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It was early morning when Jungkook woke. His eyelids were still heavy, the lull of sleep luring him back towards a tranquil dream. The sun had just risen, and the amber light fell through the half-drawn curtains of the hotel room, streaking across the rumpled bed. It was all warm and soft cotton, pleasantly cozy and snug.
He was nestled comfortably against the crook of his boyfriend’s neck, and he could feel Taehyung’s bare chest rise and fall with each steady breath. It soothes him, and he snuggles even closer, the tip of his nose gently nuzzling along the warm skin. The night before, Jimin – who was supposed to have shared the room with them, originally – had let them have the space to themselves. A bundle of belongings was scooped up in his arms, and he flashed them a mischievous smirk before closing the door behind him. Jungkook made a mental note to thank the redhead later.
But for now, he holds Taehyung close, basking in the heat of the older boy’s body, as it soaks into his skin. He lay there, sated, in the stillness of the morning – wishing that time, too, would remain still, and they could stay like this forever. But he was also eager, half-impatient, for the day to start; he wanted to walk out into it, having been kissed by Taehyung, having made love with him. He lets out a faint rush of breath, as he remembers Taehyung’s mouth along his skin, hot and desperate, and the feel of the older boy inside of him, as he begged Taehyung for more. Jungkook feels a slight shiver run through him at the thought. And for a moment, he wonders if it would be written on his body, on his face, in his eyes. It seemed impossible that his skin would not bear the mark of Taehyung’s kisses, seared like a brand, for everyone to see.
Jungkook had always been such a private person. He was someone that mostly kept to himself; others would think of him as shy. Opening up to people was something that he used to struggle with before – and even now, he is still learning to grapple with it. But over time, it seemed to have gotten easier. Taehyung made it so.
Jungkook didn’t mean to fall for him, this hurricane of a boy. But before he knew it, he was swept up in a whirlwind, and it left him scattered and breathless. Taehyung was unlike anyone Jungkook had ever known, and he was the first person to truly open him up. Surprisingly, though, the older boy didn’t rip through him, recklessly; but, rather, he was gentle. Taehyung carefully unfolded him with tender, mindful hands, brown eyes shining in wonder as he discovered something new with each reveal.
As an idol, Jungkook lives a life on crystal display. Every part of him is exposed, and he bares himself up to thousands – perhaps even millions – of people every single day. A myriad of cameras, watchful screens, and lightning flashes record his every move, committing them to memory. Nothing escapes the adoring gazes and praises of their fans, their audience.
Which is why Jungkook doesn’t understand how they can’t see this.
He’s propped up on his elbow, now, his other hand idly stroking Taehyung’s hair. The chestnut coloured strands are soft, and he feels them slip, like silk, through his fingers. The other male is still asleep, his eyes closed in a peaceful slumber, and Jungkook’s fingers trail down the side of his face, his thumb stopping to caress Taehyung’s cheek. He feels his breath catch, as he looks down at the older boy, a warmness blooming in his chest.
In Taehyung’s presence, Jungkook would wonder if his eyes shone too brightly, if his speech was a touch too doting, or if his body was drawn a little too close. But cloaked within these walls, there is nothing to hide. On the outside, however, they hid in plain sight, dancing around the screens and smoke-filled mirrors – yet not really hiding much at all.
He knows that he shouldn’t let it bother him, but sometimes, when an interviewer or wildly animated host asks them about their ‘ideal girls’, or which girl groups they would like to get closer to, a part of him wishes that he could just – right then and there – tell everyone that, no, he’s not interested. Why would he be, when he’s in love with the most amazing boy in the whole world? Why would he need anyone else?
And then he remembers that they can’t see it.
As outwardly vigilant as they are, the sea of cameras circling them like hawks, they can’t seem to pick up on this. There are no whispers, no mumblings in the media. Nothing, not a single sound.
Taehyung’s body begins to stir, a low groan rumbling deep in his throat. His eyes blink open, bleary from sleep, and Jungkook watches as the drowsy haze slowly starts to lift. They steadily come into focus, settling on him, and the corners of Taehyung’s mouth lift up in a fond smile. “Hey, you,” he says, the sleepiness roughening his voice and rasping it further. And something about the way his voice hitches makes Jungkook’s heart do a little somersault in his chest.
“Hey,” he smiles in return, feeling the warmth spread out, spilling over his face – and he can’t help it. Because, as he looks back at Taehyung, Jungkook sees it. The love in the older boy’s eyes is overwhelming, nearly blinding. And it’s there – just for him.
“Come here,” Taehyung calls to him gently, and he reaches a hand up to bring Jungkook towards him, their lips meeting in a soft, languid kiss, slow and unrushed. Taehyung murmurs nonsense against his mouth, and breathy laughter escapes Jungkook’s lips.
The world outside may not see it – and perhaps it’s for the better? Because he can. And, Jungkook supposes, that’s all that really matters.