Chapter Text
Jungkook wasn’t snooping.
He’d just been organizing the boxes stacked in the corner of their shared studio room, clearing space for the baby books and photo albums Jin kept meaning to arrange. Their little one was down for a nap, and Jin had been in the kitchen making his famous kimchi jjigae. It was a quiet, domestic afternoon—until Jungkook opened a small, dusty box.
Inside, tucked between an old scarf and some faded ticket stubs, was a polaroid.
Jin. Younger, cheeks rounder, hair a shade lighter, his smile wide in that effortless way that always made Jungkook’s chest tighten. But the person standing beside him… Jungkook recognized him instantly.
Kidoh.
Jin Hyosang.
Jungkook had heard the name before, in passing, and seen him once or twice in old BTS pre-debut stories. But that wasn’t what made his stomach sink—it was the look on Jin’s face in that photo.
He wasn’t just smiling. He looked in love.
Jungkook’s fingers tightened around the picture. He hated how the image dug up things he thought he’d buried—quiet, irrational insecurities he didn’t even want to admit he still had after all these years.
Five years married. Seven years together.
And yet, here he was, staring at a frozen moment of a man Jin had once loved deeply, a man who had been part of a past Jungkook could never touch.
He didn’t hear Jin enter the room until a gentle voice broke the silence.
“Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook turned, polaroid still in hand.
Jin’s eyes flickered to it, and for a moment, his expression shifted—soft recognition, then something unreadable. He didn’t snatch it away, didn’t rush to explain. He just walked closer, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
“You found that.” It wasn’t a question.
Jungkook swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice was low, tight. “I didn’t… I wasn’t looking for it. I was just—”
“I know,” Jin said softly. “It’s okay.”
Jungkook wanted to say it didn’t bother him, but the truth was tangled in his chest. “I know it’s the past, hyung. I know you’re here with me. But… I also know how much you loved him. I’ve only ever loved you like this. And sometimes… I wonder if—”
“Stop.” Jin’s voice was firm, but his eyes were warm as he reached out and took Jungkook’s hand—the one holding the photo. Carefully, he set it aside on the desk. Then, he cupped Jungkook’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“Hyosang was part of my life, yes,” Jin said. “I cared for him. But he’s not my present, and he’s not my future. You are. Jungkook-ah… you’re my only love in the way that matters. The only one I married. The only one I’ve built a family with. The only one who gets my whole heart every day.”
Jungkook’s throat tightened, eyes prickling. “I just… I can’t stand the thought of someone having had you like that before me.”
Jin smiled faintly, brushing his thumb along Jungkook’s cheek. “That’s the thing—you have me now in a way no one else ever did. And no one else ever will.”
The tension in Jungkook’s chest eased, replaced by a quiet warmth. He pulled Jin close, burying his face in his shoulder. Jin’s arms wrapped around him instantly, strong and certain, as if to anchor him there.
Outside, the smell of simmering kimchi jjigae drifted in from the kitchen. Inside, Jungkook let himself breathe, holding onto the man who had chosen him—then, now, always.
Jungkook didn’t mean to keep thinking about it.
He’d set the polaroid back in the box, and even kissed Jin’s cheek before following him into the kitchen for dinner. But the image lingered, stubborn and unshakable—Jin’s youthful grin, the way his shoulders leaned toward Hyosang, the kind of closeness you didn’t fake.
Dinner smelled amazing, as always. Jin’s kimchi jjigae was bubbling in the pot, rich and savory, the steam curling into the air. Their little one, half-asleep from their earlier nap, sat at the table in a dinosaur-print hoodie, rubbing his eyes as Jin gently coaxed him to eat a few bites of rice.
Jungkook sat across from them, chopsticks in hand, smiling when he was supposed to, laughing when Jin made a soft joke about their son’s bed hair. But his mind kept wandering.
How did Jin look at him back then?
Did he laugh the same way? Touch his arm like that? Kiss him softly in the quiet moments?
He hated himself for even thinking it, but the questions whispered in his head like a song on repeat.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Jin said suddenly, eyes flicking to him between spoonfuls of stew.
Jungkook forced a smile. “Just tired.”
Jin’s gaze lingered for a second longer, but he nodded and went back to feeding their son, his voice soft and warm. Jungkook watched them, something aching in his chest—not jealousy toward Hyosang now, but a fierce, almost childish desire to be the only one who had ever held this version of Jin. The one who made silly airplane noises with the spoon. The one who wiped sauce from the corner of someone’s mouth.
After dinner, their son toddled to his play area, happily stacking blocks while humming nonsense. Jin washed the dishes, humming to himself, and Jungkook helped dry them in silence. Every now and then, Jin’s arm brushed his, and Jungkook felt both comforted and guilty—comforted because Jin’s presence was the only thing that grounded him, guilty because he still hadn’t let go of the polaroid.
Later, when their son was in bed, Jungkook lingered in the living room, absently scrolling through his phone. He heard Jin’s footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate.
“You’ve been in your head all evening,” Jin said softly, leaning against the doorway.
Jungkook looked up, startled. “No, I—”
“Don’t say ‘I’m fine.’” Jin’s voice was gentle, but it left no room for escape. “I know you.”
Jungkook swallowed, thumb tightening on his phone. “It’s nothing important, hyung. I don’t want to ruin the night.”
Jin walked over, stopping right in front of him. His hands slipped into Jungkook’s hair, fingers curling just enough to tilt his head back until their eyes met.
“You could never ruin the night,” Jin murmured. “Not with me.”
Jungkook didn’t answer right away. His throat felt tight, his chest heavy. But Jin’s touch—warm fingers threaded in his hair, steady gaze locked on his—made it impossible to keep pretending.
“I hate it,” Jungkook admitted in a low voice. “The thought of anyone having you like that before me. I know it’s selfish. I know it’s the past. But… you’re my love, hyung. The only one I’ve ever loved like this. And sometimes I…” His voice faltered. “…I wonder if you ever loved someone more than me.”
Jin’s expression softened, his thumb brushing along Jungkook’s cheekbone. “No one,” he whispered, so sure it sent a shiver through Jungkook. “No one, Jungkook-ah. You are the only man I have ever loved with my whole life. The only man I have chosen, over and over, for seven years. You are my family. My forever.”
Before Jungkook could answer, Jin leaned down and kissed him.
It was slow—agonizingly so—but full of everything words couldn’t carry. Jin’s lips moved with tenderness, his breath warm, his hand sliding to cup Jungkook’s jaw. It wasn’t rushed or hungry, yet it made Jungkook’s pulse race.
Jungkook kissed him back, harder now, his hands finding Jin’s waist and pulling him close until their chests pressed together. The kiss deepened, slow turning into urgent, the kind of urgency that comes from needing to show what you feel.
They stumbled toward the bedroom, barely breaking apart, their lips brushing with every step. Jungkook’s hands roamed Jin’s back, holding him like he might vanish, while Jin’s fingers curled into the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, tugging him closer, closer.
By the time they reached the bed, Jungkook was breathing hard—not from lust alone, but from the storm of emotions spilling over. He guided Jin down gently, climbing over him, their foreheads pressed together.
“I love you,” Jungkook whispered, voice shaking. “More than anything. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. I want you to feel it. I want you to know you’re… you’re my everything, hyung. For me and for Seol.”
Jin’s eyes shone in the dim light. “Then show me,” he murmured.
And Jungkook did.
Every touch, every kiss, every press of his hands was deliberate—slow when he wanted Jin to feel cherished, firmer when he wanted to anchor himself in the reality that this man was his. Jin responded with equal devotion, matching his pace, his soft gasps and whispered “Jungkook-ah” breaking the air like a melody only they knew.
The world outside didn’t matter. The past didn’t matter.
Here, there was only the two of them, tangled together in the quiet warmth of their home, their love spilling into every movement until there was no room for doubt.
After, Jin lay against Jungkook’s chest, their fingers loosely intertwined. Jungkook pressed a kiss to his hair, breathing in the faint scent of his shampoo. Jin smiled, his voice drowsy but certain.
“You’ll never need to wonder again,” he said softly. “It’s you. Always you.”
The room was quiet except for their breathing. The faint glow from the bedside lamp painted Jin’s bare shoulder in gold, his skin warm where it pressed against Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook’s fingers traced idle circles along Jin’s arm, not ready to let go yet.
They’d said “I love you” countless times before. Whispered it. Shouted it. Written it in texts and tucked it into casual goodbyes. But here, in the aftermath, it felt different—like the words had been carved into the air, undeniable and permanent.
Jungkook swallowed, his voice low. “Hyung… can I ask you something?”
Jin hummed in response, not lifting his head from Jungkook’s chest.
“Do you ever… think about them? The people you loved before me?” Jungkook asked. His tone wasn’t accusing—just raw, like he’d peeled back a layer he usually kept hidden.
Jin was silent for a long moment, his thumb brushing over Jungkook’s ribs. “Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “Not in the way you think, though. I think about them the way you think about old versions of yourself. The you that existed before now. They’re… part of the path that led me here.”
Jungkook’s chest tightened. “And… was it like this? With them?”
Jin finally lifted his head to meet his gaze. His eyes were calm, steady. “No. What I felt before was real, but it wasn’t this. They were chapters, Jungkook-ah. You’re the book. You’re the story I’m still writing every day.”
Jungkook’s breath caught, his insecurities cracking under the weight of those words.
“I used to think ‘first love’ was the most important,” Jin continued. “But I was wrong. It’s the last love that matters. The one you choose to keep. That’s you, Jungkook. You’re my last, and my forever.”
Jungkook’s throat ached, but he managed a smile—small and a little shaky. “You make it sound like a promise.”
“It is,” Jin said simply. Then, softer, “It always has been.”
They lay there in silence again, but it was a different kind of quiet now—warm, like a blanket wrapped around them. Outside their bedroom, the world kept moving, but inside, Jungkook felt anchored in a way he hadn’t all day. The past was just a shadow. The present, and every day after, belonged to them.