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The thing about New York winters, thought Park Jimin as he quickly tucked himself into the last available spot on the Uptown bound F train, is that they were wet. They were not just cold, and windy, and dark, though that was certainly true as well. But the rhythm of city life ground down the occasional snowfall until everything had turned to slush. There were constant drips from the ceilings of the subway platforms and building overhangs, icy sludge in the hollows where the sidewalk meets the road, and thick drops of melted snowflake clinging to every fiber of Jimin’s scarf, wrapped tightly around his damp, pinkening cheeks.
It wasn’t even technically winter yet, but Jimin had lived here long enough to know that didn’t mean shit. He remembered the way winter came on the very first year he lived here; he was helping his new roommate move apartments the day before Halloween, and a surprise snowstorm blew into town that morning. He hadn't even had a chance to unpack his winter clothes yet, and he was still slip sliding in his gym sneakers all over an icy sidewalk, trying not to drop his end of the television.
And from that moment on, he knew that he loved this place.
He learned to expect the unexpected. He got so tired of buying shitty $5 umbrellas from sidewalk vendors and contributing to the world's growing stock of everlasting plastic that he finally started carrying a small umbrella in his bag at all times, no matter what his Weather app said each morning. It had saved him more times than he could count.
No matter who you were or what you thought you knew, this city always knew better.
Jimin tugged his maroon beanie off and shook out his honey blonde hair as the subway car rushed through the flickering lights of the tunnels. It was only a couple of stops from his little studio in the East Village up to the bar, a few short minutes of rattle, roll and screech, but the city kept the subway cars warm. Stupidly warm. Warm to the point where everyone developed a routine of shed, unzip, detangle as they loosened their garments the moment they got through the doors of the subway car, bodies pressed tightly together. And then, as the doors parted and they faced the steady climb back up to the chilly city streets, it was bundle, button, wrap, zip all over again.
When the weather was nice, Jimin liked to walk to work. He loved the rhythm of the sidewalks, the rolling, endless motion of a thousand bodies. In New York, walking was like driving. You merged, you picked lanes, you inched through red lights when you saw an opportunity. There was a power to it, the way he felt connected to his body, to the masses, and to the concrete itself.
But for now, it was cold as fuck, even in mid-November. So he let the underground train rattle him all the way up to Madison Square Park, bundling himself back up as they arrived and he clambered carefully up the slick, wet steps of the subway station.
Jimin loved working at The Flatiron Room. It was the kind of bar he had wanted to work at for years: a historic 1920’s hotspot with serious industry cred, live jazz, and a deep book of classic and original cocktails. He had come into the Flatiron Room with a serious resume of some of New York’s top cocktail bars, but even then, it had taken him a long time to get promoted. Finally, after almost a year of long shifts behind the bar, he took over as Head Bartender last spring.
He dodged the evening shoppers and pre-dinner-goers on 6th ave, skirting their clunky bags and wobbly high heels balancing precariously on the sheets of sidewalk ice. Winter was busy season for a bar like theirs – cozy, romantic, a killer hot toddy – and tonight was a goddamn Friday night. Which was fine, he was used to it, and honestly, the money was great. On a good night, he could make almost a third of his rent.
But Friday night meant he had to get his game face on. As always, the bar would have a lineup of live jazz performers, which meant he never knew what energy he was going to get – soothing, sexy, lively, even frenetic – so Jimin piped his ready-for-war music into his Airpods the whole way to work. And sure, he knew “Formation” by Beyoncé was a total cliche, perfect for TikTok dance crews and afternoon Soul Cycle classes, but he fucking loved it. He was a proper gay, who knew how to get in formation, flirt like he was a professional, and work it out over a long shift behind the bar.
He had the closing shift tonight, so the bar was already rocking as he slipped in the side staff door. He changed into his non-slip shoes at his locker, shaking the slush off his boots, and carried the white button down and blue velvet blazer hanging in the locker into the staff bathroom to change. Minutes later he was adjusting his collar carefully as he walked through the narrow halls. He glanced at his Apple Watch; only a minute before he was supposed to relieve the opening bartender. He paused outside of the staff door, stepping to the side so he wasn't in the way. The bar looked comfortingly familiar through the circular window of the door: all dark leather banquets, wooden barstools, low lighting and a spread of flickering candles. He breathed deeply, a long, steeling inhale. Okay, ladies, now let's get in formation, he hummed, stepping through the door. 'Cause I slay.
Almost two hours later, elbows deep in a string of tickets, he heard it. It was the Voice again, he was sure of it this time. It hadn’t even started singing yet, just a low “hello”, and Jimin already knew beyond the shadow of a doubt. He had heard it for the first time two weeks ago, and he hadn’t been able to get the Voice out of his head for days. Jimin couldn't ever see the stage from here, with dozens of customers separating them and a full bar separating him and the musicians, but at least he could listen.
He twisted his wrist to cut off the flow of the Manhattan streaming from his glass mixing vessel, quickly emptying it into the draining sink below him, rinsing the glass mixing vessel, and placing it on his rail. He slipped a skewered cherry into the glass, nestled carefully alongside the large clear ice cube, and then added two skewered olives to the Martini next to it, the glass shimmering with the frosty condensation of a perfectly chilled cocktail.
Taking one graceful step to his left, he placed leather coasters in front of two patrons at the bar. Their legs were intertwined as they leaned towards each other, staring intently at each other as they spoke. Jimin could only see the top of a forearm, but it was enough to know there was a hand on a knee, maybe inching onto a thigh. In the background, Jimin heard music start. It was a swooning descent of strings, like a whole string section all dressed up in lace and coming slowly down a set of candlelit stairs.
“Gin Martini, up, and your Manhattan. Enjoy,” he murmured quietly, just loud enough to be heard (if they wanted), but not loud enough to interrupt. One of them looked over and gave a quick, acknowledging smile, and then Jimin was off, back at his spot at the well, skewering the ticket he just made, and already grabbing glasses for the next round of cocktails.
The music had settled into a melody now, a lilting little melody that sounded familiar, if only he could place it. Jimin was good at tuning out of sounds and tuning into others, like his brain could autofocus without even thinking about it. He could ignore the incessant sounds of chatter that filled the bar while he worked and, when the live performers were done, the bass-boosted lo-fi purring in the background, but he could pick up the sound of a credit card being placed on a bar surface from ten feet away. He could hear the barback’s low “getting you more tonic, Jimin, you need anything else?” even with the young man’s head shoved halfway into the fridge below him, but he rarely remembered a single performer they’d had over the year and a half he’d worked here.
Until he heard the Voice, and suddenly understood why all those singing competition shows existed. This Voice, the one who appeared just once and then disappeared into the constant flow of New York – this Voice was special.
He was already halfway through his next set of drinks – a Boulevardier, Hanky Panky, and Fernet Daiquiri, he registered instantly, reaching for the first ingredient without even looking – when, on top of the swaying melody, the Voice began to sing.
At last, my love has come along
And my lonely days are over
And life is like a song...
He couldn't pinpoint what it was, exactly, why the Voice had settled so thoroughly inside him. It was kind of soft, and a little rough, but in a good way. Like wool sweater rough. Rough (and soft) that you wanted to bury your face in and feel between your fingers. This is dumb, as he strained the Boulevardier into the large clear ice cube circling inside the low, heavy rocks glass. Get it together, Jimin. But he kept one ear perked, just a little more than normal, as he let the Voice sing to him.
Eventually he realized it wasn't just rough, or soft, but it also had feeling. For the first time, Jimin wished he knew literally anything about music, just so he could begin to describe it. He dropped a thinly sliced lime wheel onto the fluffy layer of foam on his freshly-shaken daiquiri.
Even as he worked, the Voice wouldn’t let him go. It slid across his shoulder, easing in around him, and then before he knew it, its grip was heavy on the back of his neck, and he was just on the edge of feeling.
Jimin blinked once, twice, and picked his drinks up carefully. He carried all three down the bar and placed them in front of a trio of women, who watched his every move carefully. "Oh my god, thank youuuu!" one of them cooed. "You're very welcome," he answered, with a gracious nod of his head, and heard suppressed squees as he walked quickly down the bar back to his station.
He let the sound of the Voice and the familiar rhythm of his work carry him forward into the night, his hands enjoying the cold snap of the cocktail shakers and the smooth necks of the liquor bottles. Eventually, somewhere between taking a drink order and handing off a misplaced ticket to the service bartender to his right, he realized the Voice was speaking.
"Thank you," it said softly, to the sound of gentle but enthusiastic clapping. "Thank you so much." And then the background music kicked in, with its familiar, evenly dispersed rhythms, and the Voice was gone.
They were in full swing and Jimin couldn't spare a moment, but he let one stray disappointed thought float into the ether, and then he was back at it. The barback showed up magically on his left with a tray in hand, ready to whisk away the six drinks Jimin had just made for the end of the counter. "Perfect, thank you," Jimin said quietly, as he turned back to his station while she moved down the bar. He really should start training her as a bartender, he thought, and pinned it somewhere in his brain to address when he had the time.
He wasn't sure how long it was, but at some point, the couple before him closed out and left into the night. A host came to wipe down the counter top, with a hushed "you good, Jimin?" He knew what the host was asking, of course – "can you handle more guests right now?" – and Jimin glanced up at the host as he kept measuring ingredients for the row of drinks he was making.
"Go for it."
And Jimin was fine, really, until the host came back and sat one of the most attractive men Jimin had ever seen – party of just one, no less – right in front of his station.
Shit.
He was unbearably beautiful. He had big, gentle eyes and an adorably overgrown nose. Like some Studio Ghibli version of a baby deer, Jimin thought, but one with tattoos on his fingers and a chunky vintage chain draped over the golden, candlelit curves of his collarbones. A baby deer who daintily pushed his long, wavy hair behind his ear with a graceful bend of his fingers, and whose shoulders were clearly defined even underneath his leopard print v neck and vintage-looking black blazer.
Jimin usually tried not to pick up customers, but every rule had its exceptions. Like a.... hall pass. Yeah, exactly. It was just a hall pass for his own sense of professionalism.
Totally fine.
"Welcome," Jimin started. He kept his tone professional, but if he let it drop just a little, with just a tiny bit more huskiness than he usually had – well, Doe Eyes didn't need to know. "Please let me know if you need any help navigating the menu. My name is Jimin, I'll be here to take care of you." And he really did try to keep any innuendo from his tone, really. He just said the same thing he always did, and let the rest go unsaid.
Doe Eyes looked up at him, eyes widening a little. "Thanks," he smiled. His voice was quiet and gentle in the buzzy air of the bar, but familiar. Jimin leaned in a little to hear him better. "The manager said I should come get a drink – the talent manager, Dani. Uh, and some food."
Ahhh. A performer, then. That's why his voice must sound...
And then, Jimin realized.
Shit.
"Oh! Yes, of course. Did – did you just do your set?" He already knew, but he still hoped against all odds. Please say no, come on. I don’t think I can take it if you’re –
"Yeah! I just finished."
– the Voice. Shit.
Jimin smiled his professional smile, well honed and entirely believable. "Great! Well, welcome to the Flatiron Room. Glad to have you here. And yes, I'm sure Dani mentioned, but anything you'd like. Truly."
"Thanks, I'll take a look." He smiled again, a small, crooked little smile, but Jimin could see a hint of a single dimple appear in his cheek. "Oh – uh, I'm Jungkook."
"Nice to meet you, Jungkook," Jimin answered, letting just a slip of the huskiness back into his tone, and then carefully garnished the drinks he had just finished. Eventually, Jungkook ordered with him, and Jimin enjoyed it more than he would like to admit. He let Jungkook's voice shape words he heard a hundred times a week – a Whiskey Sour, charred cauliflower, and the fig and frisée salad – into something lush and delectable, and Jimin almost regretted having to turn away from the sight of his glossy pink mouth to punch the order into the POS behind him.
As Jimin resumed making the next set of drinks, he let himself keep the man in the corner of his eye. Jungkook was certainly a little on the quieter side, but not shy. It felt more like he was... watching. That the gravitational pull of those big eyes drew everything into them, tucking their observations somewhere deep in his brain. And even though he was carefully watching the new performer, he noticed immediately and with a soft smile when Jimin slid his cocktail in front of him.
It was a respectful kind of watching though, but though Jimin couldn't quite pinpoint why. Jimin was used to being watched, and all the different ways that it could feel – like ownership, like adulation, like desire. Bartending was a performance as much as it was a craft, particularly in a bar like this, and he knew how to play that game. And from the way that Jungkook watched, with everyone from the singer to the other guests to Jimin himself, he knew that Jungkook understood this.
Eventually, Jungkook's cocktail was gone – his food had arrived a while ago, and Jimin resisted the desire to halt his work just to gaze at Jungkook eating – and he looked wistfully at his empty glass as Jimin cleared it from the bartop.
"That drink was really good."
"Thank you, glad you liked it. Would you like another?"
"I think so. This sounds silly, but... I kind of want something similar to that, but different? I mean I like trying new things, but that really was good. Then I'll probably have wine, I guess."
"Not silly at all. A couple different directions you could go," Jimin explained, while carefully stirring the Martini and Negroni on the ticket in front of him. "If you like bitter, you could do a Trinidad Sour. If you like red wine flavors and want to stick with whiskey, you could do a New York Sour. Or if you want something from our original menu and want a little smokiness, you could do the Penicillin Fizz."
"Oh god, those all sound so good. Um, let's do the Penicillin Fizz?"
"Coming right up."
Jimin felt Jungkook's gaze on him again as he started his next round of drinks, adding Jungkook's to the lineup. He let himself perform just a little, moving his fingers and wrists seamlessly from one action to the next, and garnishing Jungkook's drink with an extra little flourish when it was ready.
The energy in the bar had shifted now, as the last performer of the night wrapped up to a gentle smatter of applause. Guests turned back to their companions, with chatter filling the space quickly. Jungkook leaned in a little, pulling his mouth from the long metal straw in his glass, and darting his tongue out to lick the foam from his lips.
Shit.
"This is so good, thank you."
"Of course."
"Who makes the drinks here? The original ones, I mean?"
"It's a collective process; the whole team workshops things together for the season menu changes."
"Oh, I love that." After a pause, he continued. "Are you the one in charge?"
Jimin glanced up at him, eyes a little hooded. "What makes you think that?"
"You just seem in charge. Plus, uh, it looks like your name on the menu. Jimin Park, right?"
Jimin let out a bark of laughter. That coy little shit, pretending like he didn't know already. "Yes, that's me. Not sure how much I would say I'm "in charge" but of the drinks, at least, yes I am. I bartend over at The Rosemont every now and then as well, but most of the time I am right here."
“Oh, that’s a queer bar, right?”
“Yep. That’s why I'm there, really,” Jimin answered with a decisive quirk of his eyebrow. Jungkook grinned even wider than before, with two whole dimples and a full row of shining teeth appearing this time. Yeah, shit.
“I went there for drag once.”
Jimin smirked at him knowingly. Of course he'd been there. No man was that pretty – or moved a body like that one with such delicacy – without having at least a handful of queer cells in his body.
"But, uh," Jungkook continued, his expression drifting a little as he gazed at the countertop. "I don't really go out anymore. I don't know." His smile slipped a little as he pushed his empty glass around absentmindedly.
"No?"
"Yeah... I guess I went out a lot right when I moved here, but the first couple of months were... kind of tough. So I don't fuck around with all of that anymore, you know?"
Jimin hummed, nodding slowly. He did know.
"So just Grindr, then?" He smiled casually, but he knew it was stupid to be asking, what with the look on Jungkook’s face. Still, he couldn't help but push at the door a little, with it just right there and looking so very appealing.
"Oh no. I just don't hook up right now," answered Jungkook, sweetly crushing Jimin's blossoming dreams. "I guess I’m technically still on there, but I don’t look. It sounds so dumb, but I'd just really like to date. To see someone seriously, to feel like we are building towards something. And it just feels like no one wants that here, and having people fuck you once or twice and then immediately turn around and wonder who else they could be fucking in this neverending city just... really hurts."
After a long moment, the background music still lingering in their ears, he looked up suddenly to catch Jimin's eye.
"Wow, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have dumped all that on you."
And as Jimin looked back at him – the cute little teeth peeking out as he bit his lip, the hint of sadness in the tilt of his head – he felt something shift. Jungkook didn't need to get fucked. Well, maybe he did, but that wasn't Jimin's business.
Jungkook just needed someone to listen.
Yeah, shit.
"It's okay, that's what I'm here for." Jimin smiled softly for a moment. Then, before he could do something stupid like reach out and touch Jungkook's hand, sitting appealingly on the dark wood bartop, he switched instantly to Super Hospitality mode, with a playfully cheesy voice and all. "You know, it’s a cliche to say it, but honestly, this is kind of the history of bartenders." He reached behind him for an half open bottle of Northern Rhône, a wine glass, and plunked them theatrically on the bar top in front of Jungkook, who lit up with silent glee, his whole face glowing.
"I give you alcohol," Jimin started, pouring Jungkook a half glass of red and clearing his empty cocktail glass, "and you share all of your hopes and dreams. Your deepest, darkest secrets."
Jimin set the bottle on the counter and slid it towards Jungkook, indicating he was welcome to finish it off if he would like. "Most people give me money for this incredible service, but for you," no, shit, don't say it, "I suppose I'll just let you sing for me."
Shit.
He just had to go and be so unbelievably embarrassing, didn’t he.
But happily, Jungkook's eyes brightened. "Did you hear me sing?"
With his quick little professional smile, Jimin started to polish glasses fresh from the machine, a literal sleight of hand as he tried to play it cool. "I did, I really enjoy listening to all of our performers," he lied through his slightly crooked front teeth.
Jungkook looked at him almost mischievously for a moment, and then tapped his fingers playfully on the bar. "You know, now that I've heard you describe everything you do as a bartender, I'm pretty sure you're actually a spy."
"Well of course, I could neither confirm nor deny that." Jimin spread his hands on the bar top, elbows bent slightly as he leaned in towards Jungkook. "But I can tell you one thing. If I had to choose between interrogating someone in a Hell's Kitchen back alley or prying their lips loose with a Manhattan or two, I would certainly choose the whiskey. Way sexier."
Jungkook threw his head back and laughed, a breathy, musical thing like the rustle of wind chimes on the breeze. The chain around his neck glinted in the low bar light.
"Of course you would."
Jimin’s heart stuttered. He wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that, or why he was so certain, but with a laugh like that one, Jungkook could think whatever he wanted.
Eventually the night slowed and the bar started to quiet, and Jungkook's chin dropped softly into his palm as they did last call for cocktails. Jimin watched as his face got that hazy, absent expression on it again.
“Can I ask you…” he started suddenly, and then he paused, glancing at Jimin as though for confirmation. When Jimin nodded slightly, he continued slowly. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me for thinking all that? About queer hookup culture, I mean? Like, is it just me? I know I literally just met you, but honestly, you are probably nicer than almost anyone I’ve met here. And you seem like you’ve been here for a while, and… that you get it.”
“No, it’s not just you. You’re not the only one who has trouble finding what they need in this city, who is always – endlessly – searching. Promise. Not sure if that actually makes you feel any better, but yeah, not just you.”
“Thanks,” Jungkook answered, giving his heartbreakingly sweet smile again. After a moment, he seemed to realize he was still here, seated at the bar hours after his set. With a little sigh, he started to move, stretching slightly as he sat up again. “Wow. I should probably go home. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised I’m still here.”
"Well, you’re always welcome," Jimin answered gently. He settled out Jungkook's tab under the category of ‘talent', and then placed the closed out receipt on the counter in front of him. "You're all set."
"Amazing," Jungkook sighed, and Jimin heard the rustle of a cash tip being slipped into the check presenter as he politely looked away. When Jimin turned back to him, Jungkook was staring at him intently.
"Thank you, Jimin. Really. This was..." he gestured around the bar top vaguely, but Jimin knew he wasn’t really referring to the food, "... great. All of it. Um, I'm singing next Wednesday, before Thanksgiving, and then Saturday as well. So if you're around, I'll see you then?"
And at this, Jimin smiled. A real smile, not his hospitality smile. The kind that pushed his cheeks up into his eyes and made his temples start to ache.
"Yeah, I’ll be here. Looking forward to it, Jungkook."
And with that, like the absolute saint he was, Jimin let the hottest man that he had seen in his entire goddamn life walk out of the bar, waving that big, beautiful, tattooed hand as he left.
--------
As promised, Jungkook performed the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and the Saturday afterwards. Having now met the man behind the voice, all of Jimin's worst fears about him came true. Jungkook was painfully, distractingly appealing. Jimin couldn't stop glancing over to see if he could sneak a look at Jungkook while he performed. He had spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining how that face would look while he was performing: how the column of his neck stretched when he let that voice loose a little, how his eyes might close during a particularly poignant bit of melody, or how his hands would look around a mic. Definitely just a mic, since Jimin would never imagine anything else even remotely mic-shaped.
Because the music of Jungkook was the kind that you leaned into and let carry you away, far from here and into wherever you wanted to go. Jimin could see it on the faces of the guests sitting in front of him. The way they paused their conversations to glance over and see who was singing, the way that longtime regulars let their heads tip back and Jungkook's voice wash over them. This is that good shit, they seemed to say.
Jimin agreed. Jungkook certainly was that good shit.
And each night after he sang, he sat at the bar with Jimin. They didn't necessarily talk the whole time: Jungkook liked to hear the other singers, and the holiday rush was so busy that sometimes Jimin had so many tickets he couldn't spare a word of conversation. But it was always comfortable, having him there. Jimin knew on some level that he was just one of their performers, one who was here to get fed and watered and cared for, but it still felt a little like Jungkook was there for him. Like he was a friend who had come to hang out with Jimin at work, quietly keeping him company over the long shifts.
When they did talk, it was even better. He learned that Jungkook had only moved to the city at the end of summer, leaving the South Korean enclave near Seattle that he had grown up in. To his surprise, Jungkook turned out to be a passionate nerd. He was always a little quiet about it at first, but a drink or two in, he was just as ready to talk about his major in Computational Mathematics as he was to wax on enthusiastically about his second major in Jazz Studies.
"They're so similar, you know?" Jimin didn't know, but Jungkook seemed sure, and he liked that. "Just... patterns, and systems, and learning to improvise and be creative within them. I don't know, I love it."
"Do you still work in computers? Coding or programming or something?"
"Yeah, that's how I actually get by. All web based freelance coding. I can do it in the afternoons and super late night, and still pick up performing gigs when I can get them."
"Smart. Clearly." And with that compliment hanging in the air, it was with great pain that Jimin had to look away from the very appealing blush on Jungkook's cheeks.
The week after, Jungkook was back again on Thursday, singing them into the beginning of December.
"What about you?" he asked Jimin later that evening, between sips of champagne that made his nose scrunch. "How'd you get into bartending?"
"Mmm long story, but the short version is that I used to cook and kind of hated that." At this, Jungkook looked curious, but Jimin just shrugged a little, and Jungkook nodded patiently. "But it got me into restaurants, which eventually got me behind the bar, and that I loved."
"Well you're very good at it," Jungkook said quietly. It was so soft Jimin wasn't sure if he was supposed to have heard it.
Except that he did.
"Thanks," he answered just as quietly, professional smile and all.
By Saturday, Jimin had a plan. Jungkook was performing again, of course, having quickly become a guest favorite. Afterwards, he was back at his spot at the bar, seated there so quickly after his set that Jimin was pretty sure the host had held the seat for him.
As the night went on and the Saturday rush eased, Jimin finally found his moment, sliding his question into a pause in the constant rhythm of the evening.
"You singing tomorrow night?"
Jungkook shook his head, his curls swishing softly around his cheekbones.
"Cool,” Jimin continued. “I'm working at the Rosemont, actually, haven't been there in a while."
"Oh! That sounds fun."
"If you're off," Jimin started, trying to keep his tone casual. Platonic, come on Jimin. You can do platonic. "...and you wanted to check New York queer culture again, you could come by, hang out at the bar. It'd be pretty much this, except..." he looked around the dark, sensual decor of the bar, a field of candles across all its surfaces, "... well, totally different."
Jungkook laughed, his eyes lighting up.
"Totally different. But honestly, that sounds really fun. Not to play the field, obviously, but just to... " he shrugged.
"People watch?"
"Yeah," he smiled. "Exactly."
--------
If Jungkook hadn't already been to the Rosemont, Jimin would never have invited him the way he did. It wasn't the kind of place for the uninitiated, particularly if there was a chance (as Jimin suspected) that Jungkook would come alone. Because the Rosemont was high energy on your standard weeknight, and absolute madness on the weekend.
Jungkook had confirmed his shift hours before he left the Flatiron Room the night before, but Jimin had no idea when he'd show up. The bar only got weirder as the night went on, though, so when Jungkook didn't appear until almost midnight, Jimin had to admire his courage.
Jungkook's natural quietness was even more obvious in contrast with the riot going on around him. He wasn't shy, or apprehensive, but so self-contained that it was breathtaking. Jimin almost missed his entrance, busy pouring tequila shots and closing out open tabs. But he didn't; when he glanced up to see Jungkook still in his overcoat and pushing his way through the crowd, oblivious to the field of horny gays sending glances his way, Jimin stopped moving. Which was entirely inconvenient, given he was in the middle of building a ticket of cocktails, but he really had no other choice.
Because Jungkook had cut his hair.
It wasn’t a real haircut, one that took inches from the bouncy waves of dark hair Jimin loved looking at, but enough for it to be a change. Jungkook had gone and gotten himself an undercut, with the entire lower right side of his hair clipped down to a touchable fuzz. The rest of his hair was flipped over and bouncy, like a femme 80s pop star in a broad shouldered suit. He moved through the crowd, quiet and smooth and self-contained, with his bouncy black hair and lightly glossy pink lips.
And Jimin? Jimin died a little.
He looked down to finish building his cocktails, focusing hard on the plastic cups at his station, only looking back up when he saw Jungkook sit at the bar out of the corner of his eye. He shed his coat to reveal a loose black long-sleeved shirt and cargo joggers; it was devastatingly unassuming. Quiet, Jimin thought again, amidst the glitter and straps and exposed skin of the bar.
Quiet, and perfect.
"Hey," Jimin called down the bar like an idiot, but Jungkook lit up anyway, waving back at him gracefully. Jimin gestures towards Jungkook’s exposed buzz, still calling out through the noise of the bar.
“I like your hair!”
“Yeah, uh, I got it today! Been thinking about it a while, but had a cut scheduled for this afternoon.” He reached up to run his tattooed fingers over the soft, fuzzy hair. “I don’t know, felt like I needed to look more gay.”
“Well congratulations. You look plenty gay.”
The night passed by quickly, faster than any shift Jimin could remember. It wasn't really a bar for talking, so Jungkook sat in comfortable quiet for much of the night. He had turned to lean comfortably against the bar, where he could watch both the club-going crowd and Jimin at work, and when a seat opened up a little closer to Jimin's station, he scooted down in easy stealth.
"It's different," he yelled over the din at one point, when the night had gotten deeper and a little sluttier.
Jimin laughed a little. "Yeah, not the Flatiron Room."
"No," Jungkook leaned in, "I mean, you're different. I knew the bar was, but you are too. It's cool."
Jimin glanced sideways at him, catching the bright little gleam in Jungkook's eye. He wasn't sure what to say to that, his hospitality veneer weak and fracturing under the warmth of Jungkook's gaze. So he just smiled, the kind of clean professional smile he could always manage, even with his heart racing, and kept working.
There was an unspoken rule at the Rosemont, like so many queer bars Jimin had worked at (or danced at), that you don't hit on the bartender. Everyone knew they were hot, sure, but they never, ever said yes on pure principle, and it only made one's return to the bar another night that much more painful. But as the bar crossed into the wee hours of the morning and the drinkers got sloppier, this rule was forgotten more than it was remembered.
Tonight was no different as Jimin stared down the barrel of the very persistent dad bod in front of him, Jimin’s eyes sharp and unwavering.
"Sir, I said you can't have my number."
"Why not," the man moaned messily. "You're so fucking cute I can't take it."
"Don't have a phone."
"The fuck? What do you mean, you don't have a phone?" The man's eyes were cloudy and entirely confused. Jimin sent a sharp glance over at the bouncer, who was thankfully looking their way.
"Just don't have one," he directed back at the man. "I don't know, man, I'm a hipster who doesn't believe in technology. I said no."
And then before the man could process it, and before Jimin could even bear to look at Jungkook, watching the encounter from only feet away, the bouncer appeared behind the man, escorting him quickly away from the bar.
Jimin couldn't look at Jungkook for a few minutes after this. It was not the first flirtation of the night directed towards Jimin, and certainly not the last, but it was the most intense. After almost fifteen minutes, Jungkook leaned in, brow furrowed and speaking almost too quietly to be heard.
"... you do have a phone, right?"
And Jimin tried so hard not to laugh, he really did. But there was no way he could hold it back, the stress of the shift releasing from him in waves as he let his head tip back and the laughter burst forth. After a moment, he pulled it together, turning to smile at Jungkook. Not at you, with you , he tried to tell him telepathically, but Jungkook's face was scrunched in a new kind of smile, a precious one that crushed Jimin's heart just a little bit. When he saw it, Jimin knew that it was okay.
"Yes," he answered tenderly. "I have a phone."
Eventually, Jimin could see the end of the shift in sight, with the time passing much more easily in Jungkook's presence.
"LAST CALL", Jimin shouted out over the drunken masses. He always pitched his voice up to cut through the din, his voice high enough to mingle with the cloud of smoke over their heads. "LAST CALL EVERYBODY."
He heard Jungkook laugh a little, and he shot him an eye roll at the ridiculousness of the drunken 1:30am crowd, desperately making their last attempt to take someone home.
He has seen this hundreds of times, maybe thousands, but looking at it now through Jungkook’s eyes, he could see why it would be so unappealing.
“Alright Koo. What are you doing after this?”
Jungkook looked at him wide eyed, and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just chilling. But I should get out of your hair, let you close up.”
Jimin laughed a little. “Not what I meant, you’re good. And luckily I’m not the closer tonight, so I’m just about done.” Then he gazed at Jungkook carefully for a moment. “You tired? Or you up?”
“Oh I’m in night mode now. I’m never going to sleep again.”
“Alright then, Night Mode. Let’s go get a drink.”
Jungkook waited at the bar while Jimin dropped his check out and cash envelope off with the closing bartender in the microscopic back office. Once they got outside, he tugged Jungkook into a cab and across the Williamsburg bridge, where the lights of the city whipped past them, glittering frostily over the East River.
The cab dropped them off in front of a seemingly boarded up door in the Lower East Side. Jungkook hugged his arms to his shivering torso as Jimin rang a bell at a totally unmarked door aside from small “A B” vinyl lettering above the doorbell. After a moment, someone slipped through the door, and they got a peek of the bustling bar inside.
“Two,” Jimin gestured, his fingers feeling a little shaky.
“Great, got a spot at the bar,” the host answered, hustling them through the door.
Inside, the bar was lively and glowingly warm. The walls were all exposed brick, and little candles dotted the surfaces neatly. They were playing something a little jazzy, at least to Jimin’s ears, and he glanced back to see Jungkook look up in recognition.
The bartenders were moving fluidly behind the counter; Jimin always liked their style here, a sort of rustic, old school kind of bartending. They settled in at the wooden backless stools, and Jimin immediately recognized the cropped, curly hair and short-sleeved button up of the bartender nearest them.
“Jimin!”
“Jules! How’s your night?”
“Fine, you know.” Ice rattled in the shaking tin as they strained into a frosty glass. “Glad to see you though. Just getting off?”
“Yep, Rosemont.”
“Nice.” Jimin watched their eyes flick over to Jungkook, clearly wondering if he was Jimin’s bag for the night.
“Jules, this is my friend Jungkook. Koo, this is Jules, also known as Juice. They’ve worked here for – what, fifty, seventy five years?”
They shrugged, transferring the cocktail to a tray to be neatly whisked away by the server and then filling the glasses waiting patiently in front of Jimin and Jungkook. “I mean, going on a hundred at least.”
Jungkook laughed his sparkling little laugh, and Jimin could have sworn that the whole place got a little quiet, just for a moment, to hear him laugh.
If only they heard him sing.
“So, welcome to Attaboy,” explained Jules to Jungkook, cutting into Jimin’s thoughts. “There’s no set menu here: just tell me what you’re feeling, or we can have a conversation about what you like to drink, and then I’ll make you something.”
“Oh! Uh, well, so far I have liked whiskey sours, and I had a Penicillin Fizz,” he looked over at Jimin, who nodded a little in affirmation, “and last week I had a Boulevardier, I think, but it was a little strong.”
“We ended up putting it on the rocks and adding a little more vermouth,” Jimin chimed in.
“Okay,” Jules nodded. “Okay, one question: how do you feel about herbaceousness? Bright green herbs, mint, those sorts of flavors?”
“I like the sound of that!”
“Okay, I think I have something for you. Jimin, what are you thinking?”
“A whisky highball for now. Whatever you want to pour that’s Japanese.”
“Fabulous,” they started, already pulling a cocktail shaker towards them. Jimin turned towards Jungkook a little to find him already watching him, those watching eyes narrowed and contemplative. Jimin arched his eyebrow a little.
“I know you didn’t want to talk about it before, but if you’d ever like to share, I’d love to hear about your journey through kitchens and into bartending,” Jungkook asked gently. “It always seems like you really love it.”
“Mmmm. I do. You know, it’s not one of those things people expect to do. It’s not like they have a ‘bartending’ booth at elementary school job fairs and shit. Most people either fall into it accidentally – working in a bar in college or something, and then they actually like it – or they have a whole separate career first and then switch on purpose. That’s me.”
He took a sip of the Mars Iwai Tradition highball that had appeared in front of him, and gave Jules a moment to explain Jungkook’s drink to him.
“Okay, so this is a Champs–Élysées. Should be a little more refreshing, but still have that nice aged spirit and some herbaceousness. Enjoy, you two.”
Jimin watched quietly as Jungkook took a tentative sip, and enjoyed watching that familiar look of delight cross his face as he tasted the cocktail.
“Oh this is great. I don’t know what I expected, but it’s delicious.” He took a sip again, and then looked up at Jimin through his lashes. “Is this something you would have picked for me?”
“That’s a good choice for you, yes. I have other ideas too, though.” He tipped his glass in Jungkook’s direction. “Next time, after your set.”
Jungkook’s face lit up. “Perfect.”
After a moment, Jimin inhaled deeply, and then dove back in, unfolding himself just a little bit more. “So, yeah, for a long time I thought I wanted to cook. Got a scholarship to culinary school, learned how to make fifteen types of eggs, did the whole thing. But then I actually got into restaurants – doing prep at first, and then cooking on the line – and I just hated it."
"Why?" It was a soft, undemanding question, like the quavering high note of a flute. Jimin wasn't even looking at him, his eyes carefully pinned on the counter, and still he could feel the tenderness of it. And so, with no demand on him, Jimin answered.
"Honestly, I just didn't fit. I tried, I really fucking tried. I butched up, got all performative and aggressive and everything – and then I realized that's actually when they liked me best. When I was someone I hated. Someone who felt like a lie. Which meant I would have to be that forever, to keep doing what I was doing. So I left." He twisted his glass around on the coaster, watching the condensation slide down the smooth surface and into the absorbent leather below. "But I loved flavors, and I loved making things, that immediacy, and I really wanted to bring people new experiences. So I ended up getting a job doing prep for a bar, and just fell in love. I made so many shitty cocktails at night after I got off, just trying to get them right."
He gnawed at his lip for a moment, and then let go of the glass, wiped the icy condensation on the small napkin next to him, and looked up decisively.
"Anyway. That's how I got into bartending."
Jungkook's eyes were wide open, his pupils dark and layered with a glossy veneer. He licked at his lips for a moment, and then gave Jimin the tiniest smile.
"Makes sense." His voice was low and melodic. "You do seem to fit here, yeah?"
"Yeah, I do. At least, I think so."
Jungkook nodded. "Me too. I mean... I think so, too."
It was almost too much, to feel him slipping into the graciousness of Jungkook's listening ear, and to feel the willingness with which he brought Jimin in. He pulled back, breathing some space in between them.
"So what about you. I know you studied jazz – and fucking computers, for some genius reason – but why? Why did you decide to sing jazz, of all things?"
He almost expected Jungkook to jump right into his origin story, the way Jimin had seen so many performer-types do. But instead, Jungkook bit his lip tenderly as he shuffled uncomfortably on his stool for a few moments, the candlelight warming the honey of his skin. Of course, Jimin remembered. This is Jungkook we're talking about.
And so, it took Jungkook a moment, a sip, the clink of the glass against his teeth, the nervous brush of his shirt sleeve against his pants, before he was ready.
"Um, so, my mom used to teach piano. Pretty basic stuff, just Fur Elise and Chopsticks for kids mostly. But she was better than that. She was so much better than that, and I honestly still don't know why she wasn't teaching higher levels. I just... think those doors didn't open. Anyway, I think she was always kind of looking for somewhere for her love of music to go. Somewhere actually satisfying. So when I was a kid, she played music a lot. All types, really, but I loved jazz. I think she could tell. She used to dance with me in the living room, listening to jazz. Used to dance to Coltrane and Ellington, to Ella and Etta. And I fell in love with it too." His fingers were still, resting on the base of his now empty cocktail glass. "I never thought I could really make money with it, not with watching her work like that. But I still wanted to sing. Needed to."
They were quiet for a moment. For now, in the space between the two of them, there was a point of stillness in the bustle of the bar, a half rest in the unending rhythm.
Until Jimin shifted, heart racing, to break the moment between them. He reached out slowly, and rested his hand on Jungkook’s forearm. It was all warm, soft skin under his fingertips, and he could feel the thump thump thump racing underneath. Jungkook didn’t look back at him – just kept his eyes on the counter, arm unmoving under Jimin’s touch. And then Jimin pulled away, shifted in his chair, and crossed his arms with a small smile.
"I've got to tell you, I'm a little disappointed now. I think our customers are really missing out that you're not also dancing during your sets."
At this, Jungkook giggled. It was a whole-face giggle, with every inch of his skin scrunching up like a soft cotton sheet.
“Oh my god, okay, I have to pee.” Jungkook stood up, reaching his arms above his head to stretch a little. Jimin tried his best to look away, but he may or may not have seen a sliver of soft, golden skin peek out of the gap between his shirt and the waistband of his black cargo pants. Maybe. Possibly.
He can neither confirm nor deny.
But Jimin couldn't stop himself from watching Jungkook meander down the length of the building and into the restroom in the back, hips swaying gently through the bar. When Jimin turned back to Jules, he realized they were watching Jungkook as well, eyes narrowed and curious.
“Jules, stop looking at him like that. He’s just a friend.”
“Mmmhm.”
“He is," Jimin insisted, leaning towards them. Jules just wiped down the bar top, pursing their lips and looking painfully skeptical. After a moment, they glanced back at Jimin.
“So what, is he married?”
“What?" Jimin scoffed. "No, he’s not married, why the fuck would he be married?”
“Does he not know he’s queer yet?”
“Of course he knows he’s queer, look at that lip gloss.”
Jules glanced back at the empty stool where Jungkook used to be, scanning the space above it as though they could imagine him still sitting there.
“Don’t worry, I’m looking.”
“Oh fuck, I take it back – don’t fucking look.”
They rolled their eyes at Jimin. “So then are you guys related?”
“Not all Asian people are related, Jules," Jimin teased back.
Jules gave Jimin a scathing look. “Bitch, please. What I don’t know is why, if he definitely knows he’s queer, and he’s not married, or your cousin, he’s 'just your friend'. Because that boy looks like he is ready to be eaten alive.”
“You think I don’t want to?! There is nothing I’d like more than to…” he clenched his fists, trying to, find the right words, “… ughh, I don’t know, just chomp his little face off and swallow him whole!”
“Gross.”
Jimin leaned in, just buzzed enough to be desperate to explain. “You know what I mean. We are both keenly aware he’s a fucking snack. But what he needs is a friend, not my kinky ass scarring him for life. So I’m trying, okay? I’m trying.”
They reached out to give Jimin’s hand a patronizing pat. “You’re doing great, Min.”
By the time Jungkook returned, Jimin was ready to move on, to feel the cold rush of the wintered streets and show Jungkook more of the city, to pull him into its crevices and show him what lies inside.
"Koo. Are you hungry?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
Jimin pretended to deliberate for a second, ignoring Jules looking at him judgmentally out of the corner of his eye.
"Maybe."
"I could eat!" Jungkook looked eager, like he was the type to always say yes to the food in front of him, or maybe like he was always hungry and had learned to rein it in a bit for the sake of those less ravenous than him.
"Okay, it's..." Jimin checked his Apple Watch, "... 3:30am, so they're doing last call here soon anyway. Here are our options. We could go to Sonny's, which is newer and kind of hipster and a big industry spot. We could get a slice or two at Champion's Pizza, which is fucking delicious, but it’s just a stand, so we’d have to stand on the sidewalk to eat them..." he laughed at Jungkook's wide eyes and preemptive shiver at the idea of eating on the sidewalk in December in the middle of the night, "or we could go to Veselka for 24hr pierogis and stuffed cabbage."
"Oh! I've never had pierogis. They're Polish dumplings, yeah?"
"Basically, yes."
"Sold."
Veselka felt like a diner that had been taken over by a grandmother’s kitchen – maybe not Jimin’s grandmother, he thought, as he pulled out the old metal chair with a vinyl seat cushion, but someone’s grandmother. There were tchotchkes on a long metal shelf above the grill: painted ceramic plates and old photographs and hand sewn dolls. Jungkook was eyeing the 24 hour menu on the wall hungrily, and when the server eventually came by, Jimin ordered them seasonal pumpkin pierogies, white borscht, and veal goulash, with a side of fries and horseradish mayo. It was more than he would normally get for himself, but he didn’t want Jungkook to go hungry.
“I’m guessing that happens a lot?” Jungkook asked, breaking the silence after the server left.
“What happens a lot?”
“Guys like that one who hit on you at the Rosemont. Or probably similar ones who hit on you on Grindr or Jack’d.”
“Yeah, yeah that happens enough.”
“Let me guess. It’s mostly a ridiculous amount of beefy white dudes who just want you to bottom for them, be their exotic twink for a night.”
“Jungkook. Are you secretly the FBI agent who reads my DMs?"
Jungkook gasped, playing along easily. “Oh my god, we're like in The Americans. Just a spy and an FBI agent drinking beer in our garages, like the best bro friends we are.”
"Yep," muttered Jimin, taking a deep drink from his water glass. "Best bros."
Jungkook laughed sweetly, but made no corrections. “I mean, I don’t know about you, I’m not necessarily mad when people think I’m a bottom. Mostly because they’re right,” he added with a scoff, “but I just hate that they assume, you know? I get it less now, since I got bulkier as I got older, but I used to get it all the time. I don’t know if it’s an Asian thing or what, but yeah. I know how you feel. I’m sorry, it sucks.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to it.” Jimin took another sip of his water, before realizing it was already gone, consumed in his nervous drinking.
So Jungkook’s a bottom.
This is fine.
“I don’t even… I don’t know anything about your side of things, you know?” Jungkook pushed his waves carefully behind his ear. “I’ve told you so much more than I expected, and I know I’m still just jabbering now because I am a little tipsy, I guess, so… sorry about that. But like – what about you? Do you have a boyfriend? You seem like you would.”
“Me?” Jimin laughed nervously. “Fuck no, why do you say that?”
“I don’t know.” Jungkook was staring at the table now, poking at the paper napkin under his thin metal silverware. “You’re just… I don’t know. Why not, I guess.”
Jimin inhaled deeply, licking his lips. When he spoke, it came out slowly and deliberately.
“Yeah, I don’t date. Basically at all. I really avoid it, honestly.”
Jungkook’s mouth opened, his lips parting with a little ‘tsk’, but then he bit his lip, chewing on it for a moment. Jimin could tell he wanted to ask, but instead Jungkook just waited quietly. The sound of cheap ceramic plates being stacked came from somewhere in the kitchen. Eventually, Jimin shifted forward, resting his forearms on the cold metal lip of the table.
“Listen. I know you don’t want to fuck around, and seriously, total respect. I get it. Honestly, it is so fucking exhausting here. You end up spending a bunch of money at shitty bars, and then sitting on the subway for an hour and a half just to fuck some mediocre guy in Bensonhurst. You’ll be way better off if you keep it clean, especially as a performer. But… dating isn’t that much nicer. It’s not. That thing you felt, about people always waiting for something better, for the next thing? That doesn’t go away when they’re your boyfriend. And when you work too many long shifts, or always work the holidays, and then they start to feel lonely and uncared for, even though you’re really fucking trying?” he shrugged. “Then they go find that better thing.”
When he was done speaking, Jimin realized his heart was racing, and his arms were shivering against the edge of the table. He hadn’t taken his eyes away from Jungkook’s the whole time, but now, he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. Because now Jungkook’s eyes were round, and patient, and so sad.
Jimin leaned back and twisted his arms around him, looking down at his plate. Silence hung in the air between them, heavy with the smell of fried potatoes and sauerkraut and so much pity. Just as the silence stretched right into becoming unbearable, their food arrived, and Jimin was saved. He barely heard the server point out which dish was which, and when he’d left, Jimin immediately started scooping the slippery pan-fried pierogies onto Jungkook’s plate.
“These are good, you’ll like them.” His voice was a little shaky, but he couldn’t help that.
He filled Jungkook's plate while barely looking at him, and then served himself, stomach twisting. As he reached for his fork, still slightly unsteady, he found Jungkook's hand there, waiting. Jimin stilled, and Jungkook let his hand rest gently on Jimin’s arm, a bird on a windowsill, tentative and careful. His tattoos were dark on the pale stretch of Jimin's skin, lit by the harsh gleam of the diner, and Jimin couldn't look away. After a moment, Jungkook squeezed lightly, stroking his thumb in a small circle, before pulling his hand back.
When he managed to look up, he caught Jungkook's gaze in his, and saw a shadow flicker across his face.
"Thanks. S'okay, really."
Jimin smiled then, wistful and small and not at all a hospitality smile, giving Jungkook permission to exhale a little and smile gently in return.
"Okay, Koo, eat up. Those are best hot, for sure"
Jungkook bit back a little laugh and scooped into the food on his plate, humming as he graciously gave Jimin space to breathe. Jimin sighed as he leaned back into his chair, digging into his own food with hands that were finally steady.
They said goodnight on the sidewalk outside of the diner. Jimin pulled Jungkook into a hug – warm, firm, and far too short – before hailing him a cab and waving him off. He gave himself the short walk home towards the quiet of his studio apartment to think of Jungkook in the way that he really wanted to: the tug of his lips between his teeth, the bounce of his hair in the candlelight, the light touch of his fingers on Jimin's arm. But as he pushed his key into his building door, crossed the threshold and walked up the narrow stairs to the third floor, he let it all fall away. He could do this, he realized. He could be Jungkook's friend, and he was starting to suspect Jungkook could really be his, too.
--------
Mid-December meant a festively busy bar. Jungkook performed three times at the Flatiron Room over the next week, and his voice filled the room with an easy mix of holiday classics and jazz standards. He sat comfortably at the bar when he was done, listening together to the music and drinking what Jimin made for him without question.
One night, Jimin’s break was timed just right, and he managed to slip out from behind the bar while Jungkook was performing. He lingered by the staff door, standing at attention as though he were supervising the bartending team, but his eyes were fixed on Jungkook.
It was even better than he'd imagined. Jungkook's head was tilted back, the sharp cut of his jaw gleaming under the soft lights. He was wearing a silky black button down with gold flecks that was tucked into his black jeans. The material clung to his chest, with the first few buttons open to expose the creamy skin underneath. He swayed his body to the beat as the song began, moving one knee in time to the upright bass behind him. He shifted his weight from side to side with his hips, two, three, four, and let his voice move freely as he scatted through the opening of the next song, everything fluid and unfettered.
Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’
Birds singing in the sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me
Jimin wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything this perfectly sensual. Jungkook sang like it was the only thing in the world, like entire universes were created through the strings of vibration in his voice. This was a different man than the one who sat quietly at his bar, nervously twisting the long stems of cocktail glasses in his fingers. All of his self-consciousness had fallen away, his movement in front of the mic smooth and confident. Jimin wasn't even quite sure if he was even present right now, or if he was in some other world in his mind, one made of jazz and stars and the sway of his hips.
With a start, Jimin realized the song was ending, and he had to get a move on. This was his one chance to pee for hours, and as much as he could spend the rest of the night – week, month, decade – watching Jungkook sing, he had work to do. With excruciating willpower, he peeled his eyes from the stage, darted inside the staff door, and made his way down the hall.
As the week came to a close and the small hours of Sunday night seeped in through the cracks of the old building, Jimin found he didn't want his shift to end. He hadn't felt that way in a long time, not since he first started learning how to bartend. But he knew that when the bar closed, Jungkook would disappear into the night, leaving Jimin's days off quiet and far too still.
"Koo, what are you up to tomorrow?"
"Mmmm, nothing?" He was draped over the bar facing Jimin, tapping his fingers on the surface of his phone contemplatively. "Yeah, nothing comes to mind. Have some work to do before the holidays, but I can do it anytime this week. Why?"
"Do you want to check out the city a little more? I need to run to Chelsea Market, get some errands done. We could hang out if you want."
"Oh! Oh I'd love that, I haven't been. When do you want to meet up?"
"Why don’t you just message me when you’re up and we’ll go from there. What's easiest? Text, Instagram? Do you want to just message me through Grindr?"
"Oh god no, I don't want to go on there if I don't have to. Though..." Jungkook paused, a glint in his eye, "... I would be curious to see what your Grindr profile is like. What do you have, maybe close-ups of your lips? Even something shirtless?”
“Oh fuck you, I’ll have you know my Grindr is tastefully curated, thank you. I like to underpromise and overdeliver,” Jimin teased, goosebumps racing up his spine even as he tried desperately to keep his tone dry and sardonic.
Jungkook laughed again, wind chimes and music, and breathed a little “I’m sure you do.” Then he picked up his phone, flipping it around in his fingers nervously. “I – I don’t know, whatever is better for you.”
Jimin wiped his hands on his bar towel slowly, biting his lip a little, and then reached out a palm.
“Let me just give you my number.”
--------
They met up at 3pm outside of the Google building across from the market. Jungkook was bundled up in a black turtleneck and long grey wool coat, with a thick charcoal scarf wrapped around his neck. Jimin pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, digging his chin into the black scarf tucked into his collar.
"Hi!" Jimin bumped his elbow into Jungkook's when he got close enough, keeping his hands tucked into the warmth of his pockets. Jungkook grinned and nudged Jimin back, pushing him playfully towards the crosswalk and eventually into the market across the street.
Chelsea Market was built inside the architectural skeleton of an old Nabisco factory, its bones filled with the echoing sounds of shops and restaurants. Jungkook was looking around the exposed brick and concrete with his wide, watchful eyes, and for Jimin, being here with him was like seeing the market anew.
They dipped into the little food stalls lining the large hall of the market, taking a peek at all the menus before making any decisions. Jungkook said he'd had lunch, but he still managed to gaze hungrily at the banh mi from Num Pang, and split a tomato and goat cheese quiche with Jimin at Amy's Breads.
They stopped to stare through the windows at the hand pulled Sichuan noodle shop, listening to the thwack thwack thwack of the noodles hitting the counter. They walked slowly through the Artists & Fleas holiday pop up, eyeing the handmade jewelry and piles of knitwear. Jimin tried on a pair of soft rainbow mittens, and when he noticed Jungkook’s utter delight at the sight of his small, multicolored hands, he bought them spontaneously.
Jungkook pulled them into a shop nearby to taste the little servings of flavored olive oils and balsamic vinegar. After the eighth or ninth tasting – which ended with Jungkook licking the strawberry balsamic vinegar from the corners of his mouth, Jimin noticed grimly – Jungkook started to fret, feeling a little guilty for their indulgent sampling. So even while Jimin reassured him that people tasted to their heart's content all the time without buying, he ended up purchasing a mixed set of oils and vinegars to take home.
"I'll use these," he waved Jimin away. "They'll be great on salads, at least. Or my roommate will use them."
"Do you like your roommate?"
"She's okay," Jungkook mused, packing his purchases into his waxed canvas backpack. "She's not around much. Always staying over at someone's place from Tinder, honestly. I mean it's fine with me; I connected with her on Craigslist, so it's not like I knew her before."
His head was tilted as he pulled his bag up onto his back.
“I think I just wish we knew each other better. Uh, we actually talked a little around Thanksgiving, and she mentioned she doesn’t like traveling back to Baltimore alone for the holidays, so I told her I’d go with. I’ll be down there for Christmas, so hopefully that helps.”
He was staring down at the raw concrete floor, with his mouth in a contemplative little pout. There was a moment of silence as Jimin watched him, and then Jimin inhaled deeply, shifting a little on his feet.
“That sounds good though, that you have somewhere to be for the holidays without flying all the way back home.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t have enough time anyway with all the gigs around the holidays. My parents understand.” He tilted his head up to look at Jimin. “Do you have somewhere to be?”
“Oh. Yeah, maybe. I usually go back and visit my parents in Jersey, but they’re in Seoul visiting my halmeoni this year. I hadn’t decided anything yet, but I think I’ll just take the train back for Christmas dinner with my aunt.” He pushed through the door leading back to the main hall, with Jungkook following on his heels.
“I didn’t know you were from Jersey.
“Born and raised. We were just an hour away but I only came to the city a couple of times as a kid. My parents don’t like it here.” Jungkook made a little noise and Jimin looked at him. “You’re surprised?”
“I don’t know, it just feels like you belong here. Like you are so New York, all the way through.”
Jimin laughed.
“Oh god, if young me could hear that, he would just die. He’d be so proud of me.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely. God, the first time we came to the city I couldn’t stop staring. My halmeoni was visiting and really wanted to see the city, so somehow my parents decided we should take one of those double decker tour busses and get in the whole city in one ride. I remember looking down at all the pedestrians and how perfectly they seemed to fit. Like they all really belonged here, like this city was theirs. I even remember noting how many were obviously queer, which I never saw at home, even though my little brain hadn’t processed myself that way yet. Everyone just seemed so sure of themselves. I told myself that someday I would be them. I would be able to just… know where I was going, what I was doing. That I would be sure, too, and that the city would let me really belong.”
“See, that’s what I mean.” Jungkook’s voice was quiet, but still perfectly clear in the bustle of the hall. Jimin looked at him curiously.
“What do you mean?”
“You just belong here. You are those people, now. At least to me.”
Jimin laughed a little, aching and soft.
“I think that’s very sweet of you, Jungkook.”
Jungkook didn’t answer this time, and after a minute, Jimin steered them into the bookshop across the way.
There were stacks of carefully placed books on labelled displays around the store, with "Local Authors" and "Staff Picks" on prominent signs. Jimin caught sight of Jungkook's long, tattooed fingers opening a cover titled Blues Legacies and Black Feminism , thumbing at the 'Angela Davis" embossed on the front.
"Have you read that?"
"No," murmured Jungkook. "But I love Angela Davis." He picked it up gently, his hands just as careful around the book as they were holding his mic on stage. "Seems right up my alley. Can't believe I haven't read it."
"Okay, hold on. Wait here."
Jimin dipped into the bookshop aisles, searching for a moment before pulling a copy of Sasha Petraske’s Regarding Cocktails off the shelf. On a whim, he grabbed Meehan’s Bartender Manual too, and headed back towards the front. If he was honest, he had slightly stretched the truth – or lied, if he were technical – when he told Jungkook he had errands to run today. But now that they were here in Posman's, he was inspired.
He tucked the books under his arm as he headed back towards Jungkook, snatching Angela Davis out of his hands. "This one's on me." Jungkook stammered out a protest, with a pouty "hey!" somewhere in there, but Jimin was already at the register, waving him away.
He had their purchases bagged up separately, handing Jungkook's to him before sliding his own into his black leather satchel. They stepped out into the market hall together, and with a start, Jimin noticed the large clock on the wall. Shit, 8:30pm already. They had been here for ages.
"Alright, Jungkook. I think you have officially seen Chelsea Market. Thank you for keeping me company, really." He saw Jungkook's expression shift a little, and he felt a pang of guilt for keeping him so long. "You'll take the L to the N, yeah? I can walk you to the 14th St Station, grab a cab from there."
Jungkook nodded, giving Jimin a small, crooked smile. They walked back through the market in comfortable silence, an easier companionship than Jimin had felt in ages. When they reached the east entrance of the market, they halted at the sight of the city outside.
There was a swirling blizzard of white against the clear glass windows. Snowflakes clung in little piles around to the edges of the doors, and they could no longer see the big colorful Google sign across the street.
"Oh shit. That's not fucking around." Jimin pulled out his phone, opening the Weather app.
"Do you think it's gonna get worse?"
"Looks like it should pass in a couple of hours, but who knows, really. I guess we can just push through, make a run for the train. Or, I guess it’d be a shuffle more than a run, really.”
"I guess," Jungkook mumbled absently, staring out the window. "Are you hungry?" he asked suddenly.
Jimin nodded. "Yeah, for sure."
"We could... eat. If you want."
Jimin bit his lip to stop himself from grinning, and leaned up against the window to stare out at the snow as well.
"Okay. Yeah, that sounds good."
It was peak dinner hour now, and Jimin didn't want to take them out into the storm without a place to go. So they huddled in a corner of the market while he checked Resy and found themselves a reservation at a nearby restaurant, before bundling up and stepping out into the flurried night.
They got a cab to the restaurant, a lush Russian restaurant with a wrought iron sign spelling "Onegin" over the door. A flurry of snow danced around their feet as they rushed through the door, scattering into lacy patterns on the carpet. Jungkook shook the snow off his feet in a little series of tiny stomps, shimmying his body a little to kick off anything left. Jimin watched him with a smile, scraping his own soles on the carpet.
They were seated at a small table by the broad front windows, easing into the squashy velvet armchairs flanking their table. There were little white candles all over the restaurant, big red velvet curtains framing the wintery landscape outside, and the sound of a string quartet playing Christmas music over the speaker system.
"Whoa, this is nice. You always pick the best places."
Jimin laughed a little. "I haven't even been here, just heard it was good. Which means if it's not, you can't really hold it against me."
"I will never forgive you," Jungkook retorted with a dainty pout, drawing a full laugh from Jimin. "I will just judge you for all of time."
"Oh, no worries then. Low stakes." At this point, Jimin couldn't decide if he was getting better at playing it cool with Jungkook because they were spending more time together, or in spite of it. But even though he was getting better, it certainly wasn't easier. Low stakes indeed.
Jungkook was still looking around the restaurant in the way Jimin was so familiar with, his whole expression open and vulnerable.
“Seriously though, this is so cool. It feels like it’s from another world, like we were dropped into an aristocratic Russian Christmas feast or something.” With a small inhale, he turned his gaze from the restaurant to catch Jimin’s eyes, staring straight into them. The flickering light of the candle was caught in the deep pool of his irises, and Jimin watched it tremble there, hypnotized. “This was a great call, Jimin, thank you. Somehow you always know what to do, how to take care of people. I don’t know how, but you do.” After another long, shivering moment, he blinked and looked away, breaking the hypnotic connection between them. Jimin swallowed heavily, licking his lips even as Jungkook glanced back up at him.
The waiter appeared then, freeing Jimin from his desperate need to say something, anything, in response. Jungkook had turned to stare at the menu quietly, so Jimin ordered piroshki and sour cherry vareniki to get them started, with a couple pours of house-infused vodkas.
“Do you like the holidays, Jimin?”
“The holidays are fine. I don’t know, they always sneak up on me. It gets so busy I don’t even have time to get a scented candle or some shit, you know? I usually grab a bottle of bubbles from the bar on Christmas eve, maybe go home and watch old holiday sketches from SNL. Then just head out to Jersey the next morning.”
“Are you excited to see your aunt this year?”
“I think so. I usually swing by with my parents anyway, so it’s not like it’s new. She always has some cousins and friends and, like, random old people from her geriatric yoga class over, so who knows what’ll happen. I’ll just bring something I actually want to drink and hang out on the couch making random conversation.”
“That sounds like a nightmare. I’m already stressed about spending the whole day with new people, and it’s just my roommate's sister and parents. So at least it's small, and hopefully we bond, you know? Yours sounds... large and horrible.”
“It’ll be large but not horrible. I mean some of the people will definitely be horrible, but some will be cool. Should be fun, honestly. I just like meeting people. They’re almost always interesting, even if they're horrible."
Jungkook shuddered a little at the thought, taking a bite of the dumplings that had appeared in front of them. Jimin chuckled breathily.
"Would you call yourself an introvert?"
Jungkook bit his lip and looked up at him.
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, not 'I guess' – definitely. I know I am. I just don't always love talking about it." He took another bite, pursing his pink lips as he swallowed. When he continued, his words were slow and measured. "People don't always understand, because of the music. I know it’s kind of weird to be an introvert who performs, but… I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Jimin took a sip of the vodka sitting closest to him. “Not to assume anything about you in particular, but I know a surprising number of bartenders who are introverts. Everyone thinks of hospitality as a super extroverted thing, because it is social by definition, but it’s not necessarily. It’s actually social in a performative way. The introverted bartenders I know actually got into it because they’re introverts.” He shifted, trying to find the words. “I think it’s easier to be at a party when you are the one making drinks. It gives you something to talk about, to do with your hands.”
“Yes! Exactly. Exactly that. On stage, I can just be myself, even in a massive group of people. I don't always know how to be that the rest of the time. I have no thing between me and them, no way to show myself without it. It sounds so cheesy, but I really think music is how I communicate best. It feels authentic.”
"Your native tongue,” Jimin added tentatively, and then smiled when Jungkook’s eyes widened.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Shit, yeah." After a long moment, he licked his lips. “Are... are you an introvert too?”
Jimin shook his head fervently, eyes looking a little horrified, and Jungkook laughed.
“Okay okay, I didn’t think so. You just… really summed it up, how it feels.”
Jimin didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know how to take the tenderness in Jungkook’s eyes and hold it carefully, the way Jungkook always managed to do with him. So he put on his hospitality smile, the best way he knew how.
“Good, I’m glad.” But then, on a whim, he added softly: “I’m glad I get to see you like this, though. You’re a really good self to be.” He laughed a little, shaking his head at the oddity of that comment, but Jungkook just kept looking at him softly. So he picked up the menu and stared down at it.
“Anything look good to you? For entrees?” His voice sounded a little rough in his ears, but he cleared his throat, and Jungkook picked up his menu too.
The rest of the meal was easy, and almost shockingly comfortable. Jimin couldn’t remember the last time he’d just had dinner with someone. It was always late night drinks after a shift, or meeting up at a club before following someone into a bathroom stall. Not the pure simplicity of a quiet meal and conversation
When he thought about it, though, he wasn’t shocked at all. He was always comfortable with Jungkook. He didn’t feel like he had to perform with him, and from the way Jungkook was talking excitedly about everything from the food on their plates to his favorite Christmas songs to sing, he seemed to feel comfortable too. Jimin thought back to the first night they met, and to the way Jungkook had been surprised to discover he’d spent the whole evening leaning on the bar at Jimin’s station.
Eventually, the flurries eased, but they couldn’t bring themselves to leave. After they had closed out and the check had lingered on their table for far too long, Jimin shifted in his chair, looking at the way Jungkook gazed through the window at the snow outside.
“Koo,” Jimin started, ignoring the way Jungkook’s eyes lit up at the nickname. “It’s just about midnight, but I won’t be tired for a while. Do you want to go for a little walk, see the snow? There can even be a cocktail at the end of it.”
Jungkook laughed. “You know, I honestly don’t even need an excuse, but I will still happily drink that excuse anyway. Probably just one though, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. Always.”
The walk was dark and crisp and sparklingly cold. The clouds were glowing with the reflection of the city lights, pressing that glow back down onto the sidewalks. Jimin led them down side streets towards the East Village, so that the world around them was nearly empty. Jungkook was irrepressible. He couldn’t stop smiling at the perfectly snow-covered architecture, twirling occasionally to take in the sight of the streets around them. Every now and then, he would huff out his breath to see the puff of fog, and then stare at the lights of the city through it.
Jimin felt alive. He could feel every inch of his body tingling, even as his fingers were getting slightly numb around the edges. He could feel his heart race and his bag bounce on his hip as he shuffled to catch up to Jungkook, who was now sliding ahead on the slick snow with impressive ease. He felt a sudden impulse to reach out and grab Jungkook’s hand, flailing in the darkness to steady himself, but Jimin kept his fists shoved inside his new mittens.
As they skittered past Cooper’s Triangle, Jungkook paused to stare at the way the snow clung to the massive curves of the modernist buildings in the square. The streets here were busier, but Jungkook’s eyes were up, staring at the city surrounding them. Jimin reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He wanted to take a picture of Jungkook like this, to capture the way the city lights reflected on his skin, and the way the snowflakes clung to his eyelashes. But he hadn’t ever asked before, and he couldn’t bring himself to now. So he snapped a photo of the city reflected in the shiny glass of the Cooper Union building, and a shot of the snowflakes on his mitten, with his hand stretched out over his black leather boots, and then put his phone away and pulled them onward.
They arrived at the bar just when Jimin was beginning to truly feel cold, rushing inside the door to the flood of warmth inside. The space was small and sturdy with bodies. It was standing-room-only, so Jimin found them a little spot near the window, resting his palms on the narrow counter as Jungkook began to shake the snow from his hair.
“Whoa, this place is super different.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of an industry legend. It’s called Amor y Amargo, which means ‘Love and Bitters’, so all the drinks are bitters-focused, like with amari or aromatic bitters.” Jimin hung his and Jungkook’s jackets on the hook under the bar, setting his new mittens on the countertop.
“This is the kind of stuff I feel like is only in New York, you know?”
“I mean, in the States, you’re basically right. Obviously there are great restaurants and bars all over the country, but there are so fucking many here, and they’re all so innovative. There’s no other city like it, not really.”
He grabbed them a couple of menus. Even though Jungkook looked over them dutifully, he still glanced up at Jimin the same way he did at the bar. With a grin, Jimin ordered for them both: something refreshing and shaken for Jungkook, just how he liked it, and something dark and stirred for himself.
The bar was crowded but comfortable, and after their drinks came, Jungkook’s body slumped slowly onto the narrow bar. He rested leisurely on his elbow and stretched out his hip gracefully. Jimin was still carefully upright, trying desperately not to look at him too long. But when Jungkook turned to stare out the window, Jimin snuck a glance – just one, but he made it a good one. He let his eyes trace the small bend of his waist, and the curve of his ass in his black denim.
Shit .
“Sometimes I think I should be in LA, that that’s where I need to be to make a career, but I love it here.” Jungkook’s voice was quiet, breaking through his reverie. He turned his head back to look up at Jimin, and Jimin leaned in closer to listen.
“I had no idea how much I would love it until I came, and now I never want to leave. But I still feel so… lost sometimes. Like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Their faces were close, and Jimin’s pulse was racing, the beating heart of the city just under the soft skin of his neck. Jungkook had that same vulnerable look he usually gave him from across the bar, but this time, there was nothing between them. Just the warmth of Jungkook’s body, standing inches from Jimin’s own.
“Sometimes I think this city doesn’t really want me here, or even worse, like it won’t let me stay no matter how hard I try. I get one thing, like the gigs at Flatiron Room, and I lose two others. I have no idea what I’m doing next, or if I’m just waiting to be ‘discovered’ or some bullshit. Just surviving here takes so much work, you know? Much less, I don’t know, making friends. Everyone is always busy, all the time. You’re the only one I’ve made yet. I’m serious, Jimin. You’re the only one, even if that’s so embarrassing to say.”
Jimin couldn’t tear his gaze away from the earnest look in Jungkook’s eyes. “You’ll get there. You will.”
At this, Jungkook rolled his eyes, huffing a little. Jimin laughed, heart still pounding as he leaned in further.
“I’m serious, Koo! That feeling you have right now? That’s how literally everyone feels when they move here, unless they have a major trust fund and enough connections to put it to good use. The rest of us just give and give to the city, and hope it eventually gives back. You’ll get there, really. You’ll find people, I promise, and you’ll figure out what comes next. You’re super fucking talented, Jungkook.”
“You’re just nice,” Jungkook sighed.
“No, I’m not. I’m definitively not nice. I’m professional, and I’m a good bullshitter, but I’m not actually nice . I’ve lived here too long. You are fucking talented. I see the way people watch you. You know how I said once I listen to all of our performers? That was a lie. They’re all kind of the same. But I listen to you. Seriously. And I watch people listen to you. You have… it, whatever that is. Whatever people call it on talent competitions. Z Factor or something. I think it’s a show.”
“... X Factor?”
“Yes, that. You have that. Not to mention you’re kind, and funny, and totally worth being friends with. All of that, plus the voice? Shit."
There was a beat, where Jungkook tilted his face up towards Jimin, his eyes darting around his face as though trying to spot any cracks in it, to see if it was a facade. And then he blinked slowly and looked at him through his lashes petulantly. “Well then, you just think I’m cute.”
“I do,” Jimin answered, voice raspy. “I do think you’re cute. But stop throwing excuses at me. I see hundreds of performers come through, and no one captures the attention of the people sitting in front of me the way you do. No one.”
For a moment Jimin thought he would keep pushing, but instead, Jungkook licked his lips carefully.
“... you think I’m cute?”
“Fuck you, I’m not saying it twice.” Jimin was too tipsy to think straight. All he wanted to do was close the gap in between them, to interrupt the smile growing on Jungkook’s face with the press of his lips. But Jungkook’s face was still open, and vulnerable, and far too good for Jimin’s bullshit. So instead, he straightened a little, took a long drink from his Amaris, and then, before he could stop himself:
“But yes, you are. So you should definitely hit me up when you’re finally ready to revitalize your Grindr profile. I’ll set you up, help you pick good ones. I’m an excellent judge of a cute face and know just what the gays here are looking for.”
Jungkook’s face went still, the smile frozen on his features. And then it slipped, his eyes dropping down to the drink in his hand. Jimin could barely look at him.
“Okay,” he whispered. He brought his glass up to his mouth and then paused, his lips clinging to the edge of his glass.
“Yeah, I’m sure you are. I trust you,” he whispered again.
And then he took a long, finishing drink, wiping his mouth with a delicate swipe of his hand, and walked off to get the check.
Jimin’s studio apartment was quiet when he arrived home. It always was. Not quiet from the outside – the sounds of the city still trickled in, and somewhere in the building, a baby was crying – but quiet inside, hollow and dark. He dropped his backpack near the door, kicked off his boots, and hung his jacket on a hook on the wall. He didn’t know where to put the rainbow mittens, so he stuffed them into the pockets of his jacket for now.
For so many years, he had worked towards the dream of living alone. He suffered through shitty roommates and cramped living situations until he made enough money to call this tiny studio apartment his.
It was the one space in the whole city that was entirely his domain. It has always felt like a sanctuary to him. It was where he could be whoever he wanted, do whatever he wanted, without answering to a single soul. But this winter, for the first time, it had started to feel empty.
The radiator was pumping heat throughout the dark room, so he leaned against the exposed brick as he tugged off his jeans and sweater. He filled a mason jar with water and set it near his bed, knowing he would wake up thirsty in the night as the alcohol wore off. He tossed his phone next to his pillow and crawled under the covers in only his briefs, and he wrapped his arms around his body as he burrowed into the bedding.
Even under the blankets, he felt cold, even a little numb, with an ache in his stomach that wouldn’t let him sleep.
After a moment, he reached for his phone.
Jimin
Let me know when you’re home safely?
It took another twenty minutes for him to get a reply, and he clicked immediately on the notification that appeared above his absentminded scrolling.
Jungkook
Home safe :)
Thanks, Jimin, seriously
Today was amazing
Jimin
Good :)
Sleep well
The ache was still there, worse now, and his head was buzzing. After another moment, in a move he suspected he was likely to regret, he sent a link to an Instagram post to Jungkook’s messages. It was a flyer for the Rosemont’s Christmas Eve Eve Drag Karaoke post, complete with a kinky Santa meme and a Mrs. Claus with a 5 o’clock shadow.
Jimin
FYI I’m working this on Friday
You should come, if you’re not at a gig
Should be fun
Would love to see you
And then he set his phone to Do Not Disturb, put his watch on its charger, and did his best to sleep.
--------
The next morning, Jimin awoke to a string of notifications. He swiped away the ones for the bar’s Instagram account, glanced briefly at the ones from his parents saying they’d landed safely in Seoul, and then finally opened Jungkook’s.
Jungkook
This looks super cool
I work but I need to check when, will let you know
And hour later, he added:
Second set of the night at Smalls, so should be done around 11
Looking forward to it :)
--------
The string of busy holiday shifts flew by, one after another until their edges were blurred. Finally, it was Friday. Christmas was in two days, and Jimin was at the Rosemont, bartending karaoke. It was always chaotic and endearing and stressful, and Jimin loved it. He loved watching the two tall drag queens hosting the event burst into musical diva perfection every few songs, and he loved watching all the amateurs between doing their absolute best to keep up. He loved the green and red glitter on their cheekbones, and the Mrs. Claus crop tops, and the occasional t-shirt emblazoned with Don’t Worry Santa, I’ve Been Naughty All Year.
His first couple of hours in the well moved quickly, and before he knew it it was nearly eleven, and Jungkook was walking through the door. He was wearing a black silky shirt tucked into black denim; it was an outfit Jimin recognized from his performances, but it was noticeably open by two or three buttons more than normal, like he had adjusted it on the subway here. Even better, he had a pair of reindeer antlers nestled into the dark waves of his hair, and his lips were made up with a perfect layer of velvet red lipstick.
Jimin thought he was going to die a little.
Jungkook waved when he spotted him, and walked up to the bar, even as Jimin’s hands continued to build the drinks lined up in front of him.
“Hi! Merry Christmas Eve… Eve.”
“Hi, Koo! You checked your coat and bag at the door, yes?”
“Yep! All good.”
“Good,” Jimin grinned at him. “Are you going to do karaoke?”
“I don’t know.” He looked over to survey the crowd. “Do you think I should? I don’t know anyone here.”
“You know me,” Jimin called back, and Jungkook turned to look at him. “And I think you should.”
“Okay,” Jungkook smiled softly back at him, and Jimin’s eyes lit up at the thought of Jungkook on stage next to the queens with his delicious red lips and loosely flowy shirt.
“Yeah, yeah, good. Okay! So, what do you want to drink?”
“Oh! Uh, something easy. You look really busy.”
Jimin’s breath caught a little at Jungkook’s concern, but he pushed through it, moving his now-finished drinks down the bar.
“Have you had much to drink yet?”
“Not yet, but if I’m going to make any karaoke happen, I probably should.”
“Okay, hold on.”
He pulled out an ice-cold bottle of cranberry-infused vodka, poured it into a shot glass, and then built a quick cocktail before sliding them both over to Jungkook.
“Do the shot first, loosen up, and then this is an Americano. It’s your style, but a little less boozy.”
Jungkook smiled. “This looks perfect, thank you Jimin.”
He did exactly as Jimin said, giving Jimin the pleasure of watching his throat clench as he swallowed the shot in one go. Then he held the cocktail in his long fingers while handing Jimin a credit card, and then grinned mischievously and sauntered off towards the karaoke.
It was too busy for Jimin to keep an eye on him consistently, but eventually he noticed a little group had struck up an enthusiastically shouted conversation with Jungkook. They seemed nice enough, and Jimin was glad he was meeting people, really. But there was an unmistakable hunger in the eyes around Jungkook as they looked him up and down surreptitiously, and Jimin’s stomach gripped at the sight.
Jungkook came back by the bar after a little while, shouting over the music: “That was perfect, Min. Can I just do the same?”
It was the first time he had used a nickname for him, and Jimin felt his stomach grip again.
Jungkook’s body swayed a little as he walked away, and Jimin couldn’t stop looking. Jungkook watched a couple more songs before venturing forward to jot his name and song code down on a clipboard in the corner, held by an ambitiously flirty queen.
Finally, he was climbing up on the stage, karaoke mic gripped loosely in his fingers. The first few notes of What Christmas Means to Me surged out of the speakers, with a tambourine ringing in the upbeat song. But the moment Jungkook started singing, Jimin felt the energy in the bar shift. They’d had decent singers so far, of course, and the queens were always impressive, but Jungkook was special, and everyone knew it.
His hips swung back and forth as his head bobbed endearingly to the swing of the Motown beat. One hand held the mic and the other moved freely, hanging delicately off a perfectly limp wrist. Even though Jimin couldn’t see any faces of the watching crowd, he could tell by their murmuring and rapt body language that they were as drawn in by Jungkook as Jimin was – as everyone was.
All these things and more, darling
Whoa, that's what Christmas means to me my love
The whole bar was moving with him now, with their smiles flashing and Jungkook’s sweet red lips grinning tipsily.
Oh yeah, I
I feel like runnin' wild (runnin' wild)
Feel just like a little child
To greet you 'neath the mistletoe
Kiss you once and then some more
And wish you a Merry Christmas baby
And such happiness in the comin' year
When the song finished, Jungkook was beaming, the raindeer antlers crooked on his head. One of the queens was pinching his cheek as he left the karaoke machine, and the crowd swallowed him eagerly. Even from here, Jimin could see the desire in some of their faces, so many of their faces, the way he knew he must have looked in the beginning. He felt his stomach grip again, and he turned away, burying himself in his work.
Jungkook sang two more songs throughout the night to great encouragement, and he stuck around all the way until closing. He waited patiently by the door as Jimin wrapped up his shift, without Jimin even having to ask.
It had snowed sometime in the evening, but when they stepped outside, it was chilly and crisp, with the frost crunched under their feet. Jungkook was still wearing his lipstick and antler ears, and he was so beautiful in the dark winter air that it hurt.
“Hey. You were great.”
“Ahh, thanks,” smiled Jungkook sheepishly.
“You – you’re going to be okay, Koo.”
“You think so? I ended up getting a couple folks’ instagrams, so, that’s nice.”
Jimin felt a pang, low and deep and too familiar now. With great effort, he pulled on his hospitality smile, and reached out to touch Jungkook’s elbow.
“Yeah, I do think so. That’s good; you’re connecting with people. I’m happy for you.”
Jungkook glanced briefly at Jimin’s hand on his elbow, and then reached into his unbuttoned coat.
“I, uh, I brought you something. As a… thank you.”
“A thank you? For what?”
Jungkook pressed his tongue tightly into the side of his cheek, and Jimin realized he was gripping a gift bag against his chest. He ran the other hand dizzily through his hair, and then he looked back at Jimin through the fluffy waves on his forehead.
“I don’t know. For being my friend, I guess. For showing me around and making me feel welcome.” He laughed shakily and shoved the bag into Jimin’s hands. “I don’t know, just take it. Who questions presents?” He was smiling, but Jimin could tell he was nervous, and Jimin held onto the gift tightly.
“Shall never question again,” Jimin quipped, but he was shaking a little, struggling to keep his hospitality smile strong and centered. And as he watched Jungkook shuffling a little in the cold, he realized that somewhere in the last few weeks – somewhere between cocktails and text messages and jazz sets – everything had changed.
Jimin didn’t want to fuck Jungkook anymore.
Jimin wanted to love him.
He wanted to hold him carefully, and kiss him gently, and slide into him slowly, until Jungkook was pliant under his touch. He wanted to wake up together and drag him to the corner to get coffee and croissants. He wanted to find new places for dinner on their days off, and to share a cab home with him when they left the Flatiron Room after a long shift of listening to him sing. And he wanted to listen to him sing everywhere: at drunken karaoke, on the subway platform while they waited for the train, in the shower in the mornings.
Shit.
Eventually he realized they had gone quiet, and that Jimin had just been standing there, gripping Jungkook’s gift in his arms.
“Thanks, Koo,” he managed. “Merry Christmas, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jungkook was nodding, nudging at a little snowbank with his toe. “Merry Christmas, Jimin.”
Tentatively, Jimin shifted the gift bag into one hand and slung an arm around him, pulling Jungkook into an awkward hug. He felt Jungkook’s hands on his waist, giving him a quick, desperately tight squeeze before letting go. He felt those hands on his waist even once they were gone, after Jungkook had stumbled into a cab and disappeared into the night.
When Jimin arrived at his apartment, he barely had the time to kick off his shoes before he was peering into the gift.
Inside the bag, there was a cozy circle of lights, with a white cord and tiny white bulbs, wrapped and tied carefully like a perfect little nest. Next to the lights, there was a package labelled “Damage-Free Decorating Hooks”, with little plastic pieces that looked like they stuck directly to the wall, all perfectly sized for Christmas lights.
Inside the nest, there was a sturdy aromatic candle made from white wax, which Jimin pulled out carefully. Evergreen and Pineapple, it said on the matte white label. He sniffed at it a little. The evergreen was a December standard, of course, but the pineapple was new. It was a surprising tropical edge to a classically wintery holiday, and he loved it instantly. He imagined sitting next to a fully decorated palm tree somewhere in the Carribean, eating pineapple and stretching his warm body out underneath the sun.
He set the candle back in the bag, his smile growing uncontrollably.
Underneath it all, there was a red cardboard box. Jimin pulled it out slowly, trying not to disturb the items on top, and found three compact little parcels, all lined up inside the box’s open cutout. “Holiday Hot Cocoa Gift Set” the box said in proud gold lettering. Each parcel was a different jeweled tone, labeled with flavors in curling gold script: Dark Chocolate, Peppermint, and Mocha. After a moment, he noticed a yellow post-it note on the side, written in a neat little font.
You make drinks for everyone else, so here are some for you. I would have gotten you booze to put in them, but I’m sure it would not have been the best selection, and I’m not ready to open myself up to that kind of judgment :) So I figure I’ll stick with what I know. Which… I guess is hot chocolate? Just roll with me here.
That was it. That was the note.
Jimin sank slowly onto his floor, gift held tightly in hand. He ran his finger over the edge of the post-it note, taking in the meticulous handwriting, and the meticulous gift underneath it. He imagined the intent look on Jungkook’s face as he picked out the candle, selecting it out of the repetitive green masses of “Christmas Tree” and “Festive Cedar”. He thought about Jungkook buying safe decorating hooks just in case; he didn't even know about the wall of exposed brick in Jimin studio, but still managed to select just the right thing.
He couldn’t explain exactly why it felt so perfect.
All he knew is that he had never felt so cared for in his entire life.
On impulse, Jimin climbed to his feet, placing the bag carefully on the floor and finally shedding his jacket. He pulled his foldable step stool from his kitchenette, and set it near the corner of his studio. Armed with the hooks in one hand and the nest of lights slung over his shoulder, he climbed to the top of the stool to get started. He was bone tired after his hours behind the bar, but in this moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to sleep under the light of Jungkook’s care, glowing and boundless.
--------
Jungkook left town the next morning. He texted Jimin from Penn Station with a blurry shot of a thumbs up, and added:
Jungkook
I just realized I don’t actually know what kind of music you like
Do you have a train playlist for tomorrow?
Can you send it to me?
Jimin
Spotify okay?
Jungkook
Yep yep
Jimin didn’t have a train playlist yet, but he swiped quickly to his personal On Repeat playlist and threw a handful of tracks into a playlist titled “Jimin’s Holiday Train Ride Extravaganza”. He gnawed at his lip a little when he realized there wasn’t any Christmas music in there, so at the last minute, he added some mandatory Mariah and sent it to Jungkook.
Jungkook
An extravaganza indeed
Jimin
:)
Safe travels, Koo
Jungkook
You too, Min
Jimin didn’t mention the gift. That was one thing he wanted to do in person.
He worked behind the bar for their prix fixe Christmas Eve dinner. He knew that Jungkook would be singing all of their New Year’s Eve dinner, so it wouldn’t be long before he’d hear his voice again. Even still, Jimin missed him.
When he woke up late Christmas morning, Jimin lit his Evergreen and Pineapple candle and got dressed to its scent. At Penn Station, when the light streamed in like it was on the edge of becoming afternoon, a text came through. It linked to a playlist entitled “Jungkook’s Music To Prepare For Big Parties”, and Jimin couldn’t stop smiling.
He let the train carry him over to New Jersey and on to Paramus Park; it wasn’t a long ride, only a little over an hour, but it was just enough time to listen through Jungkook’s playlist. There was jazz, of course, but also ballads full of vocal fireworks, and atmospheric trip hop, and indie shoegaze. None of it was exactly music Jimin would have picked for a party, but as he gazed out the window and watched his hometown in the distance, with its icy lawns and the H Mart he used to trail his mother through on the weekends, he let the music move through him. It was perfect, and Jimin missed Jungkook all over again.
His aunt’s place was chaotic from moment one. He walked straight into the middle of three elderly ladies bickering fondly about whether or not they could put out the banchan and the charcuterie at the same time, or if they should course it out. The minute his aunt saw him, she wrapped him up in a surprisingly strong hug, and he relaxed a little in her hold. He thought of Jungkook’s hug outside the Rosemont before he left, and Jimin missed him.
Jimin caught up with a cousin smoking on the back porch, and they looked out at the snowy yard together. He remembered Jungkook sliding playfully across the snowy midnight sidewalks, and Jimin missed him. They sat down for dinner, and Jimin missed him. They had pie and sweet sherry afterwards, and his aunt thanked him for bringing her favorite type, he always knew what she liked, and Jimin missed him.
And then he listened to Jungkook’s playlist on the whole ride home, missing him all over again.
--------
Jimin didn’t see Jungkook until New Year’s Eve. They had texted a little over the last week, but not much, since the mid-holiday week was always crushingly busy. But Jungkook confirmed that he finally felt like he had really bonded with his roommate, much to his relief, and Jimin felt a soft little ache that he didn’t know how to place.
By the time he arrived for his shift, Jimin was nervous. Jungkook showed up at the bar a couple hours before they opened, while Jimin was setting up his well and chilling down armfuls of champagne. The band ran through a handful of particularly celebratory tracks, and Jimin listened from the bar. It was harder to listen to than ever, knowing Jungkook's lights were still on back at his apartment, and that Jimin had slept under them all week. But Jungkook's voice was soothing, just the way it always was, and Jimin let himself sit with it while he could.
When they were done rehearsing, Jungkook came to sit at Jimin’s station while he finished setting up. He was in a tuxedo, had his hair flipped into a deep part, and looked painfully perfect. Jimin poured him a glass of wine as he waited for the bar to open, and let himself take a steadying breath before pausing in front of Jungkook.
“Hey. Um, thanks for your gift. I – it was really kind of you. Seriously.”
Jeongguk shrugged, twirling the stem of his glass slowly between his fingers as he stared down at the bar.
“No problem. Just... thought you needed some basic bitch holiday stuff, you know.”
Jimin laughed. “Are you saying I’m a basic bitch?”
“I mean, I saw your train playlist. You do listen to a lot of Beyoncé.”
“Uh, Beyoncé is for everyone.”
Jungkook put his hands up. “My deepest apologies. I should have known better than to pick a fight with the queen.”
“The queen being Beyoncé, or me?” Jimin asked pointedly.
“You, of course,” Jungkook conceded instantly. He took a sip of his wine, and a bratty little smirk appeared on his face. “I’ve seen how you run this bar.”
Jimin scoffed, and he couldn’t help but stare back at him fondly.
“Alright, you little shit. Take your wine backstage while I get this place open.”
From the moment the door opened, the night moved at a breathless pace. Jimin and his team made cocktails all night, the prix fixe dinner was relatively seamless, and Jungkook sang set after set with the band. By 11pm, Jimin began to breathe, just a little. Only dessert, a few more cocktails, and then midnight champagne to go.
He shifted to let a fellow bartender run the station through midnight, and grabbed his barback to have her watch for a bit. The champagne was already in the fridge, he checked with a glance, so with a quiet "smoke break" to his co-worker, Jimin slipped out the staff door.
He breathed in the chill, taking a moment to steady himself. He didn’t have long before the night would be over, but he still needed this, letting himself have this bit of quiet while he could. He'd been on edge since the moment Jungkook arrived, still remembering the way his wide eyes and velvet red lipstick looked the last time Jimin saw him. The way he'd held Jimin's body before disappearing into the dark.
But before the distant sounds of the car horns and sirens could center him, the way that the city always did, the staff door swung open, and Jungkook himself was stumbling the alley. His coat was slung on haphazardly and his breath was foggy in the winter air.
“Hey.”
Jimin could hear the sounds of the jazzy background music they played between sets emanating from the bar. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself.
“Oh, hi Koo. What’s up?”
“Last break before midnight, and I just... I don’t know, I saw you come out here and wanted to check on you. You okay?”
His voice was warm and far too soft, and Jimin breathed deeply before answering.
“Yeah, fine. The staff’s got it, just needed a second before we got to midnight. You?”
“Yeah, we’re between sets. I’m sure some of the guys are smoking out front. But, you’re okay, yeah?”
“I’m good, thank you. Ready for a new year, you know? For change, I think.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook whispered. “Yeah, I get that.”
Then he nodded a little, bowing his head to smile at the sidewalk.
Jimin's heart was stuck in his throat, breath catching as he tried to think of something to say.
"Well. Happy New Year, Jimin. I didn’t mean to bother you. I should probably get back in there, I guess."
He kicked at a little block of grey snow on the sidewalk, watching it spin and spiral out towards the road.
"Yeah, okay." Jungkook turned to head back inside, his shoulders tilted and heavy.
And all of a sudden, as he watched Jungkook walk away just like he had so many times, Jimin couldn’t do it anymore.
"Hey, Koo?"
Jungkook's head whipped around to look at Jimin, the glow of a nearby neon advertisement catching in the arc of his cheekbones and the roundness of his nose.
"Yeah?"
Jimin swallowed thickly, feeling his heart begin to race.
He hadn't ever wanted someone this badly. Even when he'd dated, he hadn't ever wanted to be near someone the way he wanted to be near Jungkook right now. Just to be close to him, to pull him tight and keep him tucked into his shoulder.
And Jimin had tried to be what Jungkook needed. He really had. He had tried so hard it hurt, over and over, but he couldn’t anymore.
"What's up, Min?"
Jungkook took a step closer to him, but Jimin was frozen. He licked his lips and shivered a little, watching Jungkook follow the movements with his eyes.
"You okay? You cold?"
Jimin shook his head.
“No, no, it’s…”
But he couldn’t finish, didn’t know what he was saying. Jungkook stepped closer again, slowly, until he was inches away from Jimin, his body radiating warmth. Jimin leaned forward unconsciously but stopped himself at the last minute.
Jungkook's eyebrows furrowed, but he was smiling a little, a kind of amused confusion clear as he looked down at Jimin. He bit a little at his lower lip and Jimin watched the movement closely. He watched Jungkook’s confident front teeth dig gently into his baby pink lips, and then looked back up at his eyes, bright and watchful and sparkling.
*
The thing that Jimin missed most in New York were the stars. Most nights, he couldn't see a single thing. The glow of the city lights were so bright that they felt like an alien invasion in some 1950's movie, lighting up the sky with their terrifying futuristic technology.
New Jersey hadn’t had that many stars, but they’d had some. Jimin used to love going to the planetarium with his school, to imagine places that had more stars than he could even begin to process. But coming to New York, he had traded his dreams of stars for the lights of the skyscrapers, the candles on the bars, the colors of endless traffic lights. He had traded them for wet winters and flaky Grindr connections. He had learned to pretend that it was the same, or close enough.
But right now, Jimin was tired. Tired of missing them, tired of the push, tired of being alone in his own protective little bubble. He hadn’t even known he was tired until now. Until Jungkook. Jungkook, with stars in his eyes and careful hands and music drifting through the waves of his hair. Jungkook, a gift from the city he loved so much, and that had finally loved him back.
*
"What's up, Jimin? Is something wrong?"
Jimin shivered, and then slowly reached out a hand to adjust Jungkook's coat.
"Kookie. Am I going to mess this up?"
“What? No. What do you mean?”
He looked up at Jungkook again, who looked more concerned this time. His heart was pounding in his throat and up into his ears.
“What about if I kiss you? Will I mess it up then?” he asked, voice rough and uncertain.
Jungkook's eyes went wide, and for a moment, Jimin thought he looked terrified.
"Oh," Jungkook stammered out, and then, silence.
Jimin looked away, heart racing, to realize that he was still holding onto Jungkook's coat. He let it go immediately, clutching his fingers back towards his body as though they were in pain.
"S-sorry, sorry, I didn't mean... fuck. I’ve been trying so hard, I should have – "
"N-no, no, Jimin, stop." Jungkook reached out and wrapped his fingers around Jimin’s wrist. “Stop. I just…” he drifted for a second, staring at his hand against the black velvet of Jimin’s blazer. Jimin stared at the patient features of Jungkook’s face, and waited for him quietly.
Jungkook cleared his throat, still looking at his hand on Jimin’s wrist. “Is – is it just one kiss?”
“No,” whispered Jimin honestly.
“Then,” Jungkook asked softly, “is it just one night?”
With this, Jungkook finally looked back at Jimin, staring at him with those big, brilliant eyes. They were now sparkling with tears.
“No,” whispered Jimin again. Jungkook inhaled quickly, like he was gasping. Jimin watched him bite those delicate pink lips again, and then, finally, he was smiling. Beaming. Broad and shaky and radiant.
"Then no, you’re not going to mess this up."
Jimin felt a little sound escape him. It was something horribly embarrassing, like a mewl, or even a goddamn whine, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Oh thank god."
Then he clutched at Jungkook's shirt, yanking him forward and pulling Jungkook’s mouth onto his.
Jungkook’s lips were warm and firm and just a little bit chapped, and it was perfect. He moved against Jimin slowly, and he tasted like whiskey and the trace bitterness of vermouth. Jimin plied at his lips with his tongue, and when Jungkook’s mouth opened and took him in without resistance, he wanted to cry.
Instead, Jimin bit him. Just a little nibble, a nip of his lower lip, but Jungkook reacted instantly. He gave an audible gasp and gripped at Jimin’s waist, clinging to it desperately.
“Fuck,” Jimin whispered against Jungkook’s lips. “Oh fuck, Koo.”
“Yeah,” whispered Jungkook, his voice trembling delicately. “I – yeah.” He pulled Jimin’s body against him harder, pressing them together like it would never be enough.
It was like a chord resolving, pulling everything into place and setting all of Jimin’s fears at ease. He kissed Jungkook in long, slow movements, drowning in the perfect warmth of him.
Jimin slid his hands inside of Jungkook’s coat, feeling the solid bass of his chest. He could go all night like this, he thought vaguely, but then the staff door was swinging open, and the band’s drummer was poking his head out.
They broke off the kiss instantly.
“Hey Jungkook! Oh, shit, sorry, sorry, fuck. But... you gotta get back in here, we’re about to start the last set.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook rasped out. Then he shook his head as though just waking up, and let go of Jimin’s body. “Yeah, okay.”
He glanced back at Jimin with uncertainty, and Jimin spoke first.
“Hey. I’ll see you afterwards, okay?”
“Okay,” Jungkook answered with a smile, and then slipped back through the door. With a deep breath, Jimin adjusted his blazer carefully, and followed him inside.
A glance at the clock set Jimin’s mind at ease. Okay, forty-five minutes until midnight. He ran his eyes down the stations, confirming the bartenders were still doing fine, and then kicked into motion.
He and the team moved like clockwork: at 11:30pm, he started opening bottles, while the barbacks pulled out trays of flute glasses and the two other bartenders grabbed his open bottles to begin pouring. At 11:45pm, they distributed glasses to all their guests. Jimin took a tray up to the small table near the front of the stage and carefully set four glasses there while the band played on. He let his eyes meet Jungkook's for one precious moment, and then he kept moving.
At 11:59pm, the band wrapped up their song, and began playing instrumental music in the background. Jimin and his staff were back behind the bar, ready for the rush of tickets they would get after midnight for a final couple rounds of cocktails. The GM had set up a digital clock on the wall above the bar, so the entire room watched closely, holding their glasses in hand.
At ten seconds to midnight, they were all counting, with their voices ringing out in the small bar. And as the clock struck midnight, Jimin looked across the bar, and found Jungkook looking back at him. Jungkook lifted his glass in those long beautiful fingers and stared deep into Jimin's eyes.
"Happy New Year!" he called into the microphone with his beautiful, melodic voice, looking at Jimin with a glisten in his eyes. Jimin felt a wetness itching at the rim of his eyelid, and he blinked it away as he raised his glass in return. Happy New Year, he mouthed, and he saw Jungkook smile.
The band started to play again, and Jungkook sipped at his champagne before beginning to sing. Jimin watched him as long as he could, all the way up until the moment he turned to make the first ticket.
Maybe it's much too early in the game
Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same
What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?
After the last guests had left, Jimin and his team broke the bar down as quickly as they could. He glanced over occasionally to see Jungkook putzing around the stage. There was clearly nothing for him to do anymore, but he was trying so hard to stick around that it was almost painful.
"Hey, Koo," Jimin called over gently. "Just going to finish my check out and drop it off with the GM. I'll be right back, okay?"
"Okay," Jungkook answered. This wasn't new for them, Jungkook waiting patiently for Jimin at the bar in the wee hours of the morning, but it had never felt quite like this before.
Like everything was shifting, slowly, and they just had to be patient for a little while longer.
After Jimin left his check out with the GM and said goodbye to the cleaning crew, he bundled up and led Jungkook out through the staff door. Once they broke out into the cold air, they stopped, the weight of everything slowing them to a nervous halt. When they kissed earlier, Jimin was half a second from dropping to his knees in this very alley, but now he had no idea what to do, or where they should go next.
“I know we have to figure this out, and that means talking,” Jungkook started tentatively. “But can I hold you? While we talk about it, I mean? Maybe that’s stupid but I just really want to hold you.”
“Oh god yes.” Jimin moved immediately, tangling them up inside their bundles of coats and scarves.
“This is better,” whispered Jungkook, and Jimin smiled, leaning on his shoulder.
“It really is.” After a moment, he looked back up, gazing at Jungkook with as much open sincerity as he could muster.
“I just couldn’t fucking take it anymore, Koo. I couldn’t wait. God, every single minute it got harder.”
“Really?”
Jimin sighed, smiling again at the earnest little crease in Jungkook’s forehead.
“Yeah, really. I mean, shit, I’m pretty sure that if I let you go to any more queer karaoke without, like, putting a ring on it, then someone was going to snap you up while I was just trying to be your friend.”
“I don’t want to be snapped up.” His eyes were wide and his arms tightened around Jimin’s torso. “I want to be right here.”
After a moment, he bent his head to rest on Jimin’s shoulder. “And god, you really are nice. It — it's weird to hear you say that, to feel wanted. Honestly, it didn’t feel like many people were trying to snap me up that when I moved here.”
“I already told you I’m not nice, Jungkook. I promise that you've been wanted — and by so, so many. These things just take time.”
At this, Jungkook straightened, looking at Jimin seriously.
“Does this mean you think we should take our time? With this?”
“Oh fuck no,” Jimin’s voice dropped, and his hands gripped Jungkook’s waist. “If we take any more time, I think I’m going to combust. I mean, shit, sorry. O-of course, if that’s what you need, then yes, we – ”
“No! Oh please no.” He sighed shakily, and then he looked at Jimin like Jimin hadn’t been looked at in years.
"I don't need another minute."
Maybe, Jimin realized, he'd never been looked at like this.
Maybe Jimin hadn't even been sure this was possible, at least not here, not for him.
Eventually Jungkook blinked and looked around, as though he remembered they were still standing in the middle of the bar alley at 2am on New Year’s Day.
“If – if we aren’t taking any more time, will you take me home, Jimin?”
“Are you sure?” It was just a whisper, but Jungkook held Jimin’s gaze intently.
“I’m sure. Please.”
“Okay. Yes, yes, okay. Or, well, are you hungry? You’ve been working for hours. Do we need to get food first?”
“Oh god, I don’t care even a little,” Jungkook said, with utter sincerity. “We can get frozen pizza from a bodega. Just please take me home.”
Jimin burst out laughing, his body tilting as he clung to Jungkook’s forearms for balance.
“Oh my god, you’re such a little shit.”
“What?!”
Jimin pulled Jungkook close and kissed him again, hard and sure. “I’m just so relieved you want this too,” he muttered into the space between their lips, trying very hard not to cry.
Jungkook was panting breathlessly, and his voice still came out raspy and low. “You have no idea, Jimin. No idea.”
“Fuck, okay, hold on. Wait right here.”
Jimin darted back in the staff door, past the cleaning crew, and down the stairs to the kitchen. There was still extra, unserved food laid out on a stainless steel surface, with a brown paper bag propped up behind them and marked with “EAT ME” in sharpie. He pulled down a handful of plastic deli containers and scooped food into them quickly: grilled prawn salad, braised short ribs, charred cauliflower, and lobster mac and cheese. He even boxed up a pint of Pannettone bread pudding before stacking it all in a plastic to-go bag. Then he dashed up to the bar to fetch a leftover bottle of champagne. After a moment, he grabbed a second one, swiped his card for “Staff Wine x 2” in the pos, and handed one of them to the head of the cleaning crew.
“Happy New Year, guys, seriously. Take care, yeah?” And then he rushed back out the door.
Jungkook was still waiting there, standing patiently exactly where Jimin left him.
“Okay,” Jimin smiled. “Getting a cab is going to be a bitch, but we can do this. I believe in us.”
They got a cab, eventually. Jimin credited Jungkook’s long, determined arms, and Jungkook credited the radiance of Jimin’s honey blonde hair even in the darkness, and they quibbled about it gently the whole ride to Jimin’s place, holding hands on the leather seat between them.
Jungkook was irrepressible again, pecking kisses on the back of Jimin’s neck as he tried to unlock the building door. They stumbled their way up the stairs, but it wasn’t until they burst through the door to Jimin’s studio that he remembered.
He had left Jungkook’s lights on.
“Oh! You really put them up. And you left them on.”
Jungkook was staring at them, turning in slow circles in the center of the apartment as Jimin watched him.
“Yeah. I really love them.”
Jungkook looked back at him, and the lights he had given Jimin caught in his eyes just the way he knew they would.
“Here,” Jimin whispered softly. “Let me take your coat.”
They worked together in silence, helping each other out of the damp, frosted wool of their outerwear and kicking off their shoes. Jimin felt the ghost of Jungkook’s hands on his hips as he hung their coats up, and when he turned back towards the studio, Jungkook pivoted with him smoothly.
“Shit, okay, let me just…” he stammered, losing his train of thought. They tottered towards the kitchen, and Jungkook let go for just long enough for Jimin to slide the leftovers and champagne into his otherwise uninhabited fridge. Once it was all stashed away, he turned and pulled Jungkook into him again, holding him quietly in the middle of the apartment.
“God, I can’t believe you’re wearing a tux. I mean, I can’t believe I get to take you out of a tux.”
Jungkook shivered, even in the radiant heat of the apartment.
“Please. Jimin, please.”
Jimin almost smiled at the thought that he would ever refuse Jungkook anything, but instead, he began to pull the clothes off of Jungkook’s body.
He took his time. He tugged the ends of Jungkook’s bow tie open, but left it there temptingly as he began to take off his jacket. He ran his hands over Jungkook’s shoulders, relishing the way that his muscles bunched as his jacket slid down his arms. He made Jungkook wait, with his soft chorus of panting breaths, as he hung the jacket on the hooks near the door. When he returned, he wrapped his arms around the narrow cut of Jungkook’s waist, pressing a kiss to the sharp corner of his jaw as he undid the hook holding his cummerbund.
“Just toss it near the bed, it’s fine,” rasped Jungkook. “Just please don’t leave.”
Jimin didn’t leave. He tossed the cummerbund over towards his bed, and then pressed one hand onto Jungkook’s chest while the other finally slipped the bow tie from his neck. He tossed that by the bed too, but when he reached for the buttons of Jungkook’s shirt, Jungkook reached for his wrists.
“Now you,” he whispered. “Please.”
Jimin relaxed the muscles of his arms, giving in immediately. He let Jungkook run his fingers over the black velvet blazer, the one Jimin had forgotten to leave in his locker at the bar, and work it slowly off his body. He let him unbuckle his belt, hands barely steady as they worked the clinking metal buckle. And he let him pull it through the black denim belt loops, throwing it towards the bed with a percussive “thunk”.
“Okay,” Jungkook whispered again. “Now together.”
Jimin melted, steadying himself on Jungkook before reaching up to unbutton Jungkook’s shirt slowly. He felt his own shirt get tugged out of the grip of his jeans, and before he knew it, their shirts were hanging open around their bodies, and he couldn’t wait anymore.
He placed his hands lightly on the flushed skin of Jungkook’s chest and pushed him backwards, both of them now breathing heavily as they stepped, shuffled, stepped, and then fell onto the bed. Soon, their shirts had joined the growing pile near the bed, and Jimin was straddling Jungkook’s hips.
“Min, do we need to talk about this? What we want? What we like?”
Jimin paused, his hands resting on the sturdiness of Jungkook’s stomach.
“I guess so. I mean… you bottom, yes? You said that once, but – ”
Jungkook’s eyes lit up, and he squirmed happily.
“You really remembered?”
Jimin’s mouth dropped open. He leaned down, fixing Jungkook’s eyes with his own as he got closer.
“Remembered? Hearing those godforsaken words coming from your pretty mouth has haunted me every single fucking day since. Every. Single. Day.”
Jungkook shivered again, panting now.
“Oh. God. Okay. But you’re… okay with that? Topping?”
Jimin silenced him with a hard kiss, one that was needy and uncontrollable. “Fuck yes,” he murmured into Jungkook’s mouth, swiping his tongue out and into his mouth. “Fuck.”
He kissed him relentlessly, with his tongue almost fucking into his mouth. He kissed him like there was nothing else in the world, and he kissed him even as he felt Jungkook run his hands down his ribs and start to unbuckle Jimin’s jeans. Eventually, he paused just long enough to catch his breath, and to reach down and unbuckle Jungkook’s pants in return. They pulled them off clumsily, their movements quaking with desire.
Jimin dumped their pants onto the floor and turned back towards the bed. He could see Jungkook’s cock outlined in his briefs, and he slid his hands up Jungkook’s thighs, lifting them so he could scoot his body in flush against Jungkook’s ass, pressing his own thighs against the curve of him. Then he kept going, touching him until he was resting his palms on the jut of Jungkook’s hip bones.
“You still okay?”
“Yes, so much yes. I just – um, it’s been a while, you know?”
“I know, Koo. I got you.” Jimin saw the quiet plea in his eyes, and he moved his palm over Jungkook’s hip comfortingly. “You want to know something? It’s been a little while for me too. Probably not as long, but still.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened. “... really?”
“Yeah, really. I – I haven’t fucked anyone since I met you. I mean, I thought about it. God, you were so fucking hot I almost thought I had to before I burst. But I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to. No one even came close.”
“Oh.” It was a quiet sigh, but Jimin could feel Jungkook’s body relax under his touch.
“Oh, Jimin.”
Jimin leaned down slowly to kiss Jungkook’s sternum, the firm center between the smooth planes of his chest. He felt goosebumps bloom over Jungkook’s skin, and a quiet sigh escape his lips.
“Is there anything I can do? Anything you want, in particular?”
“Honestly? I just want you inside me, as soon as you can. I feel so stupid saying that but I need it. I need you, just like that.”
Jimin’s breath caught, and he rested his head on Jungkook’s chest for a moment.
“Yes, fuck. Okay.”
He shifted out from under Jungkook’s thigh so he could reach up to his bedside table. The lube was easy, positioned right near the front, but it took him a minute of rustling around until he found a condom. Then he leaned just a little further to grab a couple hand towels from the small stack on the lower shelf of his nightstand. He was aware of Jungkook sliding off his own briefs, and he glanced down to see Jungkook’s cock appear, swallowing at the sight. Then he was back at the base of Jungkook’s hips, stroking his thigh soothingly as he popped the lube cap open. He poured a generous amount onto his fingers, rubbing his hands together to warm it.
At the last minute, he looked back up to Jungkook’s face. His eyes were half closed and he was breathing heavily, staring at him with anticipation. Jimin clenched his hands into loose fists, protecting the slick fingers as he pushed himself up to kiss Jungkook softly on his open mouth, breathing him in for a moment.
Then he shifted back down and slid one hand over the firm length of Jungkook’s cock.
Jungkook’s back arched at the first touch, and he gasped, mouth full of dainty vocalizations. Jimin stroked him slowly, focusing on the rhythmic flick of his thumb over the head of his cock. He slid his other hand into the warm space of his ass and circled the pads of his first two fingers around the tight ring, feeling the soft ripple of skin. Jungkook was panting quickly now, and when Jimin slid the tip of his finger in, Jungkook moaned bodily.
“Oh. Oh .”
Jimin kept working the head of Jungkook’s cock, watching his reactions closely as he pushed further into his ass. Once Jimin’s finger was fully buried, Jungkook began to take deep, steadying breaths. Jimin felt his body relax as he inhaled, the aching vibrato of his pleasure giving way to something deeper.
When he was breathing evenly, Jimin pulled out slowly and added a second finger, moving the tips in slowly. He shifted now, letting go of his cock and lifting Jungkook’s leg until his thigh was draped across Jimin’s chest to open him up a little more. He stroked the long cables of muscle under his skin slowly as he kept pushing, moving his fingers even deeper into Jungkook’s body.
“Oh my god, your fingers feel so good. Even better than I’d imagined.”
“You imagined this?”
Jungkook’s eyes snapped open, looking a little caught. “Maybe. I mean, yeah. Yeah I did.”
Jimin groaned at this and scissored his fingers open a little, watching Jungkook’s hands clench the sheets and his eyes close again. “What else did you imagine?”
Jungkook squirmed, trying desperately to keep breathing evenly.
“I don’t know. So much. Everything.”
Jimin turned to kiss the side of his knee, still running his hand along Jungkook’s thigh.
“Okay. You’ll have to tell me later.”
“‘Kay.”
And then it was all soft skin and ache as Jimin opened him further, with miles and miles of Jungkook spread out on his sheets. He was glowing under the lights, his whole body soft and sparkly and warm, and his hair was spread loosely across the pillow
When three fingers felt easy and Jungkook was squirming restlessly, with his little pants and moans drifting around them, Jimin pulled out slowly and wiped his fingers on the hand towel.
“How do you feel, Koo?”
“Ready, god, so ready.”
“Okay, good. Okay.” He kissed the inside of his knee again before sliding it off his shoulder and laying it gently on the bed. Then he reached down and finally slid his own briefs off, clambering up to get them off his legs and over the side of the bed. Jungkook looked down now, his eyes a little hazy until they landed on Jimin’s body and sharpened.
“Oh. Your – your cock is really pretty.”
Jimin flushed, moving back until he was against his hips. He felt the base of his painfully hard cock slide against Jungkook’s, and his breath hitched at the feeling. He ran his hands up and down Jungkook’s legs, and then moved in closer, holding him tightly.
“Are you sure you’re still okay with this?”
Jungkook looked at him with wide, glittery eyes.
“Yes. So sure, Jimin.”
“Okay.” Jimin leaned down to kiss him softly, just once, and then reached for the condom. He opened it quickly and rolled it onto his cock, then slicked it up with lube, smearing the leftover lube around Jungkook’s rim. Jungkook took the cue to lift his legs, with his long tattooed fingers gripping his knees tightly.
With one hand around his cock and the other rubbing soothing circles onto Jungkook’s hip, Jimin pushed inside slowly. Jungkook's mouth was hanging open, eyes closed and fluttering.
Jimin pressed into him inch by inch, his whole body shaking with pleasure. Jungkook felt fucking phenomenal. Their breaths were coming in irregular little pants, and Jimin licked the dryness from his lips as he pushed in deeper.
Finally, his hips were flush against Jungkook’s, and it was perfect.
He held still while he listened to Jungkook’s careful, rhythmic breathing, and he leaned down to rest his forehead on Jungkook’s chest, kissing him softly. Jungkook’s arms came around his shoulders now, holding him tight, and Jimin realized he had never felt this connected to someone before.
After a moment, Jimin could feel how Jungkook’s body had shifted, relaxing even further around him. He began to move his hips slowly, making shallow little thrusts up into him.
“Yes,” Jungkook whispered. “Feels so good.”
He let his legs wrap around Jimin’s hips and moved with him, rocking back and forth as they fucked gently. Jimin shifted his legs to change the angle, rotating his hips fluidly until he felt Jungkook tighten, his whole head rolling back and his thighs clenching.
“Oh there it is,” Jimin whispered against Jungkook’s skin. He moved again, rolling his hips in slow circles to knead at his prostate, and then reached down to wrap his fingers around Jungkook’s cock.
He had the tempo now, the slow synchronized movements of his hips and his hands. He let it move their bodies as Jungkook’s breath quickened, and he kept time even as Jungkook’s hands scrabbled against his back and his legs tightened.
“Oh god, Jimin, I think I’m going to come. It – it’s too soon, god, I – ”
“No, hey, Koo. You’re okay, you can come.”
“You – you sure? S’ not embarrassing?”
“No, oh fuck, please Jungkook. Just want you to feel good.” He kissed the underside of his jaw, then licked up the side of his neck, feeling him shudder under his tongue. “Come on, my Jungkookie, come for me.”
It only took two more swipes of Jimin’s hand around the head of his cock for Jungkook to fall apart. He arched his back and tightened his thighs around Jimin’s waist, moaning breathily as his head fell back. The bridge of his neck tightened as he clenched around Jimin’s cock, cum dotting his abs and chest. Jimin slowed his movement, but he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting into him gently, just once or twice. He was so hard it hurt, but all he wanted was for Jungkook to feel good, and to deserve the trust Jungkook had placed in him.
“No don’t stop, oh please don’t stop,” Jungkook whined, his head rolling loosely on the pillowcase. “Please, god, don’t stop.”
“You sure?” Jimin’s voice was cracking with the difficulty of staying still, and when Jungkook nodded, tightening his legs to draw Jimin in deeper, he let go.
He began to thrust into him again, burying his head into Jungkook’s shoulder. The tight ring of his ass gripped around Jimin’s cock, and Jimin ran his hand up and down Jungkook’s ribs as he fucked into him.
Finally he was coming, and Jungkook’s arms were tight around him as his body shook. He was making terrible little sounds again, moans and gasps and ‘oh fuck’s, but he let them all out, letting them fall into the fan of Jungkook’s hair on the pillow, with the dark waves and the music.
They lay like this for a long moment, with Jimin’s body collapsed onto Jungkook’s and their chests rising and falling together, as they never needed to move again. Eventually though, Jimin felt his cock slipping as it softened, and with a pang, he sat up to wipe them down. He moved carefully, feeling the sensitivity of Jungkook’s body under the hand towel. Then he peeled off the condom, knotted it, and tossed it in the small trash can next to the bed, before wiping his cock off too.
When he looked back, he realized Jungkook had been watching him, a soft look in his eyes. Jimin lay back down to nuzzle his head onto Jungkook's shoulder, leaving a kiss on his still-heated skin. Then he raised a hand to skim his fingertips across the horizon of Jungkook's chest.
“How are you?” Jimin whispered.
“Good.” Jungkook reached down to take Jimin’s hand in his, clenching it tightly against his torso. “So fucking good.”
Jimin felt his eyes water, but then rolled them up, blinking it away.
“Good.”
There was a moment of silence as they both felt their heart rates slow, pulsing between their clenched palms. “Um,” started Jungkook, running his thumb along Jimin’s hand. “Maybe… I’m hungry now?”
Jimin laughed, free and bright and flowing.
“Of course you are.”
Once the leftovers were warmed and Jungkook had kissed him gratefully before digging happily into lobster mac and cheese, Jimin stepped quietly over to the bookshelf on the other side of the kitchenette. He glanced around until he found his bag from Posman’s, untouched since their day at Chelsea Market. He brought it over to the bed and climbed on carefully, trying not to disturb their precariously arranged little feast.
“Um, I have something kind of silly.”
Jungkook glanced up from the bowl in his hand, his cheeks stuffed endearingly.
“I got it kind of spontaneously for you. Not necessarily as a holiday gift or anything, but because I thought you would like them, and because I wanted to share them with you. But then after I got them, I realized that it could be interpreted wrong? I don’t know. I started to overthink, so I just… waited.”
Jungkook had set his bowl down by now, and Jimin nervously placed the parcel into his lap. Jungkook’s eyes lit up with recognition at the bookstore name, and he looked up at Jimin with a smile.
“Is this from the day we were there together?”
Jimin nodded, and Jungkook smiled as he opened it slowly. He pulled the two sturdy bartending books from the bag with open curiosity, and began to thumb through them slowly.
“See,” continued Jimin shakily. “I wanted to share more about bartending with you, and cocktails. This one had cool little designs for each recipe,” he pointed, “so you can kind of see what is in it. I had been thinking this might help you know what to order, or maybe make something at home. But then…” he trailed off, and then placed his hands over Jungkook’s, halting their movement. “But then I got worried you would think I didn’t want to see you as much. That I didn’t want to pick things out for you, or make them specially to see what you like.”
He caught Jungkook’s eyes now, and they were glistening again, the way they had in the alley.
“So, you can only have these books if we can read them together. They’re favorites of mine. You can pick out things you want and I will make them, or we will browse them at the bar when it’s slow. Is that okay?”
Jungkook snapped the books shut and moved them quickly to the side, pulling Jimin onto his lap and kissing him thoroughly. He tasted like short ribs and chapstick and champagne, and Jimin clutched onto his shoulders as he kissed him deeper.
They were panting when they separated, and Jimin smiled, pecking at his lips once more before moving off of him slowly. They ate in comfortable silence, glancing at each other shyly, and Jungkook helped move the plastic containers back to the kitchen when they were done. He placed the books carefully on the bedside table when they returned, stroking their spines as he relaxed into the bed.
“I don’t have another gift for you, I’m sorry. The one I gave you feels so small now.”
“Koo, what are you talking about? It was one of the nicest things anyone's ever gotten me. I think I lost my mind when I got that. You are just so good to me.” He nestled against Jungkook’s body, placing a hand on his chest. After a moment, he looked up slyly, catching Jungkook’s eye.
“Oh, or wait, is this when I get even more embarrassing and say something like ‘It’s okay, you’re the best gift I could ask for?’”
“Oh god no, don’t say that.” Jungkook’s cheeks flushed and he raised his hands shyly, but when Jimin grabbed his wrists and pulled them down to expose Jungkook’s face, he saw a small smile.
“Ohhhh wait. You like it. I think you do, you like it.”
He leaned in close, now only centimeters from the plump round curve of Jungkook’s nose. From here, he could see the little ring of amber around the edges of his eyes, and the full curve of his lashes.
“Kookie. You’re the best gift I could’ve asked for. And the one I never saw coming.”
“It’s not even Christmas anymore.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You’re a year-round gift.”
With a blushing groan, he wrenched his wrists from Jimin’s hands and brought them over his face. “Nope, I can’t, I’m out.” But instead he went deeper in, tucking his head and nuzzling his broad shoulders into Jimin’s arms.
After a moment, Jungkook began to squirm a little, moving a hand down to stroke Jimin’s hip. “Fuck me again, please,” he mumbled into Jimin’s chest. "And... you can go harder this time. I'm ready.”
Jimin shivered, his whole body reacting to Jungkook’s request.
“Sir yes sir.”
Jungkook laughed breathily, but then Jimin tugged on his hair lightly, and just enough to push him onto his stomach. He pressed down against his shoulder blades and kissed his way down his spine, and soon, Jungkook wasn’t laughing anymore.
In the early hours of the new year, when the sun had just begun to make its way through the labyrinth of buildings surrounding them, Jimin pulled a sleepy Jungkook close and whispered into his temple.
“I’m serious, though, Koo. I think the city gave you to me.”
Jungkook kissed in his direction sleepily. Jimin thought he was aiming for his cheek, maybe, but Jungkook’s lips ended up on the base of his neck.
His voice was drowsy and slow when he answered. “And here I was, thinking you were so cool.”
“Fuck you,” whispered Jimin with a smile. “I can be soft and still be cool.”
“Of course you can. Thank god.”
--------
When they awoke in the mid-afternoon, the memory of last night came back to Jimin like a melody stuck in his head, re-emerging with his waking consciousness. He hummed gratefully as he kissed Jungkook’s temple, and felt him rouse in his arms.
“Morning,” Jungkook rasped.
“Morning,” Jimin murmured back. “How’re you feeling?”
“Good.” He smiled sleepily. “Sore and happy, but you know that.”
Jimin smiled, kissing him again. “Good. I'm glad. I’m going to take a shower. Is that okay? I can leave some clothes out for you if you want to take one too.”
“‘Kay,” answered Jungkook sleepily, and Jimin slowly began to untangle their bodies. When he was up and moving, he dug out a loose t-shirt and sweats and set them folded at the end of the bed.
The shower woke him up a little, but when he padded back out into the apartment in his own sweats and t-shirt, he opened the fridge to dig out some cold brew. Jungkook was slowly easing his body out of the bed, clutching the change of clothes, and tottered over to kiss Jimin’s cheek. “Shower,” he murmured, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Jimin poured them both some coffee, unsure if Jungkook would be okay with iced, but he figured they could wander down the street for something hot if he preferred. He set their glasses on the bedside table and pulled out his phone, sipping his gratefully as he scrolled.
He glanced up when Jungkook returned. His breath hiccuped at the sight of Jungkook’s long wet hair, clinging to his neck like Jimin himself wanted to. He smiled mischievously at the sight of the coffee, and he relaxed onto the bed before picking his glass up.
“Cold brew? Even in winter?”
“If you call me a basic bitch again…”
Jungkook’s eyebrows raised playfully. “Clearly, I don’t have to.”
Jimin kicked out a foot at him and Jungkook snickered, catching it in his hand even as he took a sip of his coffee. His eyes softened, and he stroked Jimin’s ankle.
“Thank you, Jimin. Really.”
He sipped at his coffee again before setting it back on the table, moving his hands up to Jimin’s calves. His eyes were studying his own hands nervously, and Jimin could feel the shift, so he locked his phone and set his glass down as well.
“What’s up, Jungkook?”
Jungkook swallowed, then looked up at him.
“You said this isn’t just one night, right?”
“Oh fuck no.” Jungkook’s eyes lit up at his answer, and Jimin pressed on. “Look, I know what I said before, about dating. But I want to be with you. Fuck, I want everything.”
“And you’re not... worried? About me ‘going out and finding better?’”
“Of course I am,” Jimin whispered. “But you’re worth the risk.”
Jungkook smiled and leaned in, setting his hands on the bed near Jimin’s hips and kissing him softly.
“I am too. Afraid, I mean.” And then, like all his worries were coming back to him, his eyes started to dart around Jimin’s face, his brows furrowing.
“Hey,” Jimin murmured. “You want to know something? When I look at you, I remember that it’s not a thing for me.” He pushed Jungkook's hair off his forehead and gripped his jaw, steading his gaze. “Better, I mean. Can’t really imagine that.”
Jungkook nuzzled into Jimin’s palm. “Me neither.” And then he looked back at Jimin slowly, whispering, “You’re just… everything.”
Jimin’s breath stuttered, and he ran his thumb along the soft skin of Jungkook’s cheek. “So then we’re okay, you and I. We can just be afraid together.”
Jungkook’s expression melted, and his eyes fluttered closed.
“Okay. That sounds good.”
They kissed again, slowly, and then lay back in the bed together, savoring the unhurried slide of lips and tongues. Jimin slid his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, just the way he saw him do it every evening, sitting at Jimin’s bar. He knew they would fuck later, that Jungkook wasn’t leaving any time soon and that they could just relax. That time was different in this little room than it was in the city outside. Here, there was no rush, or push.
They could simply be.
By the afternoon, they were hungry again, and they pulled out the rest of the leftovers. Jimin switched on his bluetooth speaker to scroll around for something to listen to, but he paused when he heard a delighted gasp come from Jungkook’s direction.
“Oh! Um, can I play something?”
“Sure,” he smiled, handing over his open Spotify app to Jungkook’s eager hands. After a quick minute of searching, the voice of Etta James poured from the speaker, warming and silky smooth.
I want a Sunday kind of love
A love to last past Saturday night
Jungkook set the phone on the counter and then, to Jimin’s surprise, he reached for Jimin’s hand.
“Can I?” he whispered. For a moment, Jimin didn’t understand, and then it all came back to him, and with a tremulous sigh, he gave himself into Jungkook’s hold. It was hesitant at first, the sway of their bodies in his little kitchen, but Jungkook was good at this, and Jimin found himself falling into the rhythm.
Oh I'm hoping to discover
A certain kind of lover
Who will show me the way
And my arms need someone
Someone to enfold
To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold
Love for all my life to have and to hold
Oh and I want a Sunday kind of love
Their leftovers were forgotten on the counter as they danced, and when the song ended and Stormy Weather shuffled on, they kept moving. Jimin gripped the back of Jungkook’s neck, fingers tangled in his hair. They danced easily together, warm and safe and pressed firm, circling around in their own tiny little universe.