Chapter Text
The club Jimin brought them to was relatively small—intimate, even. It was one of his usual spots, a place he frequented enough to trust. And by ‘safe’ Jimin didn’t mean it in the traditional sense of security. He meant safe from the flash of cameras, from the paparazzi who were always eager to sell the next scandalous photo to the highest bidder. Not that any picture of them would fetch a fortune—sure, their band was gaining traction, slowly carving out a space in the industry—but they weren’t quite at superstardom yet. Still, they were on their way, steadily building a fanbase, pouring everything into making music that mattered. So taking risks, even small ones, wasn’t worth it.
Maybe that was why Namjoon had tagged along so quickly when Jimin had fired off a group text asking who was up for a night out dancing. Yoongi had bowed out immediately—no surprise there. Clubs were far from his scene. Taehyung had wanted to come but had already promised to catch a movie with a friend. Hoseok opted to stay back in the studio, still perfecting a few dance moves he wasn’t quite satisfied with. That left Jeongguk, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jimin.
Now, Jeongguk sat in the corner of the booth they had claimed as their own, sipping his Pepsi. Namjoon was beside him, while Jimin and Seokjin were already immersed in the rhythm, dancing with carefree ease under the colored lights. And as Jeongguk watched the way Namjoon occasionally glanced at the crowd but mostly kept his gaze nearby, he began to realize something. Namjoon hadn’t come just to keep an eye on the group. He’d come to keep an eye on him.
“You don’t have to sit with me all night,” Jeongguk said, tilting his head slightly toward Namjoon.
“Hm?” Namjoon turned to him, pulling his attention away from the dance floor.
“I said, you don’t have to babysit me,” Jeongguk clarified with a wry smile, raising his glass. “I can behave without you watching me like a hawk.”
He was seventeen—almost eighteen—which meant no alcohol, not that he intended to try. This was the kind of club where they actually checked IDs, and the only reason he’d even gotten through the door was because Jimin had vouched for him. Promised the bouncer he’d keep Jeongguk in check. And Jeongguk wasn’t about to make Jimin regret that.
“I’m not babysitting you,” Namjoon replied with a smile of his own, giving Jeongguk’s shoulder a light bump with his fist. “I just don’t feel like dancing.”
Jeongguk raised a brow. “Then why’d you come?”
Namjoon gave a half-shrug. “Why did you? You haven’t moved all night.”
Fair point.
The truth was… Jeongguk was tired. Not physically, but emotionally—tired of being seventeen, tired of sitting on the sidelines while his hyungs lived lives that still felt just out of reach. They came back from nights out with wild stories—about boys and girls they danced with, kisses stolen in dark corners. Jimin, only two years older, had slept with more people than Jeongguk could imagine keeping track of. Hoseok and Seokjin definitely weren’t virgins. Taehyung probably wasn’t either, though he was always cryptic about the details. And Yoongi? Jeongguk wasn’t sure. Yoongi’s whole world revolved around music. Whenever he did come out with them, he didn’t seem interested in anyone. He was more likely to end up in the DJ booth than flirting on the dance floor.
And Jeongguk? He was still just… watching. Waiting. Wanting. Wondering when it would be his turn.
And then there was Namjoon. Jeongguk gazed at Namjoon and suddenly imagined him flanked by two girls kissing him, their hands roaming across his chest, and a flare of jealousy caused an ache to thump inside his chest. Because Namjoon… Namjoon definitely wasn’t a virgin either. How could he be with perfect looks like that? With amazing hair always falling just right and eyes that only ever revealed kindness?
“Jeongguk?”
Right. He’d been staring.
Jeongguk cleared his throat and took a sip of his Pepsi. “I’m gonna go dance now,” he said, his voice low, far too aware of the heat rising in his cheeks. Thankfully, the club’s flickering lights likely masked the worst of his blush.
Without another word, he slid out of the booth and made his way to the dancefloor, joining Jimin and Seokjin. Dancing was something he was fairly confident in. His tutors had always praised his natural ability—but even so, Jeongguk knew his moves couldn’t quite compare to Jimin’s. Seokjin was great too, but there was something about Jimin’s spontaneity, the effortless way his body followed the beat, that was in a league of its own.
All Jeongguk could do was hope that, with enough practice and persistence, he might someday be half as good.
At first, the three of them danced together. Then Jimin was swept away by a handsome stranger offering a drink at the bar, leaving Jeongguk and Seokjin on their own. Every so often, Jeongguk found himself glancing back toward their booth—where Namjoon still sat, a beer in hand, watching. Watching him. Or maybe watching them. Jeongguk wasn’t sure. Obviously, Namjoon wasn’t just there to keep an eye on him. He was there to look out for all of them.
There was a girl who had clearly set her sights on Seokjin—dancing around him, her hands always finding some part of him to touch. And while Jeongguk would’ve understood if Seokjin had left with her, he was damn grateful that he didn’t. That he stayed with him. Then, there was a guy dancing near Jeongguk. Young, tall, and good-looking, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a scent like chocolate and mint. He was well-dressed, kept his distance, didn’t touch him, didn’t make any crude moves—and still, Jeongguk’s mind was spiraling.
Seokjin noticed the guy, shot Jeongguk a knowing wink, and drifted further onto the dancefloor, trying to give him space. And that was when the panic hit. Jeongguk’s heart lurched. Seokjin stepping away suddenly felt terrifying. He scanned the crowd for him—but he was already gone.
Jimin was nowhere in sight either.
That left only one person he knew, and—he froze. Namjoon was in their booth, lips locked with a girl pressed up against him, her hand sliding high on his thigh. Namjoon’s arm curled possessively around her waist, his tongue—
Jeongguk couldn’t move.
“Wanna get a drink?” the guy asked.
Jeongguk’s gaze snapped back to the stranger and before he realized what he was doing, his hand curled around the guy’s and he was tugging him off the dancefloor and towards a quiet corner of the club. The guy seemed surprised, but he wasn’t protesting. Jeongguk leaned back against the wall and ignored the thumping of his heart in his throat.
“I’m too young to drink,” he confessed.
The stranger’s eyes narrowed to slits. “How old are you exactly?”
Jeongguk’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “Seventeen, eighteen next month.”
“Fuck, that’s—” The stranger looked unsure, but he wasn’t moving away.
Jeongguk’s hand was still curled around the guy’s, and he gave it a small squeeze—hoping it would be taken as a yes. The man stepped forward, and now that the music wasn’t blaring in his ears, Jeongguk could see him more clearly. That made no sense, but whatever. The guy looked young, too, so maybe this wasn’t weird.
“How old are you?” he asked.
The guy drew in a breath. “Nineteen.”
Okay. Two years older. That wasn’t bad. Not weird. Right? Two years was nothing. His mom was two years older than his dad, so… Shit. He really shouldn’t be thinking about his parents right now—not when the guy was stepping closer, planting a hand on the wall beside Jeongguk’s head.
“Why did you bring me here?” he asked, voice teasing, almost playful.
So they were doing this? Really?
Jeongguk’s eyes flicked toward the dance floor. Seokjin was still dancing with that girl, now grinding up against her like it was second nature—and she seemed to be loving it. Jimin was nowhere in sight. And Namjoon… Namjoon was still in their booth, still making out with that girl. Except now his hand was under her top, inching slowly upward.
And here Jeongguk was. About to be kissed. For the first time. By a stranger. And absolutely losing his mind over it.
His hands started to shake. Breathing became harder.
The guy’s expression shifted, eyes narrowing slightly. “You okay?”
Panic surged. Jeongguk’s hand fisted the front of the guy’s shirt, holding on tight. He could feel him pulling away, and he couldn’t let that happen. Not now. He needed to be kissed. He needed to know what it felt like. He needed to get it over with—so it wouldn’t feel so terrifying anymore. So he could join in when his hyungs laughed and bragged about all the boys and girls they’d kissed.
“I’m fine, I just—kiss me.”
God, he sounded desperate, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. He leaned in, lips parting—and before Jeongguk could process a single thought, before he could even remember how to breathe, the guy’s lips were on his.
And Jeongguk froze.
The kiss was soft. Gentle. Careful. But Jeongguk couldn’t move. Not a muscle. His hand ached from clenching the guy’s shirt, and he didn’t even realize his eyes were shut tight until the guy pulled away.
And nothing happened.
Absolutely nothing.
Jeongguk forced open his eyes.
The guy looked at him with pity in his dark eyes.
Shit.
“Excuse me,” Jeongguk blurted, and ran.
That had to be one of the worst first kisses in the history of first kisses.
Jeongguk blinked rapidly, trying to hold it together as he darted across the dancefloor and practically launched himself into the booth where Namjoon was still making out with that girl. The moment Jeongguk hit the plush bench, Namjoon’s head snapped up, concern immediately clouding his expression.
His hand was still under the girl’s top.
“I wanna go home,” Jeongguk blurted.
Namjoon’s hand slipped away instantly. “Sure,” he said. “Of course.”
Guilt twisted in Jeongguk’s gut. He was ruining Namjoon’s night, but he couldn’t stay—not another second. If he ran into that guy again, he might actually die of embarrassment.
“I’ll text the others,” Namjoon said.
“Please, hyung. Now,” Jeongguk whispered. That’s when he realized—his eyes were stinging with tears.
Namjoon mumbled an apology to the girl, took Jeongguk’s trembling hand without hesitation, and guided him out of the club. The moment the cool night air hit his face, Jeongguk sucked in a deep breath—then another—but none seemed to reach his lungs.
“Did something happen?” Namjoon asked, gently.
“No. No, nothing happened,” Jeongguk replied too quickly. And wasn’t that the kicker? Nothing had happened. So why was he acting like this? Why did he feel like this? Frustration burned in his chest as he angrily wiped at his tears and turned his face away, cheeks flushing with shame.
“Jimin and Seokjin are gonna take a cab later,” Namjoon said, already stepping to the curb. “We’ll get one now.”
Of course they would. That was the kind of hyung Namjoon was. He flagged down a cab, helped Jeongguk into the backseat, and didn’t say another word for the whole ride—because Namjoon understood that sometimes the worst place to ask for answers was in the back of a moving car.
All Jeongguk could hope for was that, by the time they got home, Namjoon wouldn’t want answers anymore.
The ride took twenty minutes. Long enough for Jeongguk’s tears to dry, for his heartbeat to settle. But not nearly long enough for the embarrassment to fade. That had only grown heavier.
Namjoon paid the driver, helped Jeongguk out, and rested a steady hand on the small of his back, guiding him toward the dorm with quiet care. Like some chivalrous knight out of a fairytale.
And for the first time, Jeongguk hated him a little.
Just a little.
“Are you okay, Jeongguk?” Namjoon asked gently as they stepped into the quiet kitchen.
Jeongguk sank onto a stool at the kitchen island, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the night. He watched in silence as Namjoon grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water, the soft hum of the faucet the only sound between them for a moment.
“I’m fine, Joon,” Jeongguk said eventually, though his voice lacked conviction. “I just… I realize now what a fool I’ve been.”
Namjoon turned, brows furrowed as he set the glass in front of him. “You’re not a fool,” he said firmly. “You know you can talk to me, right? Did something happen?”
Jeongguk wrapped his hands tightly around the glass, more for something to hold on to than anything else. His fingers trembled slightly, and he hoped Namjoon wouldn’t notice.
“No,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Really. Nothing happened.”
He stared into the water, letting the silence stretch as he sorted through the mess in his head. He could go to bed, pretend none of this ever happened—pretend he hadn’t frozen up like a scared kid when someone tried to kiss him. Or… he could tell Namjoon. Trust that Namjoon, with all his steady kindness, would somehow make him feel a little less broken.
Namjoon took a seat across from him, resting his arms on the counter. “You can talk to me,” he said again, voice low, calm, the way it always got when he was trying to make someone feel safe.
Jeongguk gave a tiny nod. He wanted to talk. But saying it out loud made it real.
“I freaked out,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all.” At least he wasn’t crying anymore. At least the burning shame on his cheeks had cooled down. “There was a guy. He was really nice. And I asked him—”
“Hey,” Yoongi’s voice cut in as he stepped into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw them. “Oh—I didn’t realize you were back already.”
Namjoon offered him a smile. “Just the two of us.”
Yoongi’s gaze shifted to Jeongguk—and in that quiet, perceptive way of his, he immediately picked up on the tension in the room. His eyes narrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face.
Jeongguk’s throat closed up.
He couldn’t do this. Not in front of both of them. Not when he already felt so small. So stupid. So young.
Because no matter how understanding Namjoon and Yoongi might be, Jeongguk still couldn’t stop the shame that bubbled up every time he remembered how he’d choked—how he’d cried—when someone tried to kiss him. Who did that? Who cried over a kiss?
“I’m tired,” he muttered abruptly, pushing the glass away.
Namjoon’s mouth opened, and Yoongi took a small step forward, both of them clearly worried—but Jeongguk didn’t give them the chance to say anything else.
“I’m going to bed.”
And with that, he turned and walked out, his pace quickening as he made his way down the hall. He didn’t stop until he reached the bedroom he shared with Taehyung. The lights were off, the room empty—Taehyung was still out at the movies. Thank God.
Jeongguk crawled into bed without even changing, curled onto his side, and buried his face into his pillow.
And finally let himself cry.
It was one week later, one week of avoiding Namjoon like the plague, that Jeongguk did find himself alone with their band leader. He was sitting on the couch, shifting through Netflix in search of a good movie, when Namjoon suddenly plopped down beside him, a sly smile playing around his lips as if ‘gotcha’. Jeongguk kept his gaze firmly on the screen, remote control aimed at the screen, but he wasn’t seeing the titles anymore.
When did the living room get so hot?
“Want to talk about what happened last week?”
Jeongguk does not, in fact, want to talk about what happened.
“I’m okay,” he said.
Namjoon had angled his body to face Jeongguk, one elbow propped up on the edge of the couch, his temple resting against his fist. It was the middle of the afternoon and while it was rare to have a few hours of free time on their hands, it was also Sunday so they allowed themselves some down-time. Last time Jeongguk counted his fellow band members, he found Jimin taking a nap, Taehyung had been playing a game with Hoseok and Seokjin in their bedroom, Yoongi had been listening to music in his bedroom, and Namjoon… Last time Jeongguk had checked, Namjoon had been reading, but now he wasn’t anymore. Now he was sitting next to him, an expectant look on his face, and Jeongguk wasn’t sure he liked it right now.
“You weren’t okay last week,” Namjoon said carefully.
Jeongguk kept flipping through movie titles with stubborn focus. “Well, I’m okay now,” he snapped.
If Namjoon felt stung by the tone, he didn’t show it. “Just because you feel okay now doesn’t mean you don’t still need to talk about it,” he said calmly. “And I get it—maybe I’m not the person you want to talk to. But you should talk to someone.”
That pulled a sigh from Jeongguk. The thing was, if there was anyone on earth he would talk to about this, it would be Namjoon. There was a reason he was their leader. Namjoon was... kind. Steady. He didn’t judge—never had.
Abandoning the pretense of browsing, Jeongguk switched off the TV and tossed the remote aside, watching it bounce off the corner of the couch.
“Looking back, I think I overreacted,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his hands now awkwardly resting in his lap.
Namjoon’s face remained unreadable. “Over what?”
“There was a guy,” Jeongguk began, barely above a whisper. Immediately, his chest tightened, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. God, this felt so stupid. Why was it so hard to say out loud? Why did it feel like the air was getting thinner just trying to get the words out? He hesitated, his gaze fixed on a crack in the hardwood floor. “I danced with him for a bit. He was… nice. And handsome.”
He didn’t mention seeing Namjoon kissing that girl—how that image had left a dull, aching knot in his stomach. He didn’t understand it, didn’t want to understand it. Not now.
Namjoon’s expression shifted, his brows drawing together in concern. It was subtle, but it made Jeongguk’s stomach flip.
So he rushed ahead, needing to stay in control of the story. “Don’t freak out. Nothing happened, okay?” His voice cracked, and he hated how small he sounded. “We just… talked. He was a couple years older than me, so… I guess that’s fine?”
He risked a glance at Namjoon, his lashes low, looking through the fringe of his hair like that might soften whatever judgment was coming. But Namjoon just sat there, unreadable, his frown still etched into place. He didn’t speak, didn’t move.
Jeongguk’s chest tightened even more.
“I asked him to kiss me,” he said, the words tumbling out in a breath. “And he did. And it was—God—it was awful, Joon. Like, really bad. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just stood there like an idiot, and—and he pulled away, and nothing happened. I didn’t feel anything. It didn’t mean anything. I just…” His voice faltered. “I wanted to get it over with. So I wouldn’t be the only one who hadn’t—”
He couldn’t finish. His throat burned, and he clenched his jaw hard to keep the tears from spilling again.
Namjoon’s expression softened, the worry in his eyes replaced by something gentler—something like understanding. But there was also something else, something that twisted in Jeongguk’s chest.
A flicker of amusement.
Of course Namjoon would find this funny. How pathetic was that?
“Fuck you,” Jeongguk snapped, suddenly standing, wanting to disappear, to hide before he embarrassed himself any more than he already had.
But Namjoon caught his wrist, held it firmly, and tugged him back down beside him. Jeongguk let himself fall—angry, ashamed, and too exhausted to fight. “Shit, I’m sorry, Gukkie,” Namjoon said softly, his hand still warm around Jeongguk’s wrist. “That was really insensitive of me.”
Jeongguk pulled away, but didn’t get up again. His voice was tight, bitter. “Yeah, you’re being an asshole.”
Namjoon nodded, his face full of regret. “I know. I am. It’s just that… Every first kiss sucks, Jeongguk. That’s not just a thing people say—it’s true. Mine was horrible, too. Like, painfully awkward. I thought I was going to faint.”
Jeongguk’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”
Namjoon laughed, low and warm, and it came from deep in his chest. And Jeongguk hated that it didn’t feel mocking. It felt… real. It made the sting in his eyes ease, just a little. He hated how safe it made him feel. And, selfishly, he hated the idea of someone else walking into the room, hearing it. Because for once, this was just his moment. Just him and Namjoon. And Jeongguk didn’t want to share that with anyone.
“Oh, Gukkie, you’re only seventeen,” Namjoon said gently. “There’s still plenty of time to learn. You don’t need to rush kissing.”
Jeongguk turned toward him, tucking one leg beneath himself as he shifted to face Namjoon more fully. “So… you think I should practice more?”
The lightness in Namjoon’s eyes faded. He shifted where he sat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Well… no, not exactly.” He hesitated, chewing nervously on his lower lip. “I’m not saying you should just go out and start making out with random people. I mean—just… meet people. Talk. And when you feel something, when there’s a connection, then it might happen. But not just—” He trailed off, clearly flustered. It was rare to see Namjoon blush, but there it was—color blooming across his cheeks. “You should feel comfortable,” he added, voice lower now. “At ease. Kissing someone should be with someone you trust.”
It sounded kind of romantic, Jeongguk thought. Maybe more romantic than Namjoon had intended. Still, he understood the point.
“I trust you,” Jeongguk said quietly—and the moment the words left his mouth, he wasn’t sure where they’d come from.
Namjoon’s eyes widened slightly, and the pink on his cheeks deepened to red. “I… I’m not sure what you mean.”
Jeongguk inched a little closer, his eyes wide, searching Namjoon’s face. The idea that had sparked only moments ago was now starting to settle into something more real, something bold. His heart thudded nervously in his chest, but he kept going.
“You said I should practice with someone I trust,” he said, the words rushing out faster than he meant them to. “Well—I trust you, so maybe you could—”
“No.”
“—help me practice.”
“No.” Namjoon shook his head firmly, like he needed to physically dispel the suggestion.
“Why not?” Jeongguk’s voice rose slightly, energy buzzing beneath his skin, making it impossible to sit still. His knee bounced with restless movement as he stared into Namjoon’s wide, panicked eyes.
“Because it’d be weird,” Namjoon said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush.
“Only if we make it weird,” Jeongguk shot back, his tone somewhere between defiance and desperation. “It’s just practice. If I got a little better at it, maybe I’d feel more confident. And I could bring that confidence on stage and—”
“Now you’re just bullshitting me,” Namjoon snorted, one eyebrow raised. “You’re already too confident on stage.”
Okay, maybe that was true. Jeongguk cracked a small smile, but it faded almost instantly. “You’d be helping me, hyung,” he added, trying to soften the tension with a pout. He knew he was pushing it, but still—it’s just kissing, right?
He’d watched Jimin kiss three different guys in one night a few weeks ago, like it was no big deal. Fun, casual, effortless. So why did it feel like this huge thing for him? Like the moment someone’s lips touched his, everything inside him seized up and forgot how to exist. He hated being bad at things. Hated it. Failing wasn’t something Jeongguk did quietly—or often.
“It’s just a kiss,” he said, more to himself than Namjoon now. “You could give me pointers, ease me into it. Just… help get me started.”
Namjoon’s hand came down gently on Jeongguk’s bouncing knee, stilling it with one steady touch. The warmth of it felt heavier than it should’ve, like it was holding him down in more ways than one.
“No,” Namjoon said again, firmer now. “You’re seventeen, Jeongguk. It’s normal to suck at kissing. You’ll meet someone else. You’ll kiss again. And maybe it’ll suck again, too. But you’ll get better. That’s how it works.”
Jeongguk glanced up at him, locking eyes with Namjoon’s dark, sharp gaze—those dragon-like eyes that always saw more than Jeongguk wanted them to. His throat felt tight. The words were still sitting there, pressed against his tongue.
“But—”
“I’ll tell you what,” Namjoon said, interrupting gently, a small, knowing smile curving at the corners of his mouth. “If you’re still stuck on this by the time you’re eighteen, and you still want my help… I will.”
Jeongguk blinked. “You mean that?”
Namjoon’s smile widened, a little teasing, but not unkind. “Sure.”
Jeongguk didn’t press further. He knew when a line had been drawn. As stubborn as he could be, Namjoon could be just as unmovable when he made up his mind. Still, there was something comforting in that promise. A light at the end of the tunnel. A quiet maybe waiting in the future. Maybe Namjoon’s right, Jeongguk thought. Maybe I should just wait it out, meet someone, like everyone else does, and try again. He could dance in a club and find someone in a corner, like Jimin always did. Maybe Taehyung could give him some tips. God knew he had enough of his own stories. But the thought of going to them—talking to them about this—made his skin crawl with embarrassment. He’d die if he brought this up with Taehyung. And Jimin would never let him live it down. No. The only person he trusted with this—the only one who wouldn’t make fun of him or turn it into a joke—was Namjoon.
And maybe Jeongguk didn’t deserve that trust. Not after how he’d ruined Namjoon’s night last week. The memory made his stomach twist. He’d acted like a kid, storming out of the club, crying over one awkward kiss. Of course Namjoon wouldn’t want to kiss him now—not after that. He had to be better. He had to grow up. No more panicking. No more freezing. No more second-guessing.
He just had to go out there and kiss someone.
In the weeks leading up to his eighteenth birthday, Jeongguk did manage to kiss two more guys. He had told himself it was progress—that he was finally taking steps forward, that this time would be different. But both times, it wasn’t.
The kisses weren’t bad because the guys were. In fact, they’d been kind—gentle, even. One had whispered compliments against his cheek, fingers brushing teasingly along Jeongguk’s jaw. The other had laughed softly when Jeongguk bumped their noses together, smoothing it over like it was nothing, like it didn’t matter.
But it did. To Jeongguk, it mattered too much. Because the second their lips touched his, something inside him shut down. His body stiffened. His hands hung useless at his sides. And the moment stretched, long and awkward and empty, until Jeongguk had to pull away, heart pounding and throat tight. It didn’t feel exciting. Or sweet. Or real. It felt mechanical. Like he was watching himself from a distance, playing out a scene he was supposed to want—but couldn’t connect to.
So both times, he’d offered a soft apology, voice barely above a whisper, and slipped out before things could get more uncomfortable. Before they could ask what was wrong. Before he had to admit he didn’t know.
The first time, he’d cried again. Quiet tears muffled into his pillow back at the dorm, anger curling in his gut like smoke. He’d wanted so badly for it to work, to finally feel normal. To kiss someone and feel something spark. The second time, he didn’t cry. He just sat at the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands like they belonged to someone else. His chest felt hollow. His mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He had no answers. Just the same gnawing uncertainty, chewing away at his confidence. And no matter how much he told himself he was just a late bloomer, just figuring things out at his own pace—it never made him feel any less broken.
Not long after his eighteenth birthday, Jeongguk kissed a girl—just to see if it would feel different. If maybe, just maybe, this would finally make sense. He told himself it was just an experiment. A way to rule something out. A chance to see if maybe lips that were softer, fuller, sweeter would fit better against his own. Maybe all this confusion wasn’t about kissing itself—maybe he just hadn’t kissed the right kind of person yet.
The girl had been stunning. The kind of girl that could make the room feel quieter just by walking into it. She had pink cheeks and lips that tasted like cherries, the sticky kind that lingered. She laughed like sunlight, touched his arm with intention. She was everything his friends would call a dream.
And still, Jeongguk didn’t feel it.
He tried—God, he tried. He leaned in when she did, let their mouths meet, let her take the lead when his instincts failed him. But the second her tongue slid across his lower lip, gently coaxing him to open up, a cold wave of panic crashed over him. His chest constricted, breath hitched, heart stumbling into a too-familiar rhythm of dread. His stomach twisted.
Not again. Please not again.
But it was happening again—another panic attack, curling tight around his ribs like a fist. This time, though, he didn’t run to Namjoon with trembling hands and tear-filled eyes. He didn’t fall apart in someone else’s arms. No. This time, he just quietly excused himself, smiled like nothing was wrong, slipped out of the party, and ordered an Uber. Alone.
Again.
The ride back was quiet, save for the muted hum of traffic and the static buzz of self-loathing in his mind. His reflection in the window stared back at him, hollow-eyed and unsmiling. Why do I keep trying? he wondered bitterly. Why do I keep thinking it’ll be different, that I’ll finally get it right?
It wasn’t just his own disappointment that stung—it was the thought of the others. The people he kissed. The people who’d tried with him. Did they walk away feeling like they had failed? That they weren’t enough to stir something in him? Or worse—did they think he hadn’t tried? That he hadn’t wanted it? Had she thought he was using her? That he was cold? That he wasn’t attracted to her?
He felt like he’d failed them—just like he’d failed himself.
Again.
Once home, Jeongguk stripped out of his clothes, turned the shower to a hot setting, and let the water pour down on his head. Maybe something really was wrong with him, because when he curled a hand around his cock and tugged at it once, twice, he couldn’t even get hard. He kept trying, though, for minutes on end, until the water started running cold and his dick actually started chafing. That was when Jeongguk angrily switched off the water, dried himself off with a bit too much force, and threw himself into bed without bothering to pull on any sleeping pants.
Taehyung wouldn’t care if he slept like this.
But sleep wouldn’t come. No matter how badly Jeongguk wanted to drift off, his mind wouldn’t let him rest. Images of the girl he’d kissed kept flashing through his thoughts. She had done everything right. She’d danced with him, slipped her hands down his chest, and sent him teasing glances. When Jeongguk had finally found the courage to take her hand and lead her to a quieter corner of the club, she’d placed her hand on his knee, leaning in closer with each passing moment. Jeongguk had felt a spark—something deep in his chest that he didn’t often experience. It had excited him, and for the first time, he had believed that this kiss would be different. It was supposed to be better.
It hadn’t been better.
Jeongguk flopped onto his back with an exasperated sigh, staring up at the dark ceiling. Everyone else was still out there, having fun, making connections, kissing people, maybe even fucking people—Jimin was definitely fucking or getting fucked—while he lay alone in bed, wondering how he could ever lose his virginity if he couldn’t even get a kiss right.
But sulking wasn’t in Jeongguk’s nature. He wasn’t the type to lie down and do nothing. He wasn’t a quitter. He’d come this far in life at just eighteen because he never gave up, no matter how many setbacks he faced. No, Jeongguk persevered, and when he failed, he tried harder next time. Maybe he had just approached kissing all wrong. Hadn’t Namjoon said that kissing should come after a connection was made? That he should feel comfortable? Jeongguk realized he hadn’t truly connected with anyone he’d kissed, and he definitely hadn’t felt comfortable.
Which brought him back to his original plan.
Jeongguk needed to practice with someone he felt connected to, someone he felt comfortable with, and something he trusted.
The key was waiting for the right moment—and that moment came about four months later. But the strange thing was, it didn’t feel like four months had passed. Their schedules were so packed with shows, rehearsals, shoots, and interviews that there was barely enough time to sleep, let alone go out to clubs, attend parties, or stress any more about his inability to kiss like a normal person.
The hotel lobby was grand, almost ridiculously so. Plush red carpets lined the floor, and golden panels covered the walls. Above, a chandelier hung from the ceiling, its hundreds of tear-shaped glass diamonds dangling from golden arcs. Jeongguk found himself staring up at it longer than was polite, but he couldn’t help it. The extravagance of the place made him feel awkward. While he knew their band’s popularity was growing quickly, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t important enough to be staying in a hotel like this. It seemed like such a waste of money, but of course, it wasn’t his place to comment.
Namjoon finished registering at the reception desk, where a young woman with long hair and dimples had been gushing about how much she loved their music. He came back to the rest of the group, who’d been waiting patiently.
“Okay, our manager apparently booked three rooms,” he said, holding out three golden key cards. “That means one room’s going to have three of us in it.”
Like that was a bad thing, Jeongguk thought. They’d been living together in the dorm long enough—sharing rooms and swapping beds—to be comfortable with whoever they ended up paired with. Jeongguk usually shared a room with Taehyung, but he wasn’t a stranger to crawling into bed with Yoongi when he felt lonely and Taehyung wasn’t coming home that night. Jeongguk had never really liked sleeping alone.
In a way, it made sense for him to pair up with Taehyung again. But before he could say anything, Taehyung was high-fiving Seokjin and inviting Hoseok to join them. Jimin threw an arm around Yoongi and grinned, announcing that he had found his partner, leaving Jeongguk…
Namjoon’s gaze softened when Jeongguk’s eyes met his. “Guess we’re sharing a room then.”
The room was impressive, far larger than anything Jeongguk had ever slept in. Two large beds were made up with Egyptian cotton sheets and pillows so fluffy they looked like marshmallows. The floor was covered with plush, beige carpet, and above the beds hung an abstract painting on the wall.
“Do you have a preference?” Jeongguk asked.
Namjoon shook his head, but dropped his bag on the bed closest to the door, which made Jeongguk assume he was claiming the one near the window. Jeongguk set his own bag down and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window, which offered a breathtaking view of the Sea of Japan. The water shimmered almost silver beneath the moonlight.
Tomorrow would be packed with interviews, a photoshoot, and later, an appearance on a Japanese talk show. Never in a million years had Jeongguk imagined their career would take this turn—that people outside South Korea would want to see them, hear them. But here they were, in Japan, and this was just the first stop on their tour.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Namjoon announced, snapping Jeongguk out of his thoughts. By the time Jeongguk turned around, though, their leader had already slipped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alone, Jeongguk decided to unpack, even though they’d only be staying one night. Maybe that was exactly why he felt compelled to pull clothes from his bag and place them in the spacious closet across from his bed. Might as well enjoy the experience. After all, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever stay in a room like this again. The sound of the shower running faded into the background as Jeongguk played some music from his phone, then dropped onto the bed. The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight. When he let himself fall back, his head hitting the pillow, a satisfied noise escaped him.
Fuck, this bed was heaven.
His screen lit up with an incoming message.
Taehyung.
Were the others feeling as impressed as Jeongguk was? Jeongguk swiped open the message, only for his stomach to drop as he read it. Taehyung had sent a group chat message, saying he, Hoseok, and Seokjin wanted to go out and explore the city. Jimin had already responded, sending three party emojis—clearly on board. Even Yoongi replied that he’d join, though Jeongguk suspected Jimin might have made that decision for him.
The thing was, Jeongguk hadn’t gone out in months—not since that night with the girl he’d kissed. His thumbs hovered over his phone as he debated his reply. Part of him knew he should just go along. The others wanted to see the city, maybe grab a drink, and what harm would there be in that? But then Jeongguk remembered they were in Japan, and the legal drinking age was twenty. He wouldn’t even be served alcohol.
He typed up a message that he hoped sounded polite but firm enough to leave no room for negotiation. ‘I’m feeling tired. Just want to go to bed.’ It wasn’t even a huge lie. Jimin responded with a sad face emoji, Yoongi sent him a private text wishing him a restful night, and Taehyung, on behalf of himself and his roommates, promised they’d bring him back a souvenir. Jeongguk sent a thumbs-up, but before he could type a message saying he didn’t need anything, the bathroom door opened.
Namjoon stepped out, wearing nothing but checkered sleep pants, a towel rubbing through his still-wet hair. A few drops of water trickled down his neck and onto his shoulders. Jeongguk felt frozen, his eyes wandering involuntarily down Namjoon’s sculpted chest, the skin a warm, golden hue. The sleep pants hung low on his hips, revealing the defined v-shape of his lower stomach.
“You’re not going out?” Namjoon asked, completely oblivious to the way Jeongguk was staring.
Jeongguk swallowed and quickly lowered his gaze to his phone. The screen had turned black. “Yeah, no, I… I just don’t feel like going out.” Suddenly, words seemed impossible to find.
Namjoon draped the towel over his shoulder and pulled his phone from the pocket of his sleep pants, typing a quick message.
Jeongguk’s phone lit up a moment later.
‘Going to stay with Gukkie. Have fun. Be responsible!’
Jeongguk’s eyes snapped up while he pushed himself into an upright position again. “You don’t have to stay with me,” he blurted out, his voice betraying a mix of surprise and something else—something he couldn’t name.
Namjoon walked toward his suitcase, grabbed a simple black shirt, and pulled it over his head with a calm, practiced motion. “I’m not going to leave you behind,” he said, brushing it off with a casual wave of his hand, and before Jeongguk could protest, before he could assure Namjoon that he was fine on his own, Namjoon was already slipping back into the bathroom.
Frustration bubbled up inside Jeongguk, his mind racing. Suddenly, he regretted not going out with the others. Was he overreacting? Being foolish? And why was Namjoon staying behind with him? Was it pity that kept him from having fun, or was there something else—something more? Jeongguk quickly pushed the thought away, refusing to let any hope creep in. It would only lead to disappointment. Maybe he should stop thinking about it altogether, stop searching for reasons that weren’t even there in the first place.
A few minutes later, Namjoon reappeared, his hair still damp but smoothed back now. He paused when he saw Jeongguk, still sitting there, exactly where he had been before. With a soft sigh, barely audible, Namjoon made his way around the bed and sank down beside Jeongguk, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Jeongguk stared at him, unsure of what to say or how to feel.
“Why aren’t you going out?” Namjoon asked, his voice gentle, but there was an edge of concern in his eyes.
Jeongguk swallowed hard, trying to brush off the weight of the question. “I don’t feel like it,” he said with a shrug, hoping Namjoon would let it go. “Besides, I’m not even allowed to drink,” he added with a slight laugh, as though that was the real reason he hadn’t joined the others.
Namjoon raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp. “You don’t need alcohol to have fun.”
Jeongguk hesitated, chewing on his lip. He knew Namjoon was right, but the truth was, sometimes it helped—helped take the edge off, helped him let go of the stress and responsibility they always seemed to carry. “Drugs, then?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Namjoon playfully punched his shoulder. “Don’t joke about that,” he scolded, but there was no real anger in his voice. Jeongguk caught a faint scent of mint, a detail he shouldn’t have noticed, but he did—Namjoon must’ve just brushed his teeth, the freshness still lingering on him.
Namjoon’s expression softened, his eyes serious but kind. “Be honest,” he said, his voice low and steady.
Jeongguk found himself lost in Namjoon’s concerned gaze, watching as his eyes narrowed slightly. But what caught his attention the most were the little flecks of golden dust swirling in them—something he’d never noticed before, but now couldn’t seem to look away from. The proximity between them only added to the weight of the moment. Jeongguk was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his knees bent and ankles crossed, while Namjoon had one foot planted on the plush carpet and the other tucked beneath him. Their knees brushed every time Jeongguk shifted, a reminder of just how close they were.
“I don’t want to go out,” Jeongguk said, breaking the silence with a sigh. “Because Jimin’s going to try and set me up with someone again. He means well, he really does, but I don’t want that.”
A look of understanding crossed Namjoon’s face. “I take it you haven’t practiced much, then?”
Heat rose in Jeongguk’s cheeks. “I have... with a few people, but it was still... awful.”
Namjoon’s gaze dropped to his hands in his lap, and Jeongguk could tell he was feeling awkward, perhaps even regretting bringing up the topic. But now that they were talking about it, Jeongguk wasn’t about to lie.
“I’m sure it wasn’t—”
“Awful, Namjoon,” Jeongguk interrupted, not wanting to hear Namjoon tell him it was all in his head or something. It wasn’t. “I’m starting to think maybe it’s just not meant for me.”
Namjoon’s lips twitched, his brows furrowing slightly. “Not meant for you?”
Jeongguk shrugged and looked down at his hands, mimicking Namjoon’s earlier posture. He couldn’t look at him anymore.
Namjoon’s finger gently brushed the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, tilting his face back up so their eyes met again. And at that moment, something shifted inside Jeongguk. The memories came rushing back—the evening at the club, Namjoon kissing that girl, and the jealousy that flared inside him, hot and sharp like fireworks, threatening to consume him. He remembered his first kiss—how awful it had been, how he’d run away, dragging Namjoon along with him.
‘If you’re still stuck on this by the time you’re eighteen, and you still want my help… I will,’ Namjoon had promised.
Jeongguk could feel that promise hanging between them now. Namjoon’s hand trembled slightly, then quickly withdrew to his lap.
“You promised,” Jeongguk said softly, his voice carrying the weight of everything they hadn’t said before.
Namjoon swallowed hard, and Jeongguk’s gaze instinctively followed the movement of his throat, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. When Jeongguk’s eyes met Namjoon’s again, he saw the turmoil behind them—an internal battle, something that Jeongguk wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed in Namjoon before. The man was known for his unshakable composure, his reliability. But now, Jeongguk could see it: the war raging inside him. Namjoon wasn’t a liar. He remembered the promise he made, and as much as he clearly wanted to honor it, Jeongguk could feel how much the weight of that promise was pulling him in two directions.
Jeongguk felt a pang of guilt—he was using Namjoon’s integrity against him, and the thought made him ache. But he couldn’t stop himself. He needed this.
“I know, but…” Namjoon inhaled deeply, his breath shaky. He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to calm himself. “Shit, Jeongguk… it’ll be weird.”
That wasn’t a ‘no’ though. There was still a crack in the door, and Jeongguk wasn’t about to let it close. He shifted closer, his heart pounding. His voice dropped, quieter now, more earnest. “We don’t actually have to kiss,” he said, eyes wide with hope. “You could just… show me how I should build towards it. Maybe if I know what to say, what to do, where to put my hands, I won’t feel so awkward next time.”
Namjoon stared at him, uncertainty clouding his features. “I’m pretty sure there are instructional videos online that—”
“If you think I’ve never watched porn, you’re in for a surprise,” Jeongguk interrupted with a snort, trying to lighten the mood, but there was a tension in his chest that wouldn’t go away.
Shock flickered across Namjoon’s face—his usual calm completely shattered. “I’m not talking about porn,” he gasped, his voice catching. “Shit, Jeongguk, that’s the last place you should be looking for pointers.”
The distress in Namjoon’s gaze was almost comical to Jeongguk, and he smirked, a little amusement slipping past his nerves. Namjoon shot him a dark look, but Jeongguk’s expression softened immediately, his smile fading into something more fragile. The moment was so delicate, so heavy with everything unspoken between them, and Jeongguk couldn’t back down now. He had to push forward, even if it was uncomfortable.
“You promised,” Jeongguk repeated, his voice breaking slightly, the desperation creeping in. He knew he was being unfair, pushing Namjoon like this, but he couldn’t help it.
Namjoon stared at him for what felt like an eternity—long enough that Jeongguk started to feel the weight of every passing second. But he wouldn’t look away. He couldn’t back down, not now.
When their eyes finally locked again, Namjoon’s fingers slowly curled around Jeongguk’s knee.
“We don’t actually have to kiss,” Namjoon said, and Jeongguk wasn’t sure if he was trying to remind Jeongguk or himself. But the words hung there, heavy and fragile.
Jeongguk nodded, his chest tightening with the rawness of it all. “We don’t,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost lost in the silence between them.
Namjoon shifted a little closer, his knee bending as he moved, but he kept his right foot firmly planted on the ground. The space between them shrank, but it wasn’t enough. Namjoon’s hand on Jeongguk’s knee felt like a weight that both anchored him and set his skin on fire. Even through the fabric of his jeans, Jeongguk could feel the warmth of Namjoon’s touch, and it made everything inside him feel too alive, too exposed.
Namjoon’s gaze dropped to his hand, still resting there on Jeongguk’s knee, and a frown creased his brow. There was something almost vulnerable in the way Namjoon was holding himself now, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. Jeongguk had always seen Namjoon as the steady, confident one—the one who never hesitated—but now, in this moment, Jeongguk couldn’t help but feel like they were both treading carefully, not knowing exactly how to move.
“You can pretend I’m someone else,” Jeongguk offered, his voice quiet but steady, almost as if he was trying to reassure them both.
Namjoon’s eyes shot up to meet Jeongguk’s, widening in disbelief. For a moment, Jeongguk thought he might have said something wrong, something offensive. But Namjoon just stared at him, shock flickering in his eyes like he hadn’t expected the offer at all.
“What?” Namjoon asked, his voice rough, as if the words caught in his throat. He stared at Jeongguk, clearly unsure if he’d heard him right.
Jeongguk’s heart raced. He hadn’t meant to make this any more complicated than it already was, but the words had tumbled out, and now he couldn’t take them back. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, soft but undeniable, and the quiet between them felt fragile—too delicate to let slip away.
He swallowed, trying to steady his breathing. “You could pretend I’m a girl you met at a club?” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he was asking for something too intimate, too vulnerable.
Namjoon shook his head, a light snort escaping him as he processed the suggestion. “I don’t want to pretend you’re a girl.”
For some reason, those words—those simple words—relieved something inside Jeongguk. He let out a short, awkward laugh, the tension in his chest easing just a little, even though his pulse was still erratic.
“I told you it’d be weird,” Namjoon muttered, almost to himself.
Jeongguk inhaled deeply, letting the breath fill his lungs before releasing it slowly, as though trying to quiet the noise in his head. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, vulnerable, with a pleading edge that he couldn’t hide. “No. It’s not weird, Namjoon. Please, just… help me?”
The words hung in the air, fragile but sincere. Maybe it was the raw, open plea in Jeongguk’s voice that softened Namjoon’s resolve. Or maybe it was the way Jeongguk looked up at him, his dark eyes wide and searching, full of trust.
Namjoon’s expression shifted, the tightness around his eyes easing. He sucked in a slow, steadying breath, as though bracing himself for something deeper than he had expected. “Okay,” he said, the word weighted with a quiet surrender. “Okay.”
Jeongguk’s chest tightened with relief, and he nodded eagerly. He didn’t want to appear like a child—like someone in need of guidance—but the truth was, he was. And the desperate need to make this moment feel right had him straightening his back, swallowing hard to chase away any remnants of his earlier vulnerability.
“The first thing that’s important…” Namjoon continued, his voice steady now, yet laced with a quiet gravity. “Physical contact. It’s the foundation. Everything starts with a touch.” His gaze briefly fell to the hand still resting on Jeongguk’s knee. “It’s like an invitation, a way of saying, ‘I’m interested’, you know?”
Jeongguk’s stomach fluttered at the words, and his breath hitched a little in his chest. The way Namjoon spoke—calm, measured, like he knew exactly what he was saying—made Jeongguk’s head spin. He didn’t dare nod, though. Instead, he held Namjoon’s gaze, trying to understand every nuance of what he was saying.
Namjoon’s fingers shifted slightly, his hand still warm against Jeongguk’s knee, and Jeongguk could feel a nervous heat spreading across his cheeks. Was it normal to feel this way? To want the touch? To crave Namjoon’s attention, so steady and gentle, yet so undeniably charged?
“If you were to pull my hand away,” Namjoon continued, his voice a little softer now, “I’d know you’re not interested. But if you leaned into it... if you let me keep touching you, I’d know you want me to go on.”
Jeongguk shifted slightly, his knee tilting upwards. Namjoon inhaled sharply, his hand briefly slipping as Jeongguk’s knee moved. His fingers skated along Jeongguk’s thigh, and Jeongguk’s pulse quickened in response.
“Like that,” Namjoon gasped, but he quickly returned his hand to Jeongguk’s knee, his face flushed with sudden awareness of what had just happened.
Jeongguk swallowed, the knot in his throat growing tighter. He felt a rush of frustration—frustration that he couldn’t seem to control his own body, that everything was so charged and unfamiliar.
“After permission has been given…” Namjoon’s voice trailed off as his gaze fell, the intensity of the moment suddenly feeling too much. Jeongguk wanted to scream—to pull him back into the moment, to demand Namjoon’s attention, to not let this fragile space between them slip into awkwardness. But he remained silent, waiting, heart pounding. “…you move a little closer,” Namjoon finished, and with that, his knee shifted closer, sliding against Jeongguk’s. Namjoon’s other hand curled gently around Jeongguk’s side, his fingers grazing the soft fabric of Jeongguk’s t-shirt. The touch was so light, almost hesitant, like he was waiting for Jeongguk to react, to show him it was okay.
The sensation of Namjoon’s hand was electric, and Jeongguk froze, unsure if he should pull away or lean into the touch. It was like everything in him was telling him to stay still, to absorb this moment, to not break it.
But everything inside him screamed for more—more of this, more of Namjoon’s warmth, more of this gentle attention that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in so long.
Jeongguk didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to disrupt the delicate balance that hung between them. He stayed still, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, trying to keep his emotions from spilling over. But inside, everything was an eruption of heat, of desire, of something else—something he didn’t quite understand, but needed more of.
“Kissing is kind of like dancing,” Namjoon said softly, the corners of his lips curling up in a small, knowing smile, like he was proud of the comparison he’d made. His gaze met Jeongguk’s then, and for the first time, it felt like the world had shifted. The smile on his lips faltered, but not with doubt. No, it was something deeper—something far more earnest, more serious—and Jeongguk’s breath caught, lodged in his throat.
There was a moment, an eternity, where time seemed to stop and everything seemed to shift. Jeongguk could see the flicker of a thousand thoughts racing behind Namjoon’s eyes—doubts, questions, fears—but before those thoughts could fully form, something in Jeongguk stirred. Something bold, something that told him to act, to close the space between them.
He pressed his palm flat against Namjoon’s chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart beneath his fingers. A rush of pride swelled in his chest—he was the one making Namjoon feel like this, the one causing this pulse of energy between them. Hesitancy was there, yes, but Jeongguk was starting to understand something else: it wasn’t the kiss itself that scared Namjoon, it was the idea that he might like kissing Jeongguk that frightened him.
“Then what?” Jeongguk whispered, his voice barely audible, the tension between them stretching, thick and heavy.
Namjoon’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips, his eyes flickering to Jeongguk’s. “Then…” he paused, clearly trying to find the right words, his breath quickening just slightly. “It depends on what kind of kiss you’re aiming for.”
Jeongguk nodded, but in truth, he didn’t fully understand what Namjoon meant. It didn’t matter. Not when Namjoon’s heartbeat was so loud in his ears, not when he could see the storm of emotions swirling behind those dark eyes, when the distance between them felt charged, electric.
“What kind of kiss are you aiming for?” Jeongguk asked, his voice breathy with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.
A smile tugged at Namjoon’s lips, a smile that made the dimples in his cheeks deepen, and Jeongguk couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth spread through him. “What kind of kiss would you like?”
The question hung in the air, simple but loaded, and Jeongguk felt the heat rise in his veins, rushing through him, making him acutely aware of every little movement, every little breath. The way Namjoon’s question shifted the moment, made it real—it implied that this wasn’t just some hypothetical conversation. It was about them, about something that might actually happen.
Jeongguk’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of Namjoon’s t-shirt, and as he shifted, he became painfully aware of the warmth spreading across his face, the blush creeping up his neck, betraying him. Of the sudden tightness to his jeans, arousal causing his cock to twitch.
“I… I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible now. The fear flooded in—what if Namjoon saw it? The excitement, the arousal? What if it repulsed him, made him pull away? What if Jeongguk had ruined everything? Their friendship, this moment, everything—all because he couldn’t control his body?
“Stop thinking so much.” Namjoon’s voice was low, almost soothing, as his hand slowly moved up Jeongguk’s thigh. His other hand slid around the back of Jeongguk’s neck, pulling him just a little closer, the touch gentle but grounding. “Kissing shouldn’t require so much thinking.”
Jeongguk’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he could only nod, the quiet acceptance in his chest telling him that maybe, just maybe, he could let go of the panic. Namjoon smiled at him then, a soft, encouraging smile, and Jeongguk felt something inside him unfurl—a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
His fingers slowly loosened their grip on Namjoon’s t-shirt, as if he were relinquishing control, letting the moment flow instead of fighting it.
“A slow kiss feels right,” Namjoon murmured, his voice hushed and serious, like this was the most important thing in the world.
And then Namjoon leaned in, just a little. Jeongguk’s heart raced in his chest, each beat reverberating in his ears, as if everything had led up to this moment. This was it—this was the moment where Namjoon would kiss him, where he would feel what it was like to be kissed by him, to feel those lips, soft and warm against his own.
Jeongguk lifted his gaze to meet Namjoon’s, his breath shallow, his thoughts scattered. A beat of silence stretched between them—would Namjoon pull away at the last second? Would he change his mind, back out now? The weight of that question hung in the air, thick and unspoken.
But Namjoon didn’t pull away.
Jeongguk’s breath hitched, and all he could do was wait—wait for Namjoon to make the first move, wait for everything to finally fall into place.
Jeongguk sucked a shaky breath of air into his lungs. “We don’t actually have to kiss,” he repeated. As much as he wanted this, needed this, Jeongguk didn’t want Namjoon to be forced into something he didn’t want.
But then Namjoon’s lips were against his own. His hand, the one around the back of Jeongguk’s neck, tightened its grip. Jeongguk sighed against Namjoon’s mouth, his lips parting, and then they were really kissing. Not just a peck on the lips, not just in innocent touch, but a real, actual kiss, and Jeongguk’s eyes fluttered shut as Namjoon’s lips moved against his own.
Jeongguk’s hands curled around Namjoon’s thighs, finding nothing but firm muscle, and Jeongguk shuffled forward, closer to Namjoon, needing to remove whatever space was left between them.
Namjoon angled his head to the side and somehow that allowed Jeongguk to deepen the kiss. Electricity shot through him when he felt something warm and wet against his bottom lip, and it took Jeongguk a moment to realize that that was Namjoon’s tongue. Namjoon’s tongue was asking for entrance, and Jeongguk parted his lips, eagerly letting him in, and the taste of mint exploded in his mouth.
Namjoon’s hand shifted even higher up Jeongguk’s thigh, and Jeongguk willed it to keep moving, to trace the soft curve of his limb and then reach for his crotch where his cock was now actually throbbing and aching for attention, but then Namjoon pulled back, the tips of their noses brushing together.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” Namjoon said, his voice light and effortless, as if the world hadn't just tilted on its axis. He smiled, and Jeongguk couldn’t comprehend how Namjoon could sound so calm, so collected, when Jeongguk himself was still gasping for air, lungs burning with the effort to reclaim some semblance of control. “That was a really good kiss, Jeongguk.”
Jeongguk’s fingers were digging into Namjoon’s sides, an almost unconscious grip, as if holding onto something solid in a world that suddenly felt too unsteady.
“Yeah… that was, uhm… that was nice,” Jeongguk managed to choke out, the words feeling foreign and too small for what he was actually feeling—too far from the storm raging in his chest.
Namjoon shifted back, his hands leaving Jeongguk’s body with a slow, deliberate motion, as if savoring the last trace of the contact between them. His fingers fell to his lap, leaving an unexpected emptiness in the space they’d shared.
Jeongguk quickly mirrored him, hands fumbling back into his own lap, a desperate attempt to hide the evidence of what had just happened—a raging erection. His palms pressed down, hoping to ground himself, but it did little to steady the pounding of his heart.
“Nice?” Namjoon repeated, his voice teasing, but there was something more in his eyes—a glint of something that made Jeongguk’s breath hitch. His brow furrowed slightly, as if questioning whether Jeongguk was really being serious. “That’s all? Nice?”
‘Nice’ barely scratched the surface. It didn’t even begin to capture the way Jeongguk’s world had shattered and pieced itself back together in an entirely new shape with just one kiss. But the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know how to say what he was feeling without breaking something—without maybe breaking himself.
Jeongguk swallowed hard, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest in an effort to calm the frantic rhythm of his pulse. “Thanks, hyung,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. He kept his gaze lowered, feeling something heavy settle in his chest. “You’re a really good friend.”
Namjoon’s hand gave his knee a light pat, a casual gesture that felt anything but. Jeongguk’s body tensed, instinctively pulling away, the touch suddenly too much, too intimate in a way that left him feeling exposed, raw.
“Of course I’m a good friend,” Namjoon said with a grin, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper there, something Jeongguk couldn’t quite place. He seemed to be studying him carefully now, gauging his every reaction. “You sure you don’t want to join the others now?”
Jeongguk couldn’t answer at first. His mind was still lost in the echo of the kiss, in the heat that had flooded through him, and now this strange, bittersweet tension that lingered between them. His fingers curled into the fabric of his jeans, grounding himself, but the words he needed to say seemed stuck in his throat.
Considering the fact that he was still hard and would probably remain hard until he did something to fix that, Jeongguk was pretty sure he didn’t want to go out with the others. “I think I’m just gonna take a shower,” he chuckled sheepishly as he tried not to blush too much. “Call it an early night.”
Namjoon nodded and shifted off the bed. “We can watch a movie together. I’ll pick something.”
That was his cue to leave. Jeongguk all but rushed into the bathroom, carefully closing and locking the door behind him, and shoved his hand down his pants, fingers curling around his aching erection. Maybe he should feel guilty for jerking off after Namjoon had kissed him, but dammit, he didn’t care. That kiss had been the best kiss he had ever had—and sure, he hadn’t kissed that many people before, but fuck, his lips still tingled. Jeongguk pumped his length, hard and fast, and bit down on his tongue to prevent any sound from leaving him when he came.
He had a feeling he would be jerking off a lot thinking about that kiss.