Chapter Text
Tired isn’t the word he wants, but it’s the only one he can reach, the only one that he can skim off the placid surface of his mind without digging too deep. He's too tired to dig, is the irony.
Yoongi breezes wordlessly past him, a small mostly-black blur as he shuffles from the kitchen to the hallway, nose buried in his clipboard, house slippers scuffing against the tile floor, and Jimin just kind of rocks back on his heels with the force of the wind in his wake. The air that lingers after him smells spicy and warm, which means Yoongi’s wearing cologne, which means that Jin must be coming after all.
God, tired really isn’t the right word, he maintains as his body is overcome by a violent yawn. Well, sure, fine, technically he is tired. He’s been running ragged since 5am, ever since the blaring of the phone alert from the National Weather Service informed them that they were under Tropical Storm Warning, so he’s actually hellishly tired. But he’s not only tired.
“Five… Ten... Fifteen...” he hears Yoongi counting quietly to himself from the other room as he is presumably hunched over the gigantic box of batteries, or the comparably gigantic box of canned goods, or the most gigantic box of bottled water, all of which have been stowed up against the dining room wall. There’s a loud clattering noise, probably one of the boxes, and Yoongi curses. “Motherfffffucking demon taint!” A little whimper. “Ow.”
Behind Jimin, a branch scrapes the window in a way that would normally have him catapulting himself out of his own bed and into Jungkook’s at any hour of any night. Luckily it's 3pm, though if he’d had to guess based on the scant light that has managed to break through the intense cloud wall outside, he’d say it was already well on its way to night.
Then the blur is back, and Jimin startles slightly as Yoongi stares him down (up), clipboard perched on his hip now.
“Okay. I think we're ready.”
“Absolutely,” Jimin agrees amiably, mostly because he’s too tired to do otherwise, but also because they’ve spent the last ten hours making sure that they are, in fact, ready.
“Last check.” Yoongi looks down at his clipboard, pen poised to make notes. “Lawn furniture?”
“Stowed and secured.”
“Weather radio?”
“Charged.”
“Gas tanks?”
“Filled.”
“Flashlights?”
“Strategically placed for easy access in the event of power failure.”
Yoongi gives Jimin a tight, approving nod, sighing and lowering his clipboard to his hip once more. “Good job. I think we’re good to go.”
“Ahem,” Jungkook clears his throat from the kitchen doorway. “Not so fast.” He strides forward with purpose, shouldering Yoongi aside as he raises his own improvised clipboard, which is just a Walmart receipt stapled to a pizza box. “Beers?”
“Chilled to a frosty 48 degrees,” Jimin replies, rolling his eyes. His head throbs a little in protest.
“Liquor?”
“Purchased in bulk and organized by type."
“Condoms?”
Jimin balks visibly. “Jungkook, I explicitly told you this was not going to be an orgy. I am not having sex with any of you under any circumstances. Not even a hurricane.”
Jungkook huffs, and Jimin is flooded with the overpowering scent of alcohol from his breath. “First of all, you would be hashtag blessed to get any piece of this,” he says, motioning down to his body. “Second of all, I’m just abiding by Yoongi's number one rule for hurricane preparedness. 'Be ready for anything.’”
“That is my number one rule,” Yoongi confirms with a shout from the other room, where he is now taking inventory of the cans in the pantry. “Good thinking, Kook.”
Jungkook pulls an infuriatingly smug face at Jimin before he checks the last item off of his list with clear delight. “Anyway, who knows? Maybe I won’t be the only one who pulls tonight. Maybe Yoongi will finally get his shit together and nail Jin after all this time.”
Yoongi's small, enraged face peeks into the room, and a moment later, a can of creamed corn is sailing through the air towards Jungkook. It thunks down into the carpet just a few feet from where it was thrown.
“Huh. Damn,” Yoongi remarks weakly, regarding the can with clear disappointment.
Jungkook's stare is wide-eyed, and his splutter is indignant. “What would you have done if you had launched that with anything more than a toddler's strength? I could have died.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I wasn't actually aiming for you.” Then, Yoongi shrugs. "Plus, Jin's a doctor.”
“Jin’s a dermatologist,” Jungkook says dryly.
“Oh, that reminds me. You should probably ask him about that weird little dry patch on your ass when you see him,” Yoongi tells him with highly dramatized pity etched into the lines of his face.
“You-” Jungkook lunges, but Jimin very purposefully steps between them.
“Hey, speaking of Jin, when is he coming over?” Jimin asks Yoongi, who does a scarily good job of looking like he doesn’t care, especially since Jimin knows for a fact that he’s counting the seconds.
“Last I heard, it’s supposed to get pretty gusty at eight o'clock so I think he'll be here around five, before the bridges close,” Yoongi replies, shuffling over to pick up the fallen can. “And Joon's coming in an hour or so with his uncle's spare generator.”
“In what universe are we going to need a generator?” Jungkook asks skeptically. "This storm is making landfall like 200 miles away, like, we're going to get tropical storm force winds at worst.”
“Yeah and all it takes is one fallen branch on a power line to fuck us okay? I don’t know about you but I'd prefer not to live in hot, stuffy darkness with 4 smelly men while we wait for it to get fixed. You know how sweaty Joon gets.”
“Yeah…” Jungkook says dreamily, resting his head on his hand and staring down at the carpet with fond, sparkling eyes.
Jimin regards him with unamused resignation. “You guys are really gonna try and make this an orgy aren’t you? You’re really gonna try.”
“Don’t worry, my hopes are not high,” Jungkook scoffs, leaning down to check the beer cooler. “You and Yoongi are huge cowards and also squares. But you’re welcome to listen in shameful arousal as I finally fuck Kim Namjoon.”
Yoongi tsks his tongue disdainfully. “I’m not a square. And Joon's not into dudes.”
“Correction. Joon has not yet been into a dude, but A, he is a horny bastard, god bless him, and B, I happen to think that I’m hot enough to be on his spectrum. I swear I caught him checking out my ass when he was helping us set up the TV last year.”
“You know what? I think I might have seen that, actually,” Jimin confirms reluctantly.
“See? So please don't underestimate me, Yoongi. I flipped a man named Chad. Chad,” Jungkook says with a supremely bored stare. He pauses as he digs his hand into a cardboard box by the beer cooler, pulling out 4 large bottles of lube. “Do you think this will be enough?”
“I'm going to my parents’ place,” Jimin decides, so far past tired that very few things in this world could deter him from the promise of a quiet bed. “I’ve been tricked into attending a sex party, and I am absolutely unamused.”
“Nooo,” Jungkook begs, tugging on his sleeve to keep him from going far. “Please? It won’t seem like a party if we don’t have enough people here.” He puts on his deadliest puppy-dog eyes. “Plus, do you really want to be locked in a dark, quiet house with your parents for 12 hours or more while your mom subtly tries to manipulate you into providing her with a grandchild?”
Jimin stares hard at the wall, furiously debating his choices. Option one. Stay here with all the food and booze but possibly be forced to witness an awkward orgy with two wannabe couples using it as an excuse to finally fuck after many years of pining. The ultimate 5th wheel. Or, option two, go home to his loving parents whose idea of a good time is splitting a wine cooler three ways and setting up an OkCupid profile on Jimin's behalf before ultimately Skyping Jimin's grandma to see if she knows any nice boys in Korea.
Of course, going home would mean staying in his old room, and he’d never gotten around to taking down all those photos, had he? Four years and he'd never once had the nerve to touch them.
“Jimin?” Jungkook asks with a look of mild concern, and Jimin snaps out of his daze, his indignant posture melting into a defeated slump.
“Fine. God. But if I see your dick or hear any dick-related activity, I will actually drive into that hurricane to escape if I have to.”
Jungkook considers him very carefully, squinting his eyes in thought. “I think I've got a ball gag that’ll shut him up pretty good.” Jimin lunges for a bottle of lube with the vague intention of bludgeoning, but Jungkook is too quick, cuts him off and uses his body as a shield. “Hey, hands off. I’m going to need every drop of that.”
“You are totally sloshed, aren’t you?” Yoongi asks, setting the can down on an end table.
“I may have pregamed the pregame,” Jungkook replies loftily, smoothing down his shirt. “You know, just to take the edge off before Joon gets here.”
“Jungkook, he’s been your friend for years,” Jimin says, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “There’s no need to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Jungkook scoffs, poutily scuffing his foot against the tile floor. “I just don’t wanna be total dork mode around him. It’s been getting worse lately, and I don’t know why.”
Jimin’s heart softens around the edges as he notes the anxious set of Jungkook's eyes, feels the little wave of nervous energy permeate his nearly meticulously constructed carefree facade.
The sharp sound of a car door slamming shut has both Yoongi and Jungkook freezing in place with matching expressions of panic. There’s just a moment’s pause before they’re violently jostling each other for the best view out the front window. Peeking around them, Jimin sees a lanky figure in light-wash jeans exits a faded green 2004 Nissan Sentra, stretching his long limbs like a cat before going to unload the car.
“What? No! He's early!” Jungkook panics, wheeling around to breeze past Jimin and back into his room. Yoongi balks as another figure exits the vehicle, this one doubling in laughter as the first drops a large, boxy object on his toe.
“Fuck, and he brought Jin!” Yoongi adds, dropping the soup can on his foot in shock and tripping over it as he scrambles to move. “Gumby-ass motherfucker Kim Namjoon. I’ll kill him. Where's my clipboard? Shit, where’s everything?”
Jimin points to the clipboard which is already securely clasped in Yoongi's grasp, then he makes his way to the front hall, doing his best to ignore the sounds of panic.
As chaos reigns loud and free in the rooms behind him, Jimin opens the door to reveal Namjoon with his hand raised to knock, a gym bag on his shoulder and a small generator at his feet.
“Oh. Hey!” Namjoon greets him amiably. “Sorry we’re early.”
“No big. We're all set,” Jimin assures him, ignoring the massive crashing noise that seems to have originated from Jungkook’s room. He steps aside to allow them entrance then stoops to heave the generator inside.
“My uncle said that the city might be closing the bridges earlier than they’d planned,” Namjoon explains as he sets his bag down on the couch. “We didn't want to get stuck on the island, so I picked up Jin on the way and headed over.”
“Yeah, we took the overpass over the interstate and it’s packed," Jin adds, eyes going slightly wide at the memory as he shucks his shoes at the door. "They’ve got the traffic flow headed west for both East-bound and West-bound lanes now. It’s super weird. I think people are panicking a little since the storm shifted.”
“It shifted?” Jimin asks, trying not to sound too concerned.
“Yeah, just a little bit. We might get Category 1 winds now. Still no big deal,” Jin assures him, eyes scanning the room. “Where's Yoongi?”
“Hey, what about me?" Jungkook asks as he emerges from the hall, looking slightly out of breath. He's wearing his tightest leather pants, the ones that he usually requires the assistance of at least two full-grown humans to don, and the resounding crashing sound from his room earlier now makes a lot of sense.
“What about you,” Jin dismisses him playfully, mouth quirking upwards as he peeks around him into the hallway from which Yoongi emerges moments later, looking almost comically solemn. At first Yoongi pretends, rather badly, not to see Jin at all, instead clearing his throat and addressing Jimin.
“Jimin, I specifically told you to organize the canned goods by expiration date, not alphabetically.” Mouth prim, Yoongi turns a little stiffly then towards Jin then. “Oh! Hey, didn’t know you guys were here already.”
“Damn, Yoongi. You’re running a pretty tight ship,” Jin says, looking around the place. “I’m impressed.”
“Oh, you know. Just, making sure we’re prepared for anything,” Yoongi brags, motioning to his clipboard and failing not to look too pleased.
At that very moment, Jin's eyes happen to land on the box of lube before flitting back to Yoongi with a questioning glance. “Clearly.”
“That’s… his,” Yoongi says quickly, nudging the box of lube towards Jungkook with the toe of his shoe.
Jungkook’s eyes widen momentarily, seeking out Namjoon’s inquiring gaze, then he shakes his head slowly and silently mouths, No.
“Yes, it is,” Jimin confirms mercilessly, and Namjoon's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.
After an uncertain and silent pause, a sultry beat suddenly fills the room and the lights dim slightly as Jungkook’s fingers fly over the surface of his phone screen.
“Actually no, you know what?" Jungkook decides quickly. "I will not apologize for being hopeful, and I will not apologize for being prepared. Now. You two drop your stuff in one of our rooms, put on your party pants, and be back here for shots in T minus 5.” He smacks Jin sharply on the ass and howls like a wolf, retreating into the kitchen to presumably prepare. Both Jin and Namjoon shoot Jimin a questioning glance, just as Jungkook whips his head back around the corner and adds, "On second thought, just ditch the pants."
His head whips out of sight again, and Jin gapes at Jimin. “Where is my sweet innocent boy Jeon Jungkook? Where is my good, quiet, kind boy?”
“Haven’t seen him since he poured Jäger into his breakfast cereal and was thus consumed by the overgrown frat boy currently in the kitchen," Jimin informs them with a heavy sigh.
“So, who is he trying to nail?” Namjoon asks casually, eyeing the lube with cautious amusement.
Jimin’s eyes flit guiltily to Namjoon before he can stop himself.
“Me?” Namjoon demands with comically wide eyes, one long finger pointing to himself as if to clarify. Jimin just grimaces in confirmation, and Namjoon pauses to consider, eyes far away like he’s imagining something very carefully. Jimin watches as he tilts his head to the side and bites his lip. “Really?”
“Please stop thinking about fucking Jungkook.”
“You can keep thinking about it if you want,” Jungkook says, now shirtless as he emerges from the kitchen, a large cooler propped easily up on one shoulder. Namjoon startles comically, dropping his bag on his foot.
“I wasn’t-“
Jungkook takes the opportunity to set the cooler down, bending at the waist and gifting the room with a magnificent view of his very tight, very leather-covered ass.
Jimin looks over at the other two, and it's clear where they're looking. Jimin rolls his eyes.
“Jesus, would everybody please stop thinking about fucking Jungkook.”
“Oh boo, he’s no fun. Don’t listen to him,” Jungkook tells them, rolling his eyes and jerking his head towards Jimin. He straightens up to his full height and turns back to Jin and Namjoon. “Why don’t you listen to my good friend, Jack?”
“Who's Jack?” Yoongi asks warily, like he's not sure he actually wants to know the answer.
And he reaches a hand deep beneath the waistband of his pants and pulls three mini-bottles of Jack Daniels from the crotchal area. He waggles his eyebrows.
“Jack here is our guide for the next 24 hours,” Jungkook waxes as he tosses each of them a bottle. Jimin’s is still warm.
“Oh, no sir. I will be our one and only guide,” Yoongi scoffs, smacking Jungkook gently on the back of the head with his clipboard. “And I will be getting us through this storm safely and without incident.”
Jungkook inhales sharply through his teeth, eyeing Yoongi with false pity. “Yeesh, sorry boss, I have three incidents scheduled for the first hour alone,” he tells him, pulling what looks like a stapled bundle of crumpled receipts covered in small writing from his extraordinarily tight front pocket. Yoongi’s lips go very thin as he intently eyes the papers in Jungkook’s hand. He’s stone-still for a moment before he lunges forward to grab for the ratty bundle, but Jungkook is too fast, snatching it out of his reach. “Nuh-uh, no sneak peeks. I want everything to be a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises. Not when you’re wearing that face,” Yoongi sighs, though he seems quite resigned now.
“You’re gonna like these surprises,” Jungkook promises him, reaching into his pants to pull out another improbable mini bottle.
“Where are you keeping all of those?” Jimin asks him in mild amazement, staring hard at the crotch of Jungkook’s pants which somehow don't look any bulkier than usual. Jimin turns to Namjoon and Jin. “You know what? I don’t want to know. You guys can help yourself to the bar. We’ve got vodka, tequila, margarita mix, whatever you need, and then over here we’ve got garnishes, sugar for the rim. Take whatever you’d like, we have tons more of everything."
“Oh, cool,” Namjoon says, happily walking up to the makeshift bar and scanning this options.
“So where should we put our stuff?” Jin asks, gesturing to the bags in his hand, raising an eyebrow at Yoongi. “Am I sleeping with you?”
“What?" Yoongi demands loudly before deflating slightly in relief or disappointment, maybe both. “Oh. Bags. Beds. Right. Uh, you can crash wherever.”
“Hmm,” Jin pretends to debate, and Jimin rolls his eyes. “Well, seeing as Jungkook snores and Jimin thrashes, I think I should probably sleep with you in your room.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Yoongi agrees, his voice an active higher than usual. “Whatever you want.”
Jimin finds his eye drawn by Namjoon at the bar. He watches his gaze settle on the little tray of pink sugar they'd set out to garnish the rims of glasses, and he very nearly yells out a panicked Wait, don’t! when, quite astonishingly, Namjoon picks up the entire dish and tips the sugar straight into his mouth, tapping the plastic to make sure he got every last possible grain. As he works the dissolving granules over the surface of his tongue, Namjoon does a double take when he notices the collective gaze of the other 4 men resting heavy upon him. “What?”
Jimin cringes in secondhand disgust as he imagines the taste. “Oh, Joon. Gross.”
“God you’re so weird,” Jungkook marvels, eyes sparkling in clear adoration as he scoots a bottle of grenadine towards him like a dare.
“Wait, why?” Namjoon examining the empty sugar dish carefully, like he might find the answer there.
Jin regards him with a look of mingled disgust and admiration. “As a doctor, I’m going to have to advise against doing that ever again."
“You’re… a dermatologist…” Jungkook squints up at him in disbelief.
Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay listen, let’s go over some ground rules now that everyone is here. Do I have your full, undivided attention?”
“Always,” Jin assures shamelessly, and Jungkook lets out a vicious snort as Yoongi almost drops his clipboard, barely recovering with a purposeful cough.
Yoongi nods shortly, even as his cheeks remain slightly flushed. “Right. So. Rule number one is easy. Be prepared for anything. Self explanatory. Rule number two: No drinking to unconsciousness. You must remain alert and physically able of getting from Point A to Point B, all on your own.”
“As long as Point B is Joon’s dick, you have my word, captain,” Jungkook promises solemnly, whipping his head around when Namjoon makes a confused little noise. “Oh. Shit. I forgot. You’re here. Hi.”
Namjoon jerkily raises his hand in a tentative wave. “Hey.”
“Rule number three,” Yoongi continues, undeterred. “No music louder than the weather radio.”
“Bullshit,” Jimin challenges him defiantly. “You just think our music is shitty.”
“Speak for yourself. Yoongi loves my music,” Jin brags, catching the can of beer that Jungkook tosses him and pops it open as Yoongi brings the clipboard closer to his face, effectively obscuring every bit of it except for his bright red ears. Jimin happens to know that he and Jin have extraordinarily similar tastes in music, music that makes Yoongi sigh and pop in his earbuds whenever Jimin blasts it in the kitchen while making pancake breakfast on Saturday morning.
“Is that so?”
“Rule number four,” Yoongi practically yells into his clipboard to steer the conversation back into safe territory. “And I cannot stress this enough. Absolutely no going outside into the storm.”
Jungkook opens his mouth to protest, but Yoongi cuts him off.
“Doing it for the vine is no longer a valid excuse, Jeon Jungkook. Vine is dead.”
"I wish I died with it,” Jungkook pouts, flinging himself back onto the couch moodily.
“The last few rules are just little things,” Yoongi tells them, checking his list. “No open flames, no electronic devices near standing water, and I'm sorry Jin, but no sleeves.”
“No sleeves?” Jin asks, voice going high as he looks down at his currently sleeved arms.
“Safety hazard,” Yoongi responds vaguely as he pretends to scribble on his clipboard. His ears are red.
“In what possible way?" Jin demands.
Yoongi sucks in a breath through clenched teeth in a flimsy illusion of regret. “Sorry, Jin. Rules are rules.”
“What about mine?” Namjoon asks gesturing to his clothed arms.
Yoongi gives him a cursory look-over. “You're fine,” he snaps before turning on heel and stomping purposefully into the kitchen.
There are a few seconds of silence as Namjoon's gaze flits back and forth between his arms and Jin's. "I don't get it, what's the difference?"
Jin just shrugs as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on top of his bag before following Yoongi into the kitchen.
Jungkook, however, clicks his tongue and strides up to Namjoon, grabbing his mini-bottle bearing hand.
"Joon, don't listen to him. Jack says your sleeves are a safety hazard too." He grasps the hem of Namjoon's shirt and drags it over his head, but it catches on his nose and yanks him backwards. Jungkook lets the momentum carry Namjoon back onto the couch as his head emerges from the shirt hole. "Dangerously impeding the successful execution of body shots."
Namjoon yelps a little as he is handled bodily into a reclined position. He clasps his hands tight over his nipples in an adorable attempt at modesty.
“Do I have your explicit consent to lick whiskey out of your belly button?”
“I… Yeah.” Namjoon sounds uncertain but not at all displeased.
Jungkook is smiling like the cat that got the canary, already unscrewing the top to the bottle of whiskey, when the doorbell rings loudly and quite unexpectedly.
“Oh!” Namjoon startles violently at the sound, scrambling for his shirt and tugging it clumsily back over his head. “I’ll get it!”
Jungkook huffs in disappointment, flinging himself down onto the couch stiffly, face-down. “They couldn’t have waited two fucking minutes.”
Jimin peeks curiously into the front hall, his view slightly obscured by the door itself as Namjoon tentatively cracks it open.
For some reason, Namjoon's spine goes ramrod straight in an instant. “Hello, officers.”
Jimin’s eyes bulge as he leans forward to try and get a better look at the officers in question, but all he sees is a utility belt and the edge of a black hat.
Namjoon clears his throat before continuing. “Uh, is there a problem?”
Jimin hears a heavy sigh. “Sir, we're just going from door to door trying to reach out to residents before it's too late.”
“Too late?” Namjoon asks, his voice cracking anxiously. “Too late for what?”
“We’re encouraging evacuation,” the officer informs him, but something in his tone is strange. Sultry, almost. "Generally we try to avoid premature evacuation to prevent panic, but things we fear that the peak may be more intense than expected. So we need to act fast.”
Jungkook stifles a laugh beside him. “Oh, premature evacuation. Intense peak. That’s very good.”
Jimin elbows him in the side as he sees Namjoon tilt his head in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Yes sir, as you may know, there is an extremely dangerous storm currently brewing. A Category 5 hurricane,” and there’s a highly effective dramatic pause before the man concludes, “In my pants.”
There’s the tearing sound of fabric and a beat drop, and Namjoon is being shoved inside, stumbling backwards and backwards until he's backed into the entryway wall by a tenacious little police officer in hotpants. His colleague, boombox slung over his shoulder shielding his face, follows closely behind, his tan, muscled legs also on full display.
Suddenly Jimin’s got a face full of tear-away pants as the man who tossed them begins to gyrate on Namjoon, who looks unquestionably terrified. Jungkook's head just bops along to the beat of the music as he watches, clearly having the time of his life.
Jimin looks at him. “I’m sorry, did you book strippers for a hurricane party?”
“No need to thank me,” he says in wonderment, eyes wide as officer number one starts twerking on Namjoon.
“Jeon Jungkook,” Jimin hisses through his teeth, rounding on him and obstructing his view, much to the disdain of Jungkook’s who tries to peek around him. “For shame.”
“Hey we do not shame strippers in this house, Park Jimin,” Jungkook says very seriously, and he has the audacity to half-heartedly waggle a finger at Jimin.
“I’m not shaming them. I’m shaming you for dragging them out here. In a hurricane.”
“’Kay, chill your tits, it’s not a hurricane here, and I’m paying them triple,” Jungkook maintains in his defense. “Now move. If Joon gets a half chub and I miss it, I’ll do something drastic, I swear.”
Jimin is seething, sees red, and the urge to go for the jugular is just too strong to resist. “I have seen his dick. It’s unremarkable at best.”
Jungkook inhales an offended breath clutching a hand to his chest. “Take it back.”
“No.”
“The only time,” Jungkook starts, his voice low and his gaze intense and dark, “you EVER saw his dick… was after his Ice Bucket Challenge in 2015. Which does not count. So take it back, Park Jimin,” Jungkook threatens with the beginnings of tears in his eyes. “Take it BACK!”
“Never.”
“You bitch,” Jungkook launches at him, tackling Jimin into the love seat and sitting astride his waist. He starts slapping floppily at Jimin with both hands, and Jimin starts slapping floppily back, their hands just stinging vaguely when they meet every now and then.
Amidst the mingled noises of their confrontation, there are also Namjoon’s sounds of vague confusion layered atop the pounding music as the officers continue to dance, but audible above it all, there is the low but persistent whistling of wind coming from the direction of the open door. Jimin squirms under Jungkook's sturdy thighs as he continues to meet his weakly slapping hands. And for a moment, he’s more concerned with the fact that Jungkook just landed a stinging slap to his chest and less concerned with the fact that complete strangers are witnessing their strange adult slap fight, until-
“Jimin?”
His hands still completely, prompting Jungkook to freeze above him, craning around to single out the source of the voice that is apparently unfamiliar to him.
It’s not unfamiliar to Jimin.
With an unceremonious shove, he pushes Jungkook off of him and sits up, gaping open-mouthed towards the entryway.
He doesn’t see him immediately. At first, all he sees is the thin, pretty red-headed boy dressed like a scantily-clad cop pinning Namjoon to the wall. But then his eyes drift to the third figure in the entryway, and his chest contracts painfully around his lungs. Breathing is, briefly, not an option.
“Taehyung?” he exhales with his last remaining air, leaving him feeling shriveled and gasping.
Kim Taehyung stares at him, lovely mouth slightly agape as he sets down the boombox and adjusts his hot pants, pulls them down self-consciously. It only just exposes more skin of his belly, which is shamefully, where Jimin’s eyes momentarily flicker. Right before panic threatens to engulf his being.
Four years later, Kim Taehyung. In his house. He forces down the all-consuming dread that he feels creeping up his throat, swallows it down and forcefully crams a lid on it.
“What are you doing here?” Jimin manages in disbelief, the words clumsy and dry in his mouth, tongue like cotton. He should have gone to his parents' place. He’d much rather deal with a dozen pairs of Kim Taehyung’s 2-D eyes staring benignly at him from the walls of his childhood bedroom than this, than Taehyung real and older and here, and still so lovely.
‘Just… working,” Taehyung responds perhaps a little self-consciously, and a gentle pink sits high on his cheekbones. He shifts his weight to the other hip, drawing attention to his long, tan legs and thick thighs straining against black spandex.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” Jimin’s body seems to be reacting all at once, sweating and flushing and pumping blood like he’s about to flee or fight, but his mind still hasn’t quite caught up to the situation. He wishes it would. Inevitably there will be thinking and feeling and all sorts of associated unpleasantness, but he thinks he would prefer that to this, to the short-circuiting of his entire nervous system and the invigorating rush of terror.
“Ah.”
Taehyung looks nothing like he did that last time Jimin had seen him a few years ago. For one, he’s blonde. The lightest he had ever ventured before was the lovely chestnut brown that Jimin had loved so dearly because it had made him look as warm as he’d felt. For another thing, he’s tanner, and he’s definitely filled out. Back in college he had insisted on maintaining his art kid aesthetic, thinner and paler. Jimin had loved it, then, because it was so Taehyung.
But this.
Jimin's eyes dart down to his thighs again, where the black spandex is currently being put through its paces. This is definitely still Taehyung. Possibly more devastatingly Taehyung than Taehyung has ever been. Jimin’s tongue is sandpaper in his mouth.
The music plays on, though the redhead backs off from Namjoon a bit, one arm still pinning him gently to the wall behind him as he looks curiously at Taehyung.
“Hi,” Jimin quickly says, blood pounding away at breakneck speed in his ears.
“Hi,” Taehyung replies with an uncertain half-wave. He shifts uncomfortably.
“Uh,” Namjoon manages, clearly struggling as the redhead whips his head back around to regard him. “You two know each other?”
Jimin hesitates, cautiously eyeing Taehyung, who certainly isn’t jumping in to answer. He just crosses his arms in front of him as he stares right back at Jimin, quiet in his shock.
“Yeah,” Jimin decides, because it’s the only answer. “We know each other. This is Taehyung.”
Namjoon goes very still, only his eyes moving as they flicker frantically back and forth between Jimin and Taehyung.
“This... This is Taehyung?” Namjoon stutters, gently pushing away the redhead’s arm and stepping towards Jimin. “Taehyung Taehyung?”
Jimin glares at Namjoon with every bit of warning he can muster, hoping it’ll keep him from saying anything else.
“Everything okay, Tae?” the redhead asks, coming up behind him and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Taehyung goes from unsmiling to beaming in a second flat, twisting around to assure him. “Oh. Yeah! Totally fine. I was just… surprised.”
Jimin’s heart sinks at the fond smile he gives the red-headed boy.
Then there are hurried footsteps, and Yoongi appears with Jin trailing closely behind him.
“What’s happening?” Yoongi clicks his tongue and hurries over to close the front door, which is still standing wide open, and the little sliver of outdoors that Jimin catches before the door shuts completely appears significantly darker than it did a few minutes ago. “Seriously, what the fuck is happening? What was all that noise? Who are you people?” When nobody says anything, he turns to Jungkook. “What did you do?”
Jimin, along with everyone else, shifts his gaze to Jungkook, who has been suspiciously quiet throughout the entire ordeal. He’s sprawled on the floor, right where he rolled when Jimin shoved him, staring up at them all with wide, nervous eyes. He gulps.
“Hey, Jimin?" Jungkook asks solemnly. "Take care of Namjoon for me, okay? After I'm gone."
“He is not a war widow, Jungkook. You never even boned.”
Jungkook nods, eyes now trained on Yoongi who just stares him down with crossed arms. “And that will always be my biggest regret.”
Yoongi grits his teeth. “Jeon. Jung-“
Jungkook makes a sudden break for it, scrambling to his feet and slipping past Yoongi to wrench the front door open. The heavy wind catches it, slamming it back hard against the wall as Jungkook disappears outside. A shared gasp echoes around the room, and Yoongi makes a noise of distress before charging outside, hot on his trail. Everyone else rushes the door to gawk after them as they charge forward into the gusty grey, Yoongi lunging forward to tackle Jungkook gently into the grass as the wind whips around them.
“What did I fucking say?? Rule number three,” Yoongi shouts over the wind, straddling Jungkook to keep him in place as he wiggles hopelessly beneath him. “No going outside!”
Jimin huddles with the rest of the group at the door, making sure to try and put as many bodies between him and Taehyung as possible. It’s raining steadily now, the wind slowly swaying the 60-ft pines behind the house across the street in a way that means even higher winds are on the way.
“Stop! Let me go!” Jungkook yells, thrashing wildly as Yoongi struggles to hold onto him.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Jungkook. Jesus.”
“I know, you’re going to be disappointed in me! It’s worse.”
“For the love of god, someone come help me get him inside,” Yoongi shouts over his shoulder, and surprisingly it’s the redheaded boy, hotpants and all, who rushes out into the rain to grab hold of one of Jungkook’s arms. He helps Yoongi yank him into a reluctant standing position, and the two of them drag him bodily back towards the house.
“Wow, you caught him so fast,” Namjoon says, clearly impressed as they gently shove Jungkook back inside and shut the door behind them,
“I was ready,” Yoongi explains, dripping wet and panting. “Jäger always makes him run. Remember when he took off at Pride last year and outran the entire parade? Including the police horses?” He wipes his brow with the back of his hand, looking down at his soaked clothes. “Now everybody, go sit down. I’m soaked, so I’m going to go change, but I’ll be right back.”
“Uh, it seems like this whole thing was probably a mistake, so. Maybe we should just... go,” the dripping-wet redhead says, motioning to Taehyung, who nods quietly. Jimin hates that his heart sinks at the prospect. “We have kind of a long drive back. I hear they’re going to close the bridges in a few hours.”
“Nope,” Yoongi says, waving him off and digging in his pocket for his damp phone, to which he motions. “They already closed them. Like five minutes ago. You’re stuck.”
“What?” Jimin demands, panic creeping back up in his chest full force.
“What?” Taehyung echoes, loud for the first time since he’s been here. “Stuck here? In this house?”
“I mean, unless you have somewhere else to go,” Yoongi tells him, peeling off his cold, soaked jacket. “But you’re welcome to stay here. We have food, flashlights, and booze.”
The redheaded boy looks back at Taehyung, who shrugs miserably, ducking his head. Jimin’s heart rate does not slow as he watches Taehyung’s long lashes leave feathery shadows on his cheeks. His stomach stirs, all acid and bile and years-old heartbreak making him instantly queasy, and yet something in him twists in sick satisfaction, because he missed this.
“Uh, if you don’t mind,” the redhead concludes after he receives no additional response from Taehyung. “I don’t know anyone on this side of the bay.”
Yoongi nods kindly. “Of course. You can stay as long as you need. Do you want to borrow some dry clothes...” he trails off, looking expectantly at the redhead.
“Hoseok,” he provides, assessing his own soaked shirt. He looks back up at Yoongi, whose eyes drift down to the open buttons of his shirt and back up to his face. “And sure. That's be great.”
Yoongi nods and motions with his head down the hall before peeking around him at the others. “Sit,” he repeats before trailing away, Hoseok following behind him.
Jin and Namjoon are the first to obey, though Namjoon grabs a beer from the cooler on his way, popping the tab and chugging half of it before he’s even reached the couch. Jungkook, also dripping wet, seems to be contemplating escape again, so Jimin grabs him by the hand and drags him over to his room, shoving him inside and shutting the door behind him.
“Put these on,” Jimin tells him, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from atop Jungkook’s desk chair and thrusting them into his hands.
“But my party pants,” Jungkook laments, looking down at the soaked, clinging material of his pants.
“I think the party’s over, Jungkook.”
“Fine,” Jungkook grumbles for a moment before looking up at Jimin with wide, glazed-over eyes. Satisfied, Jimin turns to leave. “Jimin, wait. Are you okay?”
Jimin blinks at him, taken aback by Jungkook’s capacity for concern, even at his current level of inebriation.
“I’m fine.” He assures him, then at Jungkook's crooked but clearly skeptical expression, he adds, “Promise.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says vaguely, patting his shoulder sloppily. He misses a few times. “Okay.”
They stand there for a few moments, Jungkook just absentmindedly patting him.
“Would you like a hug?” Jungkook asks finally, his hand stilling on Jimin’s shoulder.
Jimin purses his lips primly. “Okay.”
Jungkook shuffles up to him and wraps his arms around Jimin, squeezing so hard he lifts him off the ground slightly. Jimin sighs and relaxes into it.
“Can I maybe... just stay in here for a second?” Jimin asks quietly into his shoulder.
“Of course.”
When Jungkook releases him Jimin exhales shakily, falling face-first onto Jungkook’s bed, just letting gravity carry him where he needs to be. Jungkook follows behind him, flopping down in his still-drenched pants.
“You know,” Jimin mumbles quietly, his cheek squished against the cool surface of Jungkook’s comforter. “When I pictured this party going wrong, I thought it’d be something like me getting bodily trapped in the middle of your weird feelings-heavy orgy, or you riding that unicorn pool float down the flooded street in 60 mile-per-hour winds, or maybe Jin trolling the background of a Jim Cantore broadcast in his rainbow Speedo and his cowboy hat.” He clenches his jaw and swallows hard, the action straining his throat. “I didn’t expect-”
“Taehyung?” Jungkook offers quietly, gaze still glassy with alcohol as he leans forward to rest his chin on Jimin’s shoulder.
Jimin sighs mournfully, even as his heart rate kicks up. “Definitely didn’t expect Taehyung.”
“I really didn’t know you knew him,” Jungkook assures him emphatically. “I swear, I know I do some stupid stuff when I drink sometimes, but I’d never do that. Not if I knew he like… hurt you or something?”
The last sentence is clearly a question, and Jimin doesn’t have to see Jungkook’s eyes to know that they are large and searching.
“He didn’t hurt me,” Jimin assures him with as much conviction as he can muster. “We’re fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“How did you-“
“Pants, Jungkook,” Jimin says sternly, getting to his feet and starting to back out of the room.
Jungkook’s ensuing groan is cut short as Jimin forcefully shuts the door behind him.
He takes a moment. Breathes. Shuts his eyes and leans his head back against the door, feeling utterly trapped.
Taehyung’s lilting laugh dances down the hallway, and he shuts his eyes even harder, trying to steady his heart beat. But his brain is just cruel enough to remind him the last time he heard that laugh, they’d been in their shitty off-campus apartment and Taehyung had just done something incredibly silly and endearing which Jimin cannot for the life of him remember. And it makes sure he’s painfully aware that it was the last day they had spoken for four years, the span of which Jimin had not once heard the sound in question, the deep velvety laughter that twists his stomach into complex, nostalgic knots even as his throat constricts anxiously.
He physically peels himself away from the door, swallowing his dread as he shuffles uncertainly into the living room, where he sees Taehyung seated beside Jin, smiling shyly and clutching a can of beer. When Jimin comes into view, Taehyung’s dark eyes find him instantly, and he’d forgotten how intense they were, how he used to squirm under that gaze.
The problem is that the only empty seat is next to Taehyung on the couch, an empty space where Jimin’s eyes linger for several beats too long before he awkwardly turns around and trudges towards the cooler instead. He reaches in to grab another beer for himself, a pretense more than anything, then shuts it and sits on the lid. Taehyung’s eyebrows furrow, then he averts his gaze, taking a small sip from the can in his hands.
Jin's gaze darts around to quizzically observe all of them as they sit there, steeping in the thick silence. “So...” he starts bravely, nervously patting his knees, “Who names a hurricane Jerry, am I right?”
Luckily, there’s a click of a doorknob, and Yoongi and Hoseok emerge, dressed in sweats and looking significantly more comfortable than they had been moments ago.
“Where’s Jungkook?” Yoongi asks, looking around the room.
There’s a loud crashing sound from Jungkook’s room, and they all whip around to look.
“Shedding his party pants,” Jimin answers simply.
“Help,” Jungkook moans pathetically, voice muffled by the wall. “I’m stuck.”
“Not it,” Jimin says quickly, raising his arms in the air as if to wash his hands of the responsibility.
“I’ll go,” Namjoon volunteers surprisingly, handing his beer to Jimin as he pushes himself up off the couch, but Yoongi reaches forward to grab his shoulder and push him back down.
“Sit your horny ass down,” Yoongi says solemnly. “He got himself into this. He can get himself out.”
Sure enough, after a tense three minutes in which they twice hear Jungkook beg melodramatically for death, he emerges looking flushed and ashamed but comfortable in his sweatpants, still resolutely refusing to wear a shirt.
“Thanks for leaving me to die,” he spits bitterly at all of them before sinking down on the couch next to Taehyung. “Traitors.”
“So, now that we’re all here and dry,” Yoongi perseveres without so much as a glance at Jungkook, addressing the whole room now. “Who’s going to tell me what’s going on. Why these lovely men are here?”
Everyone looks at Jungkook, who doesn’t seem to realize he’s being looked at, until he does. “What? You never said no strippers!”
“Well! That’s rule number six now! Since apparently I have to specifically prohibit each and every stupid thing individually,” Yoongi shoots back. “No strippers!”
Hoseok looks around, concerned. “D... Does that mean we should go?”
“God. No, of course not,” Yoongi sighs. “Just... no additional strippers. Not in the middle of a hurricane, at least.” He pauses, looking at Jimin. “What about you? Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not being weird,” Jimin says defensively, and he feels his cheeks flush hot under everyone's full attention.
“Yes, you are. I walked into some very distinctly weird energy a few minutes ago.”
Namjoon speaks up softly. “Uh, he and Taehyung know each other.”
Yoongi’s brow furrows. “Taehyung?” He looks at Taehyung, who gives him a little wave, and Yoongi’s eyes go wide. “Taehyung Taehyung?”
“Why does everybody say it like that?” Taehyung mumbles with a sidelong glance at Jimin, whose face burns with embarrassment as he chugs the rest of his beer.
Yoongi sighs, but he looks less angry and more concerned now. He clenches his jaw and turns to Hoseok and Taehyung now.
“Why did you guys even accept the job in the first place? In the middle of a hurricane?”
Hoseok shrugs, nodding to Jungkook. “Well, he was paying us triple. And he’s cute.” Jungkook raises his eyebrows, eyes wide, his body otherwise frozen. “Plus, it’s not even supposed to get that bad here,” Hoseok continues. “I mean, this is Florida, for god's sake. I once did a wet tighty-whities contest in tropical storm force winds. We’ll be home by midnight.”
Yoongi groans, reaching for the remote control and flipping on the television. He switches it to the weather channel and crosses his arms. “The storm took a turn. That’s why they closed the bridges.”
The 'Cone of Uncertainty' is something that Jimin has never really taken seriously when it comes to hurricanes. There have been so many storms, and generally, they go exactly where the weather people say it’s going to go, give or take a hundred miles or so. But as he looks at the screen and he sees the sudden northern turn in the path of the hurricane, he understands the need for it.
“Shit,” Namjoon says, squinting as he gets to his feet to get a better look at the television. “The storm turned right. Why did it just... turn right?”
“They just do that sometimes,” Jin says, staring blankly at the screen. “My mom said that there was a big hurricane that took a sudden turn, back in ‘98. Said she wouldn’t have known if grandma didn’t call us freaking out in the middle of the night.”
“What do we do?” Jimin asks, registering a different kind of fear now. Their house isn’t directly on the beach, but they’re still pretty coastal.
“We’re fine.” Yoongi grabs his clipboard, glancing down at it. “Well, I don’t know if we’re fine, but we’ve prepared more than most. We do need to go pull down the hurricane shutters, though. I didn’t think we’d need them before.” He looks around at the lot of them. “Okay, who’s the least drunk?”
Taehyung, Hoseok and Jimin all raise their hands, as does Jungkook.
“Jungkook, my darling boy,” Jin tells him, reaching out to pat him on the back. “You are so very drunk.”
“Screw you, I’m exactly as drunk as I want to be,” Jungkook retorts, though he cuddles into Jin’s side and nuzzles his shoulder as he does.
“Right. Well why don't you hold down the fort here then, Jungkook? Namjoon and Jin, you hold down the Jungkook. You three come with me,” Yoongi says, going to the closet and pulling out a couple of ponchos, tossing one to Hoseok and one to Taehyung. “Unfortunately, we have to do this from the outside, but it’s pretty easy. You just yank the little chain, and the shutters roll down over the windows. We should do it before the winds get worse.”
Jimin nods, getting up to grab his own raincoat from the front closet, slipping it on over his clothes and pulling up the hood. Looking out the window, he can see it’s already too gusty for umbrellas.
Yoongi opens the front door, and the four of them file outside. “Hoseok and I will get the left side of the house, you two get the right side.”
Jimin nods, glancing anxiously at Taehyung before leading the way out into the storm. The fat rain drops smack hard and loud against the thick fabric of his rain coat, making it hard to hear anything else. They reach the first window, the one closest to the door, and Jimin teaches up to try and tug the small chain there. His fingers just barely brush it, and he huffs in frustration, raising up onto his tiptoes to try and get a better grip.
Then there’s a warmth at his back and a much larger hand reaching up near his to firmly grasp the chain, tugging it down hard. With a dull click, the metal reaches the windowsill, and Jimin locks it in place. From the corner of his eye, he sees Taehyung grinning triumphantly, feels the sheer radiant energy of it and feels the heat prickle hot and unwelcome up his neck, just like it used to. He ducks his head and trots on to the next window, making sure to get a proper jump this time so that he’s already got the shutter locked into place before Taehyung has even caught up.
They manage to shutter all seven windows on their side of the house without incident, flinging themselves back inside through the back door and closing it behind them as they breathe heavily in the silence of the tiled mudroom.
Taehyung’s brows are drawn as he whips off the poncho and runs a hand through his rain-soaked hair. Jimin has never, not for one waking second, forgotten how beautiful he is, but it sure hurts to be hit with the full force of it as a single raindrop runs down his straight nose, lingering briefly on the tip before it drips to the floor.
“Uh. Thanks,” Jimin says quietly, taking the poncho from Taehyung. “For helping. With the windows.”
Taehyung smiles a small smile, and Jimin aches for the big cheesy grin he knows and loves so well. “I mean, it’s my ass in here too.”
Jimin smiles back. “Right.” They can hear the others in the living room chatting over the sound of the television. “So. I didn’t know you were in town. Do you…”
“I live here, yeah,” Taehyung finishes for him. “I moved back in with my parents for a few months to save money. I’m actually just taking the summer off before I start grad school in a few weeks.”
A small, tentative warmth blooms in Jimin's gut. “That’s great, Tae.” And he doesn’t miss the way that Taehyung flinches slightly at the nickname.
“Yeah, well. Better late than never,” Taehyung nods with another small, tight smile, but his brows furrow in the way that they do when he’s deciding whether or not to do something. Unease kicks up in Jimin’s stomach, because he has an idea of what that something might be. Sure enough, “Uh, hey,” Taehyung starts tentatively. “So, about... Everything.”
“Look,” Jimin firmly interrupts him, his heart kicking into overdrive as he plasters on a wide smile that stretches his mouth strangely. He’s not ready. “It‘s been a long time. We really don’t need to drag up all that old shit. If you’re good, I'm good. Okay?”
He wonders if it’s even a lie when they’re both so keenly aware of the falseness of it. Taehyung stares at him, unsmiling now as his eyes dart down to Jimin's lips and back to his eyes. Then the corner of his mouth quirks wryly, his stare edging on a glare now, and Jimin resists the urge to squirm.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Okay,” Jimin agrees, smiling stiffly again. Taehyung spares him one last lingering look before heaving a visible sigh and making his way into the other room.
Jimin takes a deep breath, the smile melting from his face, willing himself not to cry as he unzips his own jacket and hangs it up on the door hook. He leans heavily against the door frame with his back to the other room.
The problem with loving Taehyung is that it never really goes away. Sometimes, Jimin has been able to distract himself to the point where maybe he doesn’t think about it for a week or two. Once, he’d even managed a few months, dated a guy he almost liked. Inevitably though, one way or another, it always comes back to Taehyung.
The universe, by conspiracy or coincidence, seems to agree.