3

“Aren’t you going to put me down?” Jimin asks tentatively, when a minute’s gone by and Jungkook’s arms are still wrapped firmly around his back.

“Are you going to stop whining?” Jungkook asks, but he sounds amused.

“No,” Jimin says petulantly.

“Then, no.”

True to his word, Jungkook knocks crisply at Jimin’s door at half past seven. He’s gorgeous, his long hair stylishly mussed, in an all black ensemble that makes him look taller and broader than he actually is.

When he leans in to straighten out Jimin’s collar, Jimin catches a whiff of his cologne, and it almost makes him weak in the knees.

“Jungkookie,” Jimin mumbles, suddenly shy. “You clean up well.”

Jungkook just smiles, that adorable smile that makes Jimin’s heart flutter, and holds out his arm. “Shall we?”

The restaurant Jungkook picks is exactly the kind of place Jimin likes — understated and elegant, with carpeted floors and mahogany paneling down every wall. A waiter greets them at the door and, to Jimin’s delight, doesn’t even bat an eye when they shed their masks.

“This way please,” he says, ushering them behind a curtain to a separate dining area, filled with patrons who seem as eager as they are to remain anonymous.

When they get to their table, Jungkook slides Jimin’s chair out, waiting for Jimin to settle in before he takes his own seat.

“How did you grow up so fast?” Jimin teases.

Jungkook shrugs off the comment, leaning back in his chair and playing it cool. But when he lifts the menu to his face, Jimin can tell he's grinning.

It’s funny because they must have done this a million times already — getting dressed up to go somewhere together, driving together, eating together. But maybe it’s because Jimin’s in his ****-me pants, and Jungkook, who never gets dressed up on their days off, is in a Lanvin suit, silk shirt falling open to reveal the ‘V’ of his chest. But Jimin can’t help seeing Jungkook differently, noticing the way his veins strain against his forearm as he slides the menu over, noticing more acutely the way his head tips back when he laughs, the way he watches Jimin intently when he talks, like he can’t see anyone else.

It’s easy to open up and laugh when it’s just the two of them. Jimin blooms under Jungkook’s gaze, giggling easy and telling stories as Jungkook watches him, a small fond smile tugging at his cheek.

When a half drunk restaurant patron accidentally jostles Jimin’s chair, Jungkook’s up in a minute, standing protectively over him.

“Are you okay?”

And even though Jimin insists that, he’s ‘fine, Jungkookie’ and the other patron apologizes profusely, Jungkook switches their seats, loops his arm protectively around Jimin’s waist and leaves it there for the rest of the meal.

They end up in a club.

It’s a place Jungkook hates and a place Jimin can never tire of.

Despite the loud music and the crowds pulsating against them, Jungkook’s still smiling when he ushers Jimin past the entranceway and to the bar.

“Why are we here?” Jimin murmurs leaning in close so he can be heard over the thumping music of the club.

Jungkook drops his hand to the back of Jimin’s neck, kneading gently.

“You like clubs,” he says simply, and leaves it as that.

It’s Friday night and the bar is teeming with patrons. Jimin’s just about to tell Jungkook so when Jungkook tilts his head at the bartender, who nods and immediately leads them to an enclave on the side, out of sight of the other club goers.

“What can I get you gentlemen?”

Jungkook leans his arm casually over the back of Jimin’s chair as he orders two shots of whiskey, neat, Jimin’s favorite. Before Jimin can protest, he’s already sliding his glossy black card across the bar, with a couple of won notes thrown in for a tip.

The bartender thanks them with a nod, and leaves them alone again.

“I’m older though,” Jimin protests, “I should be buying.”

“It’s different this time,” Jungkook says and Jimin feels a hot thrill of excitement when he leans in close enough, for their shoulders to brush. “I’m the one taking you out.”

“Jungkook…”

“What?” Jungkook says, amused, “is there something on my face?”

Jimin shakes his head.

“No,” he says slowly, and can’t help the smile blooming across his face, “you’re just, so.”

What was that word Jimin was looking for again?

Adorable, perfect, wonderful, lovely—

“Gentlemanly,” Jimin says softly.

“It’s about time you noticed, hyung,” Jungkook says, holding Jimin’s gaze until he colors and looks away first.

When Jungkook leans in to down his shot of whiskey, Jimin’s eyes follow the long line of his neck, the dip in the hollow of his throat as he swallows.

Feeling his cheeks heat, Jimin picks his own glass up and downs it too, hoping the naughty voices in his head shut up.

By the time the music turns into a sultry slow beat, Jimin is well on his way to being wasted. He tugs Jungkook by the hand onto the dance floor, Jungkook rolls his eyes but goes willingly, interlacing his big hand in Jimin’s so they don’t lose each other in the crowd.

Jimin closes his eyes, losing himself in the swell of the music. It flows like liquid silk through the air, and Jimin can feel the heavy beat resonate in every muscle of his body. Beside him, Jungkook is moving too, and when Jimin opens his eyes, the neon strobe lights of the club highlight his handsome face, the cut of his jawline and the dark smear of eyelashes against his tanned skin.

They’ve performed like this, on stages across the world, but something about this is intimate too, with Jungkook willing and here, sharing this moment and this thing they both love, with Jimin.

Jimin winds his arms around Jungkook’s neck to pull him close until their foreheads meet.

“Thank you,” he mouths, as Jungkook dips his head in acknowledgment.

Jungkook might have said something more, but some guy comes up and grabs Jimin by the waist, his fingers digging into Jimin’s hips as he tries to grind up against him. Before Jimin can even retaliate Jungkook’s shouldered between the two of them with a dark glare, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

And Jimin’s never had a problem standing up for himself, but it hits different as he stares at Jungkook’s big, broad back, his sleeves rolled up and tattoos showing, his biceps bulging as he stares the other man down into submission.

Its different because Jungkook knows full well that Jimin has a black belt in kendo and taekwondo, because Jungkook knows Jimin could kick both their asses, easy, and yet…

It’s a curious feeling, Jimin thinks, being able to rely on someone else.

He doesn’t know what to do with how much he likes this new feeling.

Jungkook turns around again when the guy backs off and the moment he sees Jimin, his face does a one eighty.

“Hyung,” he says, softly, “are you okay?”

Jimin nods. His sweater has slipped down his right shoulder in the altercation, revealing a generous expanse of pale skin. Jungkook notices first, and his fingers are gentle as they graze Jimin’s skin, when he leans it to fix it back into place.

“Do you want to stay?”

Jimin nods, sliding an arm around Jungkook’s neck to pull him close, so he can rest his forehead against Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook’s hands come to settle at his waist, stroking lightly through his sweater.

“I’ve got you, hyung,” Jungkook murmurs, his breath tickling Jimin’s ear, and Jimin shivers, at the conviction behind his words. "I'll keep you safe."

“I don’t wanna dance with anyone else,” Jimin whispers into his collarbone, “ just you. Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” Jungkook says and pulls him closer.

They stay like that, bodies so close they could almost be one in the middle of the crowded dance floor and everything is just perfect.

Three hours later, they’re standing on the sidewalk in the freezing cold and there isn’t a cab in sight. They’ve been out on their feet all evening and now Jimin is tipsy, and whiny and wants to go home.

He says as much as he bounces from foot to foot, complaining about his stupid tight leather shoes, and his feet that hurt, and his problematic shoulder. Beside him, Jungkook huffs, rolling his eyes before he picks Jimin up bridal style and holds him there, like he weighs nothing at all.

“Aren’t you going to put me down?” Jimin asks tentatively, when a minute’s gone by and Jungkook’s arms are still wrapped firmly around his back.

“Are you going to stop whining?” Jungkook asks, but he sounds amused.

“No,” Jimin says petulantly.

“Then, no.”

From where he is, Jungkook looks so good, the dim lights catching on his collarbones, as he stares across the street looking for an empty cab. Jimin’s lost looking at him, how perfect he is, how lucky he is that they met. He doesn’t know anyone quite like Jungkook, sweet and talented and humble and generous, who would pick Jimin up and carry him just because he was tired. Who would spend his day off, doing a thing he hates just because he thinks it would cheer Jimin up.

There’s a gentle tap on his nose.

“What are you thinking about?” Jungkook says, smiling, and the street lamp paints stars in his eyes, and Jimin doesn’t know what he’s thinking except how much he adores Jungkook.

“I’m cold,” Jimin says and Jungkook chuckles, and draws him closer.

Jimin feels warm all the way home, and all the way as he showers and tucks himself into bed.

Before he closes his eyes, his phone buzzes with a message from Jungkook.

‘Sweet dreams,’ it reads, as if Jungkook hadn't poked his head around the door just ten seconds ago to wish Jimin goodnight.

Still, the text makes Jimin smile, and that night, he really does have the sweetest dream.

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