking to royalty. “And Namjoon-hyung’s probably hyperventilating right now.”

That made Jin chuckle. “He better be.”

As the time approached, Jungkook looked down at his watch and stood. “I have to go meet Namjoon-hyung. They’re almost ready.”

“Okay,” Jimin said, smiling. “Good luck, JK.”

As Jungkook stepped into the open-air corridor, the gentle sea breeze tousled his hair, and he paused for a moment to look around. The venue was breathtaking, white petals lined the aisle, the arch at the end of it was wrapped in trailing flowers, and the sky above was the softest blue. He smiled, warmed by the beauty of it all.

He entered the room where Namjoon was waiting with his witnesses. Yoongi looked up immediately. “Jungkook. You made it.”

“Of course,” Jungkook said, bowing slightly.

Then, as he stepped further inside, he noticed someone standing with his back to the room, speaking quickly into a phone. The voice was low, familiar in a way that tugged at Jungkook’s chest. He blinked. That must be... “Hobi,” he thought. The one they hadn’t met yet.

And then the man turned around.

The world stopped. And the air was ripped clean out of his lungs.

For a moment, Jungkook thought his heart had stopped. Or exploded. Or simply evaporated, leaving his body lightheaded and floating in disbelief, because standing right there, no more than a few feet away, wasn’t just anyone.

It was him.

Hoseok.

“Hoseok-ssi...?”

The name spilled from his mouth without permission, breathy and fragile like a secret, as his world narrowed to the face he had memorized in the few short hours they had spent together. Hoseok’s dark eyes widened, his brows lifted, and his lips parted in stunned silence. He looked like he had just seen a ghost, or an answered prayer.

Jungkook’s eyes devoured him.

He looked… unreal. The suit clung to his lean body with surgical precision, his skin glowing golden under the soft light, hair perfectly styled yet somehow soft and disheveled like he'd run his fingers through it in nervousness. His mouth, the same one that had once whispered jokes on a plane like confessions, was slightly open now, and those sharp, beautiful cheekbones were flushed faintly pink with shock. He looked  polished, magnetic in a way that punched the air from Jungkook's chest. And Jungkook, he had longed for this face in quiet, aching moments.  He had imagined turning on his phone to a message that he knew it'd never come.

Hoseok's voice, when it came, was a whisper too, trembling with disbelief and awe. “Jungkook?”

It echoed in his bones.

Jungkook nodded once, too stunned to move. His hands were numb, yet his heartbeat raced like a train. He could feel it everywhere, in his ears, in his throat, in his fingertips. He felt like crying and laughing and running all at once. His whole body trembled with the electric recognition of something he thought he had lost forever.

Yoongi’s head jerked between them, eyes narrowing, voice cut through the silence. “Wait— what’s going on here?”

Namjoon turned around slowly, confusion writ on his face. “You two know each other?”

But neither of them answered. They didn’t even look away from each other.

“The plane,” Hoseok finally breathed, eyes locked on Jungkook like he was trying to confirm that he was real and not just a dream conjured by hope.

“The plane?” Namjoon blinked, looking between them. Then the realization cracked across his expression. “Wait, Oh my god— you’re the guy?! Jungkook was the one you met on the plane?!”

Yoongi looked like he was watching a plot twist in real time. “No way. This is the guy you couldn’t stop talking about?”

Still, neither Hoseok nor Jungkook looked away from each other, as if the moment might disintegrate if they blinked.

It was like falling into a memory. The hum of the plane, the touch of a hand over his own, the soft rhythm of fingertips drawing constellations on his skin.

Jungkook’s thoughts were wild, tumbling over one another: He’s here. He’s here. It’s really him. And God, he’s even more beautiful than I remembered.

And Hoseok… Hoseok was dizzy, half-convinced he was hallucinating. Jungkook looked devastating in his suit — tall and strong and heartbreakingly lovely, his black hair styled just enough to look artfully undone, the light catching in his wide, astonished eyes. His jaw was more defined than Hoseok remembered, his lips full and slightly parted, and his expression so open, so raw with disbelief and something deeper, something that mirrored the storm twisting in Hoseok’s own chest.

He wanted to say something, anything. But the words were stuck behind the lump in his throat. Before more could be said, a hotel staff member stepped into the room, saying politely, “Mr. Kim? It’s time.”

Namjoon, still dazed, nodded. “Right. Let’s go.”

They filed out of the room together, Namjoon walking ahead toward the ceremony while the other three flanked him, Yoongi to his right, and on the left, Hoseok and Jungkook, barely breathing.

The wedding march began.

The guests rose.

Jungkook’s hands were trembling, and he tried to hide them, but Hoseok noticed. Without a word, Hoseok reached out and gently took his hand, fingers warm and steady. Jungkook inhaled sharply, it felt like lightning striking his heart. Slowly, he let his fist open, allowing Hoseok’s hand to nestle properly into his, and it fit just like it had on the plane. Perfectly.

The music swelled, and as Jin appeared at the top of the aisle. Every eye turned toward him, especially the one pair that mattered most. Namjoon watched, frozen in awe, tears already forming. His lips trembled. He couldn’t help it — he had always thought Jin was beautiful, but today, he was otherworldly. When Jin reached the altar, standing across from him with nervous hands clasped in front of him, Namjoon had to take a deep breath before he could begin.

Across the altar, Jimin was already dabbing his eyes, trying to keep his eyeliner intact, while beside him, Taehyung let out a sharp little gasp.

Jimin glanced over. “What?”

Taehyung didn’t answer at first. He was staring.

And when Jimin followed his gaze, he froze too.

It was him.

The man holding Jungkook’s hand.

Jung Hoseok.

Jimin’s eyes widened as he whispered, “It’s him.”

They looked at each other in shared disbelief, jaws slightly open as they watched their friend standing at the altar, hand in hand with the man they never thought they’d find.

The officiant spoke gently. “We are gathered today in love, to celebrate the union of Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin…”

Jungkook could barely pay attention. His heart had only just begun to settle after the shock of seeing Hoseok again, but now, as they stood side by side, Hoseok’s hand still in his, that peace deepened with every second. Hoseok wasn’t looking at the grooms. He was looking at him.

Then came the vows.

Namjoon cleared his throat, voice shaking as he unfolded a small piece of paper.

“I used to think love was something meant for other people. I was so focused on ideas, on books, on all the things I wanted to be… and then you walked into my life, Jin, and you shattered all my theories. I never imagined someone like you — brave, dramatic, brilliant, annoyingly right about everything — would love someone like me. But you do. And I still wake up every morning amazed by it. So I promise you… I will love you through every version of ourselves. I will be your partner, your editor, your fan, your home. Forever.”

Jin sniffled softly, wiping a tear before speaking, his voice soft but unwavering.

“You say you’re amazed I love you, but to me, it was the most obvious thing in the world. Namjoon, you are the most extraordinary man I’ve ever met. You’re patient, you’re thoughtful, you’re kind. You challenge me, support me, and you make me laugh even when I don’t want to. And today, I promise… to never stop believing in us. To support you, to tease you, to protect you — and yes, to keep you from overpacking every time we travel. I love you. And I always will.”

The officiant smiled. “Do you, Kim Namjoon, take Kim Seokjin to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Namjoon’s voice cracked. “I do.”

“And do you, Kim Seokjin, take Kim Namjoon to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” Jin whispered, eyes shining.

“Then by the power vested in me,” the officiant said, voice lifted like a blessing, “I pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss—”

But Namjoon didn’t wait.

He pulled Jin in with trembling hands, cupped his face like it was something sacred, and kissed him with all the devotion of a thousand unwritten poems.

The crowd burst into applause.

Jungkook blinked back sudden tears.

And beside him, Hoseok’s fingers gently, reverently, drew the shape of a heart into the back of his hand.

After the ceremony, as guests began filtering out of their seats and champagne flutes were passed around like confetti, the witnesses were led to the signing table, a small, elegant setup under a white pergola dusted with pale flowers and draped linen. Jungkook stood beside Jimin, still in a kind of trance, pen in hand, the newlyweds smiling proudly beside them as the officiant guided them through each space on the document. His handwriting was shaky but legible, and he tried to focus, truly, but all he could think about was the man across from him.

Hoseok stood on the other side of the signing table, the curve of his smile bright but distracted, and their eyes kept pulling to each other like magnets. They would glance, look away, then glance again, unsure whether to laugh or run or cry or say something now, in front of everyone, or wait, wait just one more minute.

As soon as they handed back the pens and took a small step away from the signing area, Jungkook saw them, Jimin and Taehyung, standing across the reception terrace, arms flailing in what could only be described as silent chaos. Taehyung was pointing wildly at Hoseok, eyebrows practically on the back of his head, while Jimin's eyes widened like a mother discovering her child has fallen in love for the first time. Jungkook’s lips twitched into a smile, and he gave them the smallest nod, as if to say, Yes. Yes, it’s him.

But even as he made a move toward them, so did Hoseok — they met eyes again, and something in both of them stirred, urging them forward, toward each other. Jungkook took a small step. Hoseok mirrored him. But just as they were about to move closer, a soft, feminine voice broke through the air.

“Hobi-ya!” Namjoon’s sister swooped in, grabbing Hoseok by the arm with warm excitement. “Come on, you haven’t said hello to Eomma and Appa yet! They’ve been asking for you all afternoon!”

“I—yeah, of course,” Hoseok said, casting Jungkook a helpless look over his shoulder. “Just give me—okay.”

Jungkook stopped mid-step, watching as Hoseok was led into the crowd, his back disappearing among guests and relatives and polite smiles.

“Jungkook.”

He turned.

Jimin and Taehyung were now right beside him, dragging him into a quiet corner by a flowering hedge wall, hidden enough to whisper without being heard.

“Is that him?!” Jimin asked in a hushed, frantic tone. “Tell me I’m not dreaming. That’s Hobi?! Jung Hoseok, your Hoseok is Namjoon's Hobi?!”

“Yes,” Jungkook replied, still stunned. “It’s him.”

“Oh my god.” Taehyung’s jaw dropped. “Jungkook, what kind of rom-com fever dream are you living in?!”

“I didn’t know!” Jungkook half-laughed, half-whispered. “He never said anything about being friends with Namjoon, or coming to this wedding—”

“Okay, listen,” Jimin cut in, holding Jungkook by the shoulders, intense. “You are not—not—missing this chance again. Do you hear me? The universe literally dragged him into the same room as you again. At this wedding. This is a sign, Jungkook. This is fate, fanfiction, astrology — everything. You better make it count.”

Jungkook nodded, flushed. “I know. I know. Trust me, I’m not letting this go again.”

From across the garden, Jin’s eyes scanned the crowd as he held Namjoon’s hand and greeted a group of relatives. But something tugged at him — a ripple in the air — and he turned just in time to catch sight of the unmistakable huddle of Jimin, Taehyung, and a bright-red Jungkook whispering frantically in a corner.

“Hmm,” Jin hummed, nudging Namjoon gently. “What’s going on over there?”

Namjoon followed his gaze. “Oh. Ohhh… yeah. So, turns out, Hobi and Jungkook met a few days ago. On the plane. They didn’t know they were coming to the same wedding.”

“What?” Jin blinked. “What?!” He immediately turned to face his husband, lips parting in delighted shock. “The boy from the plane... The boy from the plane that Jungkok has been pinning about is Hobi!?”

“Apparently,” Namjoon chuckled, raising his champagne flute. “Wild, right?”

“Namjoon, I need two minutes.” Jin gave his cheek a peck and released his hand. “Stay right here. The winds of gossip are calling.”

Namjoon laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I married you, didn’t I?”

As Jin glided across the lawn in his white suit like a gossiping cherub on a mission, Namjoon took the moment to glance toward Hoseok, who stood in a tight group of relatives, nodding politely at questions about his job, his apartment, his long time away. But every so often, his gaze would drift, just for a heartbeat, across the garden — back to Jungkook. Always back to Jungkook.

“You ever believe in signs?” Yoongi asked quietly, stepping up beside Namjoon, holding a drink and watching the same scene unfold.

Namjoon didn’t look away. “Lately, yeah. More than I used to.”

Yoongi smiled knowingly. “Maybe it’s time Hobi moved back. He looks more alive in the last hour than I’ve seen in years.” Namjoon smiled.

On the other side of the reception, Jin arrived like a sparkling gust of wind, folding his arms and tilting his head dramatically. ““Jungkook. Tell me right now. The boy from the plane. Was it… Hoseok?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. “Hyung,” he hissed. “Don’t say it so loud!”

“Aha!” Jin pointed a triumphant finger. “This is so juicy! Of course something like this could only happen on my Wedding Day! I'm just that especial!”

“Please lower your voice,” Jungkook pleaded, hands on his burning cheeks. “People can hear you—”

“I can lend you my honeymoon suite if you want to skip dinner,” Jin said with a wink.

“HYUNG!” Jungkook turned red as a pomegranate, covering his face with both hands as Jimin and Taehyung cackled on either side of him.

At last, Hoseok broke free.

He met Jungkook’s eyes across the garden again, and this time, there was no interruption. He tilted his head slightly, eyes soft and questioning — come with me? Jungkook nodded.

They slipped away from the crowd, down the winding path toward the beach, where the golden sunlight melted over the waves, turning everything into a dream. The sounds of the reception faded behind them, and all that remained was the hush of the sea and the slow rhythm of their breath.

They stopped by a smooth rock outcropping, near where the sand met the surf.

“I still can’t believe this,” Hoseok said, breaking the silence with a nervous smile. “You. Me. This wedding. Here.”

“Me neither,” Jungkook replied, voice soft. “If we’d just talked about it properly on the plane…”

“We could’ve avoided all this drama,” Hoseok said with a laugh.

They both chuckled, tension slowly easing.

“You look…” Jungkook started, then paused, biting back a smile. “You look incredible.”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re one to talk. In that suit? You actually look like you belong in first class this time.”

“I feel first class,” Jungkook joked. “Probably because a beautiful stranger once shared a face mask with me.”

Hoseok threw his head back and laughed, that radiant laugh that made Jungkook’s chest feel like it had turned into warm cotton.

And in that moment, with the sun setting behind him and his cheeks flushed and the ocean painting soft colors across his skin, Jungkook couldn’t look away.

Then, quieter now, Jungkook said, “I regret not asking for your number.”

“I regret not turning back,” Hoseok admitted.

They stood in that space between them, vulnerable and smiling.

“So,” Jungkook said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Let me fix that.”

Hoseok grinned and typed it in, slow and deliberate.

Their fingers brushed.

Jungkook reached up, gently pushing a stray lock of hair from Hoseok’s forehead, and Hoseok stilled, eyes locked on Jungkook’s. “You’re beautiful,” Jungkook whispered, the words falling like petals between them.

Hoseok took a breath, shallow and quick. “So are you.”

Their eyes held. And then — cheers erupted from the reception behind them. They turned back.

“Should we…?” Hoseok asked.

Jungkook nodded.

A soft hush fell over the crowd as the DJ’s voice crackled gently over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen… it’s time for the first dance.”

The dance floor, now cleared of excited guests and scattered flower petals, waited like a stage in the open air. The music swelled, a slow, jazzy version of an old love song that Jin had chosen months ago, insisting it was “just theatrical enough”, and then, under the warm lights, Namjoon offered his hand to Jin.

They stepped forward, and the crowd erupted into gentle applause, camera phones already in hand, but for a moment, Jin and Namjoon only had eyes for each other.

“Are you ready for your spotlight, Mr. Kim?” Namjoon asked with a teasing smile, fingers gently lacing with his husband’s.

“Please,” Jin scoffed, brushing invisible dust from his lapel, “I was born for it.”

They swayed together effortlessly, pulling each other close in the center of the floor. Namjoon’s hands found Jin’s waist like second nature, and Jin rested a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, the other pressing palm-to-palm. They moved slowly, melting into the rhythm, their bodies perfectly in sync, not from practice, but from years of knowing how the other moved, how the other felt. Jin leaned in and whispered near Namjoon’s ear, “You still remember the steps?”

“I’ve been dreaming of this dance since the day I met you,” Namjoon whispered back.

Jin chuckled, soft and fond. “That’s because I’m unforgettable.”

Their foreheads touched, laughter dissolving into a quiet intimacy as the music floated around them. The guests watched with adoration — friends, family, coworkers, people from all parts of their lives, now gathered to witness this quiet little miracle: two people wholly in love.

Jungkook stood at the edge of the dance floor, arms loosely crossed, his eyes flicking from the glowing couple in the center to the man beside him. Hoseok. Still smiling. Still there.

“They’re really beautiful together,” Hoseok murmured beside him.

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah. They are.”

The song reached its gentle climax, and with a dramatic flourish — always the performer — Jin spun in Namjoon’s arms and dipped gracefully, letting out a small, proud, “Ta-da!” as Namjoon supported him like it was the easiest thing in the world. Everyone clapped and cheered.

Jin stood up, laughing and bowing deeply, holding onto Namjoon’s hand as they turned to face their guests. “Thank you, thank you! We are now accepting offers for Dancing with the Stars.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes fondly. “We just wanted to share a moment, but thank you for indulging our theatrics.”

The DJ didn’t miss a beat. The music shifted to a lighter, more upbeat rhythm — something fun, easy to dance to — and people began trickling onto the floor.

“Do you dance?” Hoseok asked, glancing over, a little smirk on his face, after all Jungkook knew that he danced.

Jungkook smiled. “I can dance.”

Hoseok extended his hand. “Then dance with me.”

Jungkook did not hesitate to take Hoseok’s hand, both of them swaying to the dance floor. They moved together easily, fluidly, laughing when they bumped shoulders or stepped off-beat. Hoseok twirled Jungkook dramatically, making him laugh and stumble into his chest, and neither of them bothered hiding how happy they looked, how at ease. Side by side with the newlyweds, surrounded by friends, Jungkook and Hoseok moved together like two puzzle pieces falling into place.  Jimin, wiping away invisible tears, leaned into Taehyung and whispered, “Tell me this isn’t a movie.”

Yoongi smirked beside them. “I’ve never seen Hobi like this.”

Jin, still dancing with Namjoon, caught sight of them and called out playfully, “Excuse you two! We’re supposed to be the most in-love couple here!”

Jungkook turned red again. “Hyung!!”

Soon enough, Jimin burst between them like a firework. “I knew you two were dancers!” he said, grabbing Hoseok’s hands and immediately pulling him into a playful routine.

Jungkook stepped back with a mock-offended gasp, only for Taehyung to steal him in the same way. “Come on, show me what that first-class rhythm looks like,” he teased, tossing his hair dramatically.

The dance floor was now a joyous chaos — Jin and Namjoon still gliding nearby in one another’s arms, Jimin and Hoseok performing some kind of exaggerated disco routine, Taehyung dragging Jungkook through a half-choreographed, half-spontaneous freestyle that made the surrounding guests cheer and laugh.

Even Yoongi made an appearance, stepping onto the floor with the hesitant energy of someone who didn’t want to admit he was having fun. Jin caught him by the hand and twirled him before he could escape.

“Don’t even try to act cool right now,” Jin said. “It’s my wedding. I have full authority to make you dance.”

“You’re abusing your power,” Yoongi deadpanned, but stayed.

Somewhere along the way, someone dragged a microphone onto the floor. The speakers changed to a karaoke version of an old, over-the-top ballad, and Jimin, of course, seized the mic like it was his destiny. “This one’s for the happy couple!” he shouted. “And also for the two lovebirds-in-training over there,” he added with a wink in Hoseok and Jungkook’s direction.

“JIMIN!” Jungkook groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling as Hoseok doubled over laughing.

One by one, they each took turns singing dramatically into the mic, Jimin performing with full body gestures, Taehyung crooning off-key on purpose, even Yoongi mumbling through a verse to cheers. Jin sang with such gusto and flair that Namjoon simply stared at him like he was watching the most beautiful thing in the world.

The night sparkled with music and laughter, dishes passed around, arms thrown over shoulders, wine shared like memories. As the party began to slow, guests hugging goodbye, Jin and Namjoon stood near the entrance of the venue, hugging friends, shaking hands with relatives, whispering heartfelt thanks. When Jungkook and Hoseok approached, still slightly breathless from dancing, Jin gave them both a meaningful look.

“You know,” he said, pulling Jungkook into a hug, “some people find love in the clouds. Others…” He winked at Hoseok. “...crash-land into it.”

Namjoon chuckled, giving them both a warm hug. “Seriously, though. We’re so glad you were here. You made the day even more special.”

“We’re the ones who should be thanking you,” Hoseok said softly. “For everything.”

Jin, of course, couldn’t help himself. “If you two end up married one day, I better get credit.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook groaned, blushing furiously.

“Just saying!” Jin called after them as they walked toward the path, waving.

Taehyung turned to Yoongi, whispering. “Do you share a room with Hoseok?”

Yoongi blinked. “No, we each have our own bungalow.”

Jimin gasped. “We had to share one room for three people?!”

“Don’t act like you minded,” Yoongi smirked.

Taehyung and Jimin, exchanged a mischievous look, arm-in-arm as always, tugged Yoongi away, waving dramatically. “Good luck,” Jimin whispered to Jungkook with a wink.

“Make good choices!” Taehyung added.

“Or at least fun ones!” Jimin finished.

"Wait where are you goin- s-stop!" Jungkook complained, but his two friends were already gone. 

Then — it was quiet again.

Just the sound of the waves in the distance, the hum of the last song fading out, and the stars beginning to prick through the sky like delicate little wishes.

Hoseok looked at Jungkook.

Jungkook looked at Hoseok.

And this time, there was no one else around to interrupt.

“Wanna walk a bit?” Hoseok asked, voice quiet but laced with an inviting softness.

Jungkook simply nodded, heart thudding a little faster, and they started to stroll along the shoreline, barefoot on the cool sand. The hem of their trousers occasionally brushed against the surf, and though they weren’t touching deliberately, the backs of their hands would graze, then their fingers, their arms occasionally nudging as they walked in perfect, silent rhythm, and somehow it didn’t feel awkward at all. It felt natural. Like their silence was speaking just fine.

The ocean stretched wide beside them, and in that quiet intimacy, Hoseok began to hum, soft, almost without realizing it — a gentle melody carried by the breeze.

Jungkook turned his head, brow lifted slightly, eyes twinkling. “Is that… Lost Stars?”

Hoseok blinked as though just realizing he was doing it. “Oh — yeah,” he said with a shy chuckle. “Sorry, it’s stuck in my head.”

“I know it,” Jungkook said, and then he began to sing — his voice soft, breathy, yet clear and achingly beautiful against the stillness of the night.

“God, tell us the reason... youth is wasted on the young…”

Hoseok stopped walking. He simply stopped, breath caught in his chest, turning to face Jungkook as the younger man sang under the moonlight, with nothing but the sound of the waves and the silver reflection in his eyes. It was like hearing an angel. That voice, so raw and honest, not performed, not projected, just shared, it made something bloom inside Hoseok, a warmth he couldn’t quite name, a gentle ache that filled every inch of him.

“Jungkook,” he murmured, voice low, like even speaking felt sacred in this moment. “You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.”

Jungkook paused, smile twitching across his lips, gaze dropping shyly. “You’re just saying that because of the moonlight.”

“I’m saying that because I mean it,” Hoseok said earnestly.

Their eyes met, and in the stillness between them, something cracked open. It wasn’t loud, no fireworks, no sudden crescendo, but rather a soft, seismic shift, like a tectonic plate deep beneath their skin had decided to finally move. Time slowed, just enough for them to notice the silence between heartbeats, the warmth in each other’s gaze, the way the air between their bodies felt suddenly charged, humming with an energy neither could explain away anymore. The tension that had been building, quietly weaving itself through every touch, every glance, every breath since that first moment in first class — it finally stretched too taut to hold.

And then, gravity, impatient and aching, took the lead.

Their lips met.

It was soft at first, tentative, the brush of a wish, a question in motion. But it deepened quickly, fiercely, turning into something breathtaking, something that stole air from their lungs and pulled gasps from the back of their throats. Jungkook’s hand found Hoseok’s waist, firm and warm, pulling him closer as if instinctively knowing that Hoseok would never pull away. Hoseok’s fingers slid into Jungkook’s hair, threading through the dark silk of it, anchoring them both in a kiss that was both fevered and fragile, like they were afraid to stop but terrified to go too far.

When they finally parted for breath, their foreheads touched, their chests heaving, their eyes closed.

“I’ve never…” Hoseok whispered, voice trembling slightly, “...felt like this before. Not even close.”

Jungkook let out a breath, heart roaring in his ribs. “Me neither.”

And they kissed again. And again. The kind of kisses that tasted like longing, like answers. Like home. Hoseok’s mouth was soft and urgent, Jungkook’s hands sure but reverent, tracing the slope of his back, the lines of his arms, mapping him like a sacred geography he didn’t want to forget. Hoseok whispered Jungkook’s name like a vow, each syllable laced with disbelief and awe, and Jungkook smiled against his lips, whispering, “You’re unreal.”

They swayed together under the stars, slow and quiet, like a dance only they could hear. The ocean crashed in the distance, the sound folding around them like a lullaby, but neither wanted the moment to fade.

“I don’t want the night to end,” Jungkook murmured into the curve of Hoseok’s shoulder, his lips brushing the bare skin at the base of his neck.

“Me neither,” Hoseok breathed, threading their fingers together.

Jungkook chuckled softly. “I bet you anything Jimin and Tae barricaded the door to my room.’”

Hoseok laughed, a bright spark of joy between them. “I mean, I was going to suggest... I don’t want to assume anything but… if you wanted to come to my room instead—”

Jungkook’s gaze softened instantly. “Lead the way.”

They walked back in silence, hands interlaced, steps in sync, the soft sand giving way to the smooth wooden planks of the bungalow’s porch. Hoseok fumbled with the keycard just a little, just enough to make them both laugh nervously, before the door clicked open. Warm yellow light spilled into the room, illuminating the polished floors, the tall curtains, the white bed in the center like an invitation.

The door shut behind them, and everything else fell away. They stood in the quiet, still holding hands, gazes locked. Hoseok’s fingers were trembling, not with fear, but with the kind of anticipation that made your stomach twist and your lungs forget how to work. Jungkook stepped closer, lifting one hand to Hoseok’s face, brushing his thumb across his cheekbone with such reverence it made Hoseok close his eyes.

“You’re real, right?” Jungkook whispered.

Hoseok leaned into the touch, smiling faintly. “That’s my line.”

Their lips met again, deeper now, slower. This wasn’t a question. This was an answer. A yes. Their jackets came off with soft rustles, fingers finding lapels and shoulders, easing fabric from limbs with care. Jungkook laughed against Hoseok’s mouth. “Gotta be careful, this suit feels like a museum piece.”

Hoseok laughed. “If it makes you feel better, you looked like a masterpiece in yours.” He said, nipping playfully at his bottom lip. 

Jungkook’s eyes gleamed, voice low. “I bet we both look better out of them.”

Hoseok’s laugh was soft but breathless, curling into a moan as Jungkook’s mouth found his neck. “You’re such a menace.”

“And yet,” Jungkook murmured, tracing the line of his collarbone with his lips, “you’re not stopping me.”

They undressed each other with a kind of tender intensity, not rushed, but impatient, every brush of skin a jolt, every button undone a quiet release. Jungkook's fingers slid beneath Hoseok’s shirt, palms spreading wide over warm skin, memorizing the shape of him. Hoseok’s mouth traced along Jungkook’s jaw, then down his throat, his hands splayed over the younger man’s back, pulling him in, grounding him.

Clothes hit the floor with soft thumps, and when they finally stood bare before each other, the weight of the moment hit like a wave. They paused, just for a second, to look — really look.

“You’re beautiful,” Jungkook said, breathless, almost reverent.

Hoseok’s smile was soft, vulnerable. “You make me feel that way.”

Then they moved together, lips meeting again, more desperate now. Hoseok’s body beneath Jungkook’s was all smooth skin and soft gasps, every inch of him arching into every touch. Jungkook’s hands mapped his chest, his thighs, his waist, and each touch made Hoseok shudder, made him sigh Jungkook’s name like it was the only word he knew.

They found a rhythm that wasn’t hurried, but urgent, like their bodies had waited long enough. The room filled with soft moans, low whispers, mouths against skin and hands clutching at sheets. It was heat and friction, pressure and relief. It was Jungkook burying his face in the curve of Hoseok’s shoulder, whispering “God, you feel like everything”, and Hoseok answering with a kiss that said “don’t stop, don’t ever stop.”

They moved together like music, like prayer.

And when they reached the edge and fell over, it was together, clinging to each other like lifelines.

After, the silence was warm. Complete.

They lay tangled in the sheets, limbs woven tightly, skin damp and glowing in the soft light. Jungkook’s head rested on Hoseok’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Hoseok’s fingers played absently with Jungkook’s hair, both of them too sated to speak, too peaceful to move, the world felt impossibly quiet, like nothing outside of this room mattered.

Chapter Text

Morning came with golden light pouring through the white linen curtains, and Jungkook stirred first, blinking against the brightness, then smiling instantly as he felt Hoseok's body still curled against him, his cheek pressed to Jungkook’s bare chest, arm draped over his waist. Jungkook leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Hoseok’s forehead.

“Mm,” Hoseok hummed, not opening his eyes. “Don’t stop doing that.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Jungkook whispered, brushing fingers through Hoseok’s hair.

They kissed again, slow, morning kisses that turned into smiles and giggles and eventually into soft laughter as Jungkook tickled Hoseok’s side and got lightly smacked in return.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, settling back against the pillow, voice quieter now. “Can I ask you something?”. Hoseok hummed again, eyes closed, breath steady. “Are you… are you going back to Paris?”

There was a beat of silence. Hoseok didn’t answer right away, his face still tucked into Jungkook’s chest like he didn’t want to leave that space just yet. Jungkook’s hand found his, laced their fingers.

“I mean, I get it,” Jungkook said softly. “We have different lives. You’re there, I’m in Seoul. But… I just…” He swallowed. “I want to try. I don’t want to let this go.”

There was a pause, and then a laugh, low and warm, muffled against Jungkook’s skin.

“I could try to learn French,” Jungkook added, half-joking.

Hoseok finally looked up, his eyes glassy with affection. “God, you’re so cute.”

Jungkook blinked. “That’s a yes to the French lessons?”

Hoseok smiled wide. “That’s a no to you needing them.”

Jungkook frowned in confusion, until Hoseok took his hand and whispered, “I’ve actually been thinking about moving back to Seoul.”

Jungkook sat up slightly, eyes wide. “Wait. Seriously?”

“I was searching for a reason to come back,” Hoseok said, fingers tightening slightly around Jungkook’s. “And I think I just found one.”

Jungkook stared at him, stunned, glowing, heart bursting. Then he kissed him, hard and joyful, full of disbelief and gratitude. Hoseok laughed into the kiss, breathless with happiness. “It might take a bit,” he said gently. “I’ve got to sort things out, wrap stuff up. But… if you’ll wait for me.”

“I will,” Jungkook said immediately, without a second’s hesitation. “I will.”

And there, in the soft golden light of a new day, with tangled sheets and tangled limbs and their whole lives just beginning, Jungkook kissed him again, this time with nothing but certainty. Their fingers were linked on top of Hoseok’s chest, breathing in sync, when Jungkook’s phone buzzed against the nightstand, with a sleepy groan, Jungkook reached for it. He blinked at the screen, then snorted. “It’s Jimin. They’re all meeting at the buffet for breakfast.”

“Already?” Hoseok mumbled, eyes barely opening.

Jungkook grinned and kissed his cheek. “Come on, let’s go show off your post-glow.”

“You mean your glow,” Hoseok replied with a smirk, stretching his arms overhead before rolling lazily out of bed.

They got dressed slowly, exchanging soft kisses and quiet laughter between buttoning shirts and fixing their hair. Jungkook hesitated for a second, glancing at himself in the mirror before looking at Hoseok’s reflection next to him. He didn’t say it out loud, but the thought lingered: How did I get this lucky?

When they entered the hotel’s dining area, the others were already seated around a large circular table.  Jin in a breezy button-up, Namjoon in sunglasses and a relaxed grin, Yoongi sipping coffee, and Jimin and Taehyung halfway through what looked like three breakfasts between the two of them.

The moment the group spotted them, a chorus of wolf-whistles and applause erupted.

“OHHHH!” Jimin cackled, clapping like it was an awards show. “Look who finally emerged!”

“Late night?” Taehyung teased, leaning over his stack of pancakes. “You're both glowing. Seriously, you look more like newlyweds than Jin and Namjoon.”

Jungkook flushed violently and made a strangled noise. “Tae! Shut up!”

Jin raised a hand like a schoolteacher with an objection. “Excuse me, I disagree with that comment.”

Namjoon turned to him, confused. “With what part?”

“With the more satisfying night part,” Jin announced with a gleam in his eyes, as if preparing to drop a scandalous secret. “Because let me tell you, no one had a better night than me. Namjoon was especially vigorous last night. Very unexpected. I think he’s been holding out on me.”

Namjoon nearly choked on his orange juice, sputtering into his napkin.

Yoongi groaned, pushing his plate away. “Please. Spare us.”

Jimin laughed so hard he had to lean on Taehyung’s shoulder for support, while Hoseok covered his mouth, barely containing his own laughter as Jungkook slumped in his chair, red as a tomato. As the chaos subsided and breakfast continued, conversation turned to travel plans.

“So,” Yoongi asked, stabbing at his eggs. “When’s the honeymoon, lovebirds?”

Jin practically sparkled. “This afternoon! We start with Florence, then Paris, then Prague — oh, and a little countryside inn in Austria where they raise baby goats and bring you breakfast in bed.”

Namjoon nodded with a smile. “A quiet romantic tour. Some wine, some walking, lots of—”

“—vigorous activity,” Jin finished, and Namjoon groaned again.

They turned to Yoongi next. “And you?” Jin asked.

“Tonight. Same flight as Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook, apparently,” Yoongi said, glancing at the younger ones.

“Really?!” Jimin brightened immediately. “Oh, I’m so glad we’re going together!”

“Me too,” Taehyung said. “The post-wedding blues will hit hard, I need emotional support.”

Then Jin turned to Hoseok, eyes twinkling. “And you, monsieur? Off to Paris today?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok said, smile soft. “Afternoon flight.”

There was a subtle pause, and Jimin glanced sideways at Jungkook, clearly worried, but the younger was calm, a small smile playing on his lips as he quietly reached under the table to take Hoseok’s hand. Their fingers locked instinctively.

“Well,” Jin added with a wink, “I hope you’re planning to come back more often. And Jungkook, though I am generous with vacation days, you can’t fly off to Paris every weekend for your little furtive rendezvous.”

That made both Jungkook and Hoseok laugh, and Hoseok looked around the table, voice clear. “It won’t be necessary… I’ve decided to move back to Seoul.”

There was a collective pause, and then Yoongi smiled subtly into his coffee, Namjoon clapped with genuine joy, and Jimin’s expression softened as he looked at Jungkook, who was now gazing at Hoseok like he’d just been told he could have all the stars in the sky.

After breakfast, the group spent the remaining hours by the pool, laughing and soaking up the last bits of sun before packing. Soon, the departures began.

Jin and Namjoon were first. Jin hugged each of them theatrically, waving like a soap opera character. “Hold down the fort for me!” he declared. “Don’t let the office fall into chaos while your favorite boss is gone!”

"Don't worry hyung , we got it covered!" Taehyung said as Jimin nodded. 

"Oh Namjoon, I might end up being a trophy husband after we come back"

Namjoon snorted. "I'm sure they know what they are doing. I suppose you won't even text me if something big comes up?" He said, glancing at Yoongi. 

“You’re not my boss,” Yoongi muttered, smiling faintly. "Just enjoy your honeymoon, okay?"

The newly weds said their goodbyes. Jin and Namjoon kissed while the others clapped, climbing into the car, waving from the back window.

Next was Hoseok.

He hugged Jimin and Taehyung, the latter grinning. “You have to visit soon, hyung. I need to give you the full embarrassing-Jungkook-stories dinner.”

Hoseok laughed, giving Jungkook a side glance. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Jungkook groaned. “I’m not.”

He hugged Yoongi next, who patted him on the back and simply said, “I’m really happy for you.”

Finally, only Jungkook remained. The others gave them a bit of privacy, wandering ahead.

“You got your face mask packed?” Jungkook teased.

“Always,” Hoseok grinned. “Though I’m going to miss having a handsome stranger to hold my hand if I get nervous.”

“You better not fall in love with the next handsome stranger, though.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok said, reaching to brush Jungkook’s hair back. “I already found the one.”

Jungkook smiled and leaned in. “Then let me give you something. So you don’t get nervous.”

They kissed, soft and romantic, full of warmth and unspoken promises. There was no sadness, just a glowing certainty between them.

Hoseok’s car had just vanished from sight and Jungkook stood on the stone path for a moment longer, lips still tingling from the kiss they’d shared, fingers brushing the edge of his phone like they missed Hoseok’s hand. The soft chatter and rustling from the others behind him was muffled, distant, like his world had narrowed for a few breaths, stilled into something sacred. He sighed and turned slowly, walking toward the gardens behind the resort. He passed a row of blooming frangipanis, their scent clinging to the air like summer's last sigh, and sat on a wooden bench beneath a hibiscus tree, the shade flickering with golden specks. Pulling out his phone, Jungkook stared at the screen for a while, before switching to his voice memo app. He looked down at the small red dot, his thumb hovering. Then, he took a breath, deep and steady and began to sing. “Please, don’t see… just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies…”

His voice was quiet, sincere. A little shaky at first, but then steadier with each word, like the melody anchored him. There was a rustle of wind in the background, birds chirping softly in the distance, but all of it just made the moment feel more alive — more real. By the time he reached the final verse, Jungkook’s eyes were damp. Not from sadness, but from how much emotion was sitting inside him, swelling to the brim. He ended the recording and smiled softly to himself. He wouldn’t send it right away. No, he’d wait, wait until Hoseok was on the plane, right at the edge of the clouds, so the song could follow him up into the sky like a secret promise.

Hours later, as Jungkook sat quietly in the backseat of Yoongi’s private car with Taehyung and Jimin, watching the road wind toward the airport, he glanced at the time. Hoseok would be boarding soon. With a small grin, he opened the chat and attached the audio.

Along with it, he typed: "So you don’t forget my voice between clouds. For you, Hyung 💙". Then he hit send.

In the quiet cabin of the plane, Hoseok leaned back against the headrest, earbuds in, half-distracted by the inflight announcements. His phone buzzed, and his heart leapt immediately when he saw the name light up on the screen: Jungkook.

He opened the message, read the short note, and pressed play. At first, it was just silence, then, Jungkook’s voice, gentle and unmistakably his. Hoseok’s breath caught in his throat. The world around him blurred. He closed his eyes, and it felt like Jungkook was right there next to him, whispering the song into his ear, like a lullaby only he was meant to hear.

“Who are we… just a speck of dust within the galaxy…”

His throat tightened. His chest ached in the best way. He placed a hand over his heart as the lyrics washed over him, filling every corner of him with that soft, glowing love he hadn’t dared to believe could be real again. By the time the song ended, Hoseok had tears quietly streaming down his cheeks. He wasn’t even embarrassed. The flight attendant passed by and gently offered him a tissue with a warm smile, and he nodded, wiping his eyes.

He opened Jungkook’s chat and typed, slowly: "You just made the sky even more beautiful. I'm going to listen to this on repeat until I see you again. Thank you, my Kookie 💛"

Back in the car, Jimin kicked the back of Yoongi’s seat gently. “Hyung… be honest… are you secretly rich?”

Yoongi scoffed without turning around. “No.”

Taehyung leaned forward. “But like… you have a driver, that's like for rich people.”

“I earn the same as Namjoon,” Yoongi shrugged.

“Namjoon is rich as fuck,” Jimin exclaimed, arms thrown up, and the group groaned together.

“Meanwhile, I’m still debating whether I can afford the good shampoo,” Taehyung lamented.

“Wait, there’s good shampoo?” Jungkook asked, and they all laughed.

“How many more years do we have to work before we can afford first class?” Taehyung whined dramatically.

“In this economy?” Jungkook muttered.

By the time they reached the airport, the boys were light with banter, weaving through check-in and security in a whirlwind of jokes and shared snacks.

At the gate, they flopped into seats, bags tossed at their feet, and waited for boarding. When first class was called, Yoongi stood, slinging his carry-on over one shoulder. “Try not to start a revolution back here while I’m sipping champagne,” he said dryly, smoothing his jacket.

“Hyung!” Jimin called. “Send us photos of your warm towels!”

“Don’t get too comfortable, you might forget us peasants,” Taehyung added.

Yoongi smirked. “I’ll send you crumbs.”

With a lazy wave, he disappeared into the jet bridge, and the three younger ones settled back into their seats, resigned. As the economy boarding was called, they stood, stretched, and made their way to the gate. The attendant scanned Jungkook’s ticket first, then frowned.

“Um,” she said, peering at the screen, then over at her colleague. They both murmured something, pointed at the monitor, and the first attendant looked up with a smile. “Would you three please come with me?”

“Is something wrong?” Jimin asked, wide-eyed. “Are we being kicked off the flight?”

“I swear I didn’t pack more than one liquid,” Taehyung hissed.

“No, not at all,” she said, and smiled. “Please come with me.”

The three boys exchanged confused glances but followed. Instead of detainment, they were led through the jet bridge… and stopped in the first-class cabin.

The attendant gestured to three empty seats, massive, luxurious cocoons with pillows already fluffed and drinks waiting on the side trays. “These are yours.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…What?” Jimin blinked.

Taehyung spun in a circle. “Wait. Wait. Wait.”

Jungkook looked confused. “There must be a mistake.”

“No mistake,” the attendant assured with a kind smile. “You’ve been upgraded.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. “Yoongi-hyung did this, didn’t he?”

They turned to see Yoongi lounging in his seat a row ahead, one earbud in. But when he looked back at them, he shook his head. “I didn’t do this.”

Taehyung gasped. “Then… who?”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow and asked the attendant, “Was it paid with miles?”. She nodded.

And that’s when Jungkook knew. His heart gave a little thump. A warmth spread across his chest. He caught Yoongi’s eye, and the older man gave him a knowing smirk, mouthing: “Stupid Hobi.”

As they settled into the plush seats, Taehyung flopped into his cocoon and began fussing with the buttons with a delighted sigh. “You really scored the perfect boyfriend, Jungkook.”

Jimin nodded. “A romantic, thoughtful, rich gentleman.”

Jungkook chuckled, in his mind, there was a flash of a sunlit beach, a heart-shaped smile, a tender kiss in the dark. He smiled.

“I’m going to cry,” Jimin said. “Look at the legroom!”

“I’m going to live here,” Taehyung declared, pulling the blanket over his lap.

Jungkook slid into the seat beside Yoongi and leaned his head back, smiling like a man in love.

He pulled out his phone and sent one last message: "I’m floating too. Thank you for the wings. 💙"

Chapter Text

It was late morning sun when Jungkook stood in the private suite at Château de Vallery, a stunning 13th-century castle nestled among manicured hedges and ornate fountains, its stone turrets crowned by vines and birdsong spilling through tall windows overlooking the Loire countryside. The room was lavish, with high vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers that threw soft light across cream-colored walls, antique gilded mirrors, and an exquisite blend of modern sophistication and old‑world charm: plush velvet armchairs, a carved oak writing desk with fresh orchids in crystal vases, and French doors opening onto a private stone terrace draped in morning mist. Jungkook stood at its center in his black dinner suit, slim‑fitted, matte‑silk lapels, the cut accentuating the strength of his shoulders, long legs, and square jaw, looking like he owned the place, fierce and impossibly handsome. He paced, sharp-focus in his eyes, bouncing off the walls with shadow-boxing punches and light push‑ups in between, the tension of anticipation fueling every muscle.

“Stop moving,” Jin chided, stepping forward in a powder-gray suit with a textured rose‑jacquard pattern, white shirt open at the collar and pale rose boutonniere pinned with flair, the perfect balance of elegance and ease. “Focus your energy where it counts.”

Jungkook shook his head, fists still. “I’m too nervous to stand still.”

Just then, the door flew open and in burst Jimin and Taehyung. Jimin immaculate in a cream linen suit with soft blush tie and shiny leather loafers, hands animated, dark curls perfectly tousled; Taehyung in a forest-green tuxedo jacket atop slim black trousers and crisp white shirt, earrings catching the morning light, golden tan vivid, both eyes alive with excitement.

“Where do I begin?” Jimin gushed, stepping to the window, room blooming into view: “This castle is outrageous — like an actual royal wedding!”

“Like Versailles but better,” Taehyung added, pacing to the balcony overlooking rose‑lined paths, reflecting pools and silver‑pearl fountains. “Are actual princes coming? Because I just saw an LVMH executive director arrive. This is Mode Le Grand.”

Jungkook groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I’d have been happy with something smaller,” he muttered, recalling their quiet riverside proposal.

Flashback

It had been one of those spring nights in Paris that felt like magic just beneath the surface, where the scent of cherry blossoms lingered along the riverbanks, and the hush of the city came as soft as silk. The Seine rippled beside them in lazy conversation with the breeze, glowing with golden reflections cast by the streetlamps overhead, and Hoseok had been laughing, cheeks pink with wine and warmth, as he pointed at a pigeon waddling in a very “Haute Couture” way, as he said, across the edge of the quay.

They were seated on a worn wooden bench just a few steps from the water, a blanket spread carelessly at their feet, the remnants of their picnic scattered like confetti: an almost-empty bottle of Côtes du Rhône, a half-eaten baguette, two perfectly ripe strawberries saved for last. Hoseok leaned back, loose-limbed, glowing with post-dinner joy in a soft beige turtleneck and tailored cream coat. Jungkook couldn’t stop looking at him, not that he ever could, but that night, something inside him pulsed with certainty.

Jungkook’s jacket was off. His shoes, too. He’d wanted to feel the cool grass, the soft press of earth beneath him, to feel real in this dreamy moment. He’d waited for the city to quiet, for Hoseok to finish laughing, for the breeze to brush his curls just right, and then… he moved.

“Wait,” he said softly, reaching into his bag. “Don’t freak out.”

Hoseok blinked, mid-sip of wine. “Why would I—?”

And then he froze.

Because Jungkook was kneeling.

There, on the soft blanket, feet bare, heart in his hands. He wasn’t rehearsed, or polished, or even particularly composed. He was trembling just slightly, the way he always did when he was about to do something big, something that terrified him in the best way.

He held out a tiny box. Inside, a simple ring: slender gold, no diamonds, no logos, no brand pedigree. Just a warm little circle that whispered everything it needed to say.

Jungkook cleared his throat and looked up at the man he adored. “Hobi,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “I don’t have a poem, or a grand speech. You know that’s not me. I just… I love you more than anything. That’s it. That’s all I know. More than music. More than art. More than my own plans for the future. Because somewhere along the way, you became my future. And I want to build it with you. Every awkward, beautiful, annoying, amazing part of it. I want Sunday mornings and airport goodbyes and stupid arguments about furniture placement and you dancing around the living room in socks. All of it. I want you. So… marry me?”

Hoseok didn’t speak at first. His eyes shimmered. His mouth trembled just slightly, the kind of trembling that meant tears were already spilling over. And then, without a word, he dropped to his knees too. His fingers cradled Jungkook’s face, gentle, reverent, and he shook his head, grinning through his tears.

“You idiot,” he whispered, voice thick and breaking. “You think I wouldn’t? Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

And their kiss, soft, deep, grateful, didn’t feel like a celebration. It felt like an anchor. Like a secret only the moon knew. Like a future that had already begun, long before the question had even been asked.

End flashback

Jungkook swallowed, eyes bright with that love‑memory. “But this is what he wants,” he said softly. “And I’d do anything for him.”

He blinked as Namjoon burst in next, breathless in a tailored navy suit with burgundy tie, hair artfully messy. “You need to come now,” he rushed. “Hoseok’s lost it, serious sergeant mode on the grounds. He’s rearranging flower arches on the east lawn. He’s made people cry, appointed them, fired them, hired them… You’ve got to fix him before the guests show up.”

Jungkook laughed, because he had expected it, Hoseok always believed perfection deserved a fight, even on his wedding day.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two neatly‑folded sheet‑mask packets, their matching rosewater-lifting originals. “Give this to him,” he told Jin, passing them across the suite. “And tell him: ‘For every person you make cry, that’s one less orgasm for you tonight.’ Jin smirked wickedly as he pocketed the gifts. “And,” Jungkook shouted as Jin opened the door, “tell him he’s the love of my life, my sun, my absolute euphoria, and I cannot wait to marry him.”

“I am not telling him that,” Jin scoffed.

“I will,” Namjoon said, stepping forward with firm finality. “Don’t ruin his speech, Seokjin.”

Outside in the rose garden of Château de Vallery, beneath soft‑draped canopies and beside a flower-strewn reflecting pool, Hoseok stood amid an army of trembling wedding planners, assistants, stylists, and florists, and he was on a mission. His brow furrowed in pinpoint frustration as he directed a poor soul to realign the floral arch at precisely a thirty-five degree angle to optimize the photo angles (“not thirty, not forty-five — do you want me to show you with a protractor?”), while simultaneously chastising a cake assistant who’d dared to place the peony tower three steps too close to the gold-rimmed guestbook station. His clipboard was gripped with near-vengeance, his eyes scanning every inch of perfection still not yet achieved.

“These don’t match. Move the candlesticks three inches closer. You, do not glare at the arch, it’s not a prison cell.” His voice was calm, but unstoppable. Yoongi hovered at the edge of the chaos, arms crossed as he watched another poor intern burst into overwhelmed tears. He rubbed his temples. “If we don’t sedate him soon, this wedding is going to end with a garden funeral,” he muttered.

Just then, the cavalry arrived, Jin and Namjoon, brisk and focused. Jin, adjusted the collar of his dusty-rose suit and strode forward like a diplomat stepping into a diplomatic crisis. Namjoon, cool and observant, offered a helpless shrug to Yoongi before following his husband.

“Hobi?” Jin called sweetly, as if Hoseok weren’t about to explode a floral arrangement into flames. “Jungkookie sent something for you.”

Hoseok turned with eyes sharp and mouth parted in half a protest, until he saw what Jin was holding.

It was the rosewater sheet mask.

He blinked. The world paused. In the midst of chaos, in the middle of misplaced petals and color-coded disaster, he held the packet delicately in his hands like it was spun from silk and love itself. His lips curled up, that soft, private smile that only came when Jungkook crossed his mind. The garden fell away as his heart pinged with a wave of warmth, and for a moment, he wasn’t a perfectionist trying to wrangle the wedding of the century, he was just a man who’d once locked eyes with a boy who held his hand when he was panicking because of some turbulences.

“He said,” Jin added with a grin, “for every person you make cry today, that’s one less orgasm for you tonight.”

Namjoon cleared his throat, stepping in with that soft timbre of his: “And that you’re the love of his life. His sun, his euphoria. And he can’t wait to marry you.”

Hoseok laughed, a clear note like wind chimes on a summer breeze, chest swelling as his eyes turned misty. “He’s such an idiot,” he said softly. “The sweetest, dumbest, most beautiful idiot.”

That was the magic moment. Like a switch, Hoseok’s entire body softened, posture relaxed, shoulders dropped, and to the immense relief of every trembling staff member in the vicinity, his voice dropped by two octaves into something almost human.

“Okay,” Yoongi leapt on the opportunity, ushering Hoseok away like a bouncer with VIP clearance. “Show’s over. Back to your room, wedding robot. You need to get the final touches. You’re marrying a himbo in forty minutes.”

The crowd exhaled collectively as Hoseok, laughing and shaking his head, allowed himself to be guided away, his heart now light, floating somewhere above his perfectly symmetrical floral arch.

Later, in the garden, beneath a sky brushed with peach and gold, the wedding begins.

The courtyard had been transformed into a fairytale, strings of golden lights draped between ancient stone arches, roses spilling from every urn, candles flickering inside tall glass lanterns that lined the aisle. Guests sat in neat rows on white chairs adorned with ribbons, their chatter soft, their smiles warm. At the far end, framed by an arch woven with wildflowers and ivy, Jungkook stood at the altar, this time without pacing, but his breath caught in his chest. The air was thick with honeysuckle, and a quartet played something tender and slow in the background.

And then, the guests turned, the music swelled, and Hoseok appeared.

Wearing the suit.

A custom Alexander McQueen creation in winter white, sharply cut with a high mandarin collar embroidered with silver thread, the jacket subtly sculpted with pearl beading that traced abstract florals over his chest and down the sleeves like ivy; wide-legged trousers fell in clean folds to his gleaming white monk shoes. Hoseok wasn’t just the most fashionable groom anyone had ever seen, he was a vision, a celestial being sculpted from fashion and feeling.

He walked slowly, arm-in-arm with his sister, both beaming, and his eyes never once leaving Jungkook’s. And Jungkook. Jungkook forgot to breathe.

When Hoseok finally stepped onto the platform, hand in his, they stood still, shaking slightly.

“I don’t think I can talk,” Jungkook whispered.

“Then I’ll go first,” Hoseok said, voice trembling, but smiling.

The officiant smiled warmly. “We are gathered here to celebrate the love between Hoseok and Jungkook, a love that began… well, in the sky.” A ripple of laughter ran through the guests, especially from Jimin, who whispered something to Taehyung that made them both snicker.

The officiant nodded to Hoseok. “Hoseok, your vows.” The officiant stepped aside, and Hoseok took a shaky breath, hand pressed to his heart.

“Jeon Jungkook,” he said, softly at first. “The day I met you, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t expect to sit next to someone who would make me forget I was thirty thousand feet in the air. I didn’t expect to laugh so much that I forgot the hours passing. I didn’t expect to meet someone who would look at me like I was worth more than I ever believed. And that day, when I said goodbye, I thought I’d never see you again. But life, or fate, or whatever’s up there pulling strings, had other plans.” He smiled softly, shaking his head. “From Phuket to Paris, from texts that went on until dawn to the first time you came to visit me, we’ve built something I didn’t even know was possible. You taught me patience. You taught me that love doesn’t always happen the way you expect it to, but when it’s right, it’s worth every mile, every late-night phone call, every ache from missing you. You are my best friend, my safe place, my favourite hello and my hardest goodbye. But after today, there won’t be any more goodbyes. Just goodnights. Just ‘see you in the morning.’ Just us. Forever.”

Tears spilled down Jungkook’s cheeks. He laughed breathlessly, eyes crinkling through his tears. “How am I supposed to top that?”. He gripped Hoseok’s hands tighter.

Jungkook cleared his throat, but his smile was already tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So… I’ve been thinking about this moment for weeks, and I still don’t know how to make it sound as perfect as it feels. But I guess I’ll start from the very beginning.” He glanced out at the guests. “You see… I was on my way to Jin and Namjoon’s wedding in Phuket, and something amazing happened, the airline upgraded me to first class. I thought, ‘Wow, maybe this is my lucky day.’ And then I walked to my seat and… there you were.”

He paused, letting his eyes find Hoseok’s, a laugh slipping into his voice. “Wearing a full-on skincare mask. On a plane. In first class. I swear, I’d never seen anyone so confident and unbothered in my life. I didn’t even know your name yet, but you made me feel like I was already part of your world, even if you were halfway through your in-flight K-beauty routine.”

The guests chuckled, Jin especially, covering his face as if picturing it all over again.

Jungkook’s voice softened. “We talked like the flight wasn’t several hours but just a few minutes. And when we landed… when we said goodbye… I honestly thought I’d never see you again. That was the part that hurt, not knowing if I’d ever sit next to you again, hear your laugh again, watch your eyes light up when you talked about something you loved.”

He took a breath, blinking fast. “And then Phuket happened. Dancing under the stars, pretending it wasn’t our last night together, and then… a few months of distance. But we made it work. We chose to make it work. And every day I learned more about you, your warmth, your strength, your ridiculous habit of taking pictures of clouds because they ‘looked happy’ to you. And when you finally moved to Seoul… it felt like the world clicked into place. Like I had been holding my breath for months and I could finally exhale.”

“Hobi,” Jungkook’s voice wavered just enough for Hoseok to squeeze his hands. “I never thought I’d be someone you’d love. I was too quiet, too unsure. But you looked at me like I mattered. You taught me color, joy, and all the ridiculous names of runway shows I still can’t pronounce. You danced into my world and made it full. I promise to never stop trying to deserve you, not because I think I have to, but because you inspire me. I’ll love you through every storm, every show, every time you move the furniture three times because the feng shui feels off. I’ll love you always, with the same certainty I had when I knelt by that river and asked you to marry me. You said yes. And now we’re here. And I know that I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

The officiant took a small step back. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your—”

But the words were barely out before Jungkook’s hands cupped Hoseok’s face and pulled him in, kissing him with the same rush of joy and relief as that first night in Phuket, the crowd erupting into cheers and applause. Yoongi let out a whoop, Jimin and Taehyung whistled and screamed loud enough to scare the doves out of the trees,  Jin shouted, “Finally! About damn time!” Namjoon laughed and pulled him into a hug. Champagne corks shot into the air, glitter confetti rained down, and the band’s brass section broke into a triumphant melody that had even Yoongi tapping his foot.

The great courtyard of the château glowed like something out of a dream. Warm amber light spilled from arched windows and cascaded across polished stone, catching on the petals that had been scattered earlier during the ceremony. Above, strings of fairy lights draped like constellations, blending with the actual stars that freckled the deep indigo sky. Rose vines climbed the old stone walls, their blooms perfuming the air with a sweetness that mingled with the distant scent of champagne. The musicians, a live string quartet beside a glossy grand piano, played something soft and regal as servers in crisp black uniforms wove through the crowd, offering delicate canapés and golden flutes of sparkling wine. After the cocktail, the guests were guided to their tables for the diner part of the event. 

The moment Jungkook and Hoseok entered the courtyard, Jungkook’s hand resting at the small of Hoseok’s back, Hoseok’s fingers hooked gently into Jungkook’s, the applause began again, louder this time, joined by whistles and playful shouts from their friends and guests. They took their time visiting each table, until they finally reached a small circular one, next to their parents and family members. The table where Jin, Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi were gathered.

Jin spotted them first, leaning back in his chair with the air of a man about to hold court. “Well, well, if it isn’t the newlyweds,” he drawled, raising his glass. “I trust you’re here to publicly thank me for my role in your love story?”

Namjoon sighed into his drink, but he was smiling. “You’ve been talking about this all day.”

“Because I deserve recognition!” Jin said, hand to his chest in mock offense. “If I hadn’t invited both of you to my wedding, who knows where you’d be? Possibly still single, possibly wasting away.”

Hoseok grinned, reaching into the gift bag Jungkook held. “Funny you should mention that.” He set a sleek, ribbon-wrapped box on the table in front of Jin. “From us to you, and Namjoon, of course, with love.”

Jin’s eyes lit up immediately. “Ohhh, I like where this is going.”

He opened it with the drama of a man unwrapping a crown jewel, revealing a gleaming decanter and two crystal glasses, the words Matchmaker Extraordinaire elegantly etched across the glass. Beneath that, nestled in satin, was a bottle of champagne from the very region where the château stood.

Namjoon let out a low whistle. “That’s… actually gorgeous.”

“It’s perfect,” Jin said, already holding the decanter up to admire the way it caught the light. “I am touched. This is the level of respect I deserve.” He glanced between them, suddenly mock-suspicious. “You’re not just buttering me up so I won’t make a speech later, are you?”

“Too late for that,” Hoseok said, smirking. “You already made one during the cocktail. We heard.”

“True,” Jin admitted, then turned to clink his glass against Namjoon’s. “Well, cheers to being the reason true love exists.”

Before they could drink, Jimin leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Hold on. You gave them a gift? Where’s ours?”

Taehyung chimed in instantly, dramatic as ever. “Yeah, excuse me, but we’ve been supporting your relationship from the beginning. We deserve something too. For emotional labor.”

Hoseok and Jungkook exchanged a glance, the exact glance of two people who had been expecting this. Jungkook reached back into the bag and, with a flourish, produced two smaller wrapped boxes. “For you two,” he said, handing one to Jimin and one to Taehyung.

Jimin tore his open like it might explode, revealing a pair of matching silk sleep masks embroidered with Drama King in delicate gold script. Taehyung laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “You actually got these for us?”

“You’re welcome,” Hoseok said sweetly. “Now you can rest your eyes between all those dramatic expressions.”

“I’m wearing this on the flight home,” Jimin declared.

Yoongi, who had been quietly sipping his drink the whole time, glanced at the growing pile of gifts and raised an eyebrow. “Should I be expecting one too, or…?”

“You didn’t complain,” Jungkook said, amused. 

Yoongi smirked. “Fair.”

"We're kidding, this is yours" Hoseok said hading Yoongi a small box. The older boy smiled softly and kept the box without opening.

Namjoon reached for the champagne bottle, expertly popping the cork with a satisfying pop that drew cheers from the surrounding tables. “Alright,” he said, filling each of their glasses in turn. “Before this turns into an actual competition for who deserves the most credit, I think it’s time we toast.”

Seven glasses rose together, the candlelight catching on crystal and bubbles.

“To the happy couple,” Jin said warmly.

“To all of us,” Hoseok corrected, his smile bright and genuine.

“To finding each other in the strangest, luckiest ways,” Namjoon added.

They all clinked glasses, the sound ringing over the music and laughter, sealing the moment. And when they drank, the champagne was bright and crisp, like the night itself, a reminder that their love stories, all of them, were worth celebrating.

The diner was sophisticated and full surprises like a little impromptu runway show from Hoseok's old friends from Paris and two beautiful speeches from Hoseok's sister and Jungkook's brother who had everyone crying their eyes out.

After that, a path full of sparkles guided everyone to the dance floor. The quartet shifted into a waltz. Slow, elegant, but with a playful lift in the melody, something that allowed for the kind of grace and charm only a pair of good dancers like them could pull off.

Jungkook grinned, leaning toward Hoseok so only he could hear, and bowed with a flourish, offering his hand. “May I have this dance, mon amour?”

Hoseok took it, his smile both tender and knowing. “Show me what you’ve got, mon cherie.”

They moved together effortlessly, steps flowing as though choreographed, yet carrying the looseness of lovers who needed no rehearsal to read each other’s bodies. They spun in slow, sweeping arcs, Jungkook’s palm firm at Hoseok’s waist, Hoseok’s hand resting over his heart, each turn drawing them closer until their chests brushed and their breath mingled. On one particularly close pass, Hoseok murmured, “I can’t wait to get you alone tonight,” making Jungkook stumble just slightly, his laugh melting into the music.

Around them, the guests were transfixed, not only by the elegance of the dance but by the way every look, every touch between them seemed to hum with something private and electric. When the final note swelled, Jungkook dipped Hoseok low, their faces inches apart, his voice a whisper only Hoseok could hear. “That’s just a warm-up for later.” His voice was low, dangerous, and warm enough to make Hoseok’s pulse race.

Their friends danced nearby. Jimin and Taehyung twirling like they were in a 1920s movie, Jin dragging Namjoon into an enthusiastic, if slightly chaotic, waltz, Yoongi swaying with a plate of mini tarts in hand. Every so often, someone would interrupt, Taehyung shouting “Get a room!” as he spun Jimin, Jin warning, “Don’t you dare leave before the cake!”, but they barely noticed, too wrapped in the quiet rhythm of their steps and the weight of each other’s hands.

When the song changed to something upbeat, Hoseok tugged Jungkook into the middle of a circle of their friends. “Come on, show them what you’ve got, Mr. First-Class Upgrade.” The guests clapped along, forming a ring as Jungkook pulled Hoseok close for a spin before breaking into a playful shuffle that had the whole crowd laughing. Hoseok joined in, matching him step for step, their laughter mingling with the music until they collapsed against each other, breathless.

More people joined the dancefloor, the guest cheered and chanted to the newly weds. “You two make it look easy,” Namjoon said warmly.

“It is easy,” Jungkook replied without hesitation, eyes flicking to Hoseok. “When it’s him.”

Jin sniffed, fanning himself dramatically. “Ugh, you’re going to make me cry again and we’ve only been dancing for twenty minutes.”

"Don't cry you'll ruin your perfect make up." Hoseok smiled.

Yoongi was less sentimental, sidling up with a glass in hand. “Congratulations, lovebirds. Now go enjoy your party before Taehyung eats all the macarons.”

Sure enough, in the far corner, Taehyung was laughing with Jimin over a tower of pastel-colored macarons, both looking guilty as a server tried, and failed, to redirect them. When the two noticed Jungkook and Hoseok watching, Taehyung yelled across the floor, “You’ll get some if you’re fast enough!”

The night rolled on in a golden blur, laughter spilling over every corner, Hoseok introducing Jungkook to sleek guests from the fashion world, each of whom seemed charmed instantly. More dancing followed, sometimes slow and romantic, sometimes wild enough for Hoseok’s tie to loosen and Jungkook’s shirt buttons to slip open just slightly. During one fast song, Jimin twirled Hoseok into Jungkook’s arms, winking. “He’s yours now, but I had to try.”

Between dances, they would steal quiet moments near the edge of the courtyard, half-hidden by the rose-covered walls. Hoseok would lean in, fingers brushing Jungkook’s jaw. “You look too good tonight,” he’d murmur, his gaze dipping to Jungkook’s lips.

“Careful,” Jungkook would answer, brushing a thumb over Hoseok’s hand. “You keep saying things like that and I’m going to carry you upstairs before the cake’s even cut.”

And precisely after the cake, Yoongi finally got dragged onto the floor by Taehyung and Jimin challenging Hoseok to a dance-off. Jin and Namjoon witnessed from the side, feeding each other cake with exaggerated ahhh noises. After that, there were multiple attempts at getting a group picture where no one made a silly face. As the DJ played a slow and melodic tune, Hoseok rested his head on Jungkook’s shoulder, Jungkook kissed his hair and whispered, “If first class gave me you… I’d fly every day for the rest of my life.”

Jungkook’s hand slipped around Hoseok’s waist, his palm warm and firm against the fine fabric of the tailored suit, thumb pressing lightly at the small of his back as if he could anchor him there forever. He leaned in close enough that his lips brushed the shell of Hoseok’s ear, his voice low, a murmur meant for him alone. “If we stay out here any longer,” he said, the words dripping with intent, “I’m going to forget there’s anyone else in this château.”

Hoseok’s lips curved, his head tilting just enough for his breath to fan against Jungkook’s jaw. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

A quiet, warm laugh escaped Jungkook, though his hand at Hoseok’s back pressed just a little firmer. “It’s not. But if we keep dancing like this… I’m going to carry you upstairs in front of everyone, and I’m not sure the fashion elite are ready for that kind of performance.”

That earned him a smirk, slow, knowing, dangerous, one Hoseok paired with a deliberate step back, their fingers still linked, the space between them charged. “Then maybe we should go before you embarrass us both.” His tone was light, teasing, but his eyes, dark and glinting under the fairy lights, promised anything but restraint.

They slipped from the crowd hand-in-hand, weaving between the remaining clusters of guests still talking animatedly over champagne, stopping here and there to accept warm congratulations, to receive one last hug, to endure one more wink from Jimin. Namjoon clapped Jungkook’s shoulder, murmuring something about “behaving yourselves,” which earned only a quick, unrepentant grin from both of them. But their pace never truly slowed, the shared urgency pushing them toward the shadowed archway that led inside.

Just as they crossed the threshold, Hoseok’s free hand drifted to Jungkook’s hip, his touch light but deliberate, his voice pitched low. “Last chance to turn back,” he whispered, though there was no real question in it.

Jungkook’s answer was instant, steady, threaded with hunger. “Not a chance.”

The château’s corridors embraced them with quiet, the sounds of the party outside softening to a distant thrum, replaced by the echo of their own footsteps on marble. The high ceilings held the faint scent of roses and polished wood, but underneath it, Jungkook could swear he could smell the warmth of Hoseok’s cologne, the faint salt of his skin still heated from the dance floor. Each step seemed to draw them tighter into each other’s orbit, the air between them thickening with every glance, every brush of fingers.

By the time they reached their suite, an opulent expanse with high arched windows opening onto a balcony that framed the star-scattered French countryside, Jungkook’s control was already fraying. The door had barely swung shut before he was on Hoseok, hands gripping his waist as his mouth found his in a kiss that was no longer measured or polite, but deep, urgent, tasting of champagne and everything they’d been holding back all night.

Hoseok responded in kind, pushing him back until Jungkook’s broad shoulders met the cool wall. One of Hoseok’s hands braced beside his head, the other slid up to cradle his jaw, his lips breaking just enough to murmur against them, “You’ve been looking at me all night like you want to devour me.”

Jungkook’s hands skimmed slowly upward, mapping the lines of Hoseok’s body, his touch lingering at his ribs before settling firmly at his waist. His voice was roughened, low. “I don’t just want to,” he breathed, locking eyes with him, “I will.”

The first piece of clothing to go was Jungkook’s jacket, falling to the floor with a muted thud. Hoseok’s followed soon after, the sound of fine fabric sliding against skin punctuating the space between their kisses. Hoseok took his time with Jungkook’s shirt, fingers undoing each button slowly, brushing the warm skin beneath, relishing the small, involuntary shivers he drew out. Jungkook, less patient, tugged Hoseok’s shirt free from his waistband, slipping his hands under the crisp cotton to splay them across the bare planes of his back.

They moved toward the bed without ever really deciding to, clothes scattering in a careless trail — cufflinks glinting against the carpet, shoes abandoned near the door, ties dangling from the arm of a chair. By the time they reached the massive bed draped in ivory linens, Hoseok’s hair was mussed, Jungkook’s breathing had deepened, and the faint flush from the reception had bloomed into something darker, hotter.

Jungkook guided Hoseok down onto the mattress, his own body following until they were chest to chest, heat meeting heat. His mouth found the curve of Hoseok’s throat, tracing down over the steady pulse there, across his shoulder, tasting the salt and faint tang of cologne. Hoseok’s hands threaded into Jungkook’s hair, tugging gently, a low sound escaping him as he whispered, “God, you make me feel like—” but the rest dissolved into a gasp as Jungkook’s teeth grazed skin.

They moved together in a rhythm that felt almost inevitable — slow, deliberate, as if they were still dancing, each shift of their hips a step, each press of lips and palms a beat. Jungkook’s touch roamed everywhere, both worshipping and claiming, his fingers digging into Hoseok’s hips like he could anchor him in place forever. Hoseok’s legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer, until it felt like there was no space between them at all.

The air grew thick with soft gasps, low groans, the rustle of sheets, the sound of skin on skin. Every kiss was wetter, deeper, their hands mapping every familiar line, rediscovering every spot that made the other shiver or gasp. Jungkook murmured things against Hoseok’s skin,  half love, half hunger,  in between kisses, his voice hoarse, wrecked. Hoseok’s replies were breathless, broken by the rhythm of their movements, each one laced with the kind of intimacy that came only from years of knowing and loving each other.

When release finally came, it was slow at first, a tightening, a building wave, then shattering, dragging them both over the edge in a blur of heat and sensation that left them trembling, tangled, and breathless.

They stayed like that in the warm quiet after, Jungkook’s forehead pressed to Hoseok’s, their breaths syncing as the glow from the bedside lamp bathed them in soft gold. Jungkook’s hand traced lazy patterns over Hoseok’s cheek, his thumb stroking just beneath his eye.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband,” he whispered, the words carrying both awe and certainty.

Hoseok’s lips curved in a smile, his own hand lifting to rest over Jungkook’s heart. “Believe it. Because I’m not letting you go.”

Jungkook’s grin was slow, dangerous, a spark still burning in his gaze. “Good. Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

When he rolled them over, drawing a startled laugh from Hoseok before their mouths met again, the heat reignited easily, spilling into the night until the stars outside seemed to burn brighter, as if the whole French countryside had chosen to witness the beginning of forever.

Hoseok’s lips curved into a smirk as his fingers slid into Jungkook’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp. “You look way too smug right now,” he murmured.

“I am smug,” Jungkook said without shame, kissing the skin just above Hoseok’s collarbone. “I just married the most gorgeous man in the world, and then I proved I can still make him breathless.”

Hoseok gave a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through Jungkook’s chest. “Mmm… you’re not wrong. But are you sure you can keep up with me all night? You might be underestimating your husband.”

That earned him a glint in Jungkook’s eyes — challenge accepted. He rolled to the side, pulling Hoseok with him until they faced each other, legs tangled. “We’ll see who’s underestimating who,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to cup the back of Hoseok’s thigh, drawing him closer until their hips brushed again, skin to skin, sparking a fresh wave of heat.

They kissed again, slower this time, almost lazy, tasting each other in unhurried passes of tongue and lips. Jungkook’s palm moved in long, slow strokes over Hoseok’s back, while Hoseok’s hand roamed over the ridges of Jungkook’s abs, tracing the lines like an artist memorizing his subject.

Eventually, Hoseok pulled back just enough to whisper against Jungkook’s mouth, “Come outside with me.”

They left the warmth of the bed, still bare, the cool air of the suite brushing over heated skin as Hoseok tugged him toward the tall balcony doors. Jungkook followed without protest, the sight that met them stealing his breath for a moment. The sprawling French countryside, bathed in moonlight, the vineyard stretching in soft silver rows into the distance, the stars scattered thick above them.

The night air kissed their skin, cool enough to make Hoseok press closer, his arms looping around Jungkook’s neck as they stood together in the quiet. From the courtyard far below came faint laughter and clinking glasses, the muffled echo of the party still alive. But up here, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“Perfect,” Hoseok murmured, gazing out at the view, though Jungkook noticed he wasn’t looking at the vineyard for long before his eyes were back on him.

“No,” Jungkook said softly, his hands slipping to Hoseok’s waist, thumbs brushing his skin. “You’re perfect.”

Hoseok huffed a quiet laugh, but his expression softened. “You’re going to make me fall in love with you all over again.”

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook murmured, and then he kissed him again, harder this time, his body pressing Hoseok back against the balcony’s stone railing. The chill of it contrasted with the heat building between them, making every touch feel sharper, more urgent. Hoseok’s fingers dug into Jungkook’s shoulders, his breath catching when Jungkook’s hands slid down over his hips, lifting him slightly to set him on the wide stone ledge.

There, under the stars, they kissed like they were still on the dance floor, bodies swaying together, mouths seeking, every shift of their hips slow but charged. Jungkook’s hands roamed freely, one sliding between them to draw a low, unguarded moan from Hoseok, who broke the kiss only long enough to whisper, “Take me inside before I start giving the wedding guests a show.”

Jungkook smirked, his voice a rasp. “Tempting.” But he lifted him easily, carrying him back into the suite with a strength that made Hoseok bite his lip in appreciation.

The second round was different, still hot, still urgent, but threaded with a deeper intimacy. They took their time, mapping each other’s bodies again like they’d never touched before, whispering confessions between kisses. Jungkook murmured how he’d been watching Hoseok all night, how the way he moved in that suit had nearly ruined his composure at the dinner table. Hoseok teased that he knew exactly what he’d been doing, and that Jungkook’s self-control deserved an award.

It went on for hours. Waves of heat followed by slow, tangled moments in the sheets, laughter and quiet kisses between breaths, a rhythm only they knew. By the time dawn began to pale the edges of the sky beyond the balcony, they were lying together again, utterly spent, utterly sated, and still unwilling to let go.

Hoseok’s voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “If every night as your husband is like this…”

Jungkook’s lips brushed his temple. “Then we’re in trouble.”

Hoseok stared at his husband’s face for a few seconds in complete silence. “This is it,” He whispered. “Exactly how I always dreamed it would feel.”

Jungkook kissed the side of his head. “This is just the beginning.”

Their eyes met. Full of love, full of heat, full of the promise of everything that waited beyond the fairy-tale night. They fell asleep like that, the world outside still celebrating, but the real celebration happening here, between tangled limbs and soft, steady breathing. The first night of forever.