Archive of Our Own ^beta

Pleasure and satisfaction, Seokjin thinks, are two things that are not mutually exclusive. 

Pleasure is what we all crave. Seokjin knows it well. A gluttonous drive that we all have, that we’re all willing to get somehow. Just a brief moment of joy, something we look for no matter how selfish our actions may be to get it. A second of release from whatever shitty hand life has dealt you. 

That’s what Seokjin’s after right now; a body below him, who, god, he can’t even remember the name of, but it doesn’t matter, because every time he calls him baby the stranger seems to preen. He should be warm, sweating even, considering how mercilessly he drives himself into the other, but he feels cold. There’s no warmth in the bed of a stranger.

And while there may be pleasure, there’s no satisfaction. 

Seokjin thinks at one point in his life, he believed they came hand in hand. When he was younger, in university, and loved the attention he got everywhere he went, loved being the prettiest face at the party, loved being wanted. It was satisfying to know he could be the cause of other people’s pleasure. 

He doesn’t think like that anymore. 

He’s tired of being the one used; he uses instead. Takes what he can get from lingering glances at bars or flirtatious messages on hookup apps. He’s driven by want, by the need to take, by the need to fuel his pleasure. 

But each time it’s just the same. 

“Fuck,” the stranger, Baby, groans, body deflating as he comes. 

Seokjin’s not far behind, it only takes one, two, three more thrusts and then he’s—

“That was good,” Seokjin says, breathless, as he pulls out. 

The stranger hums, limbs heavy as he turns over. 

Seokjin doesn’t look at him. He looks for his jeans instead. 

“Leaving already?” Baby scoffs. 

Yes, you fucking idiot, Seokjin thinks. Why would I stay?

“Yeah,” Seokjin says instead, gentler. “I realized I left my phone at the bar. My roommate will have me on a milk carton if I’m not home tonight. Better safe than sorry.” 

It’s a lie. The phone, the roommate. Seokjin’s gotten good at these kinds of lies. 

It placates the man in bed. He smiles, says, “Ok. Leave me your number at least?”

“Of course,” Seokjin concedes, though he knows he’ll never pick up when Baby calls. He’ll screen his texts. 

Seokjin leaves with his number on a napkin in Baby’s kitchen and the brief wave of pleasure pulling back to the ocean like a tide. It’s gone by the time he makes it outside, completely dried out by the times he’s in the cab home. 

He hasn’t been satisfied with himself all night. 

* * * 

Whiskey burns which is why Seokjin likes it. 

It takes away from the numbness he feels when he’s not after something like his own pleasure. Takes away from the loud and obnoxious and very much warm world around him. He can never feel the same warmth that everyone else does; that his friends do. He doesn’t get what it’s like to feel that spark anymore. 

The closest thing he gets to that spark right now is his whiskey and the man across the bar that he keeps locking eyes with. Seokjin thinks he’ll probably go home with him. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he hears a voice, bubbly and familiar. 

“Hi, Taehyung-ah.” Seokjin smiles, genuine, because Taehyung has always had that effect on him. “Glad to see you know I’m a ten among these sevens.” 

“Me and Jiminie included?” Taehyung asks, parting from where his boyfriend has their hands intertwined only for a minute, hugging Seokjin. 

“You guys are hard eight and a half’s.” 

“How generous of you, hyung,” Jimin says, sarcastic like most things Jimin says, flagging down the bartender to order him and Taehyung a drink. 

They’re at a piano bar, which isn’t much of any of their usual scenes, but Yoongi’s doing a small gig here with someone he knows from work, just something silly and not at all serious, especially when compared to the venues they usually head to for things related to Yoongi’s life as a composer. Big, ornate concert halls, filled up with South Korea’s finest. 

Yoongi’s over with his friend—Namjoon, his name is—sat at a table by the stage along with another man that looks familiar enough. The third man is all heart-shaped and smiling and Seokjin wonders if it’s all a facade much like himself or if he has that much to smile about. 

“Surprised you’re all alone,” Taehyung says. 

“Yoongi’s over there,” Seokjin points out, though he knows that’s not what Taehyung was implying. 

I’m surprised you’re not chatting up a stranger to take home, that’s what Taehyung meant. 

“Right,” Taehyung dismisses. “How’s the apartment? Missing me?”

“Never,” Seokjin says. He’s lying. He’s gotten good at that these days. “I can finally sleep without the sound of you two going at it like rabbits.” 

Jimin scrunches his face up in disgust, a protest on his lips no doubt. 

Taehyung speaks instead, “Well, I miss you.” He means it because Taehyung means everything he says. 

Still, Seokjin can’t help but feel a bit bitter over it. He wants to say well, then why did you move out? Why did you leave me alone? But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he reaches out, giving a quick squeeze to Taehyung’s cheek. “I’m here now. How’s married life?” 

“Very funny.” Jimin’s being sarcastic again. 

Ever since the couple made the step to move in together, Seokjin’s been teasing them about how they’re one minute away from tying the knot. He thinks that’s probably just his way of coping with the fact that Taehyung moved out and now their apartment is so big and so cold, and so empty, and it does nothing to fix the way Seokjin already feels like that. 

Of course, he’d never let his friends know that. He’s fine. 

“If it isn’t the lovebirds,” Yoongi’s joined them now, throwing an arm over Jimin and Taehyung. “How’s married life?”

“Fuck off,” Jimin groans, but Seokjin doesn’t miss the way he squeezes Taehyung’s hand a little tighter. 

“Hi, hyung,” Taehyung smiles, reaching to pat Yoongi’s chest. “When are you up? It feels like college again coming here.” 

“Deja vu,” Yoongi agrees. “I think one or two more people. Namjoon-ah just went, you guys missed it.”

“If Jiminie hadn’t been late—“

“I’m sorry.”

“Was he good at least?” Taehyung asks, earnest. 

“Jin hyung?” Yoongi looks to Seokjin for his input. 

“He was fantastic,” Seokjin replies. He hadn’t been listening. Too enthralled with the stranger across the bar. When he glances his way again, the man is still there. Seokjin winks. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Anyways,” Yoongi starts. “Jimin-ah, you should come to meet one of Namjoonie’s friends, Hoseok. He’s a dancer. Part of the ensemble at the theater where we sometimes have showcases. You guys should link.”

“Shit,” Jimin marvels. “Yeah, that’d be cool, we should go over.” He tugs Taehyung a little before he looks to Seokjin. “Hyung? Coming?”

Seokjin nods, taking a long sip of his drink. “Give me a minute,” he holds up his glass as if to let them know he was finishing first. 

“Sure,” Jimin says with a nod. “You see Yoongi hyung’s table.”

“I do,” Seokjin confirms. “I’ll be there.”

He’ll be there. After another drink. 

He’s in between finishing up his first glass and ordering the second when a man approaches, slipping onto the barstool next to him. Seokjin sees him, despite the man thinking he can’t, eyes trying to take in Seokjin’s appearance. 

He looks young, way too innocent. His hair has this boyish type of wave to it and his eyes are big and doe-like. He’s out of place. Seokjin remembers when he looked like that. When he felt like that. Less broken down. Hopeful. Not as bitter about the world around him. 

“You’re not very subtle,” he decides to say, startling the man as he turns to face him. 

“Was trying to be polite,” the stranger says. His voice is soft. “My mom told me it’s not nice to stare.”

“And yet.”

“You look familiar,” the man says. 

Seokjin’s never seen him before in his life. His features are striking yet soft, which Seokjin knows he would remember, and if not for that then the tattoos adorning his hands would be a dead giveaway. He’s never seen him before. 

“Do you watch porn?” Seokjin decides to joke, “I’m in a bunch of pornos.” 

The man bites back a smile. “You’re Yoongi hyung’s friend.”

“You know Yoongi-yah?”

“I do,” the stranger confirms. “Produces at the same studio I work at.”

“You do music, too?”

“I do,” he repeats. “I compose.” 

“You don’t look like a composer,” Seokjin tells him, eyes flicking over the man’s appearance once more. 

He huffs. “And what the hell do composers look like then?”

“God, did I strike a nerve?” Seokjin tuts. “I was gonna say they normally look boring.”

“Oh.” The man nods. He’s cute, Seokjin thinks. “Sorry. Most people like to take a jab at my age when I tell them I compose for a living. ‘You’re too young, you don’t have enough experience, you’re not wise enough.’ Tiring.” 

“I could understand that,” Seokjin nods. “How old are you, anyway?” 

“I’m twenty-four.”

“You are young,” Seokjin can’t help but point out. 

“Whatever,” he broods. 

“So you know Yoongi, but that doesn’t explain how you know me,” Seokjin says, toying with his empty whiskey glass in his hands. 

“Yoongi hyung talks a lot about his friends. He has little pictures in his studio. You’re the pretty one—Seokjin, is it?” 

“The pretty one,” Seokjin repeats. “I’ve known Yoongi-yah since he started university and that’s all I am to him?” 

“So it is Seokjin.” The stranger smiles, delighted. 

“Guilty, I guess.” He frowns. “And you are?”

“Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” Seokjin repeats. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” Jungkook returns, giving him a small smile. “Now why are you over here when all your friends are over there?”

“Why are you so nosey?” Seokjin asks back. “Your friend, too, no?”

“Yoongi hyung and Namjoon hyung, yeah.” Jungkook glances back at the table before his gaze returns to Seokjin, nodding. 

“So?”

“So I’m waiting for someone else,” Jungkook says, scoffing lightly. “Why are you so nosey?” 

“Snippy,” Seokjin comments. “No wonder you’re friends with Yoongi-yah.”

“Only snippy when I need to be.”

Seokjin hums. “Hot date?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “My boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend,” Seokjin repeats like the word is foreign to him. 

He hasn’t had a relationship in two years. The last one was a shit show. His parents’ was a shit show. He doesn’t do those anymore. He doesn’t look for a long-term love to satisfy him, he looks for quick fucks and stranger’s beds for one night of pleasure. That’s him now. 

That doesn’t seem like Jungkook. Jungkook, all big, marveling looks and fluttery kind of movements, he’d have a boyfriend. He’d be in love. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says again. “You got one of those?” 

“Nope.” Seokjin flags down the bartender, deciding now’s about the time he could use another drink. “Don’t want one.” 

“Alright.” Jungkook shrugs, like the whole very idea of Seokjin not wanting a relationship is that easy. He has no idea. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around. At least a little later, for sure.” 

“Probably,” Seokjin vaguely promises. “I am Yoongi-yah’s pretty friend after all.”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Jungkook snickers as he slips off the barstool. “I have a feeling it’ll go straight to your head.”

“I’m Yoongi’s humble friend, too.”

Jungkook laughs. “Goodbye, Seokjin-ssi.”

By the time he’s gone, heading over to the entrance to wait for his boyfriend, Seokjin has a second drink in his hands and catches the eye of the stranger across the bar once more. Playful, teasing air dancing between them. 

“Who was the little muscle pig?” Taehyung asks once Seokjin finally makes his way to their table, the third drink already halfway finished. 

Seokjin laughs. “Yoongi-yah’s friend.”

“Oh?” Jimin raises an eyebrow. 

“He’s got a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” 

Seokjin does go home with the man from across the bar. He’s not satisfied. 

* * *

It smells like rain outside.  

It's not raining yet, but the air smells like it. It’s thick with it, the clouds just waiting to let go of the tiny droplets that have been building up. They look heavy. 

Seokjin’s limbs feel heavy. 

There’s a bit of nicotine blowing in his face from where he’s standing outside Yoongi’s studio. It’s Taehyung, the nicotine is Taehyung, a habit he had picked up in college and can’t seem to shake. Jimin berates him for it every other day, but he doesn’t seem content on quitting anytime soon. Old, self-sabotaging habits die hard; Seokjin gets it. 

They’re waiting for Yoongi so they can head to dinner, which at one point in Seokjin’s life, some time a year and a half ago, he would’ve hated. That was when he couldn’t get himself to leave his house. That was back when he let the gross, slimy feeling inside him get the best of him. Didn’t want to see anybody, hear from anybody. Just stay home, pity himself. 

Now he’s different. Now he combats the slimy monster with weapons of his own. He goes out, he drinks, he finds a moment of comfort in strangers. He’s convinced everyone around him that he’s better now, he’s talked it all out when in reality, he might just be worse. 

Old, self-sabotaging habits will indeed die hard. 

“—but I’m nervous to go,” Jimin is saying, which Seokjin is only half listening to. He’s talking about something involving Namjoon’s friend—Hoseok, it is. 

They had all spent the other night at the piano bar together, Jungkook included. Seokjin had met the boyfriend. His name’s Sungho, and he’s polite and handsome and his hand never left the tiny part of Jungkook’s waist all night. Seokjin supposes they’re all friends now, or whatever. The group is nice, at least. 

“Why be nervous?” Taehyung’s asking, a hand that’s not holding his cigarette lightly brushing against Jimin’s cheek. Seokjin can feel the warmth of the touch from here, the warmth of Taehyung’s gaze on Jimin. He looks at Jimin with all the admiration in the world. It scares Seokjin. 

“Because he’s an actual dancer,” Jimin is explaining, exasperated. “I haven’t danced in like—so fucking long. I work as an accountant now. I’m boring, Taehyung-ah. My life’s boring.” 

Taehyung scoffs, looking at Seokjin. “Did he just call us boring?” 

“He absolutely did,” Seokjin confirms, which he hopes is the right answer. “Divorce him.” 

“We’re not married, hyung,” Jimin reminds him, though Seokjin knows. “God.” 

“Don’t get married,” Seokjin advises. “It’s a trap, anyway.” 

“Because you have so much experience,” Jimin mumbles. Taehyung fixes him with a look that Jimin reciprocates before his eyes flash with something much more apologetic. “I mean—I know. It’s… I was being stupid.” 

Taehyung takes an especially long drag of his cigarette then. Seokjin forces a smile, patting Jimin on the back. 

“‘s ok, Jimin-ah, I’m fine now.”

Fine. Sure. 

Jimin goes to answer, probably another apology, but it gets lost when Yoongi’s now in front of them, not alone either. 

“Jungkook-ssi!” Taehyung smiles, immediately putting out his cigarette like he’s still trying to keep a respectable image, like Jungkook is too new of a face to know beyond what’s on the outside of Taehyung. “Nice to see you again.”

Jungkook looks a little duller than he had last week. A little less innocent. He smiles half-heartedly. 

“You guys, too.” 

“Joining us tonight?” Jimin asks, giving one of those warm, Jimin smiles that could make anyone feel at ease. He allows himself to draw closer to Taehyung now, cigarette having been discarded. 

“I keep telling him he should,” Yoongi answers instead, nudging Jungkook. 

“No, I don’t wanna intrude,” Jungkook declines. “I’m—I’ve got things.”

It’s a lie, Seokjin can tell. He’s done plenty of those to know. 

“You wouldn’t be intruding!” Taehyung assures him because that’s just the kind of person he is. 

Jungkook shifts on his feet and Seokjin can see he’s trying to come up with another lie. He steps in instead. 

“Jungkookie’s just Yoongi-yah’s busy friend,” he informs them, hoping Jungkook remembers how he had described him at their first encounter. 

He smiles, not a fake one this time, nodding. 

“Exactly,” he says. Then, “But I’d love to see you guys again soon. It was fun.” 

“New Year’s,” Yoongi says, nodding to Jungkook like it’d been a previous conversation. “You’re coming, right?”

“New Year’s,” Jungkook repeats. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” 

Seokjin had forgotten about New Year’s. It’s next week, he thinks. The time for new beginnings and silly resolutions you make before giving up after a week. It’s all bullshit. But it’s always the perfect excuse to get respectfully wasted at Yoongi’s. 

“Then we’ll see you then,” Jimin confirms, Jungkook nodding. 

“You will,” he says, backing up with a tiny wave. “Enjoy your night, hyung’s!”

And then he’s gone, a little less pep in his step than there had been the other night. 

“He ok?” Jimin asks because naturally he’s already attuned to his new friend. “Seemed off.” 

Yoongi grunts. “Broke up with his boyfriend. Or, his boyfriend broke up with him.” That makes a lot of sense. “He’s pretty torn up about it. It’s fresh, so.” 

“The boyfriend we met the other day? Sungho?” Taehyung asks.

“That’s the one.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees. He starts walking in the direction of the subway and they follow. “I don’t exactly know what happened. He was meeting with Joon-ah to work on some melodies today and kind of just… broke down. Namjoonie felt terrible.”

“No shit,” Seokjin says. He remembers when he had gone through that. He’s numb to that kind of pain now, but he can still remember it at least. Bleak. That was the beginning of his tiny end, Seokjin thinks.  

“Well, I hope he’s ok,” Jimin says, voice tilting towards positivity. “He’s cute, he’ll find someone.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, but his voice sounds foreign to him. “He’ll find someone.”

It’s raining by the time they reach the subway, giving up some of the thickness in the air. Seokjin’s limbs feel like they weigh thousands. 

* * *

People are glittery and bubbly, and Seokjin might look it, too, but he feels far from the way he presents himself as he stands in the middle of the party, a crowd of people crammed into Yoongi’s place, feeling alone.

It’s New Year’s. That meant Taehyung getting Seokjin all dolled up, and Seokjin allowing him, because “hyung, there’s going to be a lot of cute guys at this party, and I think one of them is bound to be good for you.” Seokjin didn’t have the heart to tell Taehyung he doesn’t want them to be good for him unless they’re going to end up in bed. 

But he went along with it, like he always does, not without a few shots of soju and making it mandatory that he keep a beer in hand the rest of the night. 

“Yoongi hyung tells me you write,” Hoseok is saying, all animated and a little bit loud, but Seokjin smiles, because he does like Hoseok and wasn’t brought up to be rude.

“I write short stories for a magazine,” he confirms.

“Shit, that’s so cool,” Hoseok marvels, absolutely genuine. He has this childlike wonder about him—similar to Taehyung—and Seokjin hopes he keeps it. “What genre?”
“Romance,” Seokjin says with a nod. 

Hoseok smiles even bigger so Seokjin does, too. The irony is lost on him. Hoseok is enough of a stranger to not know Seokjin hasn’t felt anything akin to romance in years, instead feels melancholy and strangers bodies against his own. He always thought he was a good writer because he was a good liar. That’s what writing is anyway—write what people want to hear. He makes romance stories that people yearn for; none that are realistic. 

“You probably have serious game.”

“I’ve certainly had a lot of long nights.”

Hoseok whistles, followed by a loud laugh. “I like you, Jin hyung.” Seokjin likes him, too. “I’m gonna grab another drink, you want?”
“Nope.” Seokjin holds up his freshly opened beer. “I’m set for now.”

Hoseok gives him another giggle along with a nod before he disappears into the tiny sea of people, floppy head of hair blending into the crowd. 

It’s getting late now, closer to midnight—if the way couples are starting to form around the room says anything. Seokjin is pretty sure Namjoon had told him he had a friend from back home who wanted to get to know Seokjin better. Seokjin is smart enough to know that means he wants to fuck him. Namjoon’s friend will find him soon enough, he supposes. 

“Hyung!” a voice slurs, followed by a pair of arms snaking around his middle. 

“Hi, Taetae.” Seokjin chuckles, patting the hands that hug him even tighter. Seokjin knows it’s because of the nickname—something silly leftover from their university years. It seems to be reserved specifically for Seokjin now. 

“You’re all alone,” Taehyung points out. Seokjin’s starting to notice he’s been doing that a lot these days. “Didn’t Joon hyung’s friend wanna suck your dick?” 

“You’re drunk,” Seokjin tells him, but it’s all good-hearted. “Where’s Jiminie?”  

Taehyung hums. “Getting me water. Told me to stay put but I told him to fuck off.” Seokjin laughs, allowing for Taehyung to continue. “We should come up with New Years’ resolutions. Will you do it with me?”

Seokjin laughs, even louder this time. “Absolutely not.”

“Hyung!” Taehyung is whining. “For me ,” he says like it’s supposed to change something. “Come on.”

“Fine,” Seokjin secedes. He guesses Taehyung’s choice of words does change something. 

“I come up with one for you and you come up with one for me.” 

“Ok, Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin agrees, the easier route than ever arguing with the brat. 

“You first.”

“How about you give up smoking?” 

“Easy way out.” 

“Well?” Seokjin quirks a brow. “We’ve been trying to get you to stop for years.” 

“Fine,” Taehyung agrees with a wave of his hand. “For you.” 

“For me?” Seokjin holds a hand over his chest, feigning a bit of gratification. 

“Don’t tell Jimin-ah.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Ok,” Taehyung says, poking at Seokjin’s ribs. Seokjin, of course, lets him. “My turn.”

“Hurry up,” Seokjin pretends to check his watch. “I got a dick appointment coming up soon.” 

“And I don’t?” 

“Not with all those mixed drinks you had, no, I don’t think you do, Taehyung-ssi.” 

“Morning sex, then.”

“Gross.”

“Don’t distract me!” Taehyung laughs and Seokjin laughs back, and for a minute, it feels like old times again. When Seokjin had just graduated college and Taehyung was moving in and they were always together, always laughing. They were invincible; they were happy. 

“Ok,” Taehyung says again, coming down from a giggle fit. “New Years’ resolution: don’t push us away.” 

Seokjin falters, his first instinct to give a short laugh. 

“I don’t,” he lies. He knows he does. 

“Yes, you do,” Taehyung tells him, nodding. “I worry about you, hyung, and you—you just like, flip a switch and turn off sometimes. You don’t let me or Jiminie or Yoongi hyung help.” 

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin starts, his heart breaking a bit as he does. “I’m ok. Really, I’m better now. I’ve talked it out.”

“You keep—you keep saying that, but we know you, hyung,” Taehyung argues, eyebrows furrowing. “We know that you’re not usually like this. Like you weren’t… You're not supposed to be like this.” 

“What am I supposed to be like then?” Seokjin says, short. He doesn’t mean it, but he does it. 

“You’re supposed to be—I don’t know, not…. so fucking sad all the time! Because it hurts to see you like that, hyung, and you never—“

“Baby,” Jimin’s soft voice interrupts, followed by a soothing hand on Taehyung’s arm. Taehyung relaxes into his boyfriend’s touch instantly—it’s so tender it nearly makes Seokjin sick. “Everything ok?”

His eyes shift to Seokjin, inquiring. Seokjin’s hit with a pang of guilt, nodding. “We’re ok,” he says and hopes he means it. “I’ll do it, ok, Taehyung-ah?” 

Taehyung just stares for a second, eyebrows furrowing before he nods slowly. 

“I promise,” Seokjin adds because he knows Taehyung will only believe him if it’s a promise. “Ok?”

“Ok,” Taehyung nods again, a little more sure of himself. “Promise.”

“Good.” Seokjin forces a smile and claps his hands once, giving a gentle squeeze to Taehyung’s shoulder. He pats Jimin for good measure. “I’ll see you guys in a bit, then. I got Namjoonie’s friend to meet.” 

Taehyung smiles back, not as bright as he normally does, but Seokjin knows he’ll get there. “See you in the new year, hyung.” 

Somehow, Seokjin feels even more alone after that, so he slips away to escape to Yoongi’s balcony for a moment, deciding maybe complete solitude could magically reset the terrible feeling instead. He needs a break—a break from his friends, a break from pretending, a break from just having to be. 

As he slips open the door, he finds that he’s not the only one who seems to be growing weary from the loud variety of music and sequins that adorn every party goer's clothes. 

“Jungkook-ssi,” Seokjin greets, despite how he takes a moment to debate turning around and locking himself in the bathroom instead. He figures saying a quick hello and moving on would be more mature than just making a beeline back inside where Jungkook has a high chance of sneaking a peek at him hightailing it to hide. 

Jungkook glances over, hands folded politely as he leans over the railing, giving Seokjin a tiny smile. His eyes are what really smile, Seokjin notices. Jungkook’s eyes must hold a thousand stories in them. They’re pretty, the older thinks absentmindedly. 

“Hi, Seokjin hyung.” Seokjin joins him at the railing, keeping a safe distance apart. “Boring party?” 

“Oh, absolutely,” Seokjin jokes. “I thought this was going to be an orgy so you can imagine how wildly disappointed I am.” 

Jungkook laughs shortly, rolling his eyes as he looks at Seokjin once more. “You always this sarcastic?”

“You’ve barely met me.” 

“And both times I have, you’ve been outrageously sarcastic,” Jungkook points out. “That's your thing?”

“No,” Seokjin says. “That’s Jiminie’s thing. The son of a bitch. I’m just Yoongi-yah’s hot friend, remember? Being hot is my thing.”

Jungkook hums. “I think the word I used was ‘pretty.’”

“Either way,” Seokjin starts, devious, “you still find me somewhat attractive.”

Seokjin doesn’t mean to be flirting with Jungkook, but he’s also aware that Jungkook is now single, and well, it’d be a lie to say he wasn’t handsome, and at the end of the day—Seokjin is still lonely. So if Yoongi’s cute, recently single friend is going to be there, Seokjin will take him. 

“I knew it’d go to your head.” Jungkook eyes Seokjin, not shifting as he watches Seokjin scoot just a touch closer. 

“No, no,” Seokjin corrects him, “I’m humble, too.”

Jungkook hums again, not convinced. 

“What are you doing out here?” he decides to ask. 

“Unlike you, I did not think there was going to be an orgy.” Seokjin laughs at Jungkook’s ability to sound entirely serious. “No. I just wanted some air.” There’s a beat of silence before he continues, “You know I kinda hate New Years?”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Why’s that?”

“Expectations, I think,” Jungkook sighs out. 

“I can get behind that.” Seokjin nods. “Resolutions and whatnot.” 

“Right,” Jungkook agrees, vague. “There's always too many—“ He pauses. “Too many empty promises.” 

Seokjin can tell he’s not just talking about New Years, but he doesn’t pry. Glances at his watch instead as he says, “Well it’s almost over. Two minutes until midnight.” 

“Oh, good,” Jungkook says, laughing just slightly. The laughter is just as empty as the promises he must be talking about. 

Seokjin moves just the smallest bit closer. He guesses Namjoon’s friend must be looking for him, but—but Jungkook’s here and he seems warm and maybe a little broken, too, and maybe. 

Maybe.

“Now you seem to be the sarcastic one,” Seokjin tells him. 

“I guess it’s rubbing off on me.”

“I guess,” Seokjin says, shrugs. “You know you could be the pretty one, too. You’re cute.”

Seokjin’s deliberate with his words now, with his movements, too. He moves again until he and Jungkook are shoulder to shoulder, and Seokjin thinks the younger might be blushing, but Seokjin’s taken to glancing at his lips instead. There’s a tiny freckle beneath his bottom lip that’s cute, too. Seokjin wants to taste it; take just a little bit of pleasure from Jungkook and taste all of him tonight. 

“Flirt,” Jungkook mumbles, accusing. 

“And honest,” Seokjin adds, not missing the way Jungkook gazes at his lips, thinks maybe he wants it just as bad as Seokjin does. 

Somewhere behind them inside, a countdown arises, counting down to midnight, finally to the New Year. 

When they reach one, Seokjin hopes to know how Jungkook tastes. 

He’s leaning in further, pleased as Jungkook mimics his action, big brown eyes focused on the way Seokjin’s lips are ready for him. Behind them, the crowd reaches six, five, four—

“Hey.” Jungkook pauses. 

“Hi?”

Three, two—

“Friends?” 

Jungkook pulls away when they reach one. 

“Friends?” Seokjin repeats, expression quizzical. 

Jungkook nods, finally pulling back into his own space. “I think you might need a friend, Seokjin hyung.” He says it like he doesn’t think it, but he knows it. “I could use one. So? Friends?”

Seokjin contemplates frowning, contemplating throwing a teeny tantrum that’s all lighthearted, but at the moment, he leans back, taking in Jungkook’s appearance, not for the aesthetics of it, but to really take a look, to read him. 

He looks like he needs a friend. 

“Ok, Jungkook-ssi,” Seokjin says, followed by a short sigh. “Friends.”

Jungkook smiles. “Happy New Year, hyung.” 

Seokjin hopes it is.

* * * 

Writing is good for Seokjin. It used to be a place where he could dump his feelings; a place to let his heart run wild, a place where the overflow of love he carried could make a home. 

Now it’s good for distraction, good for filling the void that used to be love and warmth and life and him. It’s a place to just escape to now. 

Seokjin’s sat by the window of his favorite cafe, the one he goes to when Duri, the cat he’s unlucky enough to call his only roommate, is not in the mood for his shit, and his apartment is much more lonely than it normally is. It’s not raining outside today, but Seokjin still feels all the weight of the rain clouds in his chest, in his heart, sometimes in his head, too. He thinks he might call Yoongi later to see if he wants to get a drink. Maybe he’ll meet someone to take home. Maybe it’ll relieve a small bit of that weight sitting on his chest that writing can’t seem to do. Maybe it will—

“Jin hyung?” 

Seokjin looks away from where he’s about halfway through his latest short story, eyes flicking up to the soft voice that calls his name. 

“Jungkook-ssi?” He says it more like a question rather than a statement. 

Jungkook smiles, seemingly genuine, glancing around at Seokjin’s things. “Busy?” 

“Oh—“ Seokjin shrugs, gathering up the mess of papers scattered at his table. “Not more so than usual.” He waves a vague hand. “Do you wanna—are you staying?” 

Seokjin’s not usually this awkward when it comes to talking with men, especially men that are supposed to be just friends. Maybe he’s embarrassed after Jungkook’s subtle rejection last week at New Year’s. Maybe he’s just more burnt out than he’d thought. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a nod of his head. “Is it cool if I join?”

“Of course,” Seokjin allows. “Friends, remember?”

“Right.” Jungkook smiles like he’s delighted. “Friends.” 

“What are you working on?” 

Jungkook’s got a tattered-looking notebook in one hand, pencil sticking out the top, while the other holds his laptop. He still looks like a university student, Seokjin thinks. So young. 

“New piece,” Jungkook says, a bit shy. He slips into the seat across from Seokjin and sets himself up, squeezing the sugary-looking drink he purchased onto the crowded table as well. “It’s supposed to be for this drama, but it’s—well. I’m uninspired.” He looks defeated. “I won’t get into it. What about—well, what do you do?” 

“I’m a writer,” Seokjin tells him. “Short stories about romance.”

“Romance?” Jungkook repeats, laughter evident in his voice. 

“Hard to believe?” Seokjin asks. “I’ll have you know, I’m very good at romancing someone.” 

“You don’t seem the traditional romance type.”

“You hardly know me.”

“I know that,” Jungkook admits, shrugging. “Friends are meant to get to know each other, by the way.” Seokjin hums. “You just seem more… impulsive.”

“That’s a nice word.”

“Well.” Jungkook laughs again. “You tried to kiss me.”

“I won’t deny that,” Seokjin says. “But for the record, you were gonna kiss me back.” 

“I won’t deny that,” Jungkook parrots. “Don’t take it personally that I didn’t, though. I’m… well, I think I want a break from the romancing and other such things for a while.” 

“Other such things,” Seokjin repeats.  

“Yes,” Jungkook confirms. Elaborates when he says, “That’s where your impulses come in, I think.” 

“You’re not seeing your…” Seokjin trails off, deciding whether or not to bring up Jungkook’s ex is worth it or not. Maybe he is more impulsive than he’d thought. He decides it’s too late to go back on the matter, continuing, “We met that guy at the piano bar that night.” 

Jungkook’s face falters for a moment, but then he shrugs. “You did. Now you won’t again.”

“Asshole?”

Jungkook scoffs. “I don’t like speaking badly about people, it feels like bad karma.”

“But?”

“But.” Jungkook sighs. “He ended up being a major asshole.”

“I think I can understand that,” Seokjin allows himself to admit, fingers reaching to nervously toy with the end pages of the notepad in front of him. “Personal experience.” 

“Hence why I’m surprised why you write romance,” Jungkook explains. “Ever get any writer's block?”

“Why should I?” Seokjin asks, genuine. He doesn’t mean to sound cocky, but. He’s never been the best at being too soft around the edges. 

“Writers write what they know,” Jungkook says like it’s simple. He’s been holding the pencil over a page filled with what looks to be the beginnings of a new melody, scribbles, and notes all over it. He hasn’t added anything else since he’s sat down. 

“I know how to lie.”

At this, Jungkook laughs, like it’s funny. He has no idea. He doesn’t get that Seokjin’s been lying about things and to people that matter for about a year now. Seokjin lets him laugh; it’s better that way, he decides. 

“I guess I need to take a page out of your book,” Jungkook says, defeated. 

“Oh, I doubt that’s necessary,” Seokjin decides to change the subject. “You're just in a bit of a rut. You’ll finish your piece. You’re like, a little prodigy.”

“A prodigy.” Jungkook laughs again, a hint of red in his cheeks as his nose scrunches up. “And who told you that?”

“I can just tell,” Seokjin says. “I have great intuition.” 

“Your ego is massive,” Jungkook tells him, though it’s lighthearted the way he says it. 

“And who told you that?”

“Funny,” Jungkook says, flat. 

“I’m serious, though,” Seokjin presses. “Don’t let one guy that ended up being an asshole take away from something you’re good at.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says like he’s mulling it over. “Yeah, I’ll—I won’t.” Silent for a beat before he adds, “But if anything, I could always just lie.” 

“You don’t listen, do you?” Seokjin asks, lighthearted in the way he does, shaking his head. “Don’t tell Yoongi-yah I taught you that.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me, hyung,” Jungkook promises, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “That’s what friends are for.” 

* * *

Hoseok’s birthday rolls around and Seokjin finds himself lucky enough to be invited. He doesn’t necessarily mind parties that much, especially not compared to how he used to feel about them, because now they’re the perfect excuse to meet people for a quick fuck, while still meeting his mandatory requirement of seeing his friends to prove that he is in fact, ok. 

They're a club; glitzy, loud, crowded. It’s not Seokjin’s usual scene but it seems fitting for Hoseok, who has so many friends showing up, Seokjin can’t even fathom being liked by so many people. 

It’ll do for tonight. Plenty of people to choose from, plenty who have already made it known to either one of his friends or him directly that they find him attractive, want to get to know him better. Want to indulge in a selfish chase of pleasure. Seokjin’s banking on the pretty brunette who’s friends of a friend of Hoseok. She’s been glancing his way all night. Distracting. 

“It’s in May,” Namjoon is saying, drawing Seokjin back to reality. He can’t hear much conversation over the EDM-type music that’s drifting through the gigantic club speakers, so he doesn’t feel too bad for letting the woman across the room take his attention from his friends. “You guys will all come, yeah?”

Some kind of charity event, Seokjin thinks he’s talking about. He remembers Yoongi mentioning something about it before Namjoon dove into the nitty-gritty details of it all, which Jimin and Taehyung listen to eagerly. 

“Of course,” Taehyung agrees, Seokjin assumes for him, too. “That place is so fancy. Your real Mozart moment.” 

“Funny,” Yoongi says dryly, earning a teasing smile from the younger. “It’ll be good this year, I think, though.” He takes a quick sip of his drink before his eyes light up as if he’d suddenly remembered something. “And, it’s Jungkookie’s first year performing! Right, Kook-ah?” 

The group shifts its eyes to where the youngest is, giving a shy smile and a nod. He hasn’t said much all night, safe for a few hello’s and laughing here and there at a joke. Seokjin thinks a part of Jungkook is probably still grieving over—well, whatever happened with that guy he had been dating. If the way Jungkook has been subtly ordering doubles all night means anything. 

“I’m a little nervous, “ he admits, to which Hoseok, who has been a vibrating bundle of energy all night, scoffs. 

“Fucking nonsense,” he pats Jungkook harshly on his back. “You’re the prodigy, Jungkookie. Not even Namjoonie or Yoongi hyung performed at this thing as young as you.”

“Watch it,” Namjoon gives him a sharp elbow to the side as Hoseok giggles.

“I’m not that young—”

“You didn’t even know me when I was his age!” Yoongi argues.

“My point stands, hyung.”

“My point,” Jimin interjects, a polite smile tugging at his lips, “is that it’s gonna be great.”

They hum in agreement, pausing to finish up what’s left of all their drinks. 

“Speaking of great,” Hoseok begins again, “it’s still my birthday. Who wants to dance with me?”

“Hard pass,” Yoongi shakes his head, apologetic. “But I’ll get us some more drinks.” 

Namjoon mumbles something about how he’ll help, most likely an excuse not to be stuck with Hoseok’s lively energy on the dance floor as he forces strangers to dance with him—something he is apparently very known to do. 

“No fun,” Hoseok pouts, turning to the rest of the group. “I know Jiminie will!”

Jimin laughs, nodding in agreement as he slips his hand to Taehyung’s waist. “It’d be an honor, hyung.” 

Seokjin wonders if Jimin is still actively trying not to be boring. He’s been having a problem with how mundane his life is lately, or so Taehyung’s told Seokjin. Seokjin has no idea how someone could hate routine; routine is the only thing he has left.

“I will definitely be joining you guys after this one,” Seokjin offers because he guesses they’re probably waiting for his input, too. He gestures at his drink, nearly empty. 

They nod and head off towards the packed dance floor on the level below, and Seokin eyes the brunette woman one more time, thinking now would probably be the right time to go up and finally talk to her when—

“What’d they do to you?” It’s Jungkook, still next to him so quietly and still, Seokjin had honestly assumed he just followed the rest of the group to dance. 

Seokjin looks at him, frowning. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
“I never said I would,” Jungkook points out. “They just assumed.”

“Smartass.”

Jungkook smiles a big, toothy grin. Then, once more, “What did they do to you?”

Seokjin glances over the younger’s shoulder, catching the brunette’s eye again. 

“Who?” Seokjin asks, genuinely confused. “The very attractive woman over there? Nothing. Not as of right now.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, giving a short laugh. “I’m not talking about her.” He turns to briefly look at her, and if Seokjin hadn’t known any better it would almost seem like Jungkook was sizing her up or something—almost like she was some kind of enemy, competition, for lack of a better word. “I’m talking about why you do people like her. Who made you like this? Why do you do it all the time, what did they do?”

“You’re asking a lot,” is all Seokjin says. “Nosey.”

“Curious,” Jungkook corrects. “Misery loves company or something.”

Seokjin hums, vague. “Who says something had to happen to me for me to want to have fun? Casual sex isn’t anything too taboo.”

“I know that,” Jungkook tells him. “Just seems like a chore for you. Like you have to go home with somebody or—”

“Or?” Seokjin scoffs. He should be offended, should tell Jungkook to fuck off because what does he know? But. 

But. 

He kind of has a point.

“Sorry,” Jungkook apologizes, shrinks down in his size a bit so Seokjin can tell he means it. “That was rude of me.”

“No, no.” Seokjin waves a hand. “Kind of accurate.” Jungkook gives a sheepish smile and Seokjin shrugs. “You’re miserable, Jungkook-ssi?”

“That apparent?” 

“You said it yourself,” he reminds, “misery loves company.”

“Or something.”

“I was—” Seokjin stops, pauses. It’s something he’s never actually said out loud before. Not since he had to call his mom and explain it to her, not since he cried in Taehyung’s bedroom as Jimin patted his back sympathetically, not since he and Yoongi went out that same night and Seokjin slept with somebody new for the first time in ages and it made him feel gross and slimy inside. 

But misery does love company.

“He cheated on me,” Seokjin says like it’s simple. Like there wasn’t a ring involved, like there weren’t three years involved, like Seokjin wasn’t so fucking in love. “We were… well, I was engaged.” The words sound foreign coming out of Seokjin’s mouth. Like he’s not too sure why he’s even saying it, or how he’s allowing himself to, but—but something about Jungkook is making him believe that the younger one might need to hear it.

Company or something.

“Then I wasn’t.” 

Seokjin doesn’t want to get into the bitter details. He would rather not relive the way his fiance had been the one to tell him, had expected Seokjin to just get over it, believe him when he said he could do better and change. In reality, he had been using Seokjin for his personal gain for far too long. Just a pretty face, that’s all Seokjin was to him. Wanted to lock him down so no one else could have him and do whatever he wanted, whoever he wanted. In the end, Seokjin supposes it’s for the best. He just doesn’t feel his best.

Quiet for a minute, Jungkook just nodding. 

“Huh.” He purses his lips in thought, clears his throat. “Sungho cheated on me.”

“Ah.”

“It was my friend,’ he continues. “Somebody I—it was my roommate from college. Somebody I fucking knew.” He laughs, but there’s no humor there. 

Seokjin doesn’t know what to say. He’s not too sure of the exact social cues needed when you relay a mutual, traumatic moment with someone you’ve just barely known at your friend’s birthday party.

“I’m—sorry,” Seokjin tries. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, eyes focusing on the ice in Seokjin’s glass. “He made me feel like I did, though.” 

Seokjin can understand. That’s why Seokjin takes from other people now. He tries to build himself back up with meaningless hookups and other pretty people. Revenge almost, spiteful even. 

“That’s the worst part about it.” Seokjin’s laughing now, too. “How much of you they seem to take with them, you know?”

“Right.” Jungkook glances up, and his eyes are tired and sad, and Seokjin’s not concerned with the beautiful woman behind him anymore. “Does it get any easier?”

Seokjin’s gotten good at lying, wants to lie right now, too. But for some reason, he can’t bring himself to. Doesn’t feel the need to put on a front for Jungkook, even if he might need one.

He shrugs. “I think it can.”

“Ok.” Jungkook gives another nod. “We should try then, yeah?”

“Ok,” Seokjin echoes, something like a tiny flicker of hope sparking inside him, although he’s not too sure why. “We can.”

Maybe misery just needs company. 

* * *

Seokjin runs into Jungkook a lot more after that. 

He sees him when he goes to meet Yoongi after work, he sees him when he’s at that cafe again, sitting in his corner booth to write. He sees him when Yoongi brings Namjoon to barbecue and Namjoon decides to bring Jungkook, too. 

Seokjin guesses they really are friends now. 

He thinks he likes it. 

Jungkook is easy to talk to in a comforting way that Seokjin hasn’t felt in a while. He goes out and meets new people all the time—almost every weekend. But where those people are looking for conquest, for somebody to make theirs for the night. Jungkook is just looking for Seokjin, someone he considers a friend. Seokjin didn’t realize how badly he thinks he might’ve needed a friend. And that’s not to say that Yoongi or Jimin or Taehyung haven’t been there—but Jungkook just feels different. There’s less to hide, maybe. 

One month passes, and then two, and then Seokjin’s come to realize that he’s grown more accustomed to the lingering notes of piano keys in the air as he works than the quiet he’s normally used to. Mornings together pour into afternoons, afternoons pour into nights. He doesn’t even really realize how often it is that they hang out, how natural it feels to just be in each other’s presence until one night, Seokjin had been out for drinks with Jimin and Taehyung, Taehyung outside taking a smoke break when Jimin noted—

“You’ve been spending some time with Jungkookie, huh?”

It took Seokjin by surprise. Of course, they’d been spending time together, they all have been. Maybe it’s the way Seokjin can’t read Jimin’s tone as he says it; judging? Observant? Seokjin hadn’t been too sure. 

“Sure,” he agreed. “He’s a good friend. We both like seclusion and working in tiny spaces.”

Jimin gave him a look, the no-bullshit kind of look.

“And that’s all?”

“No,” Seokjin scoffed, “we’ve been fucking in private. He’s having my children, but don’t tell my wife they’re not hers.”

“Oh, fuck off, hyung,” Jimin sighed out. “Just happy to see you spending time with someone other than us.” He paused as if reading Seokjin’s mind before he added, “and Duri.” 

Seokjin wonders if anyone else in their little friend group had taken notice of how often they’ve been spending time together. What about Jungkook’s other friends, too? Does he favor hanging out with Seokjin more than them, or is he just as alone as Seokjin may be?

“Jiminie says we’ve been spending a lot of time together,” Seokjin voices one day, the two of them holed up in Jungkook’s apartment. 

Jungkook’s at the tiny piano by the window, fingers absently pressing at keys for a while now. He’s still stuck on that piece for the drama. Seokjin thinks the creative block is getting less challenging, but still, there are days where Jungkook just wants to sit around and play the theme songs to video games for Seokjin to guess instead.

Jungkook hums, fingers hovering over the piano before they immediately drop down to play a quick melody. It sounds light and airy, somehow a little warm, but with lingering undertones of low notes that seem somewhat intimidating. When he finishes, Jungkook simply turns to Seokjin, the older one on the sofa with his laptop perched in his lap, and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know it,” Seokjin tells him. “‘League of Legends’ or something?” 

“It’s Jimin hyung,” Jungkook informs him as if it was obvious. 

“It’s what?” 

“Jimin hyung,” he says again. “Doesn’t it sound like Jiminie?” 

Seokjin laughs, short and quick, mentally replaying the previous tune. “You made it up right on the spot?”

“I did,” Jungkook says. “Don’t believe that I’m a prodigy or something anymore?”

“I never said that,” Seokjin counters. “It sounded like Jimin. A little pretty, a little scary.”

Jungkook nods. “He’s both.”

“Do Yoongi.”

Only a second of thought before Jungkook’s fingers dance over the keys again, this time playing a melancholy sound, the good kind, one that’s kind of nostalgic, one that feels like an old friend. 

“Yoongi,” Seokjin confirms with a small laugh. “You’re good at this.”

“Almost like it’s my job or something.”

“Insufferable,” Seokjin mumbles. “Do me.”

Jungkook seems to think for a moment, back turned to Seokjin as he rolls the tension from his shoulders, hesitant. He lifts his hands, drops them again. One key, and then he’s facing Seokjin again with a small shake of his head. 

“Not yet.”

“Yet,” Seokjin repeats, incredulous. “Where’s my goddamn song, kid?”

“Kid.” This time its Jungkook who mimics, voice sour. 

“Sorry,” Seokjin says quickly, though he does mean it. “ Jungkook-ssi.” 

“Better,” Jungkook allows. “Don’t rush creativity, hyung.” 

“Alright, Beethoven, relax,” Seokjin teases, smiling when he sees the tops of Jungkook’s cheeks rising from where he’s still half facing his piano. “How many songs do you think you’ve composed, anyway?” 

“Unofficially? Including theme tunes for our friends? Thousands,” Jungkook tells him, spinning back around on his chair to face Seokjin from across the room. “Officially? Sixty-eight.” 

“Christ,” Seokjin mumbles, impressed. “How do you keep track of what’s official and unofficial? What if you’re already up to sixty-nine?” 

“Technicalities,” Jungkook dismisses vaguely. “For my own sake, I can’t reach sixty-nine yet.”

“Yeah?” Seokjin raises a brow. His drafting for his next story will have to wait another day, he guesses. “What’s so special about sixty-nine?”

Jungkook gives a tiny giggle, smile impish as he shrugs. “Think about it, hyung. It’s sixty-nine.”  

“For the love of God, Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin groans as Jungkook bursts into a fit of laughter. “Yet you wonder why you’re considered a child?”

“Hey,” Jungkook interjects, with no real strength to his words at all. He balls up a tiny piece of paper and sends it in Seokjin’s direction for good measure. “I’m a serious musician.”

“I know that,” Seokjin assures him, lightning reflexes catching the paper and tossing it onto the coffee table. “I just like making fun of you. You’re easy to piss off.”

“Lucky me,” Jungkook mutters before he’s turned around again, which Seokjin takes as his silent signal to get back to work. He thinks Jungkook must be working out a few more ideas again, notes sounding misplaced to even Seokjin’s untrained ear, but then he recognizes it, setting his laptop down once more. 

“Jiminie again?”

“I never answered you before,” Jungkook points out. 

“Ah.” Seokjin nods. “Do tell.”

“I just like spending time with you,” Jungkook admits easily. “It’s nice to be around someone who’s… like me.”

They don’t address the elephant in the room; ignore the big, broken monster between them like they always ignore it. But Seokjin knows what he means. He can see it in the way Jungkook’s been dragging his tattooed fingers over the keys for the past few months. They aren’t really fine, no matter how often they might tell everyone they are. Together, they don’t have to be. 

Seokjin hums, nodding. His dry humor can’t stop him from responding, “Unhappy?”

Jungkook, of course, laughs. “I was going to go with desolate.” 

“Good word.”

“Thank you.”

They don’t say anything after that, not until they pull themselves away from work later and manage to order way too much takeout, splitting it at Jungkook’s tiny kitchen table. 

Jungkook plays Jimin again three more times that night and each time it rings in his head with the unreadable tone of said friend. 

You and Jungkookie have been spending a lot of time together, huh?

* * *

Seokjin gets home late. 

He was out—some stranger’s bedroom after a brief visit to the bar up the block from Yoongi’s. Yoongi had left to meet with Namjoon, Seokjin had left to fill the void. 

The stranger was pretty enough. She was polite and flirty and thought she had won the fucking lottery with how gorgeous Seokjin was—her words, not even Seokjin’s. Still, when the tide rolled back and left that gross empty, unsatisfactory feeling in Seokjin’s stomach, this time, there was another distraction waiting for him. 

A little healthier maybe. A surprise, too. Because it was late, nearly one in the morning now, but—

“Jungkook-ah?” 

He’s sitting outside Seokjin’s apartment like a student locked out of their dorm. Knees pushed up against his chest with his notebook balanced on the top of them, a scribble of notes and melodies a mess across the page. 

His eyes momentarily light up, albeit looking exhausted, and he smiles sheepishly. “Surprise.”

“It’s practically the middle of the night,” Seokjin tells him, unlocking his apartment door and holding it open for the younger. “How long have you been here?” 

“Ah, not too long, honestly,” Jungkook admits. “I thought you’d be up.” 

“I guess you thought right,” Seokjin says, shutting the door behind the two of them. His apartment is pitch black, safe for the tiny lamp by the window, Duri laid across the ledge there. “Why didn't you call me?” 

Jungkook shrugs, making a beeline towards where the cat is. Of course, she’s purring under Jungkook’s touch in seconds. Duri has grown especially fond of Jungkook over the last few times they’ve spent at his apartment. Because, of course, Duri would like anyone who wasn’t Seokjin. 

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” Jungkooo explains, “I saw you had no lights on inside, you always sleep with the hall light on—figured you’d come home soon enough.” 

“A lucky chance.” Seokjin glares at Duri and she glares right back. He ignores the way Jungkook had picked up on that habit of his as he asks, “Is everything ok?”

“Just peachy,” Jungkook says, though Seokjin knows he can’t mean it. “Got sick of being alone. It’s too quiet when I’m alone.”

“Quiet.”

Jungkook hums. “Still trying to write this stupid piece for this stupid drama for the stupid rich people that make it.”

“Seems stupid,” Seokjin says, grabbing himself a glass of water from the kitchen. He pours one for Jungkook for good measure. 

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re subtle,” Seokjin jokes, sarcastic. He takes a seat across from where Jungkook is still cooing over his cat, wordlessly leaving the water on the coffee table for him. “Does it always take you this long to finish up songs? I thought you had like—seventy.”

“Sixty-eight,” Jungkook corrects. “And it didn’t always. Not until—“ he stops short, worrying his bottom lip. “Well, it’s like he left and he took the music with him.”

It’s shameful the way Jungkook says it. Like he doesn’t want him— his ex, the liar, the cheater—to win. It’s almost too late. 

“Greedy,” Seokjin says because he’s not too sure how else to comfort him. He distantly thinks of how Jungkook deserves a friend who can give way more than what Seokjin can give him. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind, though. 

“The greediest,” he agrees. Then, looking away from Duri towards Seokjin, “You smell like sex.” 

“Thanks.” 

“You look like it, too.”

“We get it.”

Jungkook laughs. The fucker. “Long night?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He laughs again, not as hardy this time. “No. Not really.” His eyes linger at the faint red marks on the side of Seokjin’s neck as he makes his way to the sofa. “You don’t ever get tired of it?” 

“I don’t know,” Seokjin answers honestly. “It’s a—distraction.” 

“I know a thing or two about distractions.” Jungkook doesn’t sound too proud to say it. 

“Jeon Jungkook’s got a vice?” 

“I went on a brief drinking spree after… you know. Because it was too quiet. Because there was no music. The ringing from the alcohol does a fantastic job of covering it up, you know.” 

“Interesting tip.”

“You’re welcome,” Jungkook says, the smallest smile on his lips. “That’s why I came here. Figured I wouldn’t run into many soju bottles while waiting in your hallway.”

“Was your theory correct?”

“Not a single one, hyung.”

Seokjin manages a smile back. “It’s late,” he says after a minute. “You staying?”

“If you’ll let me.”

“Always,” Seokjin says, doesn’t mean the weight of it, doesn’t notice the weight of it either until Jungkook’s gaze softens, and he smiles bigger. 

“Thank you, hyung.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Seokjin tells him, tossing the throw blanket behind him in Jungkook’s direction. “And in the future—just call me when you wanna come over, will you? I’ll give you the door code.”

Seokjin offers it as a final attempt to cover up the lack of music. He hopes it’s enough for now. 

* * *

They get engaged. 

Jimin and Taehyung, that is. Happens one night after they’d all been out apparently. Very out of the blue, they had both described it, but Jimin didn’t feel like waiting anymore and when Taehyung was over the moon about it, they had figured they both made the right decision. 

They all get together to have a mini celebration for it sometime the week after. Everyone’s there, and everyone’s happy, but the selfish, morbid part of Seokjin’s brain doesn’t like it. He hopes Jimin and Taehyung last. He hopes Jimin doesn’t break Taehyung’s heart like what happened to him. He knows he’s never seen anyone love each other as the couple do, but still, it’s a lingering threat in his brain, stays there like an itch he can’t scratch the entire time they’re out celebrating, too. 

“You’re mad at me,” Taehyung says like it’s a fact, the two of them finding themselves alone at the bar, everyone else behind them gathered around shots of soju and bottles of beer. 

“What makes you say that?” Seokjin asks, the knot in his stomach however twisting harder. 

“You said we shouldn’t get married,” Taehyung reminds him. “You always did.” 

“That was—“ Seokjin stops, letting out a sigh. “I was kidding, Taetae. I’m always kidding, I would never…” 

“You’re still mad that I moved out, too.” 

“Not mad,” Seokjin corrects him. It’s the most honest he’s been with Taehyung in two years when he adds, “Just miss you. It’s lonely without you two.” 

“We’re only a subway stop away,” Taehyung says, voice dripping in sympathy. 

“I know that,” Seokjin says, nodding. “I’m happy for you guys, seriously, Taehyung-ah. Ok?” 

Taehyung nods, reaching out to give Seokjin’s shoulder a light squeeze. “You’re allowed to be happy for yourself, too, you know? You should find something—someone—that can do that.” 

Seokjin doesn’t have it in him to sincerely respond, not without the threat of possibly crying, so he shoves Taehyung a little and makes a joke, steers the conversation somewhere more lighthearted, letting them get back to their friends with more drinks in hand. He watches Jimin and Taehyung the whole night, the way they always seem to be touching the other in some small way. Jimin’s arm around Taehyung’s shoulders, Taehyung’s hand splayed across Jimin’s thigh, their fingers interlocked loosely on top of the table. 

Seokjin sits beside Jungkook, can feel the subtle warmth he radiates like he always does, and scarily, Seokjin wonders how Jungkook’s hand would feel interlocked with his on top of the table. 

* * *

“It’s almost finished,” Jungkook is saying when they’re on the way home later, the subway quiet, safe for the low rumble of the track beneath them. 

It was decided Jungkook would go to Seokjin’s again tonight. Seokjin doesn’t mind—hasn’t since the very first time it happened. Jungkook there makes the place less cold, less dull, less of a reminder of the space inside him. 

Seokjin secretly likes it. The way Jungkook’s started to leave his things there, like tiny clues for Seokjin to find the next day, like tiny reminders that he’s not all alone in there. It’s nice. 

“Wow,” Seokjin marvels. “How incredibly specific of you. Congratulations on almost finishing that thing that I definitely know what you’re talking about.”

“Asshole,” Jungkook mumbles, amused. “The song for the drama. Almost done.”

At that, Seokjin actually smiles. He does know that one. “Really? You’ve been stuck forever. That’s great, Jungkook-ah.”

“Thanks.” Jungkook almost beams. “I feel like—it’s been easier lately. I can write again. I can hear it again. I don’t know why.”

Seokjin shrugs. “Doesn’t matter why,” he says. “You’re doing what you love again, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook agrees, nodding like he’s still thinking, like he’s trying to figure out something. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

And when his gaze lingers on Seokjin for a second too long, Seokjin pretends he doesn’t notice. 

* * * 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Seokjin finally shuts his laptop for the night, giving in to the temptatious pull of fatigue, ready to turn in.

Another late night for Seokjin. 

His eyes are burning a bit from how long he’s been staring at his computer, the blue light had been the only source to illuminate his kitchen where he was sat, besides the tiny lamp seeping in from his living room. He’s tired, but maybe not more so than usual, and his muscles are achy, having been upright attempting to finish up his latest story all night. 

It’s not bad, he’s written worse, but there’s just something about it that’s rubbing him a weird way. Maybe it’s the protagonist, and how he’s incredibly dense to see that his love interest is so totally into him. He makes a mental note to go back and revise the character later; maybe make them a bit less aggravating to their own creator.  

He’s halfway through his nighttime routine when his phone buzzes a few times. It’s late, but maybe not too late for someone like Yoongi, who oftentimes will message him the most random of things, just because he does miss Seokjin, regardless of how cold he may appear. Maybe it’s Jimin sending him a photo of Taehyung’s dog. Jimin likes to think Yeontan the pomeranian holds the key to a lot of people’s happiness, which Seokjin can agree to a certain extent with. But right now, it’s neither Yoongi nor Jimin. 

jungkook (3) stares back at him. 

He flinches as he unlocks his phone, the harsh lighting doing nothing to help his already sensitive eyes as he reads. 

jungkook: jin hyunggfhg

jungkook: i miss youu can you come getme

jungkook: i miss you

Seokjin furrows his brows, watching the text bubble appear and reappear. He remembers Jungkook promising he’d get work done tonight, stay home and finish up that piece he had been trying to get out for weeks now. But now, it’s clear that he’s drunk and Seokjin just prays he’s not alone. 

He glances at the clock, an ungodly hour now glaring back. He sighs, pulling on his shoes as he quickly texts Jungkook not to move, and to send his location, which Jungkook does nearly immediately, followed by a series of emojis that don’t make much sense. 

Seokjin grabs his keys, giving a goodbye to Duri that she doesn’t care much for before he’s outside, heading through his apartment complex to catch a cab, hoping Jungkook doesn’t do anything stupid while he’s waiting.

‘I miss you,’ Jungkook had said, not once, but twice, and it rings in Seokjin’s head like a siren. 

* * *

Jungkook is outside when Seokjin arrives, back against the wall of a bar Seokjin is sure he’s been to at least once before. He’s not wearing a coat sufficient enough for the harsh nighttime air, hands shoved inside the pockets of the leather jacket Seokjin has seen him adorned in more times than he can count. 

“Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says, grabbing his attention as he makes his way over to him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You came!” is all Jungkook says, happy, with a warm glow in his cheeks that can only be the doings of a few shots. 

Seokjin, despite his worry and drowsiness, smiles, nodding. “‘Course I came. Why are you here all alone? I thought you were working. You said you had to—had to think it out alone this time, yeah?”

“Couldn’t work,” Jungkook says easily. “My head it was—it was too quiet. Wanted to forget.”

“Forget,” Seokjin repeats, easing himself into Jungkook’s hand, slowly tearing him away from the wall. Jungkook takes it naturally, holding onto Seokjin like it’s the most instinctive thing in the world. 

“Mhm,” Jungkook hums. Seokjin decides to leave it at that.

“Ok,” he says instead. “Let’s get home, yeah?” 

Jungkook nods, letting Seokjin usher him into the cab, not bothering to move to the other side once Seokjin is inside behind him. He presses into Seokjin’s space, clingy, but warm like he always is, and Seokjin, like he always is, is weak. He lets Jungkook fit into him, arm hanging loosely over the younger’s shoulder as he reaches for the drawstring on Seokjin’s sweatshirt, playing with it absentmindedly. 

“I didn’t wake you, did I, hyung?” Jungkook suddenly asks quietly, eyes big and full of worry.

“No, it’s ok,” Seokjin assures him. “I was up. I’m always up.”

Jungkook hums again. “Me too. That’s part of the reason why I came here. It’s hard to do anything sometimes. Can’t work, can’t sleep,” Jungkook is saying, voice quiet as he does. “It’s just him.” 

Now Seokjin gets it. Because while the other day it might’ve been better, today it wasn’t, and it’s as simple as that. Seokjin gets it first hand. The highs and lows of a broken heart. They hurt like a motherfucker. 

“I wish what he did to me didn’t bother me as much as it still does.”

Seokjin nods, a tiny piece of him breaking a bit inside. He thinks that piece must be Jungkook. Over the past few months together a small portion of Seokjin’s own heart has become something similar to the younger man currently draped across his side. 

“I wish it didn’t bother you either,” Seokjin tells him. “He was an asshole to you.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, sleepy. “Thank you, hyung.”

It’s quiet the rest of the ride, Jungkook just tugging on the strings of Seokjin’s sweatshirt still, or sometimes marveling at the lights outside because it’s Jungkook, and he can look at everything like it's brand new. Seokjin likes that about him.

He realizes he likes a lot about him.

Likes the way he smells from where he’s so close to him, always clean, never too harsh, and always a little sweet. Likes the way he holds his hand so gently, so carefully, as they step out of the cab, having arrived at Jungkook’s place. He likes the way things feel so easy with Jungkook, like the peaceful silence of the elevator ride up, to the way Jungkook lets Seokjin punch in the code to his front door, hooking his chin over Seokjin’s shoulder as he does.

Everything feels easy with Jungkook.

“You should get to bed,” Seokjin tells Jungkook, presenting him with a tall glass of water that the latter takes gratefully. 

“Will you stay?” Jungkook’s voice is small, a little raspy, and he’s got a bit of his Busan dialect coming out, making it impossible for Seokjin to even think about saying no. Not like he’s ever been that good at denying Jungkook of anything. 

“Ok,” Seokjin agrees. “I’ll stay.”

Truthfully, he’s just as exhausted as Jungkook probably is, he didn’t need much convincing, but Jungkook still smiles like he’s surprised he gave in. 

“Good,” Jungkook says, a silly look on his face. “I like when you stay.” 

He doesn’t wait for Seokjin’s response, although Seokjin wants to tell him he likes when he gets to stay, just making his way to his bedroom, leaving the half-drunk glass of water on the counter. 

The apartment looks messy, papers with scribbled notes and melodies haphazardly everywhere, almost leading up to the piano tucked away by the living room window. Seokjin scoops a few of them up, setting them down at the music stand, and heads back towards Jungkook’s room, flicking the light off in the main room as he does. 

Jungkook is already in bed when Seokjin gets there, his jeans and sweatshirt thrown on the floor. He’s shirtless, which Seokjin has seen before in passing but never quite like this, and it nearly takes his breath away when Jungkook reaches out, making a grabby hand in Seokjin’s direction. 

“In here,” he instructs. 

Seokjin laughs, though it could just be his natural reaction to being as nervous as he suddenly is. 

“Jungkook-ah—“ 

“Don’t argue,” Jungkook points, rolling over to the other side of his bed, bringing the covers up to his chin. “Please. I don’t wanna be alone. Can’t be alone.” 

“You’re whining,” Seokjin tells him, however peeling off his sweatshirt, opting to keep on his t-shirt at least. 

“That’s the only way you listen to me,” Jungkook jokes, smiling. 

“I always listen,” Seokjin corrects him, and he doesn’t mean it like that, not really, but Jungkook’s face softens a little when he says it, and then he’s nodding. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You do.”

Seokjin doesn’t say anything else after that, just slips in next to Jungkook, reaching up to flick off the bedside lamp. A gentle glow from the streetlights outside illuminates the room, bringing a new, still feeling to the moment. Jungkook dares to scoot a bit closer, the familiar warmth of his body hitting Seokjin without either of them even touching. 

And of course, Seokjin likes it; he likes a lot of things with Jungkook. 

“You’re good to me, hyung,” Jungkook is telling him, fingers reaching out to tap against Seokjin’s chest. He’s moving along to one of his melodies, no doubt, tattooed fingers dancing across Seokjin as they do across the keys. 

“I care about you,” Seokjin says easily. “You deserve good.”

Jungkook hums. There’s an unspoken moment where they both know what Jungkook is thinking. He’s thinking about Sungho. About how he hurt him. About how it still hurts. 

“Thank you,” Jungkook says after a minute. His fingers are moving slower. 

“You don’t need to thank me.” Seokjin laughs lightly, resisting the urge to reach out and hold Jungkook’s hand. 

“Yes, I do,” Jungkook argues. “And not just for tonight. For everything. For the music, too.” Jungkook’s fingers stop and he leans up, eyes locking with Seokjin’s. “I figured it out, you know? How the music came back? It was—when I’m with you, Jin hyung—you made the music come back.” 

Seokjin opens his mouth, to say something, you’re welcome, at the very least, but Jungkook’s leaning back down again, this time with his head to Seokjin’s chest. 

“Goodnight, hyung.”

“Goodnight,” Seokjin manages. 

He’s warm. 

* * *

Seokjin wakes up to a gentle rhythm of fingers across his back, just barely enough movement to be felt. 

It’s Jungkook, whose eyes startle for only a minute once he realizes Seokjin is up, and then he laughs, most likely at the way he can feel the way his cheeks heat up slightly. 

“I woke you,” he says, sheepish. 

“‘s ok,” Seokjin assures him, voice groggy. “You sleep ok?” 

“Yeah.” Jungkook nods, drawing back his fingers as Seokjin turns over to look up at the ceiling. It’s quiet for a minute before Jungkook speaks again. “I wanted to say I’m sorry about last night.”

“Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin chuckles. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do,” Jungkook tells him. “I was being—stupid and reckless. I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk and I shouldn’t have made you get me. You were probably exhausted.”

“Never too tired for you,” Seokjin says, half-joking at the moment, but deep down he knows he 100% means it. 

Jungkook smiles, hiding a laugh as he bites his lip, rolling onto his back as well. “Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Quiet again, just for a beat. 

“I meant what I said last night, though,” Jungkook says slowly. “I remember it all.”

Seokjin nods, glancing over at the other man. The younger one’s eyes stay fixed on the ceiling. “About the music. It’s—“ Jungkook pauses, eyebrows furrowing as he turns to finally look at Seokjin. “It’s better with you around. It sounds like me again.” 

Seokjin smiles, genuine, this time not fighting the urge to take one of Jungkook’s hands. He interlocks their fingers gently, giving a small, reassuring squeeze. 

“That makes me happy,” Seokjin says. 

Jungkook smiles back, this hazy look in his eyes that Seokjin’s noticed he gets sometimes. It’s bordering on something Seokjin recognizes, something he’s seen before. It’s almost like the way Jimin looks at Taehyung. Admiration. Some sort of devotion. It always makes Seokjin feel nervous. 

“Hyung,” Jungkook is saying, voice going quiet again. 

“I’m right here.” 

Seokjin feels his heart rate pick up when Jungkook’s eyes flick down to his lips, tongue darting across his own to wet them. Could be a habit, Seokjin figures, or it could be—

“I want—“ Jungkook stops, swallowing hard as he looks at Seokjin’s lips again. 

Seokjin is sure he knows what’s coming now, so sure that he can recognize that distant, lovely look in his eyes, too. He’s not too sure what the swarm of butterflies in his stomach means, though. 

“What?” Seokjin asks, just to be sure. “What do you want?” 

“You,” Jungkook says, not missing a single beat. There are no nerves in his voice anymore when he says, “I want to kiss you.” 

And Seokjin, who has never been able to deny Jungkook of anything, nods, slowly, but surely, eyes zoning in on Jungkook’s pretty pink lips as he feels himself lean forward, meeting Jungkook halfway. 

They’re kissing now, just the slightest of touches, lips pressed hesitantly against each other. Because Seokjin knows he’s been selfish; knows his gaze has sometimes lingered a little longer at Jungkook than it should, knows he’s thought about how easy it would be to turn to someone like Jungkook for just a moment of pleasure. But, still, they’re friends . 

Is this what friends do?

Jungkook must sense Seokjin’s hesitancy, pulling away just the slightest as his voice is still quiet, saying, “‘s ok, hyung. I’m ok.” He doesn’t lean in immediately again, waits for Seokjin to instead. 

When Seokjin decides to kiss him again, pushing his doubts and the mature, rational voice in his head aside, he does so with more purpose, soft lips slotting into soft, soft, soft lips. There’s no turning back now. 

The way Jungkook kisses back is gentle, but firm, each kiss like it’s saying a thousand words, but Seokjin can’t really hear any of it, not with the way his heart is pounding between his ears, so loud he hardly misses the way Jungkook breaks apart and says—

“Hyung, you can touch me.” 

Seokjin notices the way his hands have been balled up into small fists of the sheet, anywhere but near Jungkook. 

“Unless you—you don’t have to kiss me, I just felt—“

“No,” Seokjin stops him abruptly, shaking his head. He eases himself closer to Jungkook, hand tracing over the dip of his waist as he does. He’s shirtless, still from the way he’d fallen asleep, and Seokjin’s brain can’t help but buzz with the way he realizes how soft and warm Jungkook’s skin is. “I wanna kiss you. I just—wanna make sure that’s what you want.” 

Jungkook’s nodding, eyes darkening with something Seokjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. At least not from Jungkook. Maybe past hookups, maybe between Jimin and Taehyung when they’re tipsy—never between him and Jungkook. 

“Want that,” Jungkook is confirming, leaning in closer with his lips once more. “So kiss me.” 

Seokjin can’t deny Jungkook a thing. 

It’s getting more deliberate now, no longer shy pecks and light touches, but kissing, touching. Jungkook’s hand, tattoos and all, is at Seokjin’s cheek, thumb skimming the skin softly, almost to calm any remaining nerves, to coax him into the rhythm that Jungkook has set between them. 

Seokjin isn’t sure how much time is passing, or if time is even passing at all. What he is sure of is that he likes kissing Jungkook, likes the subtle eagerness behind every kiss, every slide of his pretty mouth, every small noise that slips out when Seokjin flicks his tongue against the other’s, drawing out delight. 

Suddenly, Jungkook’s pulling away entirely, and Seokjin has a minor moment of panic that it’s all over, that Jungkook’s freaked out, that he’s about to shamefully head home, but instead, the younger settles himself into Seokjin’s lap, sturdy thighs straddling Seokjin’s thin waist, the desire to be closer evident. 

“Ok?” Jungkook checks, eyes earnest and big. 

“Ok,” Seokjin assures him with a nod. 

Jungkook’s smiling when he leans in again, this time not shy about the noises he makes when Seokjin tugs at his bottom lip, or grips the soft skin of Jungkook’s thighs beneath his shorts a bit too harshly. He’s getting antsy now, Seokjin can tell. He can feel the way Jungkook is trying not to grind down on Seokjin, can feel the way it’s getting more uncomfortable as his shorts get tighter. Seokjin knows because his sweats are growing a lot more constricting as well—he’s not too sure where they’re supposed to go from here, though. 

Up until this point, Seokjin has always taken the lead during his share of casual sex. He’s not shy in bed, not shy around the people he’s with, and sure as hell not lacking experience. 

But there’s something still so sweet, so pure about Jungkook that has Seokjin second-guessing everything. 

“Jin hyung,” Jungkook says, almost pained as he does. His lips are trailing down Seokjin’s neck, gently kissing over a spot that Seokjin’s pretty sure he’s just left a mark at. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin responds, but his voice sounds hazy, far away. “Yeah, I’m here, what?”

“Can I touch you?” Jungkook pulls away again, eyes looking down at him, the same thousand stars hidden in the deep brown irises. “Can I take these off?” His hands rest at Seokjin’s waistband, hesitant. 

“Yeah, shit, yeah,” Seokjin allows him, nodding as a smile instantly sweeps across Jungkook’s face. 

Jungkook kisses him again, quick, before he’s getting to work, slipping Seokjin’s sweats down to his ankles, then peeling them off entirely. He wastes no time in taking his seat again, this time not holding back when he rolls hips, lips nipping and pecking at his neck again. 

“Fuck,” Seokjin groans, can feel Jungkook’s cock twitch at his pleasure, and just that turns him on even more. 

“Like that?” Jungkook asks, almost dirty, so dirty, continuing the way he slowly grinds against Seokjin’s nearly fully hard length. 

“Yeah, fuck,” Seokjin tells him, pulls him in for another kiss, hungry. There’s more tongue, and Jungkook’s biting at the plush of his lip, so messy and desperate. He’s not scared anymore as he places firm hands on Jungkook’s ass, guiding him to keep up the sweet friction. 

“Feels good, hyung,” Jungkook tells him, whiny. “So good.”

“Yeah?” Seokjin quirks a brow. He’s regaining a bit of his confidence watching Jungkook slowly fall apart. “Can make you feel even better,” he promises. “Want that?”

Jungkook nods with a weak whine, hips growing a little more frantic in their pace. 

“Good,” Seokjin says, pleased. “Take them off.”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice; he slides off Seokjin’s lap, kicking his shorts to the side, leaving him in just his briefs, where, if it wasn't obvious before, it’s obvious now how hard he is. 

Jungkook hesitates for a minute as if he’s internally debating whether or not he should lose the last layer of clothing, too, before he seems to make up his mind, riding his underwear in one swift motion. He’s completely bare now, pretty and pink in all the right places and Seokjin almost feels his mouth water. Jungkook is beautiful; strong looking arms and a slim waist, toned thighs with smooth skin that has a particular glow from the morning light slipping in. 

When Seokjin doesn’t say anything right away, too lost in the way Jungkook’s laid himself out for Seokjin, the younger seems to falter, voice nervous as he says, “Is this—is this ok?”

Seokjin nods eagerly, hands reaching out to pull at Jungkook’s waist, to rearrange the latter below him. “More than ok,” Seokjin assures him. “So pretty, Jungkook-ah.” 

Jungkook blushes, shrinking under Seokjin’s gaze as his head adjusts against the pillow he’s been guided to. “Thank you,” Jungkook accepts shyly, and it’s cute, so very cute. Seokjin hasn’t seen Jungkook this shy in a while. 

Seokjin decides it’s only fair to get rid of another layer of his clothing, too, t-shirt thrown somewhere behind him now as he kisses Jungkook again, slipping his tongue into his mouth, letting him get a taste of the other as his hand finds Jungkook’s dick, circling it gently. It invokes a little moan from Jungkook, which Seokjin swallows up delightedly, moving his mouth to Jungkook’s neck once the noises get to be a bit louder and a bit more consistent. 

“Ah,” Jungkook breathes out; Seokjin isn’t too sure if it’s from the bite he’s forming at the base of his neck or the slow drag of his hand against his cock. “Ah—hyung!”

Seokjin hums, otherwise preoccupied. 

“Will you f-fuck me?” Jungkook is asking, earnest. “Want you to.”

“Yeah?” Seokjin taunts, because he’s good at that, picking his head up from Jungkook’s cherry bitten skin, swollen lips pulled into a smirk. Jungkook nods, galaxy eyes blown and cloudy with lust. “Ok,” Seokjin agrees in a quiet mumble. “Ok, I’ll fuck you. Whatever you want.” 

He presses another kiss to Jungkook’s parted lips before he’s up, looking down at the younger expectantly. “Where’s your lube?” Jungkook sits up on his elbows, reaching over the side of the bed to reveal its hiding place. “Mattress,” Seokjin chuckles. “Classy.” 

“Fuck off,” Jungkook grumbles, quickly uncapping it before he pauses, looking between the two of them. “I need to—fingers,” Jungkook supplies, gesturing vaguely to himself. “I can be quick.”

“Don't have to be quick,” Seokjin counters, dipping down to kiss the corner of Jungkook’s mouth. “I like to watch.” 

“Fuck,” Jungkook says almost involuntarily before he’s nodding, frantic with the way he drizzles the lube over himself. “Then watch.” 

Seokjin realizes, not for the first time, but definitely for the first time where it’s mattered, that Jungkook is breathtaking. Watches in awe as he takes in one finger, and then two, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and lips pushed out in a pout that Seokjin occasionally can’t help but kiss. There’s a tiny string of moans that Jungkook’s dragging out of himself and Seokjin can’t wait to be the cause of those—to see what other pretty sounds Jungkook can keep making. He absentmindedly circles a hand around himself, jerking off slowly, which seems to get a rise out of Jungkook because after that he’s moaning a little more desperately, a bit louder. And Seokjin’s always wondered how good with his hands and fingers Jungkook really could be; all those years of striking keys and nimbly switching from one note to the other—well, it seems evident now that he does alright. 

“That’s—“ Jungkook starts, cuts himself off with a low groan. “Fuck, hyung—you’re hot.”

It’s almost a childish compliment, trivial, something Seokjin’s heard countless times, but now, coming from Jungkook, it feels different. Like Seokjin might believe it for once. 

Seokjin hums, eyeing Jungkook still. “So are you.” 

“Good,” Jungkook looks pleased, sounds cocky. It somehow makes him even more attractive. “Can’t wait to fuck you.” 

Seokjin scoffs, can’t help it. “Shameless.” He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s gotten into you?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Just want you. Don’t wanna wait anymore.” 

Seokjin doesn’t ask what he’s waiting for, doesn’t get a chance to when Jungkook finally grows impatient, breathless as he says, “Ready. I’m ready. Are you?”

Seokjin has to snap himself out of a bit of a haze, however, nodding. “Ready,” he confirms. Before he can even ask what Jungkook wants, the younger boy is sitting up on his knees, as if he’s on a mission. 

“Can I ride you, hyung?” he asks sweetly, a major difference to the sultry air hanging over their heads. “Wanna ride you. Would you like that? ” Jungkook’s gaze lingers on Seokjin’s hard cock, and it aches a little more. 

“Whatever you want,” Seokjin tells him again, easily, just as easily as the rest of all this has come. Jungkook just smiles, up to retrieve a condom before he’s back one more time, backing Seokjin to the top of the bed and positioning himself over his lap again. 

He lets Seokjin roll on the condom, followed by a generous amount of lube, and then Jungkook’s close again, hips lining up as he sinks down, biting into his bottom lip so hard it turns white. 

And fuck.

“Burns,” Jungkook tells him, hissing. “You’re big.”

“We can stop,” Seokjin offers. “Or try again after more—“

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Jungkook tsks, eyes switching with something dangerous. “Give me a second.”

Seokjin nods, speechless, really, because Jungkook is tight and warm, and so beautifully built Seokjin thinks he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack. 

He picks up his hips slowly, a beginner’s pace that’s still enough to feel heavenly, a slow slide along Jungkook’s walls that has the both of them preening. They continue like that for a bit, a gradual increase just to get used to the feeling before Jungkook gets more comfortable, bolder, more deliberate with the way he lifts himself up and down on Seokjin’s length. 

“So fucking good, hyung,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth, head dropping back as his arms wrap around Seokjin’s broad shoulders, holding him in place. “Is it good for you?” he asks, voice genuine in a way that Seokjin can recognize. “Do I feel good?” 

Something about his tone is almost heartbreaking. It’s the same tone that Seokjin has noticed he tends to always use when he’s looking for something in others. Jungkook seeks validation everywhere; in his music, when he makes dinner for the two of them, when he gives feedback to Namjoon on a new piece. Now. Seokjin knows the reason why he’s always looking for someone to tell him he’s doing ok; it’s the same reason why Seokjin looks for strangers to take him home at night. 

They’re still broken. 

But for now—

Now. 

“Good,” Seokjin tells him, and he really does mean it. Jungkook is skilled with his hips and core strength in a way that no one else that’s ever fucked Seokjin has been. “S’good, baby.” 

It slips out. The pet name. Something of a habit after the countless times Seokjin’s forgotten his partner for the night’s name. But the way Jungkook nearly coos at the name, cheeks tinged pink and a surprised look in his eyes makes Seokjin forget the way he probably shouldn’t have done that. 

“Good,” Jungkook repeats, satisfied, something akin to smitten, maybe, too. He goes to say something else, something that has his eyes all soft and glowy, but Seokjin decides to meet Jungkook’s hips in a sharp thrust, one that cuts Jungkook off, bringing his lips to fall open in a tiny circle instead, a silent cry. 

There’s not much talking after that. There’s the sound of skin on skin and lips on lips and a melody of moans that Seokjin thinks is better than any song he’s ever seen done in huge concert halls, filled with only the most prestigious composers. Jungkook’s lips are swollen, his body glistening with sweat, limbs growing weaker with every up, down motion of his hips. 

“Jin hyung,” he whines, “I’m close.”

Seokjin just nods, traps his parted lips in another kiss as he snakes a hand around Jungkook’s length, resulting in a hearty groan. He jerks his hand in time with Jungkook’s hips, once, twice—

“Come,” Seokjin tells him, “you can do it, baby.”

Just three, four more times and—

“Ah—!” Jungkook’s coming with a short gasp, followed by Seokjin’s name, mumbled into the older’s shoulder where Jungkook slumps down, streaks of white that paint their bodies between them. It takes him all but a minute to recover before he picks his head up, eyes glassy as he says, “Keep going.”

“But you’re—“

“No,” Jungkook shakes his head. “Want you to finish. Fuck me ‘til you finish.” 

Jungkook’s words are nasty—go straight to Seokjin’s dick and bring him even closer to the heat pooling up in his stomach. He somehow musters enough strength to lift himself off Seokjin, the lack of warmth around Seokjin leaving him wanting more, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it before Jungkook is in front of him on all fours, head dipping down. He places a gentle kiss to the tip of Seokjin’s cock, before another to his hip, and then up to his abdomen, tongue peeking out to lick at his own cum. 

“Holy shit,” Seokjin can’t help but mutter, Jungkook’s hand back to his dick, tugging gently. 

“Finish what you started, gorgeous,” Jungkook tells him before he falls backward in front of Seokjin, spreading his legs slightly. “I want you to come.”

Seokjin wordlessly pushes himself up from his relaxed position, arms caging Jungkook’s body as he leans over, giving a quick warning before he slides back in with a low groan. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook swears, body squirming from the sensitivity. 

“I can stop, Kook-ah.”

“I like it,” Jungkook says, adamant. “Fuck me. I want you to feel good.”

Seokjin’s always been selfish, and he doesn’t think right now is any different. Because, of course, Jungkook wanted this, too; wanted to kiss him and touch him and then have him, but still—Seokjin can’t help but think that deep down this is all his fault, his own wants and desires and just another thing that he can take just to ease his pain, just for once.

But Jungkook—Jungkook’s always been a little different, no? Jungkook with his doe eyes and big heart and silly laugh. Jungkook’s been more than just something to ease his pain.

Because the pain is never there with Jungkook to begin with. 

That scares Seokjin. 

He’s still going, hands gripping at Jungkook’s waist so hard it’s bound to leave marks, but Jungkook’s voice is soft and enticing as he coaxes the orgasm through him, a complete contrast to how hard Seokjin seems to be pushing into him. He’s getting lost in it, lost in the way Jungkook feels, the way he’s still moaning, gentle hands rubbing along Seokjin’s biceps in a comforting way. 

“Almost there, hyung,” Jungkook’s telling him, light and airy. “You can do it. Wanna see you come, bet you’re so pretty when you come. Pretty, pretty hyungie.”

And Seokjin’s close, so close, nearly there when Jungkook mutters— 

“So good. Nobody’s ever fucked me like you fuck me. Nobody’s ever been as good. Just you. All for you, hyung.” 

It strikes something particularly strange inside Seokjin; not so much fueled by desire, but something else, something bigger, scarier, not as familiar. 

He doesn’t get much time to dwell on it before he’s spilling over, coming with a low groan and a ghost of his lips to Jungkook’s. 

Just you. All for you, hyung. 

Pleasure rocks through Seokjin like a tidal wave, and before it can drift back to sea, Seokjin falls asleep, Jungkook right beside him. 

* * * 

Seokjin isn’t satisfied, not really, but strangely, at least the regret of chasing his pleasure never truly comes.

Guilt, however, guilt rears its ugly head the second Seokjin gets home after leaving Jungkook’s. It’s then that he realizes he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have taken anything from Jungkook. Jungkook, who was clearly hurting still, who was looking for someone to find warmth in, and instead of being a friend, talking it over, Seokjin let him use and be used. 

He deducts he was something of a pity fuck. Because Jungkook has expressed in the past how he’s not looking for anything; especially not looking for Seokjin. Now, though? Now, after having a tiny drunk, emotional episode? It’s the perfect opportunity to use Seokjin for his own benefit. And Seokjin doesn’t blame him, he can’t really. 

Jungkook visits him. Invites himself over the next night, knocking on the door in a mood that’s brighter, sweeter than Seokjin has seen for a while. He’s different. Still chasing his pleasure high, no doubt. 

“I tried calling you,” Jungkook greets him with. His nose is pink from the cold and his lips are a little chapped. He looks cute, pure. Opposite to what Seokjin feels. “Everything ok?”

Seokjin knows he tried calling, he didn’t answer on purpose. Wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He’s not too sure how they go on from here. He’s not too sure how to stay friends with someone who you sleep with for a moment of comfort. 

“I’m fine,” he lies. He hasn’t lied in a while, but it comes back so naturally. “Busy, that’s all.” He hasn’t moved all day. He hasn’t been busy. 

Jungkook shrugs his coat off, of course taking the time to greet Duri who rubs against his leg fondly. The traitor. She always has been. 

Jungkook hums, crossing the tiny living room, socks rubbing across Seokjin’s carpet as he comes to stand before the elder. “As long as you’re ok,” he says, quiet. “I was worried when you didn’t answer.” 

There are two lip-shaped marks adorning the smooth skin of Jungkook’s neck, staring back at Seokjin almost like they’re mocking him. Reminding him of how foolish he had been. 

“You don’t have to worry,” Seokjin tells him because he’s done with pity. “I said I’m fine.”

It’s short the way it comes out. Jungkook would be an idiot to not be able to see the truth right now. “Ok,” he says, almost defensive. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something?” He's laughing, trying to ease the obvious tension. 

The truth about Seokjin is that he doesn’t like lying. He knows it’s needed to survive, but he despises it. Loathes it. Especially when it comes to someone he cares about. Jungkook. 

“Why are you here?” Seokjin can’t help but ask. The sigh he had been holding escapes his lips and Jungkook frowns.

“I was… worried about you,” Jungkook tells him again. “I can go if you want, I just thought—,” Jungkook stops, nervously biting at his lip as one of his hands reaches towards Seokjin’s. He doesn’t have the heart to pull away, although something’s telling him he should.

Don’t let him take any more, the voice inside Seokjin’s head is scolding him. He realizes then that he doesn’t like the feeling of being used by people that mean something to him. Reminds him of what had been.

“Well, I thought maybe you’d wanna see me, too,” Jungkook suggests. His hands are soft and he’s looking at Seokjin with that lovesick kind of look again. Seokjin knows he can’t possibly mean it. 

“I always wanna see you, Jungkook, I just—“ 

He tugs away from Jungkook’s hand, holding it closer to his own body. 

“Hyung?”

It’s quiet. The silence rings between Seokjin’s ears like an alarm, until, “We shouldn’t have slept together.” 

Another beat. 

“Oh.” Jungkook looks down. “That’s what this is.”

“Jungkook-ah—“

“You know—you know you didn’t have to fuck me, right, Seokjin hyung? I was… I asked you if you—you wanted to and—“

“You were hurting,” Seokjin tries to explain. “You were hurting and you were looking for somebody, for a friend, and I—I should’ve tried talking to you. Not… I didn’t want to be used for just a fuck, Jungkook-ah.” 

“What?” Jungkook looks genuinely surprised. “Is that what you think that was? Do you think I fucked you because I was sad? Did you fuck me only because I was sad?” 

“People do stupid things when they’re in pain,” Seokjin points out. “I shouldn’t have let you. You’re still young, and you’re still not entirely over Sung—“

“Fuck you, don’t finish that,” Jungkook snaps, pointing a finger at Seokjin. “I’m not ‘still young.’ I’m twenty fucking four and I know what I want and what I don’t want. And what I don’t want is for you to tell me how I feel!” 

“I’m not trying to tell you what to feel, I just think that we made an—an impulse decision. When we shouldn’t have?”

“Impulse,” Jungkook repeats, furious. “God, hyung, you really—fuck, do you hear how stupid do you sound?”

“You’re not listening,” Seokjin attempts, exasperated. 

“No, you’re not listening,” Jungkook counters. “Not everyone is like you, Seokjin. Not everybody bangs a nameless nobody just to feel something! I was trying to show you I— fuck!” 

There’s a tiny, singular tear that rolls down Jungkook’s cheek and Seokjin thinks nothing he’s ever done, nothing he ever will do, will make him feel worse than he does at this moment. 

“Oh, Jungkook.” Seokjin dares to step an inch closer, gentle hands reaching for the younger, but he pulls away, just as another tear falls. 

“No,” he says, firm. “No. Fuck you. Fuck you, because you know I would never, ever use you like that. But what would it matter, right, hyung?” His voice picks up to a happy tilt, though Seokjin knows he doesn’t mean it. “I don’t really know anything, do I? I’m just a stupid emotional kid.”

“Jungkook—“

“I had sex with you because I missed my ex-boyfriend,” Jungkook says, voice hollow. “Yes, hyung, that’s exactly it.” 

He turns abruptly, beeline towards the door that makes Seokjin feel sick. 

“Can we please talk about this?” he nearly begs, hopeful when Jungkook turns around to look at him again. 

“No,” he says coldly. “It seems like you have it all figured out. Goodbye, hyung.” 

The door slams behind Jungkook, leaving Seokjin in his apartment that suddenly feels way too big again. He trudges over to where Duri is, sighing as he reaches out, gentle fingers in her vicinity like he’s seen Jungkook coax her with so many times before. 

She hisses, and all Seokjin can think about is how much she prefers Jungkook. 

* * * 

“How’s Jungkookie?” 

The words leave Taehyung’s mouth and settle into Seokjin’s skin like pins and needles. A prickly, unpleasant feeling that seeps deep into his bones. Leaves him feeling gross, drained. Alone. 

“He’s—“ Seokjin starts, a lie on the tip of his tongue. 

He’s busy. He’s good. He’s working on this piece I think you’re all gonna like.  

“I haven’t seen him,” he settles with instead. 

Taehyung eyes him, the distance between them at he and Jimin’s dinner table seeming to go on for miles. He’s not too sure why he agreed to come over to see his friends tonight. Maybe trying to fill a void. He ignores the way his brain supplies that the void is Jungkook. 

“He’s busy?” Jimin quirks a brow, putting a healthy portion of meat onto Taehyung’s plate. 

“He’s…” Seokjin trails off. “No. I mean, maybe? I just—There was a. Thing.” 

“A thing,” Jimin repeats, eyes boring into Seokjin’s now, and goddammit, Jimin. 

“We fucked.” 

He says it fast, like it’ll be less painful that way. Like the idea of ruining everything he had with the only person who’s truly ever understood him is something he’s ok with. 

“You—what?”

“We slept together,” Seokjin elaborates, just barely. “But we shouldn’t have.”

“How did—Seokjin, hyung…” Taehyung pleas, almost exasperated. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” 

“But—you guys are—you’re good together. You’re friends?”

“Are, were. I don’t know, Taehyung-ah.”

“Hyung—“

“I said, I don’t really want to talk about it.” 

They don’t talk about it. It becomes another untouchable topic in Kim Seokjin’s life, filed right next to the bastard that broke his heart some years ago and the way it’s left him longing to feel something again. 

He doesn’t reach out to Jungkook and he isn’t surprised when Jungkook doesn’t reach out to him. He writes. He eats. He sleeps. He goes out with his friends and meets people to sleep with. 

He thinks about how they’re not Jungkook. How they’re not as warm as Jungkook, how they’re not as gentle, how they don’t kiss him like he’s made of glass, how they don’t bother to learn his name, how if they do, it doesn’t sound nearly as beautiful as when it rolled off Jungkook’s tongue mid-orgasm. 

He thinks about Jungkook during the day, too. When he goes to the cafe to write, when Duri snubs him of a morning greeting yet again. He thinks about him when Yoongi reminds him that they still have that charity event, how Jungkook is still going to be there, and how Seokjin needs to man up and apologize, or maybe just not go at all. 

Seokjin doesn’t like thinking about that part, though. 

It’s funny, he thinks. How much he didn’t realize he had been relying on Jungkook for things, or maybe that’s just the way he had been learning about things from Jungkook. Learning how to grow, how to move on in a better way. Before the other day—before the falling out—he hadn’t slept with anyone in a while. Not since that night Jungkook had been waiting for him outside his apartment, tired and dull, but so Jungkook, so bright even if he hadn’t felt it. 

Seokjin thinks maybe he was finally moving on in a way. Now he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t see the point again. He’s not sure if he wants to change, because it seems that every time he does, every time he lends his heart out, he still manages to break it. 

And isn’t that sad?

That even after what Jungkook did to him—took a chunk off of Seokjin’s fragile heart and fucked him until he didn’t realize he had—Seokjin still misses him. He still misses Jungkook’s laugh and the music and the smell of coffee and the late nights up together doing nothing. 

Pathetic, maybe. 

Because misery loves company, even if they can’t have it. 

* * *

Despite everything telling him not to, Seokjin goes to the charity event. For Yoongi, he tells himself, but deep down, he thinks he wants to see Jungkook again. If he’s lucky, maybe they can talk. 

But Seokjin hasn’t been so lucky these days, has he?

“This place is huge,” Jimin is muttering to him, doing his best to keep up with appearances. Seokjin hums vaguely, more concerned with the monster-sized anxiety building up in his gut over seeing Jungkook again, even if it is just from afar, from the stage where Jungkook belongs, for everyone to see and marvel over. 

“Only the finest for South Korea’s elite,” Seokjin says, gesturing around them. 

“Does that include Yoongi hyung?” Jimin asks, teasing. 

“No,” Seokjin says after a minute. “I knew him in college. He’s anything but elite.” 

It makes Jimin laugh, which is what Seokjin was going for, deters the conversation from him for a bit, from anyone asking him what happened between him and Jungkook, because if it seems like Seokjin is in good spirits, he knows they’ll leave him alone for now. 

They meet up with Hoseok who’s all affable smiles and conversation like he always is, taking their seats together as the lights start dimming, signaling the show will be starting soon. Seokjin doesn’t particularly care for classical music and scores, but he likes his friends, so powers through for the sake of them, which of course, deems worth it. Namjoon plays a popular piece, one that he had done for some kind of suspense movie that was major at the box office last year, Yoongi goes a few after and does something more subdued but still beautiful, something that Seokjin isn’t too familiar with, but the crowd seems to really enjoy, and Jungkook—

“And now playing Fracture, please welcome Jeon Jungkook!” That’s what the host had said before the curtain opened once more, leaving Jungkook on the middle of the stage wearing a suit that wasn’t quite him, before a piano that was a bit too big and ornate compared to that of the one in his apartment. Like he was a stranger. 

Something about the look of him makes Seokjin want to cry. His heart aches, almost. 

Fracture, as Seokjin comes to realize, is not one that he knows. Not the piece for the drama he had heard snippets of, not anything from Jungkook’s past repertoire that he had begged him to play one lazy day, but new. A stranger. 

It sounds like it’s telling a story. Jungkook had always said that’s the best part of music—the way it’s able to convey a tale without words sometimes, that’s why he liked it. Over his time with Jungkook, Seokjin likes to think he’s been getting good at deciphering these stories, too. 

Jungkook has always been a good storyteller. 

This one starts out pretty. It’s light, fluttery, flirty, though something about it is a little unnerving, maybe hesitant. It takes a turn, though, a quick one, the suspense kicks in, and while it’s still beautiful, it’s the scary type, the one that seems like if you look too long, it could hurt you. It changes again, much more rapid this time, but to something like a reprieve. A build-up that breaks into a section of bliss, it’s soothing, feels like fresh air, and clean-cut grass that Seokjin almost wants to get lost in until it stops, just as quick as it started, like a bandaid ripped right off an open wound. It hurts. Sharp and small but still there—like a fracture. Makes Seokjin feel repulsed, anxious, and somewhat guilty. He can’t place why.

Before the song ends, it has an almost bittersweet melody, like it’s bidding farewell, even though it maybe doesn’t quite want to, and for some reason, Seokjin places the feeling that gives him with how he left things with Jungkook. 

When it ends, the crowd claps, polite, yet enthusiastic, and Seokjin thinks he sees Jungkook look directly at him, giving him a helpless sort of look. 

He chalks it up to his imagination and claps along with the rest of the crowd. 

As the curtain closes he thinks the more accurate word for the subtle pain in his chest might be a fracture. 

* * * 

“There they are!” Seokjin hears Hoseok’s joyful holler over the way his heart is pounding between his ears, drawing his attention to where Yoongi and Namjoon are headed their way, Jungkook in tow. He still looks like a stranger. Seokjin guesses he might as well be at this point. 

He had agreed to go out for drinks for reasons unknown to him at this classy bar Hoseok knows. Maybe he wanted to feel normal again. Standing before Jungkook, he’s starting to regret it now. 

“You guys were so great!” Taehyung beams, smile as big as the music hall behind them, giving each of their friends a tiny hug in support. “I loved it.”

“Thanks, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon returns, dimpled smile staring back at them as the rest shoot off a few more compliments, jokes, praises. Seokjin tries to contribute but thinks his own speech might get lost under the weight of Jungkook’s gaze on him, suffocated under the big doe eyes that are still glassy with pain. 

“I need a fucking drink, though,” Yoongi says, lighthearted, a small smile dancing across his features. “Kind of forgot how uptight these people could be.”

“Oh, the woes of being a composer,” Jimin laments sarcastically, which earns a roll from Yoongi’s eyes, but they move on nonetheless. 

“I’ll call us a cab,” Hoseok offers, pulling out his phone as they all start to migrate towards the curb, the hustle and bustle of Seoul eagerly awaiting them. When Jungkook turns to follow, feet heavy where he drags them across the pavement, Seokjin realizes this is now or never, despite wanting to instead turn around and go home, to not go out at all, let alone go out with Jungkook.

“Jungkook-ssi?” he calls, and to his surprise maybe, Jungkook turns back around, expectantly. 

“Can we…” Seokjin trails off, clearing his throat. When he notices the rest of them have also turned around, he waves a dismissive hand, forcing a smile. “We’ll just be a sec, just—Jungkook, can we talk?” 

Jungkook glances back at their friends before back to Seokjin and shrugs. “Fine,” he allows, still an icy edge to his voice that their friends pick up on because after that they’re rushing away mumbling god knows what to each other, heading to wait on the curb.

It’s now or never, unfortunately. 

They stare at each other for a minute, like they’re trying to recognize each other again. Like it’s been a lifetime since they last saw each other, last laughed together, last felt each other. Seokjin supposes it has been. 

He wants to speak, wants to explain himself, to apologize, but frankly, he didn’t think he would get this far, and something is telling him Jungkook hadn’t thought so either.

“Hi,” he decides on instead, stupidly, his brain adds after a moment. 

Jungkook laughs, a scoff almost. Then, a bit softer, “hi.”

“You did really well tonight,” Seokjin tells him because he’s never been in the business of lying to Jungkook, so he’s not really going to start.

“I’m surprised you came.”

“I didn’t want to miss it.”

Jungkook just hums, but Seokjin can see the words on the tip of his tongue—see the way he wants to bite back, to talk about everything between them, but refrains, at least for now. 

“I liked the song,” Seokjin adds. “It was pretty.”

“No,” Jungkook counters, “it was sad.”

That might be true. The subtle melancholy tune of the notes still lingers in Seokjin’s brain, making him long for something he’s not quite sure of. Or maybe—

“ Fracture,” Seokjin says, remembering the way the host had introduced the song. “What number is that? Did you finally reach sixty-nine?” It’s the last attempt at the old them, Seokjin thinks. Hopes it conveys the way he’s trying to make amends. Trying. 

“Seventy,” Jungkook says, looking up from where he had been zoned out at the mess of laces on his shoes. 

“What?”

“It was number seventy.”

“Oh.” Seokjin nods. “Was it a skip over sixty-nine then, or was it—”

“You.” Jungkook’s looking up now, eyes pouring into Seokjin’s, the same big and beautiful brown ones that Seokjin has grown so fond over, except this time they look a little worn around the edges, a little duller, maybe even shine a bit less, though that feels almost blasphemous to say. 

“What about—me?”

“I wrote sonata sixty-nine for you,” Jungkook is explaining, voice calm at first as he keeps going. “The day you asked me to make you a theme song. It took me nearly four weeks to write it. I wanted it to be perfect because I—well, it was you. And that was sixty-nine.”

“Oh,” is all Seokjin can say. There’s a weird, warm, yet sour feeling in his stomach, and his ears feel hot but not in a way that he’s embarrassed, but almost like he’s going to cry for some reason.

“I was waiting for sixty-nine because it was supposed to be fucking funny,” Jungkook reminds him. “And I gave it to you.” 

“Jungkook-ah, I think we should talk—”
Jungkook pays him no mind. “And seventy.” He steps the smallest bit closer to Seokjin and for a minute, Seokjin forgets how to breathe.

“What about seventy?”

“Seventy is sad,” he says. “It took me almost four weeks to write sixty-nine and I wrote seventy in three days. Three days after we fucked—” Seokjin flinches as the words leave Jungkook’s mouth, but he lets him finish, “—that’s when I finished the song. Seventy is sad, Seokjin hyung. Why do you think seventy is so sad?”

“Jungkook-ah, I wanna apologize. I don’t want you to be sad, I—”
“Sonata seventy is how much it hurts to fucking love you, hyung.” 

It’s like Seokjin’s been punched in the gut. There’s a terrible twisting in his lungs, and a pounding between his ears and every bit of his instincts are telling him to run—run like he did after they slept together, run like he had all those other times people had tried to get close to him. But it’s Jungkook. 

Despite it all, he almost wants to stay. 

He doesn’t say anything at first; he’s not sure he can. Jungkook, however, doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind, never seems to care if he has to wait for Seokjin, always so patient and so kind and so gentle. 

“Isn’t that sad?” Jungkook laughs, but it’s wet. “I fell in love with you. With you, who made it clear as fucking day that you’d never love anybody else as long as you live. You—you wouldn’t let anyone love you. But I was so stupid, I—I had to have you, hyung. It hurts to not have you because sometimes when I’m around you I feel like I can’t breathe because I want to love you so bad.”

Seokjin can hear Jungkook, can see him, too, but something about it all is making this feel like it’s some kind of sick dream. A nightmare. He’s not sure what part makes it so scary, though. Is it the way Jungkook is being so honest? So open and raw and just for him? Or is it the way that he is here, so close and so warm, but still so far away, like he’s slipping through his fingers right before his eyes?

“I fucked you so you would stay,” Jungkook says, short. “I didn’t fuck you because I was sad, I didn’t fuck you so I could numb something. I fucked you because I thought if I didn’t, you would get bored. You would find someone else who could help you open your heart. I was stupid. I wanted it to be me. I was selfish. And it wasn’t very nice of me—wasn’t very smart or healthy at all, but I wanted you to want me, too. I thought you’d only want me if I was… if I was naked and giving you a distraction.” 

“You…” Seokjin tries, fails. He thinks he might be crying now, but he’s not too sure of it still. 

“You don’t have to love me back, Seokjin hyung,” Jungkook is saying, a pathetic sort smile on his face that doesn’t suit him at all. “Ok? I’m ok. It’s ok, hyung. I just want you—I want you to be happy. You deserve happiness, you know that, right?”
“You,” Seokjin says again, this time a little more firmly. He closes the short distance between him and Jungkook, suddenly overwhelmed with the younger’s features this close. The pretty curve of his nose, the freckle beneath his lip, the dip of his cupid’s bow. He’s beautiful, Seokjin thinks, admittedly, not for the first time. 

“You,” he says again, continuing, “it’s you that makes me happy, Jungkook-ah.” Jungkook’s features soften, before his eyebrows furrow again, almost like he’s throwing a guard up again. “You didn’t have to do that. You shouldn’t have had to think that’d I’d only want you in that fucking awful way I use people. Jungkook-ah, I’m so, so sorry.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s too late, which in a way, it could be. 

“I wanted it, too. I just wanted to feel close to you—even if it was just for a few moments, I wanted to make you feel better—“

Seokjin’s shaking his head again, continuing, “I don’t—I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I don’t think I’ll ever deserve you and it scares me that you love me because I don’t want you to give anything to me that’s as precious and pure as you—as your heart. That’s fucking scary, Jungkook-ah. I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll be ready— when I’ll be ready.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook reaches out, a soft but somewhat calloused hand gentle on his cheek, “you don’t have to be ready. You don’t have to love me back. It’s ok, I said, yeah? We can still be ok, we can go back to—”

“But what if I wanna try?” Seokjin asks, voice so quiet he’s not even sure if it’s him. “I freaked out after we slept together because I thought you were turning into me. I thought you—you used me, you took from me as I took from all those poor, poor people, they—they deserve more than me. You deserve more than me. And I got scared. I thought it was gonna be like him again.” 

“Never,” Jungkook says quickly, shaking his head. “Hyung, I would never—”

“I like being loved by you,” Seokjin says, practically shaking. “That’s why I’m scared. I like it and I want to be able to love you back, but I don’t know how and maybe it’s not fair of me, but, but I wanna try, Jungkook-ah.” 

Jungkook’s just nodding, biting his bottom lip so hard that Seokjin wants to take it between his own instead, kiss away the worry sitting on it, but instead, he continues. 

“I’m selfish, Jungkook. I’m selfish and I’m impulsive and I’m an emotional fucking trainwreck, but I want you. I want to try with you because the past few weeks without you have been so fucking terrible and I didn’t realize it all until you were gone because everything comes easy with you. And maybe that’s why I’m so scared because I—it doesn’t feel like I need to let myself be loved by you. You broke down my stupid, fucking walls and you just—”

“I got you,” Jungkook somehow finishes for him, thumb caressing Seokjin’s cheek with such a tender touch that it’s almost startling. 

“Let me try to love you?” Seokjin’s asking now, like it’s some kind of final plea, even though Jungkook is already shaking his head yes. “Even though I was an asshole and I broke you and I projected my terrible fucking bullshit baggage on you—let me try?”

“Of course you can try,” Jungkook’s saying into his mouth now, lips pressed together slowly but hungrily, the two of them drinking each other in, because maybe they’re both selfish. “I’m in love with you, Seokjin hyung. Try anything and everything on me. Hit me with your best fucking shot.” Jungkook kisses him again, and now Seokjin knows he’s crying, but he doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed. “I’m not scared. And whatever bitchy demons that are lurking in your baggage—I’ll kick their ass for you, deal?”

Seokjin feels himself smile and he nods. “Deal.”

It’s only later that night, after the classy bar Hoseok wanted to go to, relearning the way they seem to always gravitate towards one another, whether that be the biggest or smallest of crowds, that they find themselves at Seokjin’s once more, alone, but together . The moon seeps into Seokjin’s window as Jungkook plays the prettiest of melodies he’s ever heard, drawing each note from Seokjin’s lips with each stroke of his hand, or brush of his lips, or swerve of his hips. 

It’s even later after that, when Jungkook cums, body pressed between Seokjin and the mattress that he whispers an I love you to the older, punctuating it with a kiss. And maybe Seokjin can’t say it back, not now, not yet, but neither of them mind, not now, not yet. 

Once even the moon starts to shy away again, sunlight replacing the Seoul sky instead, Seokjin can feel the tide pull away like it always does, except this time, he thinks he’s going to be ok. 

He thinks he could be happy. 

He thinks he could be satisfied. 

* * * 

The bed is empty when Seokjin wakes up, but it’s not cold,  not at all. The apartment’s warm nowadays, all of it, and Seokjin suspects it has something to do with the way it’s starting to smell and look more like Jungkook than anything else. 

It’s been nine months. 

Nine months since the charity concert, since the confession, since the crying, since Seokjin’s decided to try and learn to love. 

Lucky for him, Jungkook is a really excellent teacher. 

From the main room, Seokjin can hear the faintest of melodies that he’s grown to love now, one that he practically knows by heart, that’s engraved in there for an entire eternity probably. 

Sonata seventy. 

And Jungkook’s added a nice extended ending over these past nine months. He likes storytelling and he loves a happy ending. He had to make sure his song—no, Seokjin’s song— reflected that. The song rings happier now. 

Seokjin wanders out into the sun drenched living room, Duri sparing him a glance from where she’s curled up across Jungkook’s piano, the old one from his place, because he was here at Seokjin’s all the time and might as well make himself at home, especially when the newer one everyone pitched in to get him for his last birthday fit in so beautifully at his own apartment. Jungkook is wearing one of Seokjin’s sweaters, the size big enough even on his muscle-head of a boyfriend, the image making Seokjin’s heart swell four—no, maybe five sizes. 

“Hey, you,” Seokjin greets, voice still groggy with sleep, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s shoulders as he stands behind him. “You’re still playing my song.” 

“One of your songs,” Jungkook corrects him, because there’s seventy, and there’s sixty-nine, and Jungkook’s almost lost track but he thinks there’s at least fourteen more for Seokjin. 

Seokjin hums, leaning down to kiss the crown of Jungkook’s head, gentle. Something as gentle might’ve used to scare him; not so much anymore. Jungkook reaches up to squeeze Seokjin’s hands in his own and he feels content. 

“Mail came,” Jungkook says, reaching out for a postcard, holding it up for Seokjin. “Jiminie and Taehyungie hyung. They’re in Japan now. Honeymoon.” 

Seokjin smiles, flipping over the card that just reads:

miss you two. try not to out-marry couple the actual married couple while we’re gone. 

jimin & tae 

It makes Seokjin laugh, something else that would’ve definitely freaked him out had it been this time last year. He tosses it to the side, inserting himself between Jungkook and the white and black keys before him, slipping into his lap. Jungkook smiles, pleasantly surprised by the contact as his hands reach for Seokjin’s slim waist, holding him close. 

“You’re pretty,” Jungkook tells him, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Always been pretty.” 

“Genetics,” Seokjin clicks his tongue, however leaning in to properly kiss Jungkook. 

“Still pretty,” he says, still pressed against Seokjin’s plush lips, and smiles. “Hey, hyung.”

“Yes, baby.”

“I love you.” 

Seokjin kisses him again, slow and deep, like he’s trying to say it back that way. It used to be a habit of his; not saying the words out loud, but doing anything in return to get Jungkook to know he meant it back. 

He’s gotten better at breaking habits, though. 

“I love you more,” he says, lips still centimeters from Jungkook’s close enough to feel the way he’s smiling again. “I love you always.” 

“Good,” Jungkook says, almost smug. “You make me happy.”

“Good,” Seokjin repeats, prying himself off Jungkook’s lap, heading to the kitchen to get them started for wherever the day might take them. Over his shoulder he adds, “You make me happy, too.” 

He hears sonata seventy again and he smiles. 

He’s happy and he’s sure of it. 

He couldn’t be more satisfied if he tried.