Chapter Text
Jungkook leans on the desk, his wrists at perfect ninety degree angles with his forearms, and frowns at Jimin.
His friend is leaning back in his cushy chair at the welcome desk. He’s grinning at Jungkook, signature cherry lollipop in hand and shit-eating grin so wide it could crack his face right open. Jungkook would like to smack it straight off his face, actually.
“But I don’t want to date,” he repeats for the seven hundredth time in their friendship. And given that its run for two years only, that’s edging up on being a daily occurrence, net average. If he adds in the amount of times that Taehyung has also tried to get him to date, well then they’d be in a different league entirely. And Jungkook’s answer is always the same, too, so why they keep trying is beyond him.
“But why, Guk? You’re cute, you’re smart, you’re only annoying half of the time,” Jimin tosses his blonde hair like he can talk about “annoying”.
“You’re actually kind of a catch, even if you look miserable most of the time.”
Jimin reaches into his bag of chupa chup lollipops and digs out Jungkook’s favourite. Cola with a twist of lime. It’s their 2pm tradition, once the lunchtime browsers and morning events in the Museum have passed. When Jimin returns from his lunch break to the cafe, and Jungkook can be dragged away from the back office, they share some candy and Jimin forces him to reflect on his life in some unnecessary way.
If he didn’t love Park Jimin so much, he might actually hate Park Jimin.
“So that guy you were dancing with at the Globe last night, that went nowhere?” Jimin asks, pointing the lolly at Jungkook like it's a candy-polished spotlight.
The other receptionist, Iseul, laughs to herself as she makes pointed eye contact with her keyboard. She’s heard so many “morning after” debriefs that she barely reacts anymore, but still it embarasses Jungkook. Iseul is the kind of person to say nothing, but keep a running tally to use against Jungkook at some point in the future–hidden in her tiny purses like a detonating bomb.
He wishes they didn’t have to do this out in the open, with Iseul earwigging, but Jimin has no shame. And by virtue of that quality, Jungkook is afforded none either.
“Hmmm,” he hums noncommittally, admiring his nail beds and the pretty beads on his wrist. Jungkook made the bracelet he’s wearing in the back office this morning while listening to the new audio tour guides they’d recorded last week. It’s a little more simplistic than some of his other designs–runs of 8 clear microbeads, cherry clusters made of two green and two red larger beads in a tiny ring, rinse and repeat. He could make them with his eyes closed now, and that makes it a perfect task for his busy hands while his brain is occupied with work.
Jungkook had discovered pretty early in high school that giving his hands something to do, or giving his ears a song to listen to on repeat, was the easiest way to help him focus on his work–like the sounds of Le Sserafim in his headphones as he cracks out content for the monthly brochures. He types in rhythm with the music, the repetitive sounds of studio drum machines, peppy two part harmonies, stopping his mind from wandering too far from his tasks that day.
When he’s at home, under the crystal clarity of his ring light, DLSR pointed at his hands as they work, Jungkook lets his imagination run wild. He dreams up exotic fruits in 3D detail, beaded chokers and charms that grow more elaborate with every week that passes.
But in the back office of the Museum of Modern Art Seoul, simple beading is just something that helps his brain settle–the simple predictability of it like a soothing balm on his busy mind. When the hands are busy, the brain is content.
Just as the audio guides had come to a close this afternoon, he had added the cherry bracelet to his wrist with the four others that he’d made this week, and the prettiness of his work had made him smile. Jungkook loves pretty, cute things despite his outward appearance, a penchant for black and his “resting pout face”, as Jimin calls it.
“He was so cute, though,” Jimin frowns, standing to straighten up some of the brochures on the desk. “And he was a librarian. That’s so precious. You’d be so good with a librarian, nerding over your nerdy things together.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Not all nerds are created equal, you know. And it wouldn’t go that way, at all. He’d be interested for a while because we’re sexually compatible. Then we’d go out for coffee, or worse, dinner. We’d have to sit across from each other and make small talk. I’d infodump about Joan Miro or some shit and his eyes would glaze over.”
He grimaces and pushes out his bottom lip. “And then there’d be that fucking awful conversation where I have to act like I’m sad that he’d dumping me even though I’m not even sure if I liked him in the first place, or just liked that he liked me.”
Jungkook pauses sheepishly, grinning at the dramatic eye roll Jimin throws his way. He pulls on his ear a little, thinking about the guy from last night.
He can’t even remember his name, if he’s honest. He might never have known it at all. His apartment smelled of dog, and his sheets were scratchy, gross, crumby like he’d been eating in bed. It had made Jungkook feel like there were ants crawling across his naked skin, and he hadn’t even taken his t-shirt off.
When the guy had pulled his legs back like an archer's bow, plunged inside of him, all he’d been able to think about was the fucking dog, and where he might be sleeping. He shuddered as the guy leaned in to kiss him–too much tongue, why do men always lead with the tongue—wondered if maybe the dog usually took his spot in the bed.
Needless to say, it hadn’t been the most satisfying orgasm of his life.
When the guy had come, he’d smiled from his position on top of Jungkook and leaned in to press tender kisses on his chest. It had all felt too intimate for some guy he’d danced to in a club to Ariana Grande and let take him home an hour later.
Jungkook had thanked the guy for his hospitality, wiggled back into his jeans, and let him know he was going to head home. For a single, terrifying moment, the guy looked like he wanted to ask for Jungkook’s number, but chickened out at the last minute.
“You know, what is it that your girlie Elizabeth Bennett says to Mr. Darcy? You won’t be able to converse easily with strangers if you don’t take the time to practice.”
Jimin smiles smugly at him and Jungkook gasps.
“I can’t believe you’re using 1995 Pride and Prejudice against me.” He pouts and folds his arms across his chest, pulling his shoulders up a little so he can snuggle into the fresh warmth of his cotton hoodie.
“As much as I love hearing your chitter-chatter, Google, can you guys wrap it up?”
Iseul sighs as her long, acrylic fingernails tap on the keyboard. Jungkook is entranced by them, the shiny aubergine ovals tap, tap, tapping as she scowls at him and Jimin. He doesn’t know how she puts up with them, honestly. How does she wipe her ass? How does she masturbate? If Jungkook’s nails grow even a millimeter too long, he feels like he wants to rip them off his fingertips. But Iseul seems to soar through life despite her talons.
There’s also the nickname.
Google.
It drives him crazy, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. Iseul has been calling him that for three years now, and it feels as though too much time has passed for him to suddenly express how much he hates it. Jimin is too busy polishing his laptop screen to have noticed, so he lets it go, ignoring the way the hairs on his neck prickle and his belly clenches. It shouldn’t be Jimin’s job to fight his battles for him, anyway.
“Kim-ssi will be arriving soon, you know,” Iseul continues as she hits send on her email and rifles through her handbag. “He’s so hot, too. I’m so glad Moon-ssi is gone. He smelled like sardines.”
She’s not wrong The previous head curator, who had just retired, was a lecherous bastard that ate seafood every single lunch time. Worse than that, he warmed it in the microwave. And, hey, Jungkook liked seafood as much as the next person but this guy had no personal hygiene.
Sometimes, while he was being lectured about talking too brusquely to a patron, Jungkook would make eye contact with a flake of tuna wedged between the curator’s front teeth and shudder down to the soles of his trusty Doc Martens.
They’re all a little nervous about “the new director”, actually. Well, Jungkook is nervous and everyone else is varying degrees of excited. Iseul seems to think she's about to meet her future husband, and Jimin just enjoys anything that shakes up the monotony of his weekends behind the reception desk.
Dottie in the back office is the only one that seems as unsure as Jungkook. At the grand old age of 66, she’s convinced that Kim Namjoon is going to “storm in here with his bigshot London attitude” and make her obsolete. Force her to follow Moon Tuna into an early retirement. Or a very timely one.
It’s true that under Director Moon they’ve been doing things “old school”. Jungkook’s computer still runs Windows 1998 and Dottie has to get him to sign into her emails whenever he’s on shift. How she manages, or if she does at all, when he’s not in here he doesn’t dare to ask. Iseul would never lower herself, that’s for sure, and Jungkook’s in school half the week.
“He’s coming in today?” Jimin asks, pulling out his hand mirror and squinting at his tiny reflection. Jungkook watches as the pair of receptionists primp their skin, powder their noses, and pinch their cheeks. It all seems a bit pointless really, but who is he to stop them?
“Apparently, he landed this afternoon and he’s going to drop in for an introduction. I didn’t wear this uncomfortable piece of shit skirt for nothing,” Iseul replies, wiggling her tiny hips to demonstrate how tight her pencil skirt is. Jungkook saw her walking to the toilets this morning and she could barely move her legs. She looked like a little penguin, waddling in her heels as they click-clacked on the wooden floors, and he’d had to stifle a laugh.
Jimin is right, beauty really is pain. And it always seems to Jungkook to be the most beautiful people that obsess over it the most. He looks down at his own black hoodie and baggy combat pants, tucked into his Docs. He ruffles his wavy hair that’s long enough to get in his eyes when he doesn’t tie it back, now. At least his bracelets are pretty, he thinks, as he jangles his wrist and grins.
Who cares about Kim Namjoon anyway?
𖦹
As it happens? Everyone cares about Kim Namjoon.
Jungkook’s colleagues will not shut up about him in the canteen the next morning before breakfast. He’s spooning his oatmeal in his bowl, waiting for his blueberries to pop and melt like blistering jam, and Dottie is yapping in his ear like a woman possessed. Dimples this, dimples that. Dimples his butthole, Jungkook thinks as he frowns into his breakfast.
He hates trying to talk before 9am. When he has to be social this early in the day, all of the spoons are fucked out the window before lunch time has even hit. He needs those spoons to make it through the shift, so frowning at his oatmeal it is.
Not too long after he’d clocked out of the museum, and biked across town to make his afternoon lectures, the new curator had arrived at MMAS. When Jungkook had walked in this morning, Jimin–always earlier than him somehow despite them leaving the house at the same time–had charged at him like a bull to a matador, a maniacal grin on his annoying fresh face.
“Oh, Jungkook, he’s gorgeous,” Jimin cooed with his hands on his cheek like he was appraising a fine, prize horse or seeing someone's chubby-legged baby for the first time. Jungkook looked around to see if there was someone behind him, but it wasn’t unlike Jimin to throw him into the middle of a conversation and expect him to follow.
“Um…,” he croaked, still half asleep despite his cycle in. “Taehyung? I know he is, I live with him, too. It’s actually kind of ridiculous how fucking gorgeous.”
Jimin rolls his eyes and drags Jungkook towards the bathroom. The staff space is an accessible, unisex toilet, separate from the larger ones open to the public. He spends a strange amount of his free time in the museum crammed in here with Jimin or a visiting Taehyung, watching them apply lip balm or smooth their hair from pretty fucking perfect to really fucking perfect.
Jimin starts his shift earlier than Jungkook because the desk needs to be manned 30 minutes before they open at 10am each day. But there’s always time in Jimin’s world for a morning debrief. Jungkook would be invincible if he had an ounce of his roommate’s productivity. This is the man that labels everything in their fridge at home with his LetraTag and plans their chore rota down to the half hour. One day, Park Jimin is going to make a lot of fucking money bossing people around, that’s for sure.
“Not Taehyung, you silly bunny,” Jimin tuts and sits down on the toilet, jeans already around his ankles. Jungkook groans and turns to look in the mirror instead. He’s used to this by now, but he’d still rather not actually make eye contact with Jimin when he takes a piss. Sitting down, nonetheless.
“Kim Namjoon, Gukkie. Kim “dimples bigger than my eyeballs” Namjoon. Kim “thighs thicker than my waist” Namjoon. Kim...”
Jungkook holds up a hand to cut him short. “Jimin, you’re doing too much.”
Jimin scowls and pushes in at the sink to wash his hands. “You look extra cute today,” he says suspiciously, taking in Jungkook’s knitted star sweater and his pushed back hair.
He’s even swapped out his barbell for a simple lip ring that he thinks makes him look much cuter.
There are days when Jungkook wakes up with the energy to make a balanced breakfast, pancakes and eggs and coffee with steamed oat milk. When he has the spoons to dress himself in something other than his black ensemble, his baggy clothes that he doesn’t have to adjust all day long for comfort.
And there are days where it's the exact opposite, and just existing feels really exhausting. His skin feels too tender, like a layer has been removed or scrubbed red and raw in a too-hot bath. On those days, it's only a matter of time before something hurts his feelings and he bleeds out all over the museum floor, a casualty for the haughty art students to step over on their travels. A raw nerve, his Mama would say, one you only need to brush against to make it ache.
“It’s nothing to do with Kim Namjoon, full government name as you insist on calling him,” Jungkook sighs, fixing the one artful lock of hair that’s falling over his forehead. He does look good today. “I’m just having a day where I want to feel pretty, that’s all. Is that really so wrong?”
Jimin turns to him, splashing little showers of water all over Jungkook’s nice, slim fit dark blue jeans. Which is fantastic really.
“Something wrong with wanting to look pretty?” Jimin reaches out to squeeze his cheeks. “Something wrong with making the most of this adorable, little face that literally looks like a slice of celestial heaven? Instead of hiding it behind your hair and scowling all the time? Something wrong with taking a little pride in your appearance, Gukkie?”
He kisses the apples of both of Jungkook’s cheeks and hip checks him out of the way so he can use the mirror to fix his own perfect, golden hair.
“I should think fucking not,” Jimin giggles. “It’s a way of life, and I’m glad you’ve finally joined us in the pretty bitch club. It makes something in my heart bleed to see you hide your sexy body under those burlap sacks, Guk.”
“Why do you have to be like this?” Jungkook sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. He leaves Jimin in the bathroom to enjoy the final thirteen and half minutes before he has to open the doors.
It’s just after that he finds himself wedged into his corner of the canteen, crunching cereal with Dottie. The company has changed, sure, but he’s still spending his Saturday morning listening to even more dramatic fawning over Kim Fucking Namjoon.
And listen. Listen.
Jungkook doesn’t have a problem with the new management. In fact, it's a relief to get rid of Moon-ssi and his wandering hands that liked to find any opportunity he could to touch Jungkook’s ass and make it look like an accident. And personal boundaries aside, the museum needs the fresh blood too.
He might just be a part time gallery assistant, but Jungkook has nothing but ideas for the museum. Cool artists they could engage to add some modern juxtaposition to their signature collection; Events where they could form relationships with up and coming artists; Incentives to bring kids in the doors, because what’s art without children? Kids make the best art on the planet, actually.
Moon-ssi didn’t see things that way. In fact, the surly bastard hated kids, and insisted that anyone who brought a child into a museum was just looking for a free babysitter.
Despite almost everything about his outer persona maybe signalling the opposite, Jungkook loves kids. He loves that they’re naturally non-judgemental. They say what comes into their heads, and they don’t sugar coat their observations, but they’re not born with prejudice. It’s the grown ups that pass those down.
He doesn’t really care when a kid asks him why he stims, or shuffles on the spot, doesn’t like to make eye contact, or pulls his ear when he’s overstimulated. Kids ask because they’re curious and because life is interesting when people don’t behave exactly like one another. Kids have an innate capacity for empathy, and spend their formative years reaching out only to understand.
Adults comment because they’re assholes.
And Jungkook has lots of ideas about children and art. That’s the dream really. When he finishes his masters degree in Art Curation and Conservation, he wants to create exhibitions for children. And not just pop-ups in the corner of the real museum. But real, interactive projects that let children prove just how unserious art can be.
He had tried to sell it to the perverted bastard, he really did. But Moon-ssi had just responded that while it was admirable that Jungkook believed all children were as “complex” as he himself had been, it was worth noting that Jungkook wasn’t exactly the average test subject. And would he rather not make use of his afternoon by seeing if Dottie needed any help transporting the new arrival at the loading bay out back? Said, of course, with a little squeeze to the mounds of Jungkook’s bicep and an inhalation so ragged it sounds filthy.
Yeah, fuck that guy. Jungkook won’t miss him. Jimin won’t miss him, and neither will Dottie who called him a rubbernecking bastard whenever he was out of earshot. Iseul sucked up to the guy like that was her full time job, but she wouldn’t miss him either.
But all the same, it doesn’t feel good to have a new curator coming into the museum he’s been loving tenderly for the last three years. Jungkook feels anxious and unnerved, worried that Kim Namjoon is going to storm in and demand they do things by the book. Things like, making Jungkook actually act like a Gallery Assistant, and not a jack of all trades.
Moon-ssi might have been a total pervert, but at least he was negligent. Jungkook has gotten to do a million things that he shouldn’t at his level, and all because the head curator was too lazy to do them himself. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he’s back on the floors, pointing patrons in the direction of the toilets. Or worse, with Jimin and Iseul on the front desk draining every single ounce of energy in his body so that he can fake the picture perfect smile, only to end up making people feel uncomfortable anyway.
Fuck that.
𖦹
Jungkook is carrying his favourite mug–a wide brimmed, lavender le creuset mug that Taehyung bought him for his 21st birthday–across the museum floor. He’s making his way towards the back offices when he sees the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life.
This guy is standing in front of Banana Flower by Georgia O’Keefe. Well, he’s not really standing in front of it because he’s at least two meters back, enough behind a group of three girls that are actually in front of it to tell Jungkook that he’s not with them at all.
“I don’t know, it just makes me feel really sad but its called Banana Flower,” says a girl with wavy, ash brown hair. “It's like that meme of the two houses, side by side. You know, because it's this sad, melting thing but the title is so cheerful.”
Jungkook smiles a little. He’s thought of it that way himself. He thinks of something different every time he passes it–sometimes with just a passing glance, and sometimes for half an hour at a time, imprinted into the flooring as his brain reels. He stops a little behind the handsome guy to listen. It’s one of his favourite things about working in a museum, hearing people’s theories. Seeing them respond to the art.
The girl's friend, taller, blonde and blue eyed, cuts in, and there's an accent—are they German, maybe? Austrian? A lot of people their age pass through Seoul, and some even end up here from time to time.
“It looks like a heart. An anatomically correct heart,” the blonde says solemnly, in a voice that’s soft and pleasant. Jungkook likes soft spoken people.
“I don’t know what it looks like, but it’s definitely sad. Like unrequited love,” the last girl pipes in, tilting her head to the side with sigh.
They move onto the next room after that, and Jungkook just watches Mister Handsome with his wide shoulders and thick arms stretching out the fine black knit of his turtleneck.
“What do you think, then?” Handsome asks without turning around. And Jungkook is known to move like a slow, hunting panther on the tips of his toes, so how the guy even heard him there is beyond him. Probably the boots he wore today while trying to look pretty for no one at all.
“About Banana Flower?” he replies as the guy turns around. And if he looked that good from the back, then his face, his chest, the way his shoulders are so strong they look like hard globes Jungkook wants to run his tongue alone–it's all on another level.
Jungkook pauses and squints at the drawing, tongue in his cheek and his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.
“Officially? Banana Flower, 1934. Charcoal on paper. O’Keefe was on vacation with Marjorie Content, who was an amazing photographer in her own right, by the way. O’Keefe watched the Banana flower blossom for weeks over the time she was there.”
Jungkook pauses to take in the guy's face–a face with so many unique eccentricities that it shouldn’t be as flatly handsome as it is. Handsomeness feels like too bland a concept for someone who has things that make him unique. They guy is masculine and regal, but the features themselves are delicate, almost feminine. His nose, pretty and small, sloping down his face in a perfect unbroken arc. The dragon eyes that are elongated and warmer than they should be. It all makes something tickle in Jungkook’s belly.
The guy nods for him to continue, a soft half smile on his face. Jungkook has learned that it's better not to wax lyrical and say all of the things he wants to say to patrons, even when they look open and interested. Instead, he tramples some of the excitement he gets in his chest whenever he talks about his favourite art, and just shrugs.
“On a personal level, I’ll have to go against the consensus of our first visitors this morning, Jungkook-ssi,” The guy walks a little closer to him and Jungkook wants to melt into the floorboards. “It makes me feel hopeful. It’s just about the natural cycle of things, I think. It looks like the petals are dying when they pull back and curl up, but actually they let the flowers emerge and transform into bananas… isn’t that what O’Keefe said?”
Jungkook swallows hard.
The dimples, which as Jimin had said are bigger than his eyeballs, probably should have been the hint. He feels his hackles rise in front of his new boss, a tall, unnaturally handsome man, maybe 10 years or more older than Jungkook that can quote Georgia O’Keefe.
“Nice to meet you Kim-ssi,” he bows his head and locks his eyes on the round, smooth black leather of his boot tips. “I apologize that I wasn’t here to greet you yesterday afternoon.”
He doesn’t really know how Kim Namjoon knew who he was. He hopes that it was Jimin who had said something kind about him yesterday, and not Iseul.
“No apologies needed,” Namjoon holds out a hand to Jungkook. He looks at the large, broad palm, and the expanse of long, golden finger and grimaces a little.
But he takes Namjoon’s hand and drops it as soon as the half-hearted shake is done. Handshakes can really go either way, can’t they? They can be hot and charged and make you feel vulnerable, or they can be cold, weak things that make you feel invaded. Either way, Jungkook could do without them.
Even if Namjoon’s hands are clean and manicured, pretty and perfect.
“Show me to the back office?” Namjoon asks, falling into step beside Jungkook. The office is on the other side of the gallery from the entrance and the reception desk. You have to wind through Impressionism, Expressionism, Modernism, Post Modernism to get there.
“So, Jimin tells me that you’re the jack of all trades around here?” Namjoon asks in a genial voice. It’s wretchedly deep.
“Well…,” Jungkook pulls at his ear until it's red, hot, and warm. “I’m a Gallery Assistant, technically, but I tend to fill in as and when I’m needed.” He feels himself prickle defensively. He doesn’t want Namjoon to take his position away from him. He feels a little tearful at the thought, his belly churning with nerves and discomfort.
“Of course, I’ll do whatever it is you ask of me,” he adds as they approach the office.
Namjoon stops short of the door. Dottie is visible through the window on the door, typing away at her computer with only her index fingers. Teaching her to type has been a long, drawn out but ultimately rewarding process for Jungkook. She looks a little silly, honestly, her tongue poking through her teeth as she stabs at the keys like a bird plunging for worms. But she’s worked hard, and Jungkook adores her.
“I’m not intending on fixing anything that isn’t broken,” Namjoon smiles warmly, and Jungkook has no idea what he means by that. He wishes people wouldn’t talk in euphemisms when it comes to important things. Is Jungkook a broken thing in the gallery? It depends who you ask. Jimin and Dottie would say he’s invaluable. Iseul would say he’s useful, even if he followed it up with some more choice adjectives.
“I don’t know what that means,” Jungkook says because it's true. There’s no point in starting their working relationship off with a misunderstanding, is there?
Namjoon just smiles again and ushers him into the office.
“It means that by all accounts you’re doing an amazing job, but maybe there’s something more you want to be doing here, you know?”
Again, Jungkook doesn’t know, but he doesn’t think he can ask Namjoon to clarify again, so he nods his head dumbly and makes a tight line with his mouth. It’s not really a smile, but it's not not a smile—or so he argues with Jimin, whom he practiced his customer service smile with at home. It’s not that he doesn’t like smiling. Smiles are wonderful things. Namjoon’s, for one, is beautiful.
Jungkook just doesn’t like that people often smile when they don’t mean it. A smile should be saved for when the situation really warrants it. When something wraps you up in warmth and you can’t but let your outsides match your insides. But people weaponize smiles, they use them to their advantage. They can mean so many different things, and that’s the problem isn’t it? Jungkook wants to know what Kim Namjoon’s smile means, because the older man doesn’t seem to protect it at all.
Jungkook’s smile is a finite resource that he keeps locked up for the things in life that make him truly happy—a new Le Sserafim song just as it drops and his timeline erupts with excited fearnots; unsticking the bubble wrap on a new painting in the gallery, one he’s seen a thousand times in textbooks but never in real life; dancing with Jimin and Tae; The way his niece laughs when Jungkook’s dog Bam snuffles at her toes. Those are real smile moments.
“I’m going to meet with everyone, one to one so we can figure out what you’re all looking for,” Namjoon says as he goes to make a coffee from the ancient machine against the back wall. It spits out tar that Jungkook can’t bring himself to drink.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Jungkook says, holding out a hand to stop Namjoon before he can pull a paper cup from the stack. “If you let me know your order, I’ll add you to the coffee run in…” He pauses to check his watch. “Eleven minutes.”
Namjoon laughs a little.
“How about we go together, and we can make that meeting now?” he asks, and Jungkook must have some look of terror on his face right now because Namjoon rushes to assure him that it's all very friendly, and he doesn’t need to prepare anything.
𖦹
That’s how Jungkook ends up sitting across from Kim Namjoon in the Cocoa Bean, avoiding the eye of Taehyung behind the counter who’s wiggling his eyebrows at him.
“Do you know him?” Namjoon asks, gesturing a thumb over his shoulder. Thankfully, Jungkook sat down first, so he’d been able to take a seat facing Taehyung, thus minimizing the damage of his best friend's antics.
“Yes, since I was six years old.” Jungkook’s sigh is long-suffering as he watches Taehyung stack up a tray with their coffees–an Americano for himself, and a mocha with whipped cream for Namjoon. He’s not too sure he managed to hide his grimace when Namjoon had ordered, instructing Tae to add three sugars to the already disgusting glass mug of liquid sugar he was preparing.
Taehyung has been working at the coffee shop since he was let go from the gallery, a fact he’s still very bitter about. He didn’t care about the job at all really, but Moon-ssi had declared it the final straw when Taehyung had rolled in for a morning shift straight from the party he’d been at all night, still smelling of cheap tequila. He still called into the gallery most afternoons when his shift let out, usually in some dumb disguise or other so that Moon-ssi wouldn’t catch on to his presence and lose his shit.
“Wow, childhood best friends?” Namjoon says, with another broad grin. “You went to school together?”
Jungkook hesitates. He doesn’t really want to explain to Namjoon that he and Taehyung had met in what the teachers in Busan’s Dandelion Elementary school euphemistically called “the special room”. It was before either of them had been diagnosed, and they’d both landed there for distinctly different reasons. Jungkook, because he irritated his teachers with his constant questions, both too clever and apparently too slow at the same time to be left to his own devices. And Taeyung because he couldn’t sit still nor stop talking from when the bell rang at 9am until his Mom claimed him from the exhausted teacher at 2.45pm each afternoon.
The special room covered all manner of things, really.
“Yes,” he says instead. “We went to school together, and we live together now, along with Jimin at reception.”
“Jungkook, I can’t believe you’ve finally broken the habit of a lifetime, you sly dog,” Taehyung interrupts as he lays their coffees on the table. He slides a bakewell tart in front of Jungkook, and a coffee cake for Namjoon.
“On the house,” he winks when Namjoon starts to tell him that they definitely didn’t order cake at 10am.
Jungkook grimaces. He can’t resist bakewell tarts.
“And you,” Taehyung continues, “Look about ten times more handsome than I remember from last night, though I was pretty far on when you guys left. Well done, Jungkookie, he’s gorgeous. Very your type.” He gives Namjoon a slow, appraising look. “He never brings any of his conquests in here, though, you must be a very special boy.”
Taehyung claps a hand on Jungkook’s back just as he brings his Americano to his lips. He splutters coffee all over his lovely jumper and his best jeans.
“You okay?” Namjoon passes him a handkerchief. A handkerchief, fresh and unused, even in a coffee shop full of disposable napkins. What kind of man carries a handkerchief?
“I’m fine, but I think, eh…” Jungkook flushes and looks down at the sopping stain on his crotch. These are his favourite jeans, too.
“He’s fine, he just gets a little funny about his clothes,” Taehyung explains kindly, pushing a wad of napkins against Jungkook’s dick.
“Get off me you idiot,” he pouts, flushing even redder as Taehyung tries and fails to suppress a giggle. Namjoon looks more amused than mortified, which is something he supposes. “This is the new Director of the museum, Taehyung.”
“Kim Namjoon,” Namjoon and Taehyung shake hands. “Nice to meet you. Good to be on a first name basis if the coffee really is that bad back in the museum. I think we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“Oh it really is,” Taehyung nods seriously, pulling up a chair and going to sit down before he catches Jungkook’s angry glare. The only thing that can make this business meeting even worse is Taehyung’s continued presence. And normally his best friend doesn’t pay much attention to Jungkook’s admonishing looks, so must have seen the sheer desperation this time.
“It’s dreadful, so call in any time. This ones on me, handsome,” Taehyung twinkles, bowling Namjoon over with a wink and disappearing back over towards the counter.
He’s the only one manning the counter too, so there’s an angry gaggle of customers waiting for him. But one of the most irritating things about Kim Taehyung is that it's impossible to stay mad at him. Jungkook thinks he overhears a lady apologize to Taehyung that she’s been waiting over fifteen minutes.
“Well, he’s quite something,” Namjoon laughs, tucking into his mocha. He has a little whipped cream moustache that Jungkook can’t take his eyes off. “Is he your partner?”
Jungkook resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s been best friends with Taehyung for 18 years now, so he’s somewhat used to playing the unwilling wingman when people are inevitably interested in him. And of course they are, because Tae is undeniably gorgeous in a way that’s impossible to ignore. Still, it would be nice if his boss was somehow immune to those charms.
“No, he is not,” Jungkook answers shortly, pushing the last bite of his tart around his plate. “He and Jimin have been together for two years now.”
Namjoon just hums and watches Taehyung behind the counter for a few more seconds, before he turns his gaze back to Jungkook. “They make a beautiful couple,” he smiles.
They really do, too.
For a long time, Jungkook felt self conscious going out with them. Every Saturday night, they’d transform from just naturally beautiful people into ethereal angels, dazzled in glitter and twinkling belly button rings, cheekbones lit for the Gods, crop tops so short they almost showed nipple.
And Jungkook would stomp into the room in his soft baggy jeans or cargo pants, and his black tank, feeling invisible. Time and experience has taught him that he, Taehyung and Jimin all have their own charms, and different types of people are drawn to each of them. For every guy who is enchanted by Jimin’s pixie-like beauty, or Tae’s unnaturally handsome features, there's someone who wants to wrap their hands around Jungkook’s lithe waist as the sway their bodies in tandem. People actually want to gaze into his wide eyes, or pull his ponytail loose and run their fingers through his curls. Time has made Jungkook feel sexy too, when the mood is right.
It also doesn’t hurt that Jimin and Taehyung’s favourite couples hobby is hyping him up, telling him how beautiful he is, and how pretty his eyes are, forcing him out of his baggy clothes and into much tighter, much smaller counterparts when they go dancing. It’s hard to wallow in your low self esteem when you’re around people as warm as his friends. Over time, he’s let a lot of it go.
“They really do,” Jungkook smiles at his Americano, because he can’t feel jealous of Taehyung when Taehyung is so good. When he looks up, Namjoon is watching him silently, a small, half flush of his own taking over the warmth of his olive skin.
“So Jungkook,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’ve been at the gallery for three years, right? From what I can tell you’ve been doing a lot of tasks above your paygrade.”
Jungkook swallows and braces himself.
“I try to help where I can,” he says, blushing. He can’t hold Namjoon’s eye contact, so he stares a little at the space between his eyebrows instead. He’s starting to feel sick.
“Right, but it would be nice to pay you for the work you’re doing. I know you’re nearly ready to graduate too, so the timing is right.” Namjoon pulls an envelope out of his bag. It’s one of those cute, leather school satchels. It’s very London of him.
“Take this home with you, okay. Look over the role, and have a think about it. I know I’m the Director here, but I have a lot of experience curating, that’s sort of where I’m coming from, professionally speaking. I’m not planning on doing that here forever, though, so if this is something you’re interested in, then maybe we can view it as a kind of fellowship.”
Jungkook takes a small white envelope and turns it over in his hands. He lays it on the table silently and turns his eyes back to Namjoon.
“We’ll need to interview you for it officially, but I’m impressed by everything I’ve seen and heard, Jungkook. You deserve this,” Namjoon tilts his head to the side, and he looks a bit like a golden retriever. A big, warm eyed puppy dog that just looks so content with its life. Jungkook is really feeling sick.
“Kim-ssi,” he starts, his voice a little wobbly.
“Namjoon,” his boss interrupts with another one of those smiles. He smiles constantly , and Jungkook’s feelings about that are complex.
“Namjoon-ssi, um… interview me for what exactly?”
Namjoon blinks, and blinks again, and then suddenly he’s laughing heartily. Throwing his head back and bellowing into the cavernous silence of the coffee shop. It’s quiet now after the mid-morning rush, and even Taehyung glances over in alarm. Being around Namjoon is like having emotional whiplash. Jungkook feels overwhelmed by how cheerful he is all of the time. He hates so much that he doesn’t understand what they’re talking about, that his dick is covered in hot coffee, and that Namjoon is laughing at him.
“Oh, God, I did this all backwards, didn’t I?” Namjoon’s smile is gone now, and his face is serious. He clutches his own hands on the table in front of him and clears his throat. “Jungkook, I’d like to start you on a Junior Curator fellowship. We’ll give it six months, and if you do well and show an aptitude for it, then we’ll move you into the role full time. You don’t have to answer me now, just take some time and we’ll talk, yeah?”
Jungkook feels like his brain is grappling to take in what Namjoon is saying. The constant dings and roars from the counter, the grinding of the coffee beans, the smell that's suddenly too strong and intense–it's making his stomach churn and his head spin.
“I…,” he tries, planting his palms on the table in front of him to steady himself. When did they get so sweaty? They slip and slide on the stainless steel and he thinks about all of the dirty hands that have touched this table today alone.
“We can work on all of the exhibitions together, until you’re ready to take on something yourself. I have ideas of my own, Jungkook, of course I do, but I want to hear yours, too. Have you heard of the painter…”
Namjoon is just talking and talking, flipping through a moleskin journal that’s appeared on the table in front of him, and Jungkook feels like his brain is bleeding out.
The door to the coffee shops swings open, and a group of students push through, bringing with them the rain and chitter chatter of the streets. The stereo is blaring a Loona song he knows, a song he loves, but it's too loud. His ears hurt, even more so when he tugs on his lobes for comfort. And still, Namjoon is just talking, and talking, and smiling. Why can't he just stop smiling for a second?
It just sounds like gibberish now though, like the muffled noise of Charlie Brown's parents–the monotony of his chatter sitting just under the hurricane of Jungkook’s emotions as they rise up and fill his chest with hot air.
“I think his expressionist style, and the focus on movement in dance could be a really good combination with some of the pieces in the permanent collection…”
Jungkook stands up suddenly, and it shakes the table. Their cups are empty, but Namjoon’s glass mocha mug rattles on the surface like one green bottle hanging on the wall, just about to fall.
“I need the bathroom,” he chokes out, just snatching a glimpse of the slight frown on Namjoon’s face before he hightails it to the bathroom.
He prays a silent prayer that the bathroom is unoccupied as he struggles with the door handle, his trembling hands too hot and clammy now to grip it properly.
When he gets inside, and locks the door, he lets himself slump down onto the disgusting tiles. Jungkook knows from Taehyung that they only wash them once a day before they close, and under usual circumstances he’d shudder at the sticky feeling of his hands on the flat of the tiles.
But it's like the wave of emotion that erupts from his stomach, through his chest, up his aching throat, blocks out everything else going on around him. He could be in his bed, or in a shopping mall, in Busan or Jeju or just on the dirty floor of a coffee shop in Seoul. He could be anywhere, while he sobs and sobs and uses the blunt of his nails to scratch at the floor lightly.
Jungkook cries until he’s empty, and then he feels better so quickly it's jarring. He hates that about himself, actually—how the tiniest thing can knock him so completely off course, make him feel like the world is falling down around him with only an umbrella for shelter. And then after his body betrays him entirely, and his brain erupts, he has to sit in the aftermath and realize that nothing actually happened, not really.
So why did it feel like he’d never find his feet again? Why did the feelings have to be so big when the stimulus was so tiny?
Jungkook stands on wobbly fawn legs, and shuffles over to the bathroom sink. His reflection looks harrowed and dull, soft swollen cheeks, and bloodshot eyes. He has some faint scratch marks on his cheeks that he doesn’t remember making, and his hair, which he’d felt so good about this morning, is hanging in his eyes again. Always in his eyes, and never where it’s supposed to be.
Jungkook grabs a hair tie from his pocket and holds it for a moment to anchor himself. The toilet smells like bleach, the hair tie is ribbed, his tongue tastes like bakewell tart, he can hear the ragged nature of his breath, the black and white tiles look cleaner than they felt.
He pulls his hair back in a knot, wincing at the tender feeling of his scalp, sore like bruised peach flesh. His brain feels so slow now, but his skin is still on high alert, waiting for a predator to eat him up or a car to push through the walls and kill him stone dead. Panic that starts in the brain, but makes itself felt in the body for much, much longer. He splashes some water on his face, willing the heat to calm down so he can look normal again.
“Jungkookie, let me in for fuck sake.” Taehyung is pounding on the door. and when Jungkook checks his phone it's nearly midday.
Taehyung must have been leaning on the door, because when Jungkook opens it he stumbles inside.
“Babe,” Taehyung grabs his shoulders to steady himself, his eyes big and soft as they flit around the carnage of Jungkook’s face. “I’ve been knocking for half a fucking hour. I was about to call he fucking fire service to save you.”
Jungkook just sniffs a little, letting Taehyung wrap him up in a tight hug.
Taehyung’s hugs are a magical thing. He holds Jungkook closer than anyone else would ever dare to, so tight it almost hurts. The feeling of a vice around his shoulders, and the thick, steadiness of the heart beating against his ear as he lays his head on Tae’s chest… it steadies him. It’s what he needs.
“What happened, babe?” Taehyung asks when he pulls away, hands on Jungkook’s waist and his back arched so he can look at Jungkook.
“I acted like a stupid baby, that’s what happened,” Jungkook croaks, wincing at how scratchy and snotty his voice sounds.
“You didn’t even act like a baby when you were a baby, so less of that please,” Tae sighs, manhandling him so that he can push Jungkook to sit down on the closed toilet lid. He crouches down in front of Jungkook and takes his hands. “Come on, tell me and then I’ll get you home, okay?”
“That’s it though,” Jungkook whines, closing his eyes when the panic’s abated enough that the mortification is able to take over. God, he’d just left Namjoon sitting there. How long had he waited? “Nothing happened. I had a meltdown over literally nothing. I got offered my dream job and instead of being a normal person about it, I came in here and cried like a baby.”
Taehyung hums a little, and it's nice. When Jungkook has the luxury of melting down in the sanctity of his own home, sometimes he lets Taehyung sing to him. He hums a little Ella Fitzgerald song now, one of Taehyung’s favourites, and one Jungkook could listen to him sing forever, in his deep baritone.
“After one whole quart of brandy, like a daisy I’m awake,” Taehyung croons with an exaggerated jazz vibrato. “With no bromo-seltzer handy, I don’t even shake.”
He keeps peering at Jungkook with his puppy eyes, and his dumb singing until Jungkook relents. The smile he cracks is crooked and watery, but it’s enough.
“Okay, my little flower, on your feet,” Taehyung says, pulling him up and tucking Jungkook into his side.
“I’m fine now, you don’t need to hold me,” Jungkook grumbles, but lets Taehyung guide him out of the bathroom anyway.
He immediately wishes he’d stayed in the bathroom, or asked Taehyung some more questions. The place is packed now, at nearly 12.30pm and well into the lunch rush. But worse than the din of chitter-chatter, the loud conversations that he still feels a little too sensitive for, is Kim Namjoon. Still sitting exactly where Jungkook had left him, bent over a moleskin with his airpods in.
“Oh fuck,” Jungkook whispers, trying to turn around and walk right back into the bathroom. Taehyung holds him firm, and doesn’t let him, and Jungkook wants to elbow him in the ribs actually. “Let me go, he can’t see me,” he whines, looking between Namjoon and Taehyung with a growing anxiety swirling in his tummy.
“Nope, not going to happen,” Taehyung pivots Jungkook so they’re looking at each other again, heavy hands on his shoulders. “This is your boss, Jungkook. You can’t run away and pretend he doesn’t exist. He’s waited two fucking hours for you, for one.”
God, Namjoon has waited two hours. Jungkook wants the floor to swallow him.
“You’re going to go over and tell him you’re not feeling great, okay? And I’m going to take you home. When you go back to work tomorrow, the world is not going to end, Jungkookie, okay?”
Taehyung points him towards Namjoon now and gives him a little push. He takes a tentative step towards the table in the window, and just as he feels his courage falter, Namjoon looks up at him.
“Jungkook,” he says, scrambling a little with his earpods, his coffee–how many has he had? Is he as jittery as Jungkook is now?--and standing up. “Taehyung said you weren’t feeling well, but… I didn’t want to just leave you here. You do look a little flushed.”
Namjoon reaches out a hand as if he’s going to lay it on Jungkook’s forehead to take his temperature, like Jungkook is a tiny child with a fever. He catches himself half way, and looks embarrassed. That makes two of them.
“I… yeah, it’s just. Flu, I think,” Jungkook half says, half whispers, too drained to say much else. Namjoon just looks at him long and hard.
“Jungkook, I’m so sorry. It was so unprofessional of me to handle our conversation the way I did this morning. I didn’t even let our introduction settle before I encroached on your space, and threw all of that at you.” Namjoon grimaces and looks at his nail beds for a moment. He looks nearly as flustered as Jungkook feels.
Junkook finds that he misses the sweet smile from earlier. Maybe it had been genuine all along.
“It was me, actually,” Jungkook sighs, and sits down. He nods to Taehyung who’s watching him from behind the counter questioningly, his jacket on already as he hangs up his apron.
Jungkook turns back to Namjoon who is watching him intently, waiting for him to go on.
“I was the one being unprofessional. I get overwhelmed sometimes.”
Namjoon nods slowly, his eyes still pinned on Jungkook as he speaks. “We all get overwhelmed, there's nothing wrong with that.”
Jungkook knows that Namjoon doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but he’s also used to being defensive. There are usually two kinds of reactions when he tells someone you’re autistic.
One, people will look at him like he has two heads. No matter how much time they’ve spent together, they’ll shift awkwardly in their seats when they find out, or suddenly view Jungkook as something that makes them uncomfortable, even though nothing has changed, has it?
Or two, they’ll think that Jungkook wants to hear that, actually, everyone’s a little autistic. Everyone has meltdowns. Everyone has addictions, and everyone's a little socially awkward sometimes, so really Jungkook isn’t that different. Everyone gets overwhelmed sometimes.
Jungkook thinks the second one might even be the worst. It makes him feel unheard. It makes him feel like the struggles he battles to get through most days are watered down to something digestible to the allistic mind. It makes him feel sad.
Rationally, he knows that this is not what Namjoon is saying. Namjoon is trying to relate to him, trying to make him feel better about the way he acted. Namjoon is a kind boss, and by the looks of things, a kind man. He wants Jungkook to know that they all have breakdowns in the bathroom for nearly two hours in the middle of a professional coffee meeting. And maybe he genuinely thinks that's true, even if Jungkook knows it isn’t.
“It’s a little more than that,” he says instead, pushing his natural defensive mechanisms down and smoothing his face into something impassive. He watches Namjoon’s face now, and he really is handsome. He must be 35 at least, but there’s no sign of age on his smooth skin, except for the gentle salt and pepper in the fade of his hair.
He’s beautiful, really.
“Okay,” Namjoon says. They sit in silence for a few minutes, and then Taehyung saves the day. Sometimes Jungkook wishes it was him saving Taehyung or Jimin and not always the other way around.
“Are we ready to go, my little peach?” Taehyung says, smiling and wrapping his own apricot scarf around Jungkook’s neck. Wrapping him up like he’s precious and to Taehyung, Jungkook is .
“Oh,” Jungkook flushes, looking to Namjoon. “I have like, five hours left in my shift.”
Namjoon stands and smiles, holding out a hand to shake Taehyung’s.
“Not today you don’t. You have a big opportunity to think over, so why don’t you take some time to do that, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
Jungkook is still frozen as he and Taehyung watch Namjoon leave the coffee shop, shaking open his umbrella as the heavens spill down upon him.
“Jesus Christ, that man is fine as fuck,” Taehyung groans, and this time Jungkook does elbow him in the ribs.
𖦹
Hours later, they’re home in their little apartment, just a stone's throw from the museum. Jimin is back from work, and has been filled in on the chaos of the afternoon, and Taehyung has transformed their living room into the soft, sensory wonderland of Jungkook’s dreams.
He popped out the recliner on the sofa, and covered everything in Jungkook’s favourite, softest, and most comforting blankets. He’s lit one of Jungkook’s candles, and not the throat closing incense that Jimin drags home from the shop near campus. It’s orange and bergamot, and in theory it's too strongly scented for Jungkook’s sensitive nose. In practice though, it's just the right combination of smells, at just the right level, and the soft flickering of the candle light in the dim of their living room feels soothing.
They’re watching Arrietty, because it’s one of Jungkook’s comfort movies, but more than anything, they’re cuddling and sharing snacks and just vibing. He kicked off his shoes and socks hours ago, washed away the dregs of the afternoon in the shower, and covered himself from head to toe in his lavender and camomile lotion. His feet are bare, and the plush of the patchwork quilt feels like comfort on his toes.
A perfect night, really, if it wasn’t for the weight that’s sitting in Jungkook’s chest like a boulder.
“It sounds like it went about as well as it could possibly have gone, though, Guk,” Jimin says, nestling into the nook of Taheyung’s shoulder as they watch the screen.
Jungkook’s opinions on physical comfort vary from day to day, and from person to person. There are no two people in the world he’s more comfortable being touched by than Jimin and Taehyung, save except for his family, and even then there are days when he feels averse. Today, he’s comforted enough by the proximity. There’s something soothing about being near his friends, wrapped up in the same blanket, as they cuddle each other. It feels right for this kind of emotional hangover.
“And this morning aside, you should be so proud of yourself too, babe,” Taehyung adds, wrapping a hand around Jimin’s socked foot without taking his own eyes off the TV. “Your first curator job and you haven’t even finished your Masters. All of those losers in your group are going to be so jealous. I can’t wait to rub it in Yug’s face.”
Jungkook’s friends from school are nice, but all it takes is for someone to look at Jungkook the wrong way and Tae’s Mama Bear instincts are engaged.
Back when they were in their sophomore year, Yugyeom had made one comment about how the course load was naturally easier for Jungkook because of his natural proclivities, and that had been enough for Taehyung to turn against the guy forever. It was a little ignorant, and Jungkook is no stranger to sensitivity about what people say about him, but Yugyeom is a good guy. And there’s a difference between someone like Iseul who learns they’re hurting you with their words and keeps doing it anyway, and someone who misunderstands and is open to learning.
They’d even tried dating once, he and Yugyeom. Mostly because Jimin had pushed and pushed and pushed for Jungkook to bring someone to his birthday party, and Yugyeom had been eager. He hadn’t even realized it was a date and not just a friend thing, in all honesty, until Yugyeom had bought him the nicest beer the bar had on tap, and tried to stick his tongue down his throat almost in the same breath.
It had lasted a night of pretty decent sex, considering they were both drunk, and some breakfast the next morning before the usual tick of anxiety had started up in Jungkook’s chest. Yugyeom had been hurt, and Jungkook had learned that if he wanted casual sex and nothing more, then he couldn’t have that with a friend. They’d gotten over it, and they were still good friends now.
“Yugyeom literally has an internship lined up in Paris, hyung. I don’t think he’s going to be jealous of me getting a slightly better job in the museum I already work in. It’s really not a big deal.”
He shuffles his hand in the bag of salt and vinegar chips that are propped up on one of his knees. He’s arranged his cotton cocoon artfully enough that he can slither a single finger and thumb out of the warmth of the blankets and reach the chips without losing any of the heat he’s cultivated.
Sometimes Jungkook wonders if all of the porn Jimin reads is real after all, and he’s actually just a stray omega that’s wandered from a different time and place and gotten himself stranded in the human world. He’s an excellent nester, for one.
“It’s the biggest deal ever, Jungkook,” Jimin kicks him in the shin and steals his chips, ruining the entire warmth-hoarding operation and getting crumbs all over his nest. “You’re going to curate a goddamn exhibition. And you’re doing to do it because you fucking earned it .”
Taehyung clutches Jimin to his chest and they both turn their matching sets of watery, proud eyes on Jungkook. It’s like having a second set of parents sometimes, albeit parents that have an unhealthy obsession with the ins and outs of his sex life.
“Our baby is all grown up,” Tae sighs, and Jungkook rolls his eyes. He has to wiggle his body like a little clam to try and shift some of the salt and vinegar crumbs off his blankets. “Though right now you’ve never looked more like a newborn bunny.”
“Speaking of cute things,” Jimin says, kicking the blankets off all of them. Jungkook squeaks when the cold air hits him. He’s only wearing some soft, blue shorts and a tank top, and they’re all far too broke to have the central heating on. “There’s this guy, right?”
“Oh God, here we go,” Jungkook grumbles, standing up and grabbing another blanket from the stack on the coffee table. He doesn’t even sit down, just wraps himself up in it like a caterpillar and pouts at Jimin. “Who are you trying to set me up with this time?”
“Oh, do tell,” Taehyung says, poking the Jungkook caterpillar with his extended foot and nudging Jimin to continue.
“Well, I know if Guk gave him one chance, he’d really like him.” Jimin makes cow eyes at Jungkook. It’s like he thinks that if he bats his eyelashes enough, pouts out his thick bottom lip, then he'll change all of Jungkook’s opinions on dating, just like that. Park Jimin is used to getting his way, and there’s an accumulative average of how many times Jungkook actually gets away with saying no in a month.
He says nothing, which Jimin takes as the victory that it is.
“Okay, Guk, I really am so excited about this one. He’s totally your type,” he says, bouncing a little on the sofa. “He’s a dancer for one, so hot.”
“Not said with bias at all, of course,” Taehyung chuckles, cuffing a loose hand around Jimin’s neck and massaging his boyfriends tense muscles. “Who is it babe, Taemin?”
“Nah, Taemin more your type, babe,” Jimin replies. They sound like clones of each other sometimes. “It’s this new guy, Mingyu. So, so hot. Really big and tall and meaty, just like Gukkie likes them.”
Jungkook fiddles with some of the games on his phone, opens and closes a few apps, and texts his mom back. Jimin and Taehyung are like self-fueling machines, they don’t need an awful lot of interaction from him for their plans to formulate.
“Oh yeah, he is really hot, Guk. Sexy eyes too and a jaw like a handbag, you’re going to pop one. You’re so smart, babe.”
Taehyung pulls Jimin onto his lap, and starts kissing the back of his neck. It really is getting near time for Jungkook to make his exit. He has some cherry bracelets to make for his Etsy shop, and a Youtube video to edit.
He hasn’t even read Namjoon’s letter himself, just listened in mortification as Jimin read it aloud earlier over dinner. It’s not officially, officially a new job or anything, not yet. But there are t’s to cross and i’s to dot, signatures to sign, things Jungkook needs to pour over in detail himself, alone. He doesn’t want to mess up the next time he’s standing in front of Kim Namjoon. He wants to project a smart, professional, young man who would make an excellent head curator one day.
Jungkook wants to prepare so hard that he wakes up as the ideal version of himself tomorrow. One that doesn’t fuck up so much, or meltdown in a cafe while their new boss sits around waiting for hours for them to get their shit together.
“So, you’ll meet Mingyu? I’ll make sure he treats you to something so fucking tasty, Gukkie, I promise,” Jimin says when Jungkook waddles towards his bedroom in the blanket coccoon.
“Fine, literally one date,” he grunts, and what’s that saying? Famous last words?
𖦹