Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Seokjin flopped onto the hotel bed with a dramatic sigh, phone already in his hand, FaceTime ringing before he even fully adjusted his pillow. He didn’t bother fixing his hair or turning off the harsh bedside light. He wanted to see Jungkook. Now.

The call connected on the third ring.

“Hi, hyung,” Jungkook answered with that boyish grin — freshly showered, hoodie falling off one shoulder, hair still wet and a little chaotic.

Seokjin groaned. “I miss you so much it physically hurts. Look at you being pretty on purpose.”

Jungkook laughed, leaning back into the couch cushion. “I literally just showered.”

“Exactly,” Seokjin pouted. “Fresh and clean and glowing like a drama lead. Meanwhile I’m here in Japan, in a hotel room that smells like dried ramen and soft Hobi sweat.”

Off-camera, Hoseok’s voice came faintly from the other bed: “Yah, I showered!”

Jungkook giggled, and Seokjin smiled instantly just hearing the sound. That sound could bring him back from anything.

“I wish you were here,” Seokjin murmured, gaze softening. “I want to cuddle and wrap myself around you like a scarf.”

Jungkook flushed a little and glanced sideways — likely because Namjoon was nearby, judging by the muted conversation in the background. “You’re so clingy, hyung.”

Seokjin beamed. “It’s a talent.”

There was a pause. Seokjin’s fingers toyed with the edge of his pillowcase. Jungkook looked at him like he didn’t want to blink.

“You doing okay over there?” Jungkook asked softly.

Seokjin nodded. “Better now. I missed your face. Missed your weird sleepy pout and the way you bite your straw when you’re thinking.”

“I missed you too,” Jungkook said, quiet and honest. “But I’ve been keeping busy. I had a couple meetings today. Some brand stuff.”

That perked Seokjin up immediately.

“Oh? What kind of brand stuff? Clothes? Skincare? Toothpaste? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to be the face of fabric softener — my dreams will come true.”

Jungkook laughed again. “Clothes, actually. Two meetings today. They’re sending samples for me to try on for the shoot and I—” He paused, then grinned again, boyishly excited. “I picked some things that reminded me of you. Soft knits. Pastels. There’s this cardigan that looks like one you wore last spring. I can’t wait to show you.”

Seokjin stared at him, utterly smitten.

“You’re the cutest human alive,” he said, very seriously. “You’re talented, charming, and too handsome for your own good. But then you go and say something like that and I want to cry.”

“Hyung—”

“I’m serious,” Seokjin said, turning on his side to cradle the phone like Jungkook was really there. “You’re out there doing brand deals and still thinking of me while picking cardigans. That’s boyfriend behavior. Peak. Supreme. Certified.”

Jungkook blushed again, nose scrunching.

“I just thought you’d like seeing me in them,” he mumbled. “And maybe… I’ll bring them when we see each other next week?”

Seokjin’s voice softened. “You better. I’m going to be a menace when I see you. You don’t even know.”

“Should I be scared?”

“Yes,” Seokjin said proudly. “I will attack you with love and cling to your back for at least three hours. Don’t plan meetings. I want to hang on to those new muscles!”

Off-screen, Hoseok sighed loudly. “He means it. He’s been clinging to me like a tree frog for three nights straight.”

Seokjin threw a pillow across the room. “You’re warm and smell like vanilla! Deal with it!”

Jungkook was laughing so hard now his screen shook.

“I’m glad Hobi hyung is with you,” he said once he calmed down. “At least I know someone’s taking care of you.”

“He is,” Seokjin admitted, quieter now. “But it’s not the same.”

Jungkook leaned in closer to the screen, like he wished he could reach through it. “A few more days.”

Seokjin nodded. “A few more days.”

They stayed like that for a while, not really talking, just existing together. Time zones didn’t matter when your heart knew exactly where it belonged.

_____

Jungkook ended the FaceTime call with a little sigh, the screen still glowing in his palm like he didn’t want to put it down. He stretched out on the couch, hair messy, cheeks pink from grinning for forty-five minutes straight.

Across the room, Yoongi was lounging in a beanbag chair, eyes flicking up from his phone. “So,” he drawled casually, “when are you gonna tell him?”

Jungkook blinked. “Tell who what?”

Yoongi gave him a look. “Don’t play dumb. When are you going to tell Seokjin what kind of projects you’ve been working on over here?”

From the kitchen, Jimin let out a whistle. “Oof. Yeah. The world’s not ready for that conversation.”

Jungkook sat up slowly. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Namjoon, who had just walked in with a protein bar, arched a brow. “You’re doing another underwear campaign. But this time with less clothes. You think Jin-hyung’s just gonna high-five you and move on?”

Jungkook went visibly pale. “It’s… it's tasteful!”

Yoongi snorted. “There’s a photo of you leaning against a wall in nothing but boxer briefs and tattoos.”

Jimin joined in, grinning as he grabbed a snack from the counter. “And one where you’re lying down, holding the waistband like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”

Jungkook groaned, flopping face-down into the cushion. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because,” Namjoon said, amused, “the campaign is artful, you look insane, and your stylist said it would break the internet. Which it will. Right after it breaks Jin-hyung’s soul.”

Jungkook turned his head, muffled by the couch. “Okay but—he’s gonna understand, right? He supports me. He’s proud of me.”

“He is proud of you,” Yoongi agreed. “But let’s be honest, Jeon. You just got off a call where he said I will attack you with love and cling to your back for three hours. You really think he’s gonna see a global billboard of you half-naked and be chill about it?”

Jimin laughed. “He’ll probably call the brand director personally and demand all the copies.”

“I just… I don’t want him to think I did it behind his back,” Jungkook mumbled, suddenly frowning. “It’s just work. But I don’t want him to be hurt.”

“He won’t be hurt,” Namjoon said gently, sitting beside him. “Maybe a little dramatic. Maybe a lot. But not hurt.”

Yoongi added, “He’ll probably just scold you and then buy six copies of the magazine to ‘burn in protest’ while secretly keeping one under his pillow.”

Jimin smirked. “Or he’ll show up in L.A., wearing your campaign hoodie, holding your favorite snacks, pretending he’s not mad while looking at you like you’re grounded from hugging rights until further notice.”

Jungkook groaned again, dragging a cushion over his face. “I should just tell him now.”

“Or,” Yoongi said lazily, “wait until he’s on the flight. That way he can’t yell too loud.”

Namjoon chuckled. “You’ve got time. Just... maybe brace yourself. And be very, very cute when you tell him.”

Jimin nodded. “Wear that soft yellow sweater. The one that makes you look like a boyfriend from a webtoon.”

Jungkook peeked out from under the cushion. “…You really think he’s gonna flip?”

All three just looked at him.

Jungkook sighed. “Okay. Yeah. He’s gonna flip.”

_____

Seokjin let out a pitiful sniffle and dramatically collapsed backward on the bed, a cold towel draped across his slightly puffy face.

“This,” he moaned, “is the end of me.”

“It’s a mild reaction,” Hoseok said, calmly flipping through Instagram while perched on the chair near the window. “You’re not dying, hyung.”

“I can’t breathe through my nose. My lip is swollen. I look like I got stung by a wasp during a photoshoot.”

“You still look handsome,” Hobi said absently, not looking up from his phone. Though, internally, he was sweating bullets — because just now, as Seokjin complained about his face, his chat with Jimin had served him a brand new teaser image of Jeon Jungkook, shirtless, smirking, wearing boxer briefs, with a caption that read: “Coming soon. Even less to hide.”

Hoseok slammed his phone screen-down onto his thigh.

Seokjin turned slowly. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” Hobi squeaked. “Just closing an app. Too many notifications. Social media is overwhelming. Let’s talk about something soothing, like… tea?”

Seokjin narrowed his eyes, the towel sliding down his cheek. “You’re acting weird.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You always offer me tea when you’re trying to cover something.”

“That’s slander. I am a consistent tea enthusiast.”

Seokjin huffed and rolled to his side, sulking into the pillow. “I just wanted a simple bowl of soup. Instead, I got betrayed by fish paste. My skin hates me, my manager banned me from the vending machine, and Jungkook hasn’t called in two days.”

“He’s been busy with meetings,” Hoseok said quickly.

“Are you sure?” Seokjin whined, muffled. “What if he’s sick? Or stressed? Or… or being flirted with by evil L.A. stylists who want to photograph his collarbones and ruin my life?”

Hobi smiled tightly. “Unthinkable. Everyone knows Jungkook only models his collarbones for you.”

Seokjin let out a weak groan. “I need to cuddle him. I need to hold his perfect little face in my hands and tell him he’s the most precious thing on Earth and that I will destroy anyone who looks at his waist for too long.”

“Totally reasonable behavior,” Hobi said, casually opening his chat with Jimin again and swiftly blocking the campaign’s account on Instagram from Seokjin’s profile with practiced fingers. “Absolutely nothing for you to worry about.” Seokjin didn’t check Instagram anyway.

“I bet he’s working on some cute project,” Seokjin sighed dreamily. “Like a sweater brand or bunny-print pajamas.”

“Sure,” Hobi said, nervously sipping bottled water. “Bunnies. So many bunnies.”

Seokjin sat up, puffy but determined. “When I get to L.A., I’m going to sneak into his room and just wrap around him like a scarf. He won’t even be able to walk. He’ll drag me along like a koala.”

“That’s adorable.”

“I’m going to tell him never to take his shirt off outside ever again. Have you seen his back now? His arms? All that is mine! And I haven’t had the time to appreciate it properly.”

Hoseok nodded slowly. “We should probably write that down as a contract.”

“Wait, you are acting weird.”

“No, I’m being supportive and hydrated.”

Seokjin squinted. “You're sweating.”

“It’s warm in here!”

“…Are you lying to me?”

“Absolutely not. You’re beautiful, even with a swollen cheek, and Jungkook loves you deeply and is definitely not currently doing anything half-naked or scandalous.”

Seokjin gasped. “What?”

“I said he’s definitely doing nothing scandalous!” Hobi waved his arms. “Let’s—let’s do a sheet mask. I brought the cucumber one! You love the cucumber one!”

Seokjin narrowed his eyes and slowly pulled the blanket over himself like a suspicious burrito. “You’re hiding something. I can feel it.”

Hoseok froze.

Then smiled.

Then said with a panic-tight voice: “I would never.”

And in that moment, Hoseok decided that until Seokjin got on that plane to L.A., Operation: Do Not Let Jin See the Billboard would remain in full force.

_____

Jungkook sat on the edge of the studio’s couch, shirt still unbuttoned from the shoot, a bottle of water untouched in his hand, staring blankly at the monitor where the stylists were reviewing the final shots.

"These are so clean," the creative director was saying. "The shadows, the lines—honestly, it's going to break social media."

Jungkook didn’t reply. He felt like throwing up.

Across the room, Jimin was scrolling through his phone while chewing on a protein bar, looking far too smug for someone who wasn’t the one being photographed in nothing but branded briefs and tattoos.

“You’re quiet,” Jimin teased, eyes not leaving his screen. “Normally you’d be hyped. This campaign’s going to make headlines.”

“I’m not quiet,” Jungkook muttered, visibly sweating. “I’m reflecting.”

“Oh, sorry. Reflecting,” Jimin said, putting on an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Reflecting on how Seokjin-hyung is going to crush you with a pillow and then cry because you didn’t tell him first?”

Jungkook dropped his head into his hands. “He’s already sick and allergic and moody.”

“I know,” Jimin said cheerfully. “Which means you’re launching this right into a storm.”

Jungkook groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you hate that I’m right.”

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. It was Hobi. Jungkook stared at the name for a second like it was a harbinger of doom before reluctantly answering. “Hyung?”

Hoseok’s voice was warm. Too warm.

“Hi, Jungkookie,” he said sweetly. “How’s my favorite bunny?”

Jungkook blinked. “...Good?”

“That’s great,” Hobi said, chipper as ever. “I just checked on Seokjin. He’s miserable, poor thing. Allergic reaction, missing you, very clingy. He asked if you were doing anything cute today.”

Jungkook looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“I—uh—photoshoot.”

“Oh, I know,” Hoseok said brightly. “The Calvin Klein one, right?”

Jungkook winced. “Hyung…”

“I just have one teeny-tiny, super innocent question,” Hobi said, voice sugar-coated. “When exactly were you planning to tell your boyfriend that you're dropping another underwear campaign? One that's… how do I say this nicely… less about the underwear and more about the abs?”

Jungkook covered the mic with his hand and hissed at Jimin, “He knows!”

Jimin nearly dropped his phone from laughing.

“Hyung, I was going to tell him,” Jungkook said quickly. “I swear. I just—he was feeling sick and—there wasn’t a good time—”

“You FaceTimed him for an hour a few days ago,” Hoseok replied flatly.

“I was distracted by his face! He looked so soft and pouty, and I panicked!”

“Well, you’ve got about 48 hours,” Hobi said calmly. “Because once this campaign drops, the first person who’s going to send it to him is Taehyung. And you know Taehyung doesn’t send warnings.”

“I’M GONNA DIE,” Jungkook yelled, jumping up.

“I’ll bring flowers to your funeral,” Jimin offered. “Should I put ‘death by thirst traps’ on the card?”

“I thought he’d think it was cool!” Jungkook pleaded. “It’s art! It’s lighting and concept and—okay, okay, it’s mostly abs and navel, but still!”

Hoseok was laughing now. “You’re adorable. And doomed.”

“I can explain everything,” Jungkook said, pacing. “I’ll make a slideshow. I’ll bake something. I’ll cry if I have to.”

“Record the crying,” Jimin said. “For content.”

Hoseok sighed affectionately. “Just… talk to him. Sooner rather than later. Or he’s gonna find out from a billboard in Harajuku and then I will be calling you from the emergency room.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “Okay. Okay. I’ll tell him.”

“Good.” Hobi paused. “Also… the first photos are insane. I hope you’re proud.”

Jungkook blinked. “Wait… you saw them?”

“I hid them from him, Jungkook. I had to check the threat level.”

“And?”

“Eleven out of ten. Immediate boyfriend rage expected. Godspeed, baby bun.”

Chapter Text

The video call had started normally.

Jungkook was all smiles, fresh from a shower, dressed in a hoodie two sizes too big, hair still damp at the ends.

Seokjin, on the other hand, was curled up under a blanket and a hoodie pulled over his swollen face, sipping hot water through a straw. He was tired and missed his boyfriend. He finished his concerts in Japan but was waiting for the allergy to go away before travelling.

“You look tired,” Jungkook said gently, rubbing his thumb over the screen like he could touch him. This was the first time since they found out about Seokjin’s allergies that Jungkook was not there to help with alleviating the symptoms. Really. Taehyung was right. Jungkook was so far gone for Seokjin.

“I am tired,” Seokjin sniffled. “I’m allergic, I can’t breathe, my face is puffed up, and Hobi won’t let me eat instant ramen. I’m miserable.” And he missed Jungkook, and his cuddles and their banter and their silly games and nice conversations at breakfast. Seokjin even had prepared a nice getaway for the two of them, but now he couldn’t even breathe properly.

“You’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Jungkook said without hesitation.

Seokjin groaned and buried his face in the blanket. “Don’t say things like that. I’ll cry.”

There was a pause.

Then Jungkook inhaled slowly. “Hyung… can I tell you something before someone else does?”

Seokjin peeked out suspiciously. “What did you do.”

Jungkook sat straighter. “So… remember that photoshoot I mentioned?”

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. “The one you said was ‘minimalist’?”

“Yeah, that one. It’s for… Calvin Klein again.”

Seokjin blinked.

“And it’s a little more…” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. “...focused on the product this time. The, uh… underwear. Specifically.”

Seokjin just stared.

Jungkook hesitated. “Like, really focused.”

More blinking.

Seokjin tilted his head slightly. “Like… focused how.”

“I’m shirtless in all of them,” Jungkook said quickly. “And there are shadows. And poses. And the stylist was very enthusiastic—”

Seokjin's face didn’t move. Not one muscle.

“Hyung?”

“Baby?”

Seokjin’s voice was eerily calm. “Okay.”

Jungkook froze. “Okay?”

“I have to hang up now.”

“…Wait—what?”

Seokjin was already tapping the screen. “I’m going to go now. I need to do something.”

And just like that, the call ended.

L.A. – Jungkook’s Side

“…Hyung?” Jungkook stared at the blank screen in horror. “Did he just hang up on me?”

From across the room, Jimin dropped his phone onto the couch. “Oh no. Oh no no no. He didn’t yell. He didn’t whine. He just disconnected. That’s not calm.”

Tokyo – Seokjin’s Side

Hoseok was sitting on the bed when Seokjin gently placed the phone face-down on the nightstand and stood up very quietly.

“…Hyung?” Hobi glanced over. “Everything okay?”

Seokjin, pale and expressionless, walked slowly to the bathroom without a word.

“Hyung?” Hoseok asked again.

The bathroom door clicked shut.

Then nothing.

Just silence.

Hoseok looked at the door with fear.

And then: a muffled sob.

Hoseok blinked. “Oh.”

Another sob, longer this time.

“Okay.”

Then came the unmistakable, heartbreaking sound of Seokjin’s breath hitching, followed by what could only be described as a dramatic slide to the floor.

“Oh no,” Hobi whispered, slowly rising and walking to the door. “Hyung… are you crying on the tiles?”

“Yes!” came Seokjin’s watery, outraged voice. “Because my boyfriend is going to be naked for the whole world!”

“…Technically not naked—”

“Virtually naked!” Seokjin sobbed harder. “He has tattoos and muscles and abs, and now they’re all going to be printed on glossy paper and hung on buses and billboards and probably Times Square! He’s my boyfriend! Why is he so beautiful?!”

Hobi pressed a hand over his mouth, half laughing, half pitying. “You knew this day would come.”

“I didn’t think it would come while I had a rash!”

He sniffled again, then whimpered, “He said it was minimalist. Minimalism means candles, white shirts, and kissing under a tree. Not abs and fabric tension.”

Outside the bathroom, Hobi was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, visibly torn between sympathy and wow, what a performance.

“Want me to bring you chocolate?”

“I want him to wear clothes!” Seokjin cried.

A pause.

Then softer: “I just… I miss him so much. And now he’s far away and hotter than ever and I’m bloated and red and miserable.”

Hoseok knelt by the door, his heart tugging in two directions — one full of fondness, and the other just aching for his hyung.

“You know he loves you,” he said gently. “He was terrified to tell you. He kept asking if you’d break up with him over a waistband ad.”

“Of course not!” Seokjin sobbed. “I’m going to marry him! But I’m still going to make him suffer first!”

Inside the bathroom, Seokjin’s face was blotchy, and the red from his allergic reaction was now nothing compared to the flush climbing up his neck.

Tears streamed down his face before he could even try to stop them.

“It’s just a campaign,” he whispered to himself. “Just… just a body. He has a beautiful body. Everyone knows that. I know that. I’ve kissed that body—WHY IS THE WORLD GONNA SEE IT—”

He hiccupped on his sob. “His collarbones are sacred! That waistband pose is illegal! Who let him—who styled him?!”

Hyung,” Hoseok called softly. “You okay in there?”

“No!”

“Want me to call Jungkook?”

“NO!”

“You gonna kill him?”

“NOT RIGHT NOW!”

Hoseok sighed, smiling despite himself. “You know it’s not his fault he looks like that.”

“I just wanted soup and cuddles,” Seokjin wailed. “Now I’m having an allergic reaction and emotional damage!”

“You love him.”

“I do!” Seokjin cried, full volume. “And now he’s gonna be NAKED on BILLBOARDS and I’m gonna have to PRETEND TO BE COOL while everyone stares at him and writes essays about his HIP LINES!”

Inside the bathroom, Seokjin sit on the floor, sniffling and wiping at his face with a damp towel. “This is betrayal. Hot betrayal.”

Hobi knocked gently. “Can I come in?”

“No. I’m grieving.”

“…for what?”

“My peace of mind. My fantasy life where Jungkook only models for me in private.”

Hobi pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m gonna marry him and then ban all campaigns,” Seokjin whispered. “Underwear is for private use only.”

_____

Tokyo, 10:47 PM
The bathroom door was now open, but only slightly. Seokjin had emerged from his self-imposed exile wrapped in a blanket like a sorrowful dumpling, eyes red and tragic, cheeks blotchy, and hair fluffed from towel-drying the emotional damage.

He stood in the middle of the hotel room, staring blankly out the window.

“Hyung?” Hoseok asked gently from the bed, not daring to approach.

Seokjin didn’t turn. “He’s going to be shirtless on a Times Square billboard, Hobi. Possibly on a moving screen. People will pause their commute to look at my boyfriend’s pelvis.”

Hoseok blinked. “That’s a very specific concern.”

“There will be essays,” Seokjin whispered, horror growing in his voice. “Fan edits. Slow motion. TikToks. Zoom-ins. Filters. Reaction videos.”

He turned, eyes glassy. “Do you know what happens in the comment sections of thirst posts?”

Hoseok got up and started making tea. “We’re gonna need a chamomile blend.”

L.A., same time

Jungkook sat curled on the couch in Namjoon’s suite, hoodie zipped to his chin, knees pulled to his chest. The TV was on, muted. His phone sat face down on the coffee table like it had betrayed him.

“He still hasn’t called back,” Jungkook muttered, voice hollow.

Namjoon sat next to him, arms crossed. “Well, yeah. You just told your very clingy, touch-starved boyfriend, who is sick and allergic and stuck in a foreign country, that you're doing another Calvin Klein campaign and this time you’re basically naked.”

Yoongi, on the opposite couch, was calmly sipping his coffee. “You’re lucky he didn’t reach through the phone and strangle you with a plushie.”

Jimin, perched on the armrest like a gremlin, grinned. “I give it two hours before he makes a private burner account to yell at fans in the comments.”

“Hyung would never do that,” Jungkook mumbled.

“He already has one,” Yoongi said.

Jungkook's head snapped up. “WHAT?”

Yoongi shrugged. “You think that 'KimSeokMood_94' account on Twitter that only likes posts calling you a prince and follows six bunny plushie shops is subtle?”

Jimin fell off the armrest from laughing. Namjoon covered his face with one hand.

Jungkook moaned into his knees. “He hung up. He never hangs up.”

“Did he text you at all?” Namjoon asked gently.

“…he sent a photo.”

Jimin leaned forward. “Of?”

Jungkook pulled out his phone, turned the screen, and showed them the picture: Seokjin in a blanket, sitting on the floor, crying next to a mug of soup. The caption just read: ‘Congratulations. I’m sobbing.’

Yoongi let out a sound halfway between a sigh and a snort. “Oh, he’s in peak drama mode.”

“He’s so professional on stage, but then look at him now,” Jimin wiped a tear from his eye. “This is better than Netflix.”

Namjoon, though visibly amused, rested a hand on Jungkook’s back. “In all seriousness… You should talk to him. Be real. He’s not mad you did the shoot. He’s just… overwhelmed. You’re his person. And he doesn’t want to share your body with 40 million people.”

Jungkook let out a breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just wanted to do something cool. I thought he’d be proud.”

“He is proud,” Jimin said, finally softening. “That’s why he’s crying so hard.”

Yoongi nodded. “He’ll forgive you.”

“Eventually,” Jimin added. “But first he’ll make you earn it. Probably with cuddles. And emotional reparation.”

“I should have know all the stress of the past year was going to make itself known the moment we were all back,” Jungkook whispered. “I’m a fool.”

Namjoon patted his back. “Well. At least you’re a very attractive fool.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook mumbled.

____

Tokyo – 2:06 AM

“I’m not being dramatic,” Seokjin said, voice trembling.

“You’re literally pacing in circles in a blanket with your hair sticking up like a dandelion,” Hobi replied gently. “You look like a ghost from a very dramatic webtoon.”

“That’s because I am a ghost!” Seokjin wailed, stopping mid-pacing to throw his arms up. “I’ve been haunted by betrayal!”

Hoseok sighed. “It’s not betrayal.”

“It is! Yoongi knew before me! Namjoon knew! Even JIMIN knew and he can’t keep a plant alive! And I’m here like a swollen marshmallow with soup rash and no serotonin!”

Seokjin plopped dramatically onto the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket tighter. His eyes were red. He looked tired. Beautiful still, but he couldn’t feel it. Not when the man he adored — the man who used to be his little secret — was about to be everybody’s fantasy.

“I just wanted to be the first to know,” Seokjin whispered. “I should’ve been the first. He’s mine. My boyfriend. My baby.”

Hoseok sat beside him, patient. “He didn’t hide it from you to hurt you.”

“I know that!” Seokjin wiped his nose angrily. “He probably thought I’d be proud. And I am! He’s so beautiful and good and strong and he’s gonna look so stupidly hot in that campaign, Hobi, I just know it—”

“Then why—”

“Because I can’t say it,” Seokjin snapped. “I can’t tell the world he’s mine. I can’t post a single thing. I can’t like a picture. I can’t even COMMENT without people digging it up. And they’re gonna drool over him and make edits of him and imagine touching him, and I have to sit here and be quiet because we’re a secret!”

Seokjin burst into tears again. “I’m sick and ugly and can’t even flirt with my own boyfriend in public!”

Hoseok handed him tissues. “Okay. That’s valid. A little dramatic, but very valid.”

L.A. – same time

Jungkook sat in the kitchen, still in his hoodie, fingers clenched around a mug of cold coffee. He stared at his phone like it might ring if he begged hard enough.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “He’s dramatic. He’s loud. He never stays quiet.”

“That’s why it’s bad,” Namjoon said from the couch, arms crossed. “He’s loud when he’s fine. He’s quiet when he’s actually hurt.”

Jungkook swallowed. “He’s never ignored me before. Never. Not once.”

Yoongi leaned against the counter, calm but firm. “It’s not about the campaign. It’s the first one all over again. You remember how long he sulked because he wasn’t warned? He never got over it.”

“I didn’t mean to keep it from him,” Jungkook said quickly. “I just… I had the meeting, the fittings, the concept approval — it all happened fast. I was going to tell him, but—”

“But you didn’t,” Namjoon said, not unkindly. “And now the entire world’s about to see you in nothing but Calvin Klein, and Seokjin’s stuck in a hotel room with a puffy face and a hoodie while everyone else drools over what he can’t touch.”

Jungkook looked up, guilt creeping in. “I never meant to make him feel like he doesn’t matter.”

“He knows that,” Yoongi said. “He’s not mad because you did it. He’s mad because he wasn’t the first to hear it from your mouth.”

Jungkook ran his hand through his hair. “He’s always been obsessed with the first campaign. I thought he was over it.”

“He pretends,” Namjoon said. “But it’s Jin. He doesn’t forget anything that bruises his heart.”

Tokyo – later that night

Hoseok tucked the extra blanket around Seokjin, who was lying face-down on the bed, still muttering into the pillow.

“…gonna change my name to Ghost Boyfriend… no more touching… maybe I’ll become a monk…”

“You could still be a hot monk,” Hobi said supportively.

Seokjin sniffled. “You think he’ll even want to touch me when he’s got half the world saying they’d die for his jawline?”

“He literally said in that interview last month that the only person who makes him nervous is you.”

Seokjin froze.

“Wait. Really?”

“Page 3. Go read it,” Hobi said gently. “He didn’t say your name. But we knew.”

Seokjin was quiet.

Then, small: “I miss him.”

“I know,” Hobi said. “And he misses you too.”

Chapter Text

Tokyo – 9:36 AM

The hotel suite was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows with panoramic views of Tokyo’s skyline, high-thread-count sheets, a private balcony overlooking a serene garden.

And Seokjin hated all of it.

He sat curled in a robe on the velvet couch, eyes glassy, nose stuffy, skin pink and still slightly inflamed. A tray sat in front of him on the table, untouched. It held exactly what the hotel kitchen was allowed to serve him: plain white rice, steamed chicken breast, and boiled zucchini with no seasoning.

It looked like sadness in edible form.

“I can’t even eat soup,” Seokjin muttered bitterly. “Soup, Hobi. Soup.”

Hoseok, sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, didn’t know what to say. He just handed Seokjin a cool towel for his neck and reached for the antihistamine bottle. “You’re not supposed to eat anything strong until the swelling goes down.”

“I’m going to fade away,” Seokjin said dramatically. “My body will disappear. Only my heartbreak and cheek puffiness will remain.”

“Your face is still beautiful,” Hobi offered gently.

“I have the complexion of a dying jellyfish,” Seokjin replied without blinking. “And my boyfriend is about to be naked in front of the entire world while I’m stuck in Japan like an allergic Victorian ghost.”

Hobi tried — he really did — not to laugh.

Seokjin pointed at him with a limp rice stick. “Don’t laugh at my pain.”

“I’m not. I’m just… okay, maybe a little. You’re very poetic when you suffer.”

“I’m serious.” Seokjin looked at the ceiling, voice trembling. “I miss him. I miss him so much. And I feel like a peeled potato. And I can’t fly because my face is swollen, and the doctors said the cabin pressure might aggravate the reaction. I am literally banned from seeing my boyfriend while everyone else is allowed to see everything.”

He paused.

“EVERYTHING, Jung Ho-seok.”

“I’m aware,” Hobi said, eyes wide with compassion. “The teaser was released.”

Seokjin clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “Was it worse than I imagined?”

Hoseok hesitated.

“…He was… glowing.”

Seokjin moaned and slid off the couch onto the carpet. “I have to lay down.”

“You’re already laying down.”

“J-Hope!”

Later – same day

Seokjin sat on the bed, hoodie over his head, sunglasses on inside. The blinds were shut tight to protect his skin. He was dramatically spooning plain rice into his mouth while watching a muted cartoon on the hotel TV.

“Hyung,” Hobi said gently from across the room, “you’re starting to worry me.”

“You should be worried,” Seokjin muttered. “I’m emotionally compromised. My nutrients are gone. My rights are gone. My boyfriend’s nipples are going viral.”

“…Technically, they are,” Hobi whispered.

Seokjin let out a strangled sound.

“I can’t go outside. I can’t wear makeup. I can’t even touch sunlight. But sure, let’s all zoom in on Jungkookie’s hip bones.”

Hoseok approached carefully, placing a hand on Seokjin’s arm. “He misses you. He’s freaking out.”

“He should be,” Seokjin said, lips quivering. “I’m fragile when I’m sad. And I’m never sad.”

Hobi chuckled, brushing Seokjin’s hair gently back from his forehead. “You’re always so much, hyung.”

Seokjin didn’t answer — he just leaned into the touch like a child, letting Hobi stroke his hair while he tried very hard not to cry again.

_____

Tokyo — Hobi Calls Yoongi

Hoseok tapped Seokjin’s video door button and slipped into the hallway. He dialed Yoongi, his face tense.

“Hey,” Yoongi greeted, brow furrowed.

“Hyung, I’m really worried,” Hobi said softly. “Seokjin’s allergic reaction… It’s not improving.”

He held up his phone camera — Seokjin was curled thinly under layers of blankets, face still reddish and puffy, eating bland boiled chicken and plain rice while peering out at rain-gray cityscape.

“He hasn’t left the hotel,” Hoseok explained. “The doctors are still forbidding travel. Any sun exposure could aggravate it — we’re talking a red, itchy rash, possibly blisters or hives — classic photoallergy or solar urticaria if it even hits that level.”

“He’s subsisting on rice and bland chicken because eating anything heavier could trigger swelling or GI upset,” Hobi added. “The hotel kitchen’s cooperating, but it’s basically hospital-level bland.”

Yoongi’s face tightened. “And the doctors okay flying?”

“Not until the reaction subsides,” Hobi confirmed. “His system is fragile — they said even cabin pressure changes or UV in the sun could flare it further. They want him stable for at least ten days before travel.”

“Now I feel bad,” Yoongi said with remorse. “I thought it was just part of his drama.”

“No, he was having a great time with his tour.” Hoseok laughed sadly. “But now he is sick and miserable. The photoshoot was just bad timing.”

L.A. — Jungkook Checks In

Jungkook paced in the apartment, hoodie still on. His phone buzzed. He answered immediately.

“Hobi-hyung?”

“Jungkook... yeah,” Hoseok replied. “He’s being looked after. You’re not shouting into a void.”

“Is he okay?” Jungkook’s voice trembled.

“He’s just… very sick, and emotional,” Hobi said gently. “He’s overdramatic, but valid. Physically underfed. Emotionally overwhelmed.”

Jungkook’s shoulders slumped. “Can anyone touch him? Hug him?”

“I’m with him most of the time,” Hobi said. “He eats in the room. He’s safe but hurting. The medicine doesn’t seem to be working.”

Housemates React: L.A.

Namjoon and Jimin both listened while giving Jungkook space.

Namjoon sighed. “Yoongi says this isn’t about the campaign. He knows you didn’t hide it to hurt him.”

Yoongi spoke up: “It’s the shock of finding out secondhand. And the allergic reaction. And being confined to the hotel room. He’s feeling frustrated.”

“I don’t think he’s mad. Just sad and lonely.” Jungkook sat down heavily. “We were supposed to be cuddling in a nice village in Portugal after the last concert in Japan.”

Jimin reached across and held his hand. “Hyung’s favorite brand is honesty. You’ll fix this by reminding him that he makes you feel safe, and he’s important to you.”

Yoongi nodded. “Tell him you’re proud of him. But also you’re sorry he felt abandoned.

Back in Tokyo — Seokjin’s Room

Seokjin lay in near darkness. He had draped blackout curtains as strongly as hotel staff allowed. He stared at a tray of plain rice and chicken on a low table.

He texted Jungkook further down:

Seokjin: I feel so weak. And invisible. I can’t even tell anyone you’re mine. Everyone else is going to see everything first.

He stared at the draft text box, tears pooling again. He couldn’t bring himself to send it.

Hobi brought him water and gently stroked his hair.

“He loves you,” Hobi reassured him. “You’re his everything.”

Seokjin didn’t respond — but he closed his eyes, drank the water and went to sleep.

_____

Tokyo – 10:02 PM

The phone buzzed again.

Seokjin didn’t move.

It had been buzzing on and off for hours — all day, really. Messages, calls, voicemails. Most from Jungkook. Some from Namjoon. One from Taehyung that said simply:

“You ignoring him is breaking him, hyung. Just... let him see you. Please.”

Seokjin pulled the blanket tighter around himself, curled up in the bed with his face half-buried into the pillow. His skin was still pink and sensitive. He felt swollen, tired, raw.

He didn’t want to be seen like this. Not by anyone — and especially not by Jungkook.

Hoseok knocked gently before entering the room. He sat at the foot of the bed with quiet movements, waiting until Seokjin peeked one eye open.

“Another call,” Hobi said softly. “He left you a voicemail. I didn’t listen to it.”

Seokjin swallowed thickly, voice barely audible. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I don’t want him to see me like this.”

Hoseok frowned gently. “Like what?”

Seokjin turned away. “Bloated. Ugly. Gross. I haven’t eaten anything except wet chicken and sticky rice in three days. I look like I got dragged through an allergy test and lost.”

“You look tired,” Hobi agreed softly, “and puffy. But still like yourself.”

Seokjin’s voice cracked. “I’m nauseous. I’m greasy. I feel like if I see his face, I’ll fall apart.”

“He’s not calling because he expects you to be perfect,” Hobi said. “He’s calling because he loves you.”

Seokjin bit his lip.

“I just...” His voice trembled. “I don’t want the first time he sees me after that campaign teaser to be like this. I’m supposed to be the one who makes him flustered, who looks good on camera. Not someone hiding from sunlight and crying into steamed vegetables.”

Hoseok smiled sadly. “Do you really think he sees you that way?”

“I know he doesn’t. But I do. And it’s worse.”

There was a long silence between them.

Then Hobi leaned forward, resting his hand on Seokjin’s blanket-covered shoulder. “He thinks you’re the most beautiful person on earth, Jin. Sick, tired, crying — doesn’t matter. He’ll find you perfect even when you’re yelling at the sky and throwing rice at my head.”

That earned a tiny snort from Seokjin, weak and watery.

“Talk to him,” Hobi said. “Let him see your face. Even for a minute. It’s not about what you look like. It’s about you letting him in.”

Seokjin blinked, tears threatening again.

“I’m just scared,” he admitted.

“I know,” Hobi said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “But he’s been scared all day too. And you’re both too in love to keep doing this.”

Meanwhile — L.A. – 7:12 AM

Jungkook sat on the floor, knees drawn to his chest, hoodie sleeves covering his hands. His phone was plugged in, screen on, fingers hovering over the dial for the fiftieth time that night.

He hadn’t slept. His eyes were puffy. He’d stopped counting how many times he whispered, “Please just answer.”

He opened his messages again and typed:

Kook: Hyung, it doesn’t matter how you look.
Kook: I miss your eyes. Your voice. Your sleepy face.
Kook: You always said I was handsome when I had food on my chin.
Kook: I love you. Even with rice stuck to your lips.

He hovered, then added:

Kook: Please. Just let me see you.

He didn’t send it yet.

He just stared at the screen, heart in his throat, waiting — hoping — that maybe, finally, the call would go through from the other side.

_____

The call connected before Seokjin could change his mind.

Jungkook’s face appeared instantly — close to the camera, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat.

“Hyung.”

Seokjin sat hunched under the covers, hoodie pulled up, the hotel room dim behind him. His face was flushed and puffy, lips slightly dry, and his eyes already glossy.

Jungkook froze for a heartbeat.

He hadn’t expected Seokjin to look so… small.

Pale under the rash. Fragile skin. Like the wind might knock him over. Like he hadn’t eaten anything that tasted like joy in days.

But Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t let the worry show on his face. He smiled gently instead — the way Seokjin always did for him when he was sick or scared.

“You answered,” Jungkook whispered.

Seokjin gave a tiny nod.

“You don’t have to say anything yet,” Jungkook added quickly. “Just let me look at you for a second.”

Seokjin blinked hard. His eyes kept bouncing between the camera and the floor, like he didn’t feel worthy of being seen.

Jungkook swallowed and sat up straighter. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice trembling. “I didn’t tell you right away. I thought it would be a fun surprise — I didn’t think... I didn’t think it would feel like a betrayal.”

Seokjin’s lips wobbled.

“I’m so proud of it,” Jungkook continued. “But it means nothing if it made you feel small. Or left out. Or... not first.”

Seokjin stared at him for a long second, then said softly, “You’re so perfect.”

Jungkook blinked. “What?”

“You’re so perfect and beautiful,” Seokjin repeated, voice cracking. “You looked so good. I should be happy. I should be cheering. But I’m sitting here feeling ugly and bloated and gross, and I just—”

He broke.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he clutched the blanket to his chest.

“I just wanted to enjoy my perfect boyfriend in underwear. Mine. Not share him with the internet. Not watch while the world zooms in and writes threads and thirsts and calls you theirs while I’m stuck in a stupid hotel, swollen, eating bland rice and not even allowed to have kimchi!”

Jungkook’s heart shattered.

“Oh, hyung...” he whispered.

“I feel like a wreck,” Seokjin sobbed. “And you’re out there being a Calvin Klein god, and I can’t even kiss you or tell anyone you're mine. I have to pretend I don’t care while you look like that and I’m... I’m not even allowed in the sun.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook said again, eyes filled with tears now, “you are mine. You’ve always been mine. Before the campaign. After the campaign. Behind every single camera. You’re not some secret. You’re my home. And we’ll get all the sun you want, using all the skin protection of course, after the doctors allow it.”

Seokjin sniffled loudly, eyes glassy and raw.

“And I’m sorry,” Jungkook said, hand pressed against his chest. “For not letting you in first. For not telling you before the others. You deserve to be the first to know everything I do, everything I dream. Because I want you to be proud first.”

“You’re so stupid,” Seokjin whispered, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” Jungkook said without hesitation. “Even puffy. Even sick. Even without kimchi.”

That earned the tiniest laugh through the tears. “I hate this hotel.”

“Me too.”

“I’m not even allowed to go outside.”

“I’ll send you a sun lamp,” Jungkook offered gently.

Seokjin looked at him with red, wet eyes. “Will you still like me when I look like an allergic peach forever?”

“I’ll like you more.”

Seokjin blinked. “I’m still mad.”

“You can be.”

“I’m going to make you pay when I’m back.”

“I look forward to it,” Jungkook smiled, eyes full of nothing but love. “But until then... can I just look at you for a little longer?”

Seokjin nodded. “Yeah. Just... don’t look too hard.”

“I’ll only look the way I always do,” Jungkook whispered. “Like you’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. “And they call me dramatic.”

Chapter Text

Tokyo – 8:42 PM

“Are you sure you’re ready to look?” Hoseok asked gently, hovering by the bed, holding Seokjin’s phone like it was a cursed object.

“I’m never going to be ready,” Seokjin muttered, voice nasal and tired. “But if the rest of the planet has seen my boyfriend’s abs, thighs, hipbones and possibly soul already, I might as well join them.”

He took the phone from Hobi with trembling fingers, already bracing himself, teeth biting down on his lower lip.

Hoseok sat beside him, watching with the caution of a nurse and the dread of a friend who knew Seokjin was made of equal parts fragility and volcanic emotions.

The first image loaded.

Seokjin blinked.

“Oh.”

A second one.
Then a third.
Then the teaser video.

Jungkook leaned against a wall, just a sliver of fabric around his waist. Light hitting his muscles like they were sculpted. His tattoos. His arms. The shadows. His expression — soft, powerful, unapologetic.

Seokjin stared.

“We’re Koreans, Hobi!” He gasped. “It’s that even allowed in Korea!!!?”

“He’s... he’s ridiculous,” he continued.

“I know,” Hoseok said.

“His shoulders—” Seokjin choked. “They’re... it’s that even legal?”

Hoseok smiled faintly.

Seokjin kept scrolling — slowly, reverently. His hand clutched the edge of the blanket. His expression was unreadable: a mess of awe, jealousy, pain, desire, and heartbreak.

“My baby looks so good,” he whispered, voice cracking. “So confident. He’s glowing. He’s glowing and I’m here eating rice like a prisoner.”

Hoseok opened his mouth to offer comfort, but Seokjin kept going.

“He looks strong,” Seokjin said, blinking back tears. “Like everything he ever wanted to be. And he did it. He really did it. And I’m so—”

He hiccupped.

“I’m so proud of him I want to scream,” he whispered. “But I also want to wrap him in a coat and yell MINE at every person in the comments who said they'd sell their soul for five seconds with his thighs!”

Hoseok’s smile faded. “Hyung...”

“I should be there,” Seokjin continued, breath becoming shallower. “I should be the one helping him change outfits and telling him he looks too sexy and wiping his sweat and—”

Suddenly, Seokjin stopped.

His hand trembled.

“Hyung?” Hobi leaned forward.

Seokjin’s head dropped slightly.

“I’m... dizzy.”

“Okay,” Hobi said, instantly serious. “Lay back.”

Seokjin did — barely. He slumped against the pillows, lips pale now, eyelids heavy.

Hobi felt his forehead.

Warm.

Too warm.

“Damn it,” Hobi muttered, standing immediately. “Your fever’s back.”

“I was just... overwhelmed,” Seokjin whispered weakly. “It’s just… too much. I love him so much it hurts.”

“I know. Don’t talk,” Hoseok said, already grabbing a cold compress and wet towel from the minibar fridge. “We’re done with photos. You’re overheating from stress.”

Seokjin let out a quiet sound — somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Can you die from loving someone too much?”

“Apparently it gives you a rash, a fever, dizziness, and emotional monologues,” Hobi muttered. “So yes. Now shh.”

He placed the cool cloth gently against Seokjin’s neck, brushing hair from his forehead.

“I can’t stop thinking about everyone seeing him like that,” Seokjin whispered. “It was supposed to be mine.”

Hoseok sat beside him again, voice calm but firm. “And it still is. The world sees a photoshoot. You see the person. The soft Kook who cries during puppy videos and kisses your wrist for no reason.”

Seokjin closed his eyes.

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

“And I feel... so gross.”

“You’re not,” Hobi said gently. “You’re not. You’re just in love. And very, very allergic.”

_____

Back in L.A

“You man really caused a global emergency,” Taehyung said, sipping iced tea with entirely too much satisfaction. “I’ve never seen this many fan edits of abs since Namjoon’s accidental shirtless live in 2018.”

Namjoon looked up from his tablet, deadpan. “That was not accidental.”

Jimin laughed. “What was accidental was Jungkook breaking the internet and his boyfriend’s sense of peace in one campaign drop.”

Jungkook groaned and slumped forward on the table, face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to cause a breakdown. I just wanted to look cool…”

“You do look cool,” Jimin said. “Like, suspiciously cool.”

“Dangerously,” Taehyung added. “I showed the teaser to a stylist on my flight. She gasped and dropped her iPad.”

Yoongi snorted. “It’s the waistband shot. That’s the one that pushed Seokjin-hyung over the edge.”

Jungkook looked up, worry creeping back into his eyes. “He hasn’t been able to eat anything but rice and chicken in days. His fever spiked last night again. Hobi said even walking to the bathroom made him dizzy.”

Everyone sobered a little.

Taehyung leaned forward, voice softer. “He’s still inflamed?”

Jungkook nodded. “His skin’s too sensitive. The doctor says flying’s risky until his system settles.”

Taehyung set his drink down and stood up dramatically. “Okay. If he’s still sick tomorrow, I’m buying us tickets to Tokyo.”

Namjoon groaned. “Taehyung, don’t give Jungkook ideas.”

Jungkook blinked, then shrugged. “Too late. I’m already planning to go in two days if he’s not better.”

“Of course you are,” Namjoon muttered.

“He needs me,” Jungkook said quietly. “Even just to hold him while he eats sad boiled zucchini.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “If anyone’s being held hostage, it’s Hobi. That man’s been trapped in a hotel room for a week with a sick, clingy, betrayed Seokjin and no spicy food.”

Jimin gasped. “No kimchi. No garlic. No ramen. No sun.”

“We’re not sending help for Jin,” Yoongi said. “We’re sending help for Hoseok.”

Namjoon gave in with a sigh. “Fine. If the doctors still say no travel for Seokjin by the end of the week, we’ll all go. As an emotional support unit.”

Jungkook smiled for the first time in hours — small but genuine. “He’ll be happy. Even if he yells at me for being too handsome in person.”

Taehyung nodded solemnly. “He will. But it’s okay. We’ll let him cry. And then we’ll feed him illegal kimchi in the dark.”

_____

Tokyo – 6:14 AM

Seokjin was curled into himself on the hotel bed, the sheets twisted around his legs, his face flushed with fever and blotchy from crying. A shallow bowl sat on the nightstand — half-filled with cloudy water and remnants of the soup he had thrown up twenty minutes earlier.

The doctor stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded, voice low but serious.

“He’s still dehydrated. He has a fever of 39.5°C, nausea, rash, dizziness, vomiting, and now chills. His immune response isn’t regulating,” she said in Japanese, calm but firm. “He needs to be admitted. This is no longer mild.”

“No,” Seokjin mumbled from the bed, breath shaky. “No hospital. I don’t want to go. Please.”

His lips trembled as he spoke, eyes glassy and full of dread. “I don’t want to be alone in a cold room. I don’t want strangers checking on me. I just want to go home.”

Hobi knelt beside the bed and took Seokjin’s hand. “Hyung, you’re really sick. You’re not getting better.”

“Hobi, I’m scared,” Seokjin whispered. “I know it’s just garlic, but it’s getting worse. Why is it worse?”

“I don’t know,” Hobi said honestly, brushing damp strands from Seokjin’s face. “But we’re going to take care of it.”

He turned to the doctor, pleading in quiet Japanese. “Can we try IV fluids here? Please. Just a few hours. He’s terrified of hospitals.”

The doctor sighed. “Fine. But if he doesn’t respond within twelve hours, we’re calling an ambulance.”

“I understand,” Hobi said. “Thank you.”

They began setting up the IV. Seokjin flinched when the needle slid into his arm but didn’t say anything. He just stared at the ceiling, silent tears sliding down the sides of his face. He was exhausted.

7:02 AM – Text from Hobi to Yoongi

Hobi: hyung. he’s not doing good.
Hobi: he’s really not.
Hobi: fever won’t break. vomiting. dizzy. rash spreading.
Hobi: the doctor says it’s not responding to treatment
Hobi: it was just garlic in the soup. that’s all.
Hobi: now they’re talking about hospitalization
Hobi: I’m scared.

Yoongi – L.A. – reading the texts

Yoongi stood frozen in the middle of the hotel lobby, phone in hand.

Namjoon had just returned from the gym, and Jimin was wiping his face with a towel when they both noticed the look on Yoongi’s face.

“What happened?” Namjoon asked immediately.

Yoongi slowly looked up. “It’s bad.”

_____

L.A. – Late Morning

“Okay,” Taehyung said, flopping onto the couch, phone in hand. “I love Jungkook, but I will never emotionally recover from seeing the waistband pic next to a comment that said ‘path to heaven.’”

Jimin snorted. “Did you see the edit where someone put angel wings on him and said, ‘God’s strongest soldier’?”

“I saw one where someone compared his thighs to Greek architecture,” Taehyung added. “The disrespect to Seokjin-hyung is insane. If he weren’t sick, he’d be in court.”

Jimin nodded. “With a pink binder of screenshots and a monologue.”

Across the hallway, Jungkook was in his room, zipping up a black duffel bag. Headphones unplugged. Laptop closed. Passport already in the side pocket.

He didn’t even flinch when Yoongi walked in.

“Hyung,” Jungkook said without looking up, “my flight leaves in four hours. I’ve got layover options if needed. I’ll land in Tokyo by tomorrow morning—”

Yoongi stepped forward, voice calm. “Jungkook.”

The maknae finally looked up.

Yoongi met his eyes. “He’s not doing better. He might be hospitalized.”

Jungkook went still. “What?”

“Fever, nausea, vomiting, rash. He’s on an IV right now. The doctor’s giving him hours to respond or he’s being transferred.”

Jungkook’s lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he looked like a breath had been knocked out of him. “He… didn’t say that. He said he was just tired.”

“It’s confusing. Nobody understands why he’s not getting better.”

Namjoon appeared in the doorway just in time to see Jungkook’s face go pale. The leader has been dealing with their families and the company since all this started. He has barely rested.

Jungkook exhaled shakily, then zipped his bag shut in one fast motion. “I’m going.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to say something, but—

“I knew I should’ve booked the early flight,” came Taehyung’s voice as he entered the room dramatically, tossing on sunglasses like they were part of a war strategy. “Jimin-ah, you ready?”

Jimin walked in pulling his carry-on behind him. “I packed while Jungkook was zipping his bag. Let's go.”

Namjoon stared. “What—what is happening right now?” He needed coffee and sleep. Please, he wanted to sleep.

Taehyung tilted his head. “We’re going to Tokyo.”

“Why?!” Namjoon asked, bewildered. “You didn’t even ask.” This was a new crisis about to happen. Seriously, he can already picture all the media going crazy.

Jimin shrugged. “Hyung’s sick. Jungkook’s a mess. Hobi’s trapped. It’s obvious.”

“Guys, we need to be careful about—”

“We’ll sue the media then,” Taehyung said, already checking his airline app. “Japan needs us more.”

Yoongi stood beside Namjoon and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the leader, Joon. But Seokjin has that effect on people.”

“Meaning?”

Yoongi smirked. “Meaning either we all go with Jungkook and keep him calm… or we stay and risk a full-blown K-pop scandal when he breaks into the hospital sobbing in a hoodie and causes a national incident.”

Namjoon sighed and rubbed his temples.

“I hate that you’re right.”

“I always am,” Yoongi muttered. “Now pack. And bring vitamins. You know Jin’s gonna cry on all of us.”

Chapter Text

11 hours later – Tokyo

They passed through immigration like ghosts.

No screaming fans. No flashes. No chaos. Just four tired men in oversized hoodies, face masks, caps pulled low.

Somehow — either through luck, prayers, or sheer exhaustion — nobody noticed that BTS just landed in Japan.

And Jungkook didn’t even care.

His hands were clenched into fists in the sleeves of his hoodie, his eyes darting toward the arrival doors like Seokjin might magically appear to meet him.

“He’s not here,” Jimin said softly. “He’s still in the hotel. Still on fluids.”

Jungkook nodded but didn’t speak.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Taehyung added, reaching over and gently bumping Jungkook’s shoulder. “He’s gonna see you and start crying and cling to you like a baby otter. You know how he gets.”

“He hasn’t texted me in five hours,” Jungkook murmured.

“He’s probably sleeping,” Jimin said.

“Or avoiding me.”

“Stop,” Taehyung said firmly. “He wants you. That’s why you’re here.”

A few meters behind them

Yoongi’s phone vibrated non-stop. He read another message, sighed, and passed it to Namjoon without a word.

Namjoon blinked.

[Manager Cha] :

“WHERE ARE YOU.”
“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DRAGGED 4/7 OF BTS TO JAPAN UNANNOUNCED—”
“WHY IS JIMIN IN JAPAN”
“WHY IS TAEHYUNG IN JAPAN”
“WHY IS THE INTERN CRYING”
“I’M GONNA GET A HEART ATTACK”

Namjoon scrolled again and whispered, “...she found out we used the company card.”

Yoongi laughed. “We’re gonna die.”

“Not if we hide in the hotel room with Seokjin,” Namjoon said. “They wouldn’t dare yell at us in front of a sick person.”

Hotel Car — On the Way

Jungkook sat between Jimin and Taehyung in the back seat. He hadn’t stopped bouncing his leg since the van left the airport.

“He asked for me, right?” Jungkook finally whispered.

“Yes,” Jimin said instantly. “Hobi said he mumbled your name three times in his sleep.”

“‘My perfect Kookie,’” Taehyung quoted with a sniffle. “It was very romantic and gross.”

Jungkook bit his lip and blinked rapidly.

“I just want to hold him,” he said softly. “I don’t care how he looks. I don’t care if he’s bloated or covered in hives. I just want to be where he is.”

Jimin reached over and laced his fingers with Jungkook’s. “You’re almost there.”

_____

Tokyo hotel

The suite was large, elegant, quiet — but half the room looked like an improvised clinic run by worried Korean mothers.

Bags of ginger, dried jujube, seaweed tea, barley powder, tangerines, honey sticks, steamed pears in glass containers, and packets of traditional cold medicine covered every surface.

Yoongi blinked as he set down his bag. “...Did all of this come from our moms?”

“Mine sent the seaweed,” Jimin said proudly. “She said it’s for post-fever digestion.”

“Mine sent the yuzu tea,” Taehyung said. “She labeled it ‘for emotional trauma.’”

Namjoon was already trying to move three humidifiers out of the walking path. “They’re more prepared than the entire Ministry of Health.”

In the next room, Jungkook didn’t pause.

He kicked off his shoes quietly, pulled on a soft hoodie and sweatpants, and stepped barefoot into Seokjin’s room with his heart pounding like a drum.

The lights were dim. The curtains drawn. And in the center of the massive bed was Seokjin — bundled in blankets, IV still attached, cheeks flushed with fever, his lips parted in sleep.

Hoseok looked up immediately, eyes wide with relief. He rose from the bedside chair, rubbing his eyes.

“Thank God,” he whispered. “I thought you’d take another twelve hours. You got through the airport okay?”

“No one saw us,” Jungkook murmured. His gaze didn’t leave Seokjin. “How is he?”

“Stable for now,” Hobi said gently. “Fever’s still too high. He’s weak. Still can’t eat solids. But the nausea’s eased, and his breathing’s okay.”

Jungkook nodded once and walked over — like he needed to cross the space between them. He knelt on the side of the bed, eyes soft, voice barely above breath.

“Hyung,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

Seokjin stirred, frowning slightly in his sleep.

Then, as if his body knew before his brain did, he turned toward Jungkook and reached out, blindly, clumsily — a slow-motion movement with one hand trembling toward the familiar presence.

Jungkook leaned in.

Seokjin’s arms wrapped around his middle, pulling him closer. “...Kookie…”

The word came out broken. Sleepy. Fevered. But warm.

Jungkook melted. His arms went around Seokjin’s shoulders instantly, holding him gently but fully.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, voice shaking. “I’m not leaving.”

From the doorway, the others stood frozen.

Namjoon quietly pulled Yoongi back by the sleeve. “Let’s give them space.”

Yoongi nodded and closed the door behind them.

_____

Midnight – Seokjin’s Bedroom

Jungkook hadn’t moved in hours.

He was lying on top of the blanket, one arm gently cradling Seokjin’s upper body while the other hand stroked his hair in slow, steady lines. The IV bag dripped silently beside them. Seokjin’s fever was still too high, but he’d stopped trembling.

Jungkook’s eyes were open, wide and tired, gazing at Seokjin’s face like it was the only thing he could focus on.

His boyfriend looked pale. Puffy around the eyes. His lips were dry and cracked, and his breathing shallow. Still beautiful, but in that fragile, heartbreaking way.

Jungkook pressed a featherlight kiss to Seokjin’s temple. “I’m right here.”

Hotel Lounge – A Very Needed Breakdown

Meanwhile, in the sitting room just outside, Hoseok was cocooned in a blanket, his hair a mess, his eyes slightly red, and a hot compress resting on his shoulder, courtesy of Jimin.

Taehyung had made tea. Jimin brought snacks. Yoongi handed him a protein bar. Namjoon was refilling a water bottle.

“I feel like I’ve been a single parent during flu season,” Hobi muttered into the blanket.

“Correction,” Jimin said, carefully adjusting Hobi’s compress, “you’ve been a single parent to a rich, dramatic, suspiciously good-looking man-child during a dramatic allergic crisis.”

“And he cried watching Jungkook’s campaign teaser,” Taehyung added. “Like—ugly cried. Twice.”

“I had to lie,” Hobi said, eyes wide with mock guilt. “I told him the teaser wasn’t out yet. I told him I hadn’t seen it. I told him everyone in L.A. was too busy to watch it. I—I even unplugged the TV.”

Yoongi choked. “You unplugged the TV?”

“He was sniffling in the bed saying, ‘What if everyone sees his abs before me? What if the world finds out his thighs are better than ever?’” Hobi mimicked, clutching the blanket. “And I’m standing there with his puke bowl like—sir, I am trying to save your organs.”

Namjoon rubbed his forehead. “He’s going to be so embarrassed when he’s healthy again.”

“No, he won’t,” Jimin corrected. “He’ll say, ‘I was emotionally compromised. My bunny betrayed me with his Calvin Klein hips.’”

“He’s obsessed,” Hobi declared. “Totally and unapologetically obsessed with that muscle rabbit. What about Jungkook?”

“Oh, please,” Namjoon scoffed. “That boy has done nothing but cry, stare at Seokjin’s pictures, and whisper ‘I miss you’ to his phone like a character in a sad music video.”

Yoongi smiled faintly. “They’re insane for each other.”

“They are,” Jimin said, resting his chin on Hobi’s shoulder. “Like, if Seokjin wakes up in five minutes and says ‘take me to a beach,’ Jungkook would carry him to the coast on his back.”

“...While shirtless,” Taehyung added, “so we have another scandal.”

They all laughed — quietly, softly — the sound blending with the humming of the humidifiers and the gentle Tokyo night outside.

_____

The room was wrapped in soft silence. The dim lamp on the far table cast a warm glow across the space, barely brushing the edges of the tangled sheets and the untouched bowl of now-cold porridge by the nightstand.

Jungkook hadn’t slept.

He’d stayed curled beside Seokjin for hours, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, counting each exhale as if it could measure how much he loved him. His hand had never left Seokjin’s back, drawing soft, invisible circles as though that alone could soothe the fever out of him.

Then, Seokjin stirred.

A soft sigh. A faint twitch of the eyebrows. His lashes fluttered.

And finally, two swollen, glossy eyes blinked open—unfocused at first, before slowly settling on the shape in front of him.

His lips parted. “...Kookie?”

Jungkook’s smile came instantly, tender and quiet. “Hi, hyung.”

Seokjin’s eyes filled with tears in less than two seconds.

His breath hitched, and his bottom lip trembled.

Then the dam broke.

Seokjin choked on a sob as he lunged forward, weak limbs reaching, clinging, grabbing. He wrapped both arms around Jungkook’s torso like he was anchoring himself to the earth and buried his face into the crook of Jungkook’s neck.

The cry that left him was raw. Loud and muffled all at once.

“I’m here,” Jungkook whispered instantly, pulling him close. “I’m right here, hyung. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

Seokjin sobbed louder. His fingers dug into Jungkook’s hoodie. He was hot, feverish, sweaty, puffy from crying — and Jungkook didn’t let go once.

“I love you,” Jungkook murmured, kissing his temple. “So much. I missed you so much.”

“You’re so stupid,” Seokjin hiccupped into his chest. “You’re so stupid and hot and shiny and… and…”

Jungkook bit back a smile. “Go on.”

Seokjin pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes watery, lashes clumped with tears, cheeks blotchy and red. “You’re—insanely hot. Like. Offensively. And now the whole world knows it. Again. And I’m so proud of you and you’re so perfect and muscly and Calvin Klein-y and I’m just here looking like expired tofu and eating rice like I’m in prison!”

Jungkook chuckled, resting their foreheads together. “You’re beautiful.”

“I look like a damp tissue.”

“You look like the love of my life.”

Seokjin’s lip wobbled again. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“I’m still angry.”

“I know.”

“Because the entire world is thirsting over you and I’m not allowed to comment anything! I should be the one saying ‘look at those thighs!’ and ‘those abs belong to me!’ but instead I’m lying here with a fever, crying into your armpit.”

Jungkook kissed his forehead gently, letting Seokjin whimper against his collarbone.

“Do you want to hold a press conference?” Jungkook asked.

“Yes,” Seokjin pouted.

“Should I cancel the campaign?”

Seokjin blinked. “No, it’s too late. The damage is done. The thirst is irreversible. People are making video edits with sad piano music and calling you ‘the nation's man.’”

Jungkook laughed, full and warm. “Is it bad that I kind of want to see them?”

“Traitor,” Seokjin sniffled. “You like being wanted by the whole world.”

“I like being loved by you.”

Seokjin blinked, stunned for a second.

Then: “You’re such a little romantic when I’m sick and ugly.”

“You’re never ugly.”

“I smell like ginger tea and vomit.”

“You smell like home.”

That made Seokjin cry again, softer this time — not sobs, just warm, steady tears against Jungkook’s neck.

And Jungkook held him through all of it, kissing his temple again and again, like nothing else mattered.

_____

10:08 AM – A Soft Morning Victory

The sunlight filtered gently through the curtains — not too harsh, just golden enough to warm the air without hurting Seokjin’s sensitive skin. The room was quiet and peaceful. On the nightstand, the thermometer beeped softly.

The doctor smiled for the first time in a week.

“38.1°C,” she said, checking the chart. “Fever’s finally responding.”

Jungkook exhaled so deeply it almost turned into a laugh. He had one hand on Seokjin’s arm, the other tangled with Seokjin’s fingers, refusing to let go for even a second.

The doctor nodded, pleased. “The rash is also fading. His body’s calming down. I think the worst has passed.”

Seokjin, still wrapped in blankets and very much cuddled into Jungkook’s side, gave a lazy blink. “Can I eat something that isn’t bland chicken now?”

“Let’s start with soft food. Slowly,” the doctor said. “But yes — something more substantial than rice and water.”

Seokjin actually giggled. Jungkook smiled down at him like it was the first breath of spring.

The doctor turned to Hobi next. “You’ve done an excellent job. He’s stable. I recommend both of you get some rest today.”

“Rest,” Hoseok echoed. “That sounds fake but okay.”

The doctor laughed and left the room.

10:30 AM – Lounge Area

Jungkook helped Seokjin lie back down comfortably, promising he’d be back in five minutes. He tucked the blankets around him with practiced ease and kissed the top of his head before slipping into the lounge.

Hobi was already half-asleep on the couch, a warm compress over his eyes and Jimin massaging his shoulders.

“He’s stable,” Jungkook said quietly.

Jimin smiled. “We know. We heard the thermometer beep and your boyfriend giggle.”

“I’m gonna sleep for twelve hours,” Hobi mumbled dramatically. “Maybe fourteen. If anyone wakes me up I’ll sue.”

“You deserve a week off,” Taehyung said, walking in with a mug of tea. “You’ve survived DramaJin, FeverJin, CalvinKleinMeltdownJin…”

Yoongi raised his eyebrow from the corner. “And now PossessiveJin.”

“And RomanticJungkook,” Namjoon muttered. “He hasn’t stopped smiling in three hours. It’s suspicious.”

Jungkook just shrugged, dreamy and relaxed for the first time in days. “He’s better. That’s all that matters.”

Back in the Bedroom

Seokjin shifted on the bed, turning toward the doorway and waiting. He didn’t even pretend to be patient.

And when Jungkook walked in again, Seokjin lifted his arms like a sleepy child and mumbled, “Cuddle me again. I feel lonely.”

Jungkook was already crawling into bed. “Coming.”

_____

3:15 PM

Seokjin shuffled slowly out of his room, wrapped in three layers of blankets, cheeks still pink from residual fever, and his hair soft and messy. His walk was unsteady, but his glare was deadly serious.

“Where’s the committee?” he asked, voice hoarse but dramatic. “The traitors. The enablers. The edit-sharing saboteurs.”

Everyone looked up from their mugs and snacks in the lounge.

“Oh no,” Namjoon muttered. “He’s vertical.”

“Oh no,” Taehyung echoed, louder. “He’s dramatic and vertical.”

Jungkook stood quickly, ready to steady him. “Hyung—careful, come here—”

Seokjin walked right past him.

“I want the group chat history,” Seokjin announced, sitting on the couch like a tiny, angry burrito. “I want names. Handles. I want links.”

“...What links?” Jimin asked, smiling nervously.

“The ones you all shared. Of my boyfriend,” Seokjin snapped. “In his campaign of betrayal. With his sinful jawline and Calvin Klein Wrath™.”

Yoongi tried to hide his smirk behind his coffee. “You’ve been offline for four days and you already know about the Wrath™ edits?”

“I may have been sick,” Seokjin said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest, “but I wasn’t dead. Jungkook sent me the photos. You all lied to me. You said it hadn’t dropped yet!”

Jimin coughed into his sleeve. “That was before you had the IV.”

“I was vulnerable! I could’ve flatlined from thirst-based betrayal!”

Taehyung held up his hands. “In our defense, you did call Jungkook ‘a menace to the sanctity of sweaters.’”

“He wore nothing!” Seokjin wailed. “Nothing but pride and lotion!”

Jungkook had slid in next to him by now, gently pulling the blanket over Seokjin’s feet, eyes warm and calm. “Hyung…”

Seokjin turned to him with full betrayal in his eyes. “You… You let the world thirst in public, and I couldn’t even tweet a single possessive comment.”

Jungkook leaned closer, voice soft and amused. “Would it help if I posted a shirtless selfie holding a sign that says ‘I belong to Kim Seokjin’?”

Seokjin paused. Blinked.

“...Yes.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Even Seokjin cracked a smile, despite the theatrical tears in his eyes.

“Fine,” he muttered, curling against Jungkook. “You’re still mine. And I’m still mad. But you look really good in those pictures. Like… criminally good.”

Jungkook grinned and kissed the top of his head. “You’re the only one who gets the real thing.”

Seokjin sniffed. “Damn right I do.”

THEN END!!