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Jimin sucks in a long, shaky breath.

Before he can let it out – preferably in the form of an ear-splitting scream – it gets caught in his throat. All of the emotions Jimin is feeling are tangled up there. Horror. Disbelief. Confusion.

And above all…

Betrayal.

“I can sense the outburst building inside of you, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin sighs. “Your face is getting very red. It’s very cute. Take a deep breath. In and out. There’s no need to be dramatic, it’s not that big of a deal!”

“Not that big of a deal?!” Jimin screeches. Ah, there’s his voice. A few people in the restaurant around them bodily turn, openly staring at the spectacle that is Angry Jimin. “We have spent every Halloween together for the past ten years. Ten! Years! How could you do this to us?”

Jimin turns his fiery glare to Hoseok, who is curled into Seokjin’s side, looking very guilty.

As he should.

“We just…” Hoseok trails off, swallowing hard. “We just want to have a quiet night in.” Jimin opens his mouth to say, We can all have a quiet night in! Together! But Hoseok beats him to it. “Just the two of us.”

Jimin’s mouth is still open, but all that comes out is a strangled little squeak. He supposes he can’t blame Seokjin and Hoseok for reserving quality time for themselves. It’s their first holiday together in their new apartment. But it’s also the first holiday since Hoseok moved out of his and Jimin’s old one. Jimin’s heart gives a pathetic squeeze.

“Ah, I actually can’t hang out either,” another voice says. Jimin whips his head around to redirect his glare at its owner – Namjoon. “I told Heeyoung-hyung I would go to the costume party he’s having. I guess I forgot to tell you guys.”

Before Jimin can vibrate out of his own skin, Yoongi speaks up, too.

“I have to work,” he says, limply shrugging a shoulder. “Sorry, Min.”

“Tae?” Jimin says, meeting Taehyung’s eyes across the table. “You didn’t make other plans, did you?”

“Well,” Taehyung says, his face nor his voice betraying an ounce of emotion. “I’ll be busy howling at the moon.”

There’s a long beat of silence.

When Taehyung realizes no one is going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, he moves on, unphased.

“I actually told my nieces and nephews I would take them to Everland. They’re having this huge festival. Sounds pretty wicked. You can come, too, if you want!”

The thought of herding half a dozen kids under the age of twelve through dense, costumed crowds while braving roller coaster rides until he’s sick has Jimin’s face crumpling.

“No, thanks,” Jimin mumbles.

Everyone’s looking at Jimin with pity in their eyes, and Jimin is tempted to shove his way out of the booth and go home and cry.

But then –

“Hyung, I didn’t make any plans.”

Somehow, amidst the treachery, Jimin has forgotten about the warm, constant presence at his side. He shifts in his seat, meeting Jungkook’s wide, earnest eyes.

“I figured we would all do something together, too. I’m still down to hang out, if you are,” Jungkook says.

The heavy dread that’s been building in Jimin’s chest is swallowed up by cozy fondness.

“Perfect!” Seokjin says, clapping happily. “See? Not that big of a deal. You and Jungkookie are together every waking moment, anyway, it’ll be like any other night. Plus, we’ll still have our traditional family brunch the morning after, Jimin-ah. You’ll be fine.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Jimin coos, reaching up to pinch Jungkook’s cheek, pointedly ignoring Seokjin. “Our sweet, perfect maknae, so loyal and good.”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Jungkook whines, huffing his breath.

He makes no move to stop Jimin, though.

“We’ll have fun without them, won’t we?” Jimin says, releasing his hold on Jungkook’s cheek. He runs the pad of his thumb over the redness left behind, ignoring the flurry of heat that swells in his tummy when Jungkook’s gaze softens, still focused on him. “They’ll regret ditching us, just wait and see.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, just smiles a sweet smile and nudges Jimin’s shoulder with his own. 

All around them, the guys have changed the subject, their food finally arriving. But Jimin eats quietly, chewing around his conniving grin. As everyone else chats, Jimin silently drafts up a plan. Oh, they’ll regret it, alright.

He’ll be sure of that.

☾

“See? It doesn’t even fit me.”

Jimin sighs, stepping forward to help Jungkook climb out of the clumsy robe draped over his shoulders.

“You have it on backwards,” Jimin tuts.

“Does it matter?” Jungkook pouts, but when Jimin holds it up, waiting for Jungkook to climb right back in, Jungkook does without resistance. 

Once the costume is wrestled on, Jimin smooths the fabric over Jungkook’s shoulders, down his chest. If he lets his hands rest on Jungkook’s pecs a second (or two) longer than necessary, it’s totally by accident, and if Jungkook notices, he doesn’t show it. 

“It looks the same as before, hyung. I don’t understand why I have to dress up, too.”

“I already told you, we need good disguises for the plan to work well. Besides, I’m not walking around in a costume all by myself. People would look at me weird.”

“And it’s better for people to look at both of us weird?”

“Now you’re catching on!” Jimin teases. He gives Jungkook’s chest a quick pat. “Plus, you look cute like this.”

Jungkook huffs, a blush creeping up his neck, pinking up the tips of his ears. Jimin laughs when Jungkook finally shrugs Jimin’s hands off of him, averting his eyes and watching himself fidget in the floor-length mirror shoved into the corner of Jimin’s bedroom.

“All I’m doing is ding dong ditching them, the point is for no one to see me. I don’t need a stupid costume,” he whines. Jimin just stands there with his arms crossed, waiting for Jungkook to get it all out of his system. As much complaining as Jungkook likes to do, Jimin knows he’ll do whatever Jimin asks. “I should have changed my shoes, ugh. These white ones stand out like crazy, why didn’t you tell me to wear all black? Hyuuuuuuuung, this is so dumb!”

“Are you done?” Jimin asks. Jungkook turns and gives him the stink eye. Jimin rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what to say next. “They’re probably halfway through their movie by now. We’re gonna miss our chance. You aren’t too chicken, are you?”

Jungkook’s stink eye turns into his most menacing glare – so menacing it’s cute. Jimin smiles serenely back, knowing he’s got Jungkook right where he wants him. After a few beats of silence, Jungkook sighs, melodramatic as always, and holds out a hand. Jimin grabs their matching Scream masks that were left on Jimin’s bed and slaps one into Jungkook’s waiting palm, triumph lighting him up from within.

They shove them on together.

Once their disguises are complete, they look at each other through blurry mesh and fall into a fit of giggles.

They’re still laughing by the time they step out of Jimin’s apartment into the fading evening light, excitement bubbling up. Turns out, walking around in their cheesy get-ups isn’t as embarrassing as Jimin thought it would be. As much as Jungkook groaned about it before, he takes it in stride, now.

When teenagers gawk at them on the streets, Jungkook stops in his tracks and stares at them through his mask, eerily following their movements. Sometimes the kids will laugh, but most of the time it freaks them out. They’ll cling to each other and sometimes even whimper, shuffling away in a clumsy, fearful mob. Jimin doesn’t have to see Jungkook’s face under his mask to know he’s grinning, nose scrunched with glee.

When they’re done dicking around, they make their way over to Seokjin and Hoseok’s place. It’s time to set Jimin’s plan into motion.

Which of course makes Jimin’s palms sweat.

Jimin must fall silent, because Jungkook nudges him with an elbow and asks, “You nervous, hyung?”

Jimin shoves him away. “Shut up.”

“This is illegal in so many ways, you know,” Jungkook says. “If we get in trouble, I’m throwing you directly under the bus.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jimin says, huffing a half-hearted laugh. Jungkook stays silent, and Jimin wishes he could see his face now. Is he nervous, too? Does he disapprove? But there’s no time to waste. They’ve arrived. Jimin turns to look at Jungkook. “Are you ready?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

Jimin snorts. “I’ll text you when I’m ready for you, okay?”

Jungkook sighs. “Okay.”

But when Jimin turns towards the back of Seokjin and Hoseok’s apartment building, Jungkook grabs Jimin’s arm. Jimin looks back with an eyebrow raised, though he knows Jungkook can’t see it.

“Be careful, hyung.”

Jungkook says it with so much sincerity, Jimin’s snarky response flits right out of his brain. All he can do is nod. Then Jungkook gives Jimin’s arm a gentle squeeze before letting him go.

And Jimin is on his own.

Seokjin and Hoseok’s apartment is on the ground floor, opening up onto a quiet, sleepy street. It’s big enough that it has two entrances – one in the front, one in the back. Jimin has been over several times, as close as he and Hoseok are. Over Chuseok, the couple traveled down to Gwangju to spend time with Hoseok’s family. They had asked Jimin to watch their apartment for them, and Jimin had happily agreed.

Which means Jimin knows their security keycodes.

As he approaches the back door, Jimin almost turns back around. This is, as Jungkook put it, so dumb. It’s also taking advantage of Seokjin and Hoseok’s trust. Jimin has a feeling Hoseok won’t speak to him for weeks after this stunt. Jimin considers the consequences for one, two seconds.

Fuck it.

They’ll (probably) forgive him.

Jimin adjusts his mask, then taps on the security keypad, hands shaky, heart pounding. Maybe they’ve changed the codes. Maybe this time will come to a quick, easy end.

But then, Jimin gasps.

The door beeps open.

The back door is attached to the kitchen, which is at the end of a long hallway, which leads to the living room – where Jimin is hoping Seokjin and Hoseok are at now. When Jimin peeks his head inside, blood rushing through his ears, the kitchen is dark. The only illumination comes from soft, warm light seeping in from the hallway.

Jimin releases the breath he’s been holding.

When he closes the door behind himself, he flinches at the whispered click of the latch, pausing to see if he’s been caught, holding his breath. But there are no noises in the apartment besides the whir of the refrigerator and the murmur of the television at the end of the hallway.

Adrenaline soars through Jimin’s veins when he realizes he was right. Hoseok and Seokjin must be watching a movie before they head to bed at a ridiculously reasonable hour.

It’s kind of scary how well he knows them.

So Jimin tiptoes through the kitchen and into the hallway, keeping himself flat against the interior wall so that if Hoseok or Seokjin were to turn around for whatever reason, he has a better chance at remaining unseen.

When he reaches the end of it, he peeks around the corner and sees that Seokjin and Hoseok are indeed cuddled up on the couch, watching what Jimin recognizes as the horror film Hide and Seek. He watches them for a few minutes – the way Hoseok shoves his face into Seokjin’s shoulder when a scary part pops up on screen, the way Seokjin flinches while still holding Hoseok close.

A heavy wrongness settles in Jimin’s gut.

Jimin would name it guilt if it wasn’t so exhilarating. It isn’t regret, either. It’s on the edge of fear, something close to disbelief, like Jimin has distorted into someone – something – he is not.

Before he freaks himself out, Jimin grabs his phone and sends the text he knows Jungkook has been waiting for. And just like he said he would, ever the good boy, Jungkook rings Seokjin and Hoseok’s doorbell within fifteen seconds.

Seokjin nearly jumps out of his skin. Hoseok actually screams. Jimin has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing.

“Who’s that?” Seokjin hisses.

“I dunno, go get it,” Hoseok hisses right back.

“What?! No! You go get it!”

Jimin feels like he might spontaneously combust.

“Please? I’m scared,” Hoseok whimpers.

Seokjin groans. “Fine.”

When Seokjin gets up off the couch, Hoseok grabs a throw pillow and clutches it to his chest like a shield, watching Seokjin like his life depends on it.

Jimin silently moves out of the shadows.

“What the fuck?” Seokjin swings the door open, revealing – nothing. “Fucking asshole teenagers.”

He sticks his head out, albeit cautiously, looking left and right to see if he can spot the culprit. Jimin grins to himself, knowing Jungkook is probably very pleased with himself.

“There’s no one there?” Hoseok asks, voice small.

“No,” Seokjin grumbles, closing the door.

Jimin steps into the living room.

Seokjin turns around.

Then there’s a whole lot of noise.

The moment Seokjin sees Jimin standing there – in his black, drapey robe, ghostface concealing his identity – he screams like he’s dying. This makes Hoseok screech again, but he doesn’t look back at Jimin, just keeps his eyes glued to his partner, still clutching his pillow. Seokjin tries to hide behind the couch, which just leads to him tripping over himself, tumbling to the floor. Once he’s horizontal, Hoseok finally cranes his neck to see what has Seokjin so upset.

Jimin expects Hoseok to scream again, which he does. But the sound coming from Hoseok is one Jimin has never heard before. It’s a mixture between a war cry and a sob. It’s determined.

What Jimin doesn’t expect is for Hoseok to hurdle the couch and charge him.

For a split second, Jimin panics.

Then he springs into motion.

The front door is just a few paces away. Jimin lunges for it, dodging Hoseok’s grabby hands. But when Jimin reaches for the doorknob, something tugs on his robes and yanks him back.

“OH NO YOU FUCKING DON’T!” Hoseok shrieks.

Hoseok holds onto the sleeve of Jimin’s robe so tight his knuckles turn white. Jimin tries to shake himself out of his grip, panic welling up in his chest. Seokjin is now crawling away – Coward, Jimin thinks – but Hoseok is going nowhere.

Jimin takes a deep breath and pulls hard.

There’s a tearing noise, and Jimin’s free.

He throws the door open and flings himself outside, not bothering to close it behind himself.

“HEY!” someone shouts behind him, but Jimin doesn’t turn around to see who it was.

No. Jimin runs.

Footsteps thunder behind him, but Jimin doesn’t let up. He pants into his mask, sweat rolling down his temples, fabric sticking to his neck. He cuts corners, dodging pedestrians, ignoring curses and screams, barreling through street after street until the only footsteps he hears are his own.

Only then does he peek behind himself.

There’s no one.

Jimin slows, skidding to a stop. His lungs burn, his legs feel like putty. He rips his mask off and drags his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead in sweaty clumps. With his hands on his knees, he tries catching his breath. A wave of dizziness is followed by a wall of nausea, but Jimin fights through it. Once he thinks he can straighten up without passing out, he does, one vertebra at a time.

He looks around. There are a few people out, but no one pays any attention to him. No one is following him, no one is tracking him down.

Finally, Jimin bursts out laughing.

That was fucking incredible.

Jimin laughs and laughs, tears rolling down his sweaty, sticky cheeks, side cramping, breath wheezing. He’s never felt so fucking alive. He feels like he could take off and fly. But it doesn’t take long for the fatigue to seep in, for the adrenaline to dry out. 

It leaves Jimin standing on the corner, leaning against a wall, heart still pounding heavily in his throat. Now, reality creeps in, and with it a sickening realization.

Jungkook.

Suddenly, Jimin’s nauseous again.

“Fuck,” Jimin gasps, patting around for his phone. He checks the robe’s pockets, then his pants pockets under them, coming up with nothing. “Fuck!”

He must have dropped it at some point.

Fuck.

Jimin looks around again. The streets are thinning out, the hour getting late. Shop lights and street lamps keep the area lit, but darkness swallows everything in the distance. Jimin isn’t sure exactly where he is. He knows all he has to do is find a bus stop, figure out the route, and map his way home.

But that’s the least of his worries.

Though exhaustion weighs down Jimin’s limbs, he forces himself to start walking, his mask held tight in his fist. He tries to retrace his steps, calling out Jungkook’s name a few times without any luck. Eventually, Jimin is the only person trailing the streets. An acrid taste fills his mouth, his stomach tightening with each and every step.

At least an hour passes before Jimin gives up. He’ll just have to go home and hope Jungkook is there waiting for him, or that he’ll at least see him tomorrow at brunch. He probably should have gone straight home to begin with instead of wasting his time like this. Jimin sighs, turning on his heel toward a vacant bus stop he passed a few minutes ago.

But when he looks up, Jimin freezes.

Jungkook’s right there.

He’s still got his mask on, and he’s standing in the middle of the street halfway down the block. Jimin breathes a sigh of relief, tears ridiculously pricking the corners of his eyes.

“Jungkook, thank god,” Jimin calls, walking toward him. “I’ve been looking around for you everywhere. Where the hell did you go? I thought you’d at least try to follow me.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even move. He just stays standing there in the middle of the street, a masked pillar in the night.

“Helloooo?” Jimin says, waving a hand. Jungkook’s mask blankly stares back. “This isn’t funny, Kook-ah. Let’s go home.”

Still, Jungkook stands silent.

Jimin stops half a block away, the hair on back of his neck raising. His fingers tighten around the mask he has clutched in his hand. Jungkook still hasn’t moved, still hasn’t given Jimin any sign that he isn’t a statue parked in the middle of the road.

Jimin blinks his eyes and takes a closer look. There’s something…off about Jungkook. His behavior, yes. But there’s something else, something that doesn’t quite fit. Jimin drags his gaze over the mask – once so funny, now unsettling – across loose robes draped over broad shoulders, down to Jungkook’s shoes.

Jimin’s heart lurches, then stops.

This man’s shoes are black.

I should have changed my shoes, these white ones stand out like crazy, Jungkook had said.

Jimin’s knees nearly give out.

“Who…?” Jimin breathes, taking a wobbly step back. But like he’s Jimin’s mirror, the man takes a sure step forward. Jimin hates how weak his voice sounds when he says, “Stay away from me.”

Another step back. Another step forward.

Jimin makes a split-second decision. With a noise that would be embarrassing if Jimin didn’t fear for his life, he chucks his own mask at the man. A distraction, or at least Jimin hopes so. He doesn’t wait to see if the stranger catches it or not.

Instead, Jimin runs.

He isn’t nearly as quick this time around, but he gives it his all. Footsteps pound behind him, just like they did before. But now Jimin’s adrenaline isn’t fueled by giddy excitement; it’s fueled by pure terror.

Tears stream down Jimin’s face, sobs caught in his throat. The streets are empty. There’s no one to witness this, no one to call for help. As the footsteps behind him draw nearer, too close, Jimin thinks, this is it. He risks a glance behind him, but his vision is too blurred to see anything at all. And when Jimin faces forward, legs about to collapse –

He runs straight into the masked man.

“No!” Jimin howls, beating the man’s chest with his fists, but a strong grasp on both of his arms keeps him immobile. “Let me go!”

“Jimin-hyung! Jimin!”

Jimin screams and spits and kicks and writhes.

“Go away, go away, go aw – ”

“Hyung, it’s me!”

The man yanks off his mask.

“J-Jungkook?” Jimin blinks the tears from his eyes, halting his struggle. Jungkook’s hair is an absolute mess, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide, his lips chapped. A quick glance down at Jungkook’s shoes seals the deal: white as can be, sticking out like a sore thumb. Jimin slumps into Jungkook’s hold, Jungkook’s grip still a vise on Jimin’s arm. “Fuck, Jungkook. I was so scared.”

Burying his face into Jungkook’s neck, Jimin swallows his sobs. Jungkook is warm and smells like him, even through the plasticky scent of the cheap costumes they wear. Jimin takes deep breaths and runs trembling hands up Jungkook’s chest, over his shoulders, clinging to him. His hands drift up to Jungkook’s hair, letting his fingers comb through the strands, damp with sweat.

Jimin sighs, perfectly content.

“Um…hyung?”

Jimin pulls back, dazed. Jungkook’s grip on Jimin’s arm is gone. Instead, he lets his hands hover at Jimin’s sides, unsure where to put them, looking down at Jimin with confusion in his eyes. But after a beat, his lip piercing shines under the streetlamps above them when his mouth slowly tilts into a grin. 

“Oh!” Jimin yelps. He jerks back, stops stroking Jungkook’s – oh my god. A blush blazes down Jimin’s neck. “I – I’m so sorry. I just…”

It’s like Jimin’s soul slams back into his body. His mind, too. He looks around, frantic, breath picking up, right where it left off.

“Hey, hyung, it’s okay. What’s wrong?”

Jungkook’s hands are on Jimin’s shoulders, now, holding him still. Grounding him. Or at least making an effort. Jungkook forces Jimin to face him, to look up at those stupidly pretty eyes.

“There – there was this man. H-he was…”

“What did he do?” Jungkook murmurs, concern deepening his tone, something else sharpening it. Jimin’s heart is still pounding, but Jungkook’s voice makes it flip. It doesn’t help that Jungkook’s hands are still heavy on his shoulders, thumbs tracing Jimin’s clavicle. “You can tell me.”

Jimin takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I thought it was you. But then, he, um. He chased me,” Jimin says. Saying it aloud, he feels so fucking dumb. He has a black belt in Taekwondo for fuck’s sake. “He was wearing the same costume as us. The mask, a-and the robes…” Jimin swallows hard. “It was probably just some stupid kid being…stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, pulling Jimin in for a hug.

“That sounds really scary, hyung. Doesn’t matter who it was,” Jungkook says. Then, he makes a grumbly pouty noise, halfway between cute and (sigh…) really hot. “That guy’s lucky I found you when I did. If he was still here, I would kick his ass.”

Jimin tries to sniff out any sarcasm, but he comes up empty. Jungkook is completely serious, and Jimin absolutely melts. Jungkook rubs a soothing hand up and down his spine, and Jimin wraps his arms around Jungkook’s waist, thunking his forehead onto Jungkook’s shoulder, breathing him in again, calming his heart rate. 

When something presses to the crown of Jimin’s head – Jungkook’s cheek? Jungkook’s lips? – Jimin’s brain short circuits.

But then, Jungkook’s movements freeze, and his touch on Jimin’s head lifts away.

“Jungkook?” Jimin whispers, ice in his veins. Jungkook’s entire body has hardened, every single muscle flexed, poised, ready to pounce. Jimin lifts his head, and Jungkook’s eyes are stuck on something over Jimin’s shoulder. The light in them dims, until Jungkook’s stare is stone cold, almost angry. “Jungkook, what is it?”

“Jimin,” Jungkook says, voice low. Jimin’s too close to crying to mention Jungkook’s drop of honorifics. “Why didn’t you tell me the guy had a knife?”

“Jungkook,” Jimin gasps, clutching the front of Jungkook’s robes, still caught on Jungkook’s stoney glare. His heart is beating so hard, so fast. All he can register is his internal panic screaming between his ears. Jungkook lifts a hand and closes it around Jimin’s stiff fingers, prying them away. “Jungkook, stop. This isn’t funny.”

“When I say go, I need you to run, Jimin,” Jungkook murmurs. “Can you do that?”

“What?” Jimin shakes his head, trying to get Jungkook to look at him. “Jungkook, I’m not leaving you. What the fuck.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Then, Jimin turns around.

Y’know, like an idiot.

And sure enough, the masked man is there, slowly walking towards them. In one hand is Jimin’s mask. In the other blinks the sharp tip of a blade.

“What do you want?!” Jimin screams, but his voice is hoarse, pathetically cracking at the end.

“Jimin.” Jungkook gently tugs on the back of Jimin’s robes. “Jimin, we should – ”

“FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCK!”

The masked man breaks into a sprint.

Next thing Jimin knows, he’s flying.

Jungkook’s vise grip has migrated to Jimin’s wrist, and he drags him through empty, inky streets. By some miracle, Jimin doesn’t trip and fall. Jimin is fast, but Jungkook’s faster. His strides are twice as long as Jimin’s, and Jimin does his best to keep up. He can tell Jungkook is forcing himself to slow down for him, and it makes Jimin sick.

The footsteps behind them grow louder.

“Jungkook!” Jimin cries. “Jungkook, go, just go!”

Jungkook doesn’t act like he hears Jimin. If anything, his grip on Jimin’s wrist tightens. The only times Jungkook hesitates is when he whips his head back and forth at intersections, making split second decisions on which direction to go.

It feels like they’ve been running for ages when Jungkook suddenly darts into an alleyway, so shadowed Jimin can hardly see right in front of them.

Which is how they run right into a dead end.

“Fuck,” Jungkook growls, whipping around.

There aren’t footsteps behind them anymore, so Jimin turns around, looking behind them, too. But any glimmer of hope is squashed when he sees the looming shadow standing in the alley’s mouth, where it spills into the street.

“Jungkook,” Jimin whispers, his entire body trembling. Jungkook’s hand slips down his wrist, fingers tangling with Jimin’s. “Jungkook, what do we do?”

A stone drops in Jimin’s gut when he cranes his head to look at Jungkook. Jungkook’s eyes are wide as ever, but the determination in them has faded. What’s left is the same thing that tightens Jimin’s chest, filling his eyes with tears – pure, unbridled fear.

Jungkook shakes his head, a surrender.

But Jimin’s having none of that.

He looks around them, at the pile of rubbish to their left, at the grimy concrete wall to their right, at the man walking towards them, one agonizingly slow step at a time.

Then – renewed hope.

A door, halfway between them and their end.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate; they don’t have time for that anymore. He tightens his grasp on Jungkook’s hand, his fingers aching as they’re tugged between Jungkook’s.

And one last time, Jimin runs.

He has to use all of his strength, hauling Jungkook back the direction they just came. Jungkook yells behind him, confused, fighting back, and the masked man halts in his tracks. Jimin’s taken both of them by surprise. He’s just a few paces away from the door, close enough to read a notice plastered on the front, UNFIT FOR OCCUPANCY.

Jimin grips the handle. By some miracle, it turns. The door opens. At this point, Jungkook isn’t fighting him anymore, and the masked man is running towards them again.

Without another glance back, Jimin steps into the darkness through the doorway and pulls Jungkook with him, not even bothering to close the door behind them.

Then, he immediately stops short.

“Fuck, I can’t see shit,” Jimin hisses.

“Turn on your phone’s flashlight,” Jungkook grunts, once again leading the way. He yanks Jimin further inside, pitch blackness swallowing them whole, the smell of mildew filling Jimin’s nose. When he looks behind them, the open doorway is just a sliver of grey, like a veil between worlds. And then it’s gone. They turn a corner; there’s a thump when Jungkook runs head-first into a wall. “Jimin, hello!”

“I lost my phone,” Jimin says.

He hardly recognizes his own voice.

“Great,” Jungkook sighs. Jimin hears a rustle of fabric, dull tapping noises, and then there’s white light shining directly into his eyes, effectively blinding him. Jungkook giggles. “Oh, hi.”

Behind them, the alleyway door slams shut.

“Fuck!”

Spots swim in Jimin’s vision, everything’s a disorienting blur. Jungkook tugging on his hand, their fingers still intertwined. Jimin tripping over his feet, Jungkook keeping him upright. Jungkook swinging his phone’s flashlight around, flashes of the room they’re in coming into view before they’re gone. A water-stained wall. A beaten-down door. A cracked-tile floor.

Then it’s dark again.

Jungkook’s hand wrenches out of Jimin’s, and Jimin opens his mouth to scream. But before any noise can come out, he’s pushed forward with enough force all the air whooshes out of him. He slams into what feels like a wall of empty, rickety shelves. Behind him, a door creaks, then snicks shut. Jimin turns around, ready to scream again.

A body pressing into him shuts him up.

“Jungkook?”

“Shh.”

Jimin still can’t see a goddamn thing, so he uses his hands as his eyes. He trails them up the sides of the familiar body pressed against him, shifting obliques accommodating heaving breaths. Along straining shoulders, triceps and biceps, wiry forearms, big hands gripping the shelves on either side of Jimin’s face. Across a broad back, down a sloping spine, over the curve of a pert ass.

Jungkook huffs a laugh. “Are you done?”

Jimin delivers a swift slap to a booty cheek, then wraps his arms around Jungkook’s waist, clasping his fingers together at the small of his back. When he does, his knuckles brush against the rough wood of what Jimin assumes is a door.

“Are we in a closet?” Jimin asks, voice hushed. “It’s been years since I came out, Jungkook-ah, can’t believe you’re shoving me back in.”

“Would you shut up?” Jungkook hisses, but he’s still laughing. Jimin can feel it. “We’re about to fucking die.”

Oh yeah.

For the third time in one night – a new personal record, mental self-high-five – Jimin shoves his face into the crook of Jungkook’s neck and shoulder. Jimin scrunches his nose as the rough fabric of their costumes scratches his cheek. But when he takes a deep breath in, he relaxes. Jungkook still smells so good, too good, like cozy clean laundry and sweaty soapy skin.

Any relaxation shatters when Jimin hears footsteps.

An involuntary noise squeaks out of Jimin’s throat, and Jungkook shushes him again, this time by crushing him even closer. Jimin tries quieting his breathing by pressing his lips together and shoving them into the skin of Jungkook’s throat, and Jungkook wraps one of his arms around Jimin’s waist, holding him close.

The footsteps are slow and heavy, each one closer than the last. Eventually they’re right outside of the closet door. Jimin feels tears welling up again, his heart pounding so hard it’s probably echoing throughout this shitty house. A shudder runs Jungkook’s spine, and he holds onto Jimin even tighter, enough Jimin thinks he might snap him in half.

But then, the footsteps fade away.

They keep going, never changing direction or speed. Further and further away they go, until the sound of them disappears into the dark, dank air.

Neither Jimin nor Jungkook move a muscle.

They don’t say a word, either. The silence roars around them, pressing in from all sides. Jungkook’s robes are bunched in Jimin’s fists at his back, Jungkook’s fingers dig into the flesh of Jimin’s hip.

Jimin is the first one to break it.

He exhales long and slow, mouth still flush to Jungkook’s throat. He unclenches his muscles, one body part at a time. First his fists, then his legs, then his shoulders, then his jaw. Jungkook shudders again. Jimin feels goosebumps raise beneath his lips when he starts trailing them along the cut of Jungkook’s jaw.

When Jungkook turns his head to match Jimin’s movement, Jimin’s breath hitches. Jungkook’s nose nudges his cheek before Jimin feels Jungkook’s lip ring brush the corner of his mouth, metal warm against his skin. Jimin’s eyelashes flutter, even in the dark. He slides his hands from Jungkook’s back up to his neck, curling Jungkook’s hair between his fingers. Jungkook shifts his weight, leaning more heavily against Jimin, sighing against his lips. The shelves dig into Jimin’s back, but he couldn’t care any less.

Jimin opens up when he feels the wet press of Jungkook’s bottom lip on his own, sliding his fingers against Jungkook’s scalp to grip his hair at the roots. He’s ready to pull him the rest of the way in and swallow him whole, but –

They leap apart when someone pounds on the closet door from the outside, again and again and again.

Jimin is so startled, he bangs the back of his head against the shelves, and Jungkook jumps at least a foot in the air. Jimin waits for the door to swing open, for the man to stumble in, for the sting of a knife. But it never comes. Whoever it is just keeps rhythmically slamming their fists against the door, so hard Jimin’s surprised it hasn’t splintered yet.

“Son of a bitch,” Jungkook snarls.

Then there’s bright light again, the flashlight on Jungkook’s phone illuminating the tiny linen closet. Jimin is too shocked, too slow to stop Jungkook when he turns around, reaches for the rattling doorknob, and turns it with a strangled yell.

The door swings open.

Jungkook shines his phone into the hallway.

The bright light reveals – nothing.

It’s quiet again. Jungkook jerks back and forth, aiming the light at every corner he can reach. He even stomps away, yelling for the person to come out, to quit hiding, to come and get him, isn’t that what they wanted?

Jimin stays trembling in the closet, leaning against the shelves as his head aches and throbs. After a minute or two, Jungkook returns. He is quite the sight – black robes flowing, eyes wild, hair a mess.

They stare at each other for a few breaths.

“There’s no one here,” Jungkook pants.

The words that tumble out of Jimin’s mouth surprise him just as much as they surprise Jungkook.

“Where’s your mask?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook blinks, looks at his hands. One empty, one wielding his phone like a weapon.

“I…don’t know.” The sound of their heavy breathing fills the space until Jungkook silently holds out his free hand. Jimin takes it, only embarrassed by the way his own hand still trembles for as long as it takes Jungkook to lace their fingers together again. “C’mon, hyung. Let’s get out of here.”

☾

The journey to Jungkook’s place passes by in a blur. Jimin doesn’t even realize they aren’t headed back to his own apartment until Jungkook pulls him through his front door and into his tidy space, their fingers still intertwined.

But once they’re inside, Jungkook lets go, and Jimin has to bite his cheek to hold in his protest. Jungkook helps Jimin out of his stupid, torn robes before climbing out of his own. After Jungkook disappears down the hallway, probably to put their costumes in the wash, Jimin stands there in the middle of Jungkook’s living room for who knows how long, staring off into space.

Until Jungkook literally shakes him out of it.

“Hyung? Hey, you still in there? Ah, there he is,” Jungkook says, his voice low, soft. He still has his hands on Jimin’s shoulders after jostling Jimin back to the present, thumbs digging into Jimin’s tense muscles, and he ducks his head a little so he can look directly into Jimin’s eyes. Jimin bites his cheek again, this time to hold back his tears. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Jimin-hyung, hey, it’s okay.”

Jimin’s lost count of how many times he has embraced Jungkook this cursed evening – not that he was counting in the first place (this is at least the third). But this time, Jimin clutches Jungkook close, like he’s scared he’ll disappear. He doesn’t let himself cry, though. Jimin only lets himself sniff again and again, nearly exploding from keeping his sobs from bubbling up and out, embarrassment setting his cheeks on fire.

Jungkook holds him the whole time. He rubs a hand up and down Jimin’s back, murmuring words of comfort in Jimin’s ear. Amidst his excessive sniffing, Jimin notices Jungkook still smells as amazing as he has all night. Jimin probably smells like snot and dust and stress sweat and tears.

Ugh.

When Jimin’s breathing is somewhat normal again, Jungkook hesitantly pulls back, eyes taking in Jimin’s soggy features. Jimin can tell he’s holding back a smile.

Ugh.

“Are you hungry, hyung?” Jungkook asks. Jimin shakes his head no, but as he does, his stomach traitorously growls. Jungkook fully laughs. “I’ll make us some ramyun, yeah? I think I’ve perfected my secret sauce. You need to tell me if you like it, hyung, okay?”

So Jimin lets himself be dragged into the kitchen, where Jungkook excitedly commentates his ramyun process while Jimin sits on the counter, wondering how the hell Jungkook’s acting like they weren’t just chased through the streets of Seoul by a knife-wielding psychopath.

Then Jimin lets himself be dragged back into the living room, where Jungkook turns on a movie. Jimin doesn’t argue. It’s late, but not their definition of late, and Jimin isn’t really tired, anyway. His body is still buzzing, ready to hop up and run if danger decides to knock on Jungkook’s door.

Halfway into the movie, Jimin is halfway into Jungkook’s lap. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind. He has a heavy arm draped over Jimin’s back, gripping Jimin’s far shoulder to crush him into his side. Jungkook’s thumb absentmindedly traces patterns over Jimin’s t-shirt, and Jimin rests his head in the crook of Jungkook’s arm, safe and snug at his side.

Jimin isn’t paying attention to the movie at all. He’s preoccupied with the feeling of Jungkook’s thigh pressed against his, with the way Jungkook’s breath rustles Jimin’s hair every so often, with the vibration in Jungkook’s chest any time he asks Jimin a question or reacts to the movie.

Eventually Jimin calms down enough he’s able to make sense of what’s going on, on screen. The scene is familiar, something he’s definitely already seen.

When his mind catches up, Jimin gasps.

“What?” Jungkook asks, chuckling a little. “This isn’t even a scary part, hyung, come on!”

“Is this…?” Jimin whispers, lips cold. “Why – Jungkook, why the fuck are we watching Hide and Seek?”

“Huh…?” Jungkook pries Jimin loose from the hold he has on his leg, pulling back to get a better look at him. Jungkook’s brows are furrowed, a little wrinkle in between, lip ring reflecting the television’s blue light when he pouts. “You helped me pick it out. Is that not okay? It’s almost over, anyway.”

“I – I did?”

Jungkook’s pout turns into a look of concern. “Hyung, are you alright? I can turn it off if you – ”

“No, no,” Jimin says, burrowing back into Jungkook’s side. “It’s okay, you’re right. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Jimin is not fine.

Once again, Jimin isn’t paying any attention to the movie. Instead, he stares into the shadows of Jungkook’s house, watching for movement, for anything out of the ordinary…

For a man in a mask.

Every time there’s a noise, Jimin nearly jumps out of his skin. Jungkook’s refrigerator whirring to life. The wind rattling a window frame. A car passing by outside. Water streaming through the pipes in the walls. He even jumps when the movie ends and Jungkook clicks the television off with the remote.

“Oh!” Jimin gasps, straightening up. Jungkook keeps his arm around Jimin, but it slips down to his waist. “It’s over. Um. Okay.”

There’s a beat of heavy silence.

“Hyung, do you – ”

“Please don’t make me go home,” Jimin says, all in one breath. “Please. I can’t stand the thought of going back to my empty apartment. And Hobi-hyung’s empty room…oh god, what if I hear noises in there? When I’m trying to sleep? W-what if that – that fucking freak in the mask knows where I live? What if he’s waiting for me there? I – I can’t – ”

“Hyung,” Jungkook interrupts. He tugs on Jimin’s waist, and Jimin falls willingly against Jungkook’s chest. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stay the night.”

“Oh.” Jimin listens to Jungkook’s heartbeat for a few moments, swallowing down his panic. “Are you sure? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not, hyung.”

Jungkook’s hand resumes its soothing path up and down Jimin’s spine. Goosebumps prickle Jimin’s skin, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. He can’t tell if it’s from the rush of relief that tears through him, or if he’s just that affected by Jungkook’s touch.

He always has been, after all.

“Thank you,” Jimin whispers.

“Mm.”

They sit like that for a while, until Jungkook feels Jimin finally relax. When he does, Jungkook gently nudges Jimin aside and stands, holding out a hand to heave Jimin off the couch.

“Do you have an extra pillow and blanket I can use?” Jimin asks once he’s on shaky feet. Jungkook looks at him disbelievingly, so Jimin rambles on. “It’s okay if you don’t, I’ll be fine!”

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the fucking couch, hyung,” Jungkook scoffs. “C’mon, I’ll get you a change of clothes so you can wash up.”

And that’s how Jimin ends up in Jungkook’s shower, scrubbing Jungkook’s shampoo into his hair, mentally and emotionally and physically preparing himself to spend the night in Jungkook’s bed.

Y’know, with Jungkook in it.

Jimin decides that now is probably a good time to face the feelings he’s been harboring for years.

After everything they’ve gone through tonight, the feelings that Jimin has been shoving behind jokes and teasing, chocking it up to a very close friendship all surge to the surface.

Which could be terrifying. There’s always a chance Jimin’s love is unrequited. But instead, an unfamiliar peace runs warm through Jimin’s veins. This is Jeon Jungkook we’re talking about – the very friend who has protected and held and comforted Jimin all goddamn night.

If that’s not love, then what is?

Jimin is grinning to himself like a fool when just outside the bathroom door, there’s a strangled, piercing scream.

All the adrenaline that Jimin thought had left his system surges once again. He rushes out of the shower’s stream, nearly slipping and falling on his ass. But he miraculously maintains his balance, grabbing the folded towel Jungkook had left out for him in one hand, and the first thing he lays eyes on.

Which happens to be a box of tissues.

Self-defense at its finest.

Jimin doesn’t have time to run through the ways he might use a block of cardboard to bludgeon an intruder. He barges out of the bathroom, wholly prepared to take Jungkook’s attacker down.

But when his eyes adjust to the dim, purple glow of the LED lights Jungkook has strung along his bedroom’s walls, Jimin freezes. Jungkook is splayed out on his bed, looking totally fine. The tips of his bangs are still wet from washing his face before setting Jimin up with the shower, his cheeks still a little rosy, scrubbed clean. Jungkook cranes his neck to look at Jimin with surprise, then confusion, then…

His eyes catch the tissue box Jimin has raised above his head before they travel down Jimin’s dripping body, pausing at the crumpled towel pressed to Jimin’s crotch. They stay there, sparing Jimin zero remorse, not moving an inch, not blinking at all.

Jungkook’s lips form a lazy smile.

“Hyung?”

“What – I – but – why – ” Jimin splutters. Jungkook’s smile grows. His eyes remain where they are. Jimin’s entire body burns. “You screamed!”

Jungkook’s eyes finally meet Jimin’s.

He has the audacity to look innocent.

“Hyung, I was stretching.”

Jimin blankly stares back.

There are no decent words in his brain.

“What?” Jungkook asks, laughing, tonguing his goddamn fucking lip ring. “You’ve never had a stretch so good you lose control of your voice box and squeak a little?”

“You didn’t squeak,” Jimin says, voice so calm he shocks himself, jolting a bit. “You screamed. I thought the scary man broke into your house and attacked you. I thought you were dying.”

“Nope!”

Jungkook settles against his pillows, hands behind his head. The look on Jungkook’s face tells Jimin that he knows his arms look fantastic. The movement makes Jungkook’s t-shirt ride up, exposing the entirety of his grey goddamn fucking Calvins. A milky sliver of skin peeks out above the waistband, and a soft bulge rests between his spread legs, out for the whole world to see.

Jimin is glad he had half a mind to grab the towel to cover his naked cock because it is very interested in what he’s looking at.

“Whatever.”

Jimin chucks the tissue box in Jungkook’s general direction. He turns before he can see whether it made contact, but he hears Jungkook’s low chuckle.

After stepping back into the bathroom, Jimin softly closes the door behind himself. He has to take a few steadying breaths before he climbs back into the shower. His thoughts are static – horny static – so he takes his time, taking care to be…thorough.

And when he finally steps out, there isn’t an inch of his skin that doesn’t smell like Jungkook’s bodywash. After drying off, Jimin puts on the briefs and gigantic t-shirt Jungkook provided, ignoring the sweatpants.

Two can play at that game.

Then Jimin steps out of the bathroom, and Jungkook is under the covers, now, looking incredibly soft and cuddly. He watches Jimin walk to the empty side of the bed and quietly climb in, doesn’t take his eyes off him for a second.

“Are you comfy, hyung?” Jungkook asks. Jimin lies on his side, and Jungkook mirrors him. Their knees knock together beneath the covers, electricity surging down Jimin’s spine, tingling through his toes. “Do you need a different pillow? More blankets? Are you warm? Does – ”

Jimin covers Jungkook’s mouth with his hand.

Jungkook’s eyes go even wider – how that’s possible, Jimin has no idea. He’s fully prepared for Jungkook to lick his hand, but Jungkook doesn’t move his mouth at all. Jimin can feel the way his palm squishes Jungkook’s lips, soft, a little wet, warm metal pressing into his palm.

And Jungkook’s eyes drop to Jimin’s lips.

The amount of adrenaline Jimin’s body has used in just a few hours can’t be healthy. Jimin takes a deep breath, letting it out slow. Jungkook breathes through his nose, soft puffs of his breath trailing down Jimin’s knuckles.

When Jimin pulls his hand away, he doesn’t go far. He runs his thumb over Jungkook’s bottom lip, letting himself stare, too. Jungkook’s lip balm provides a little slip, and Jimin’s thumb trails from one side to the other, until it nudges Jungkook’s lip ring. Jungkook’s tongue peeks out, toys with the metal, the wet tip of it brushing Jimin’s skin. The touch has a pang of heat tugging between Jimin’s legs.

Jimin leans forward, pressing lips to metal.

Jungkook doesn’t move. So Jimin pulls back, assessing the damage. Jungkook’s eyes are as wide and sparkly as ever, shock shining through. Jimin’s stomach drops to his toes.

“Sorry,” Jimin whispers. “I’m sorry, I – ”

Now Jungkook covers Jimin’s mouth with his hand.

His eyes shine, bouncing back and forth between Jimin’s. Jimin’s heart pounds in his throat when Jungkook’s lips slink into a smile. Then it soars out of his chest when Jungkook shifts his weight, cups the back of Jimin’s neck, and pulls him in for more.

One second in, and Jimin already regrets taking so long make a goddamn move. He kisses Jungkook’s bottom lip again and again and again, until it’s wet and soft and swollen. The noises Jungkook makes has heat already flooding Jimin’s chest, his heart running wild with it. His little gasps give Jimin a high he probably doesn’t need, but he rides it anyway, boldness coursing through his veins.

When he carefully hooks Jungkook’s lip ring between his teeth and tugs, Jungkook hisses into Jimin’s mouth.

Then he’s on him.

Jimin gasps when Jungkook yanks him close, their bare legs tangling together, arms wrapping around each other. Jimin’s fingers go directly to Jungkook’s hair and Jungkook’s hands skate down his back, down down down until he can slip them under the hem of Jimin’s shirt, until his fingertips brush Jimin’s skin.

“Wanted this for so long, hyung.”

“Mm?” Jimin hums. He’s already breathing harder than he was in the streets tonight, blood rushing through his ears when Jungkook’s palms drag up his spine. “Wanted what?”

“This.”

They’re speaking between kisses, getting longer and wetter and hotter every time.

“What’s this?” Jimin goads, laughing when Jungkook huffs before kissing Jimin so deep the room starts to spin. Jimin forgets his question for a few seconds – maybe minutes, Jimin isn’t sure. But he snaps back when Jungkook sucks Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth, running his tongue over it before dragging it slow between his teeth. Jimin bites back a moan, gets a good grip on Jungkook’s hair and yanks him back. “Yah. Tell me, Kook-ah.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook groans, lips pouty and slick.

“What have you wanted, hm?” Jimin asks, voice low and soft. “What’ve you wanted to do to hyung?”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t seem capable, if Jimin’s being honest. Jungkook’s eyes are glazed, stuck on Jimin’s lips. He fights Jimin’s hold on his hair, pulling hard enough to making himself wince. Jimin smirks. Jungkook licks his lips and sighs, surrendering.

“Wanted you.”

Jimin lets him go.

Jungkook collides with him, kissing him harder, heavier than before. When Jungkook drags his tongue over Jimin’s lip again, Jimin opens up. Jungkook licks into his mouth, long and slow. One second Jungkook’s hand is in Jimin’s shirt, trailing over his ribs. The next it’s out, cupping Jimin’s jaw, thumb rubbing over Jimin’s cheek to feel the way their tongues move together inside.

Then it finds its way under Jimin’s shirt again, scraping lower until it slips beneath the waistband of Jimin’s boxer briefs. When all Jimin does is sigh into Jungkook’s mouth, Jungkook reaches deeper, gripping Jimin’s ass, squeezing hard. This makes Jimin jolt, the moan he’s been repressing finally springing free. It comes out strangled and high, and Jungkook immediately jerks back.

“’m sorry, hyung,” he mumbles. Jimin wonders if he looks as wrecked as Jungkook does. Jimin’s hands are still in Jungkook’s hair. It’s sticking up in all directions, completely wild. Jungkook’s lips are cherry red, just like his cheeks, but his eyes are dark. “Sorry. That was – we don’t have to…”

Jungkook trails off when Jimin untangles a hand from Jungkook’s hair, reaching down to grab one of Jungkook’s hands that are now frozen at the small of his back. Jimin guides it out from under his shirt, over the curve of his hip, and down to press Jungkook’s palm against the erection tenting his briefs.

“Fuck,” Jungkook breathes, fingers flexing around Jimin’s cock. Jimin bites his lip, watches Jungkook’s face crumple in the exact way he was hoping for. “Fuck.”

There are no more sorrys.

Jungkook replaces his hand with his hips, crawling between Jimin’s legs, which of course Jimin spreads for him. A little voice in Jimin’s head tells him he’s having some sort of fever dream. Or maybe the scary masked man actually did kill him, and he’s miraculously wound up in some version of heaven. Either way, Jimin isn’t going to waste a single second of it, so when Jungkook starts rolling his hips, pressing their cocks together through a couple thin layers of fabric, Jimin fully lets go.

It's Jimin’s turn to shove his hands down the back of Jungkook’s briefs, cupping his ass, feeling the muscles flex and relax. They whine into each other’s mouths as they rock together, hands all over. Heat blooms everywhere, concentrated between Jimin’s legs, building faster than it ever has.

On an especially deep press of his hips, Jungkook’s voice breaks on a moan. He kisses the corner of Jimin’s lips then mouths down his cheek, dragging his lips along the cut of his jaw before burying his face in Jimin’s neck, breath ragged in his ear. Jimin reaches one hand up to weave his fingers in Jungkook’s knotted hair again, keeping him there. In response, Jungkook turns his head, finds a patch of Jimin’s skin that he likes and sucks.

Jimin goes limp.

Jungkook works him and works him, clamping Jimin’s flesh between his teeth, humming deep in approval once he gets a good grip, laving his tongue over it, making it messy. Searing heat surges from the spot Jungkook marks straight to Jimin’s cock. It’s aching in his briefs, precome seeping into the cotton, making them damp. Jimin wonders if Jungkook is wet, too, if some of the wetness he feels is Jungkook’s arousal mixed in.

Drool collects at the corner of Jimin’s mouth, hanging wide open to accommodate his breath panting out, but somehow his mouth is bone dry. He swallows around it once, twice, tightening both his hold on Jungkook’s hair and his hold on his ass when he gasps –

“Kook- Kook-ah, ‘m gonna come.”

Jungkook pulls off his skin with a pop and leans back, admiring the mark that’s surely blooming on Jimin’s neck. Then he looks all over Jimin’s face with those dark eyes Jimin’s still getting used to and smiles that cocky half smile Jimin’s all too familiar with. Jungkook tongues his lip ring, and Jimin wants it back in his mouth.

“Don’t you wanna?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin’s distracted by Jungkook’s – everything.

“Huh?”

Jungkook lowers himself back down, pressing himself against Jimin again. Body to body, hips to hips, chest to chest, lips to lips. Soft and sweet. Once. Twice. On the third, Jimin tries to keep him there, but this time, Jungkook lets only the tips of their noses kiss.

“Don’t you wanna come?” Jungkook asks, cocky again.

Jimin’s answer is to slap an asscheek for the second time tonight – yet another self-high-five – before clumsily shoving Jungkook’s boxers down, hooking them under his ass. Jungkook lifts his hips, an enthusiastic helper. Jimin watches Jungkook’s face when he wraps his hand around his cock, feeling it throb between his fingers.

“Not yet,” Jimin says. “Wanna feel you in me first.”

Jungkook’s head thunks onto Jimin’s collarbone with a breathy, “Hyung.” Jimin strokes Jungkook a few times, skimming the pad of his thumb over Jungkook’s slit to catch the precome that beads up. Jungkook’s breath comes out funny when he cranes his neck to look down, forehead still resting on Jimin’s chest, watching the way Jimin’s chubby fingers stretch around him, barely meeting at the ends.

Jimin smiles. With slow, measured movements, Jimin jerks Jungkook off – one hand on his cock, one hand carding through his mess of hair. When another pulse of precome dribbles down Jimin’s knuckles, Jungkook shudders, and Jimin turns his head to press his lips to Jungkook’s ear.

“I’ve wanted this too, baby. Always wanted you,” Jimin murmurs. Jungkook whimpers. “But especially tonight. Even fingered myself clean in the shower, y’know? Was hoping that you’d – ”

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans, hips jumping into Jimin’s fist. Jimin’s about to keep talking, to tell Jungkook all his dirty secrets, but Jungkook lifts back up and stops him with wet, messy kisses. Jimin picks up his pace on his cock, imagining how Jungkook might sound when he comes, but Jungkook suddenly rips away. Jimin freezes. “Fuck.”

“What?” Jimin asks, worried about Jungkook’s tone. That last fuck sounded way less happy than Jimin is feeling right now. “What’s wrong?”

“Hyung, I don’t have any condoms.”

Jungkook hangs his head, the epitome of shame.

Jimin snorts.

“I don’t care.”

“Taehyungie-hyung stole them, and I forgot – ”

“I don’t care.”

This time when Jungkook groans another fuck, it’s around Jimin’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Jimin lets go of Jungkook’s cock long enough he can tug his own boxers down, wanting nothing more than to feel Jungkook dripping on his skin.

They both moan when their cocks finally touch, so hot it throbs. Jungkook doesn’t answer, only ruts against Jimin again and again, collapsing down to start marking the other side of Jimin’s neck. Jimin nearly leaves this plane of existence when he feels Jungkook’s cockhead on his own, wanting it inside of him now.

Jimin hooks a leg around Jungkook’s waist and flips them over until he’s straddling Jungkook’s cock. He holds himself up, hovering, not letting their bobbing cocks touch.

“You have lube though, right?” Jimin asks.

All Jungkook does is whine, reaching up to paw at Jimin’s waist, trying his best to drag Jimin back down. Jimin laughs, exasperated, swatting Jungkook’s hands away.

“Lube, Jungkook-ah. Where is it?”

Jungkook huffs and flops around, jostling Jimin. But he reaches a long, tattooed, ridiculously muscled arm over the edge of the bed and fishes around under the mattress, coming up with a quarter-full bottle of the good stuff. He drops it at their side, and this time he is successful in pulling Jimin directly on top of himself.

Removing each other’s clothes without detaching their mouths is a difficult task, but somehow, they succeed. The moment Jungkook tosses his shirt aside, Jimin descends. He’s seen Jungkook shirtless before, duh, but it’s always been an exercise in self-restraint. It used to be that Jimin only allowed himself one second of gawking at Jungkook’s tits at a time with at least thirty seconds inbetween. It was an agonizing system, but hey, it worked.

Thank god Jimin doesn’t have to follow it anymore.

“Look at you,” Jimin whispers. Jungkook lays there, looking up at Jimin, hands holding his waist as Jimin runs his palms flat over Jungkook’s chest, thumbs brushing Jungkook’s nipples on their way down. When Jungkook’s cock twitches against Jimin’s asscheek, Jimin grins and does it again. “Sensitive here, hm?”

Jungkook exhales a hard, broken laugh, one that’s equal parts embarrassment and arousal.

Jimin can relate.

After leaning forward to give Jungkook a few quick kisses, he pinches Jungkook’s nipples between his finger and thumb, swallowing Jungkook’s moans. Then he kisses down his jaw, his neck, to his chest. He takes one bud into his mouth, dragging the flat of his tongue over the erect bud again and again before switching sides. Jungkook’s hips grind up, humping the fat of Jimin’s ass. Jimin can feel how wet he’s gotten, precome sticky and loud against his skin.

As much as Jimin would love to stay here, to see how desperate Jungkook can get, Jimin has more serious matters to address.

So he kisses down the midline of Jungkook’s stomach, drags his lips over the dusting of hair below his navel, nips at a hipbone, kisses the other. And when he shimmies between Jungkook’s legs, he grabs Jungkook’s cock and finally gets a good look. Saliva pools under his tongue as he admires it, the way it fits in his hand, its weight. Long and thick and veiny like Jungkook’s hands, curved so pretty, flushed and wet at the tip.

“Hyung,” Jungkook whispers, crunched up on his elbows so he can watch.

Jimin looks up at him through his lashes, licking his lips before leaning forward, rubbing Jungkook’s cockhead across his lips before sucking him into his mouth.

Jungkook’s cock sits heavy on Jimin’s tongue, pulsing when Jimin moans around it. Jimin wants to watch Jungkook’s face when he swallows him down, but he physically can’t. His eyes flutter shut, his own cock throbbing against Jungkook’s sheets when Jungkook moans so breathy and long, Jimin half expects him to immediately come down his throat. Jimin can only listen and feel. All of Jungkook’s desperate noises, the way his thighs shake against Jimin’s shoulders, one hand flying to the back of Jimin’s head – not to push, just for something to hold onto.

Precome salts Jimin’s tongue when he drags up to the tip, and when he swallows it down with Jungkook’s cock, Jungkook curses. Jimin loves the sound of it, so he does it again. And again. He works himself up to a rhythm, lazy but steady. On his way up he sucks hard, swirling his tongue over Jungkook’s slit. On his way down he opens up, relaxes, letting Jungkook sink in until his balls hit Jimin’s chin.

Jimin falls into some sort of trance, humping the mattress while he fucks Jungkook with his mouth, Jungkook’s hand warm on his head, cock hot in his throat. So when Jimin’s abruptly yanked off by his hair, he’s disoriented. He blinks the tears from his eyes, trying to focus on Jungkook’s face. When he does, he sees way Jungkook’s mouth hangs open, lips bitten and slick, the way Jungkook’s chest heaves, flushed pink, shined with sweat.

“What?” Jimin slurs.

“Gonna come,” Jungkook pants.

Jimin smiles, feeling drunk. “Don’t you wanna?”

Jungkook doesn’t acknowledge the way Jimin steals his line like Jimin thought he would. Instead, Jungkook lurches forward, hooking his hands under Jimin’s armpits and pulling him up up up until Jimin is straddling Jungkook’s chest. Jimin blushes when Jungkook’s eyes nearly cross, focusing on Jimin’s cock right in front of his nose.

But then Jungkook grabs Jimin’s cock, and syrupy pleasure seeps through Jimin’s limbs as Jungkook strokes him, the pad of his thumb gliding over Jimin’s slit when an obscene amount of precome drools out. Jungkook spreads it around, all over Jimin’s cockhead, dragging it down to his frenulum, softly toying with the stitch of skin.

When Jungkook hooks his free arm around Jimin’s hips and jerks him even closer, Jimin yelps, falling forward, catching himself with his hands on the mattress above Jungkook’s head.

“Kook-ah,” Jimin laughs, voice roughed up by Jungkook’s cock. “What are you…?”

Jimin’s head drops between his shoulders, mouth gaping when he finally gets it. Jungkook opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out. He looks up at Jimin and guides his hips down.

“Fuck my mouth, hyung.”

And Jimin’s gone.

Jungkook’s mouth is perfect, just like him. When he closes around Jimin’s cock, hot and wet and tight and soft, Jimin’s arms already start to shake. He doesn’t mean to, but his hips jump, shoving his cock to the back of Jungkook’s throat, making him cough. Jimin pulls back, apology quick on his tongue, but Jungkook whines before he says anything, gripping Jimin’s ass with both hands to pull him back in.

Jimin gives into it. Jungkook’s fingernails are dull, but they dig into Jimin’s flesh, making sure he isn’t holding back. The noises are obscene – Jimin’s moans high and airy, Jungkook’s moans rumbling in his chest, Jungkook’s mouth messily accommodating Jimin’s cock, over and over.

Jimin doesn’t go too fast, though, wants to make this last. Pleasure simmers just under the surface, right on the edge, but he never lets it boil over. Not until Jungkook’s fingers walk over Jimin’s asscheeks, towards the middle. When Jungkook starts pressing dry and hard at Jimin’s hole, Jimin’s rhythm stutters.

“J-Jungkook,” Jimin gasps, grinding so deep Jungkook’s nose presses to his pubes. Jungkook can’t really answer, only groans deep and long, wriggling a finger past Jimin’s shower-stretched rim. “Fuck, baby, fuck.”

It burns, but it’s good. Jimin fucks Jungkook’s mouth a couple more times, and Jungkook pushes in to the knuckle. Jimin has to pull out before he bursts.

Jungkook whines, like there’s nothing worse than not having a mouth full of Jimin’s cock, but Jimin ignores him. He mumbles under his breath, starting to crawl back down Jungkook’s body. But he pauses his descent, vision blurring when Jungkook drags his finger in and out of Jimin’s ass. As he does it, Jungkook watches Jimin’s face, biting his lip when Jimin’s hips rock with it, when he breathily moans.

In a moment of admirable lucidity, Jimin finds the lube buried in the sheets and drops it on Jungkook’s chest.

“Get me ready,” Jimin says.

He isn’t sure if those are the actual words that leave his mouth, but he doesn’t wait to see if Jungkook understands. He shuffles back until Jungkook’s finger slips out, until he’s back straddling Jungkook’s hips, until Jungkook’s wet cock slots between his asscheeks, until he can fall forward and lick into Jungkook’s mouth, tasting himself on Jungkook’s tongue.

Reaching over Jimin’s back, Jungkook hastily stretches his rim, using enough lube that it drips down Jimin’s balls. Before adding another finger, he presses his cockhead against Jimin’s cleft, thrusting up, rubbing it against Jimin’s hole. By the time Jungkook is three fingers deep, Jimin isn’t really kissing him anymore, just gasping and moaning and sighing into his mouth. But Jimin can’t get enough, doesn’t want Jungkook to ever stop biting his bottom lip, to stop sucking his tongue.

“Jimin, Jimin-ah,” Jungkook sighs as he does it now – sucks on Jimin’s lip so hard it might bruise, rubs his cockhead bluntly on Jimin’s hole, lets it catch but never pushes in. “Are you ready?”

Jimin nods, gasps, lip popping out of Jungkook’s mouth, tingly and numb. He reaches back, shoving Jungkook’s hand away. He grabs Jungkook’s cock, positions it where he needs it, and finally finally lets it press inside.

It’s a stretch. Jimin’s mouth hangs open, but no sound comes out. He stares at Jungkook as he sinks lower and lower, Jungkook’s face a mirror of his own. A notch forms between Jungkook’s brows, his jaw slack, his fingers digging so hard into Jimin’s hips Jimin is sure there will be marks. By the time Jimin finally bottoms out, they’re both panting.

“Oh fuck,” Jimin moans.

“So good,” Jungkook breathes. “Fuck, Jimin, you feel so fucking good.”

There isn’t much talking after that.

Jungkook lays still, though Jimin can tell it takes effort. Jimin experimentally rolls his hips, feels the way Jungkook fills him to the brim, the way he’s already brushing that spot deep inside. Jungkook whispers Jimin’s name, eyes rolling back, hands loosening their grip on Jimin’s hips to slide up his waist, trailing his ribs, rubbing up his back until he can pull Jimin close by his shoulders, just to kiss him some more.

And that’s how Jimin rides him – at first, anyway. Chests pressed together, mouths glued, hips rolling just enough to get the friction he needs, enough to get Jungkook whining into his mouth with every little movement.

But after a while, when sweat beads at Jimin’s temples and his cock starts to ache, he pushes himself up, breaking their kiss with a wet smack. With one supportive hand on Jungkook’s thigh and one wrapped around his own cock, Jimin gives Jungkook a show. He rides him in fluid movements, head thrown back, relishing in the feeling of Jungkook’s big hands holding his thighs, of Jungkook’s fucked out expression and soft, breathy moans.

Jimin slows his pace when he feels his orgasm start to build, his cock pulsing in his hand, core drawing up tight.

Apparently, Jungkook will have none of that.

His hold on Jimin’s thighs migrates back to Jimin’s hips, holding him firm as he plants his feet, growls through his teeth, fucks up into Jimin. Jimin cries out, falling forward. Jungkook isn’t gentle, bucking his hips hard enough they slap against Jimin’s ass, filling the room with the lewd sounds of sex.

All Jimin can do is hold himself up and take it. His face hovers over Jungkook’s, noses bumping when Jungkook thrusts extra hard. Jimin has absolutely no control over the noises he’s making, a mixture between sobs and sighs. Jungkook focuses hard with his bottom lip between his teeth, making sure his cock hits all the right spots, relentless. Jimin isn’t teetering on the edge anymore. No, now he’s sprinting towards it.

When Jimin dips down and presses their lips together, his orgasm tears through him. He clenches around Jungkook, coming all over Jungkook’s stomach untouched, nearly choking on his moan.

Jungkook groans and fucks into him one more time, freezing with his hips flush to Jimin’s ass. Jimin blearily thinks Jungkook’s letting him ride his high without pushing him too far, but then he feels Jungkook’s cock pulse again and again, feels the wet warmth of his release deep inside.

By the time Jungkook’s hips relax, Jimin is a trembling mess. It takes him a while to come back into himself. The whole time Jungkook runs his hands up and down Jimin’s back, their breathing evening out in tandem, little kisses shared between breaths.

Jimin’s the first to break the silence.

“Wow,” he hums, voice an absolute wreck, cheek resting against Jungkook’s temple. Jungkook exhales, and Jimin thinks it might be a laugh. His cock is quickly softening, still inside Jimin, but Jimin can feel everything Jungkook gave starting to dribble out. He sighs. “Where are your tissues?”

This time, Jungkook’s snort is loud and clear.

“You mean the ones you threw at my head?”

Jimin giggles. “Yeah, those ones.”

Cleaning up is an endeavor. After a few more bouts of teasing and kisses and booty grabs and laughs, Jimin finally lifts off of Jungkook’s cock and sprints across the room to where Jungkook put the damn tissues before Jungkook’s come drips onto his rug.

When Jimin returns to the bed with a wad of them, Jungkook paws at Jimin, pulling him close while Jimin tries to wipe off his front. Jungkook succeeds in licking into Jimin’s mouth dirty and hot, grabbing his ass, spreading his cheeks, fingers gently tracing the gaping stretch of Jimin’s hole.

Jimin almost gives in, almost crawls back onto Jungkook and falls into his own mess of come. Almost. When he pulls away, giving Jungkook a teasing, stern look before scraping his stomach clean, Jungkook’s pout is next level.

It’s worth it, though, when Jimin crawls back into bed, body clean, limbs rubbery, smile so big it aches. Jungkook hums happily when Jimin settles into his side, peppering kisses on his shoulder, up his neck.

“Fuck, I’m so tired,” Jungkook sighs.

“Oh, please,” Jimin scoffs, kisses paused. “I did all the work! Didn’t think you’d be such a pillow princess.”

He lifts his head to see Jungkook’s expression, and it’s so fucking worth it. Jungkook looks deeply offended, lips drawn into one of his famous pouts.

“I did some of the work!” Jungkook whines. Jimin throws his head back and laughs. “What! I did! I did a lot of the work!”

“Sure you did, baby.”

Jungkook splutters, but he doesn’t stop Jimin when he leans in close. In fact, he pulls him even closer.

“Gonna fuck you so hard next time you forget how to talk,” Jungkook grumbles, doing his best to avoid eye contact. But that just means he stares extra hard at Jimin’s lips, licking his own.

Jimin is endeared.

“Next time, hm?” he asks, their lips brushing.

Then he gives Jungkook a sweet kiss, one that lingers, one that is very, very difficult to pull away from. When he does, Jungkook blinks up at Jimin, eyes so wide it makes Jimin’s heart do a thing.

“There will be a next time, right?” Jungkook asks, voice timid and soft. “You…you want a next time, don’t you?”

Jimin lifts a hand, holding Jungkook’s cheek in his palm. When Jungkook leans into his touch, lashes fluttering, Jimin can only kiss him again and again.

And without saying a single word, Jimin gives Jungkook his answer.

☾

The next morning, Jungkook and Jimin are only half an hour late for family brunch.

They arrive with their hair tucked into matching black and white baseball caps Jimin dug out of Jungkook’s closet – mostly because instead of washing up and taming their hair, Jimin spent his first hour of wakefulness on his hands and knees, Jungkook with a mouth full of Jimin’s ass.

But also because they’re adorable.

Jimin slides into the gigantic booth first, sidling up against Taehyung. Then Jungkook scoots in next to him, and though there is enough room for at least one and a half Jungkooks, Jungkook squeezes in close enough he might as well sit in Jimin’s lap.

“Hey, guys!” Jungkook says, cheery as heck.

There is a long, heavy silence that prompts Jimin to get a good look at everyone. Taehyung looks a little grey in the face, eyes unseeing. Namjoon looks like he might throw up if a breeze hits him just right. Yoongi has dark shadows under his eyes and a to go cup of coffee that is definitely not from this restaurant. And Hoseok and Seokjin look like they haven’t slept in three days.

Jungkook says aloud what Jimin is thinking.

“Wow, you all look like ass.”

“Worked too late,” Yoongi grunts around a sip of coffee.

“Drank too much,” Namjoon whispers, lips barely moving.

“Children,” Taehyung mutters under his breath.

Jimin and Jungkook wait for Seokjin and Hoseok to say something. Jungkook’s leg starts jiggling anxiously when all they do is glare at them. Then, with no warning at all, Hoseok throws something onto the table, something that clunks heavily and slides across the polished wood until it stops right in front of Jimin.

“Oh,” Jimin squeaks, ears growing warm. It’s his cellphone. “Um. Thanks, hyung. Ha ha. I’ve been, ah. Looking for this everywhere.”

Hoseok looks like he is one wrong move away from jumping across the table and strangling them, but it’s Seokjin that responds.

“You assholes.”

“Hyung!” Jungkook snivels. “We can explain!”

“We could have you arrested, you know that, don’t you?” Hoseok says. His voice is so quiet it’s sinister. Never a good sign with Hoseok.

“But you…won’t?” Jimin says, the end of the sentence curled with pure desperation. Seokjin and Hoseok don’t answer, just continue to glare. Everyone else looks too tired to care how this ends. Looks like Jimin and Jungkook are on their own for this one. “Listen, we learned our lesson, okay? Last night was the most terrifying night of my life.”

“I was fine,” Jungkook says, puffing his chest.

Jimin reaches over and slaps a titty.

“Shut up,” Jimin hisses.

Then he turns his attention back to their hyungs. They all look at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain himself.

Jimin does his very best.

He shares his bitterness at being ditched on his favorite holiday. He outlines his divisive plan, tells them Jungkook simply got roped into it. He apologizes for costing Seokjin and Hoseok an entire night of sleep and for breaking their trust by breaking into their house.

When he starts to tell the story of the masked man, though, everyone’s faces shift from annoyance to disbelief.

But Jimin doesn’t leave out any details. He doesn’t hold back. He tells them how he lost Jungkook, how he wandered the empty streets for far too long. How a person wearing their costume tricked him. How he ran into Jungkook. How they lost their masks, hiked up their robes, and ran for their lives.

By the time Jimin is finished talking, Jungkook has their fingers laced together, rubbing a thumb soothingly over Jimin’s knuckles under the table.

Jimin isn’t surprised when it’s clear nobody believes his story, but he’s still disappointed.

“So did the scary masked man attack your neck, too, Jimin-ah?” Hoseok drawls, eyes focused on a spot below Jimin’s chin.

Jimin slaps his free hand over Jungkook’s love bite.

“What! I don’t – no! What are you talking about?”

“No, that was me,” Jungkook says proudly. He pulls their intertwined hands from under the table and lifts them up for everyone to see. “We’re together now. Like together together.”

“No!” Seokjin wails.

Jimin’s stomach drops. This is what he truly fears the most. He figured their hyung’s blessing was a given, but –

Then he sees Yoongi’s smile.

Seokjin whines and grumbles as he pulls out his wallet, fishing out a ₩50,000 note and slapping it into Yoongi’s waiting palm.

“What…?” Jimin feels faint.

“You were supposed to wait at least another year, you little shits,” Seokjin pouts. Hoseok grins, rubbing Seokjin’s back before sending Jimin a discreet wink. The rock in Jimin’s gut dissolves, his mood soars. That wink felt forgiving. “Just one year. One! I was so close!”

“There, there,” Yoongi says, clucking his tongue, pocketing the cash. “That will teach you to mess with Minstradamus. The future is in my hands.”

The table erupts, questions thrown, laughter bubbling. Jimin is smiling so hard it hurts, and he’s glad everyone’s distracted, because he may or may not have to swipe at a couple happy tears that escape.

But the raucous is cut short when Taehyung clears his throat, halting conversation before looking at Jimin.

“You’re welcome,” he says pointedly.

Everyone is silent, confused.

“Huh?” Jimin blinks.

“Adrenaline makes you horny!” Taehyung says, smug. “You’re welcome.”

Then, he pulls something out of his bag, theatrically dropping it onto the table, right smack dab in the middle.

When Jimin realizes what it is, he gasps.

“You asshole.”

Because in the middle of the table is a pile of black and white, something Jimin never thought he’d see again.

It’s their masks, staring blankly back.

“Hyung!” Jungkook gasps, betrayed. He peers around Jimin, mouth twisted, brows disappearing beneath the shadow of his ballcap. “It was you?”

“Yep!” Taehyung’s boxy smile shines. “I got bored after taking the kids back home to their parents. I thought I’d try and find you guys, maybe scare you a little. Jungkook is still sharing his location with me, it was too easy.”

“But – ” Jimin squeaks, brain working a thousand miles a minute. “The fucking knife?!”

“It was fake!” Taehyung laughs. “You really think I would have chased you two with an actual knife? C’mon. Be forreal.”

The table erupts again.

Seokjin tells Taehyung he’s paying for his meal, Yoongi sets his gummy smile free, Namjoon puts his forehead on the table, Hoseok laughs and laughs.

Jimin silences everyone one more time with a sharp gesture of his hands. He turns to Taehyung, scrutinizes him.

“That abandoned building,” Jimin says, squinting his eyes. “The one we found through that alleyway. How did you get out of there so fast? You were right outside of the closet door, and when we opened it, you were gone.”

Taehyung’s brow furrows.

“What?” Taehyung asks. “I lost you guys after a while, went home. I never went into an alleyway, and I definitely never followed you into an abandoned building.” Taehyung crosses his arms, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Two counts of trespassing in one night, tsktsk. Can’t believe I’m best friends with a criminal.”

Then the waiter comes.

Everyone’s attention shifts, focused now on the menus, on ordering food for their meal. But Jimin looks at Jungkook and finds his boyfriend’s eyes opened wide.

“If that wasn’t Tae in the building,” Jimin murmurs, lips feeling frozen. “Then…?”

“I don’t know, hyung,” Jungkook says, fingers cold and clammy between Jimin’s. “Try not to worry, okay? I’m sure it was nothing.”

Jimin nods, worrying very, very much.

Throughout brunch, he leans heavily into Jungkook’s side, hardly touching his food. Every time his eyes drift to the masks shoved to the corner of the table to make room for their meal, a cold chill runs down his spine. He silently vows to spend the rest of the week at Jungkook’s apartment, not even entertaining the thought of being alone.

After everyone’s finished eating and saying their goodbyes, Jimin and Jungkook quickly head outside. They start walking in the direction of Jungkook’s apartment again, and Jimin’s glad Jungkook seems to have the same thoughts as his own. But before they turn the corner, someone grabs Jimin’s arm, tugging him back.

Jimin yelps at the top of his lungs.

“Whoa!” Taehyung laughs, letting go, stepping back. “Jeez, calm down, it’s just me!”

“That’s not funny, hyung,” Jungkook grumbles, pulling Jimin back into his side. A few people walking by stare at them. “What do you want?”

Taehyung looks at them like they’re crazy.

Jimin wonders if maybe they are.

“You forgot these.”

Taehyung holds out Jimin and Jungkook’s masks, crumpled in his grip.

“Thanks,” Jimin bites, snatching them out of Taehyung’s hand. Taehyung looks hurt, puppy eyes dancing between them. If he had a tail, Jimin imagines it would be between his legs. Jimin sighs, making an effort to soften his voice. “See you later, Tae.”

“See you.”

Jimin and Jungkook watch Taehyung lope away, eyes never leaving their friend until he rounds a corner and disappears. The moment he does, Jimin stomps over to the nearest trashcan and shoves the masks inside.

He never wants to see them again.

“Come on,” Jimin says. “Let’s go.”

Later that evening, Jungkook walks Jimin to his apartment to grab some clothes. As much as he would love to wear Jungkook’s clothes for the rest of the week, he can’t go to work swimming in Jungkook’s endless supply of oversized athleisure. So once they beep into his apartment, he hurries to his bedroom, on a mission to grab a few outfits from his closet, shove them in a bag, and get out the hell of there.

His scream cuts his mission short.

Jungkook stumbles into the room, eyes darting around, searching for whatever it is that’s frightened Jimin.

“What? What is it, hyung?”

Jimin points to his bed, and all the color leaves Jungkook’s face. Because in the center of the mattress is a pile of black and white, something Jimin never thought he’d see again.

It’s their masks, staring blankly back.