Okay, so maybe Jungkook thinks his neighbor is cute.
A little.
Okay, maybe a lot.
Jungkook knows he has absolutely got to be imagining the way Jimin stares at him while he's on his daily jog. This must be a figment of his imagination, a hopeless endeavor. Does Jimin even like boys? Probably not. Jimin most likely has a lovely, kind girlfriend with a smile just as bright and caring as Jimin's own grin.
He's only seen Jimin's smile up close one time—that one awkward day when they were both down by the mailbox. Jungkook's brain had short-circuited the moment he spotted his neighbor, wearing an oversized gray sweater, fluffy brown hair falling gently around his face.
Jimin had smiled. Jungkook had panicked, fleeing with nothing more than a curt nod. He hated himself for it every day since then.
And it would be different if not for the fact than Jimin lived right next door.
It would be different if not for the fact that every time Jimin watered his flowers, singing softly and treating the delicate plants as if they were his dear friends, Jungkook could see his gentle movements and slight smile. Jimin was a very gentle person.
It would be different if not for the fact that Jungkook could see the determination on his neighbor's face after every grocery store visit, the way the smaller man balanced an insane amount of food in careful stacks while climbing the stairs. He seemed to make a game out of always taking the groceries in one trip. Jungkook continuously saw the contented look of pride on Jimin's face when he made it to the top, and every time Jungkook fell a little bit more in love.
Was it creepy? Probably. Jimin definitely wasn't even gay, but here Jungkook was, blushing like an idiot and hoping for the utterly impossible things in life.
The two have never spoken. Jungkook is far too shy, far too standoffish, to start a conversation with the ray of sunshine that is living next door.
A mere three weeks after Jimin moves in, Jungkook realizes that, inexplicably and inexcusably, he has a crush on the boy.
Jungkook is minding his own business and studying for his biology final when he spots Jimin's car pulling into the parking lot. A few moments later, he spots the boy popping open his trunk and picking out grocery bags. Jungkook's heart lurches, because he knows the inevitable and adorable events that come next.
1) Jimin will grab all the bags in one go, balancing them delicately and hobbling to the staircase. (Their apartment building's elevator has been broken for seven months.) He will forget to lock his car, like always.
2) Jimin will start climbing, occasionally losing his balance slightly and watching with dejection as three to four items spill from the bags—items he will come back to pick up a couple of minutes later.
3) Jimin will finally reach the top, and a stupid, goofy grin will spread over his face.
This is the series of events that Jungkook has grown accustomed to over the past two months. But today, Jungkook decides, today will be different. This is going to be the day that Jungkook finally offers to help Jimin with his groceries.
Jungkook swallowed a deep breath, running a couple of short laps around his cramped apartment, leaping over laundry and an empty cardboard box. His heart is thumping, a blush is crawling up his neck, and he feels his head go light. God, why was he acting like a fucking schoolgirl? Why couldn't he get over his goddamned social anxiety and have a nice conversation with his cute neighbor?
Why did talking to people have to be so hard for him?
Hand hovering over the doorknob, shaking slightly, Jungkook closed his eyes and tried to calm his heart rate. You can do this, Jungkook. Walk up to him; offer to help carry his groceries. You are capable of that. What can go wrong?
Finally Jungkook grasped the handle and opened the door, stepping out into the walkway. The stairwell was only a couple of doors down from his apartment; he could hear Jimin already cursing softly as a can of something clattered to the floor. Jungkook briskly closed the gap to the stairs and rounded the corner, taking a breath and setting his jaw in determination.
It took approximately three seconds for Jungkook to realize that his sudden appearance had scared the everloving fuck out of Jimin. Way to fuck this up, his brain screamed as he watched his neighbor stumble backwards and trip onto his ass with a squeal, grocery bags spilling across the floor and down the staircase.
On pure instinct Jungkook grasped Jimin's wrist right before the boy rolled too close to the edge of the stairs. He was caught between marveling at his own reflexes, and running away in mortification because how the hell did he fuck this up so badly—
Jimin flinched, and Jungkook's ears were assaulted by the harsh sound of cans tumbling down the concrete staircase. Before his brain could warn him not to, Jungkook found himself pulling Jimin to his feet. He gripped the boy's arms tightly, checking to make sure that Jimin's hands hadn't been scratched—oh God, this was all Jungkook's fault.
"Holy shit, I'm so sorry Jimin, are you alright? Oh shit, are you okay?" Jungkook's voice rose in panic and apology.
Oh no, Jesus, as if this couldn't get any worse, Jungkook saw the beginnings of tears swimming in Jimin's dark eyes. Shit. Shit. He had just made Jimin cry, hadn't he? What an astronomical fuck-up.
Jimin began muttering quickly. It took all of Jungkook's self-control not to fling himself off the balcony when he heard boy's desperate, distressed tone. "Yeah, I'm okay, shit, need to get the groceries—"
"Hey, take it easy, I'll help you," Jungkook interrupted, his chest filled with guilt. "Are you sure you're good?"
As Jimin's doe eyes finally stared up into his own, Jungkook's heart skipped a beat. Like, actually skipped a beat, embarrassingly enough—Jungkook felt like a goddamned middle-schooler with a crush on the cutest person in the class.
Park Jimin had that effect on people.
As the boy below him slowly dipped his head, Jungkook finally felt his fingers relax around Jimin's biceps.
Jungkook stirred his tea, watching the way the honey swirled into the liquid, causing little puffs of steam to swirl into the air. Until about five minutes ago, it had been an obnoxiously sunny day, birds tweeting and breeze flowing. It was almost startlingly perfect outside, and Jungkook had already taken advantage of the weather for a lovely run (trying to convince himself, yet again, that there was no possible way that Jimin had been watching him).
Suddenly, the sky had become dark with storm clouds, the barometer had plummeted, and it was the perfect day for a cup of warm chamomile.
Briefly strolling onto his balcony (he was fortunate to have one of the complex's few covered balconies—sometimes he enjoyed sitting outside in the rain, nose stuck in a book, roof protecting him from the precipitation), Jungkook heard a faint cry. His head snapped toward Jimin's balcony next door.
Jungkook nearly had a heart attack.
There, in the doorframe of the balcony next to his own, stood Jimin. The poor boy was soaking wet from head to toe, desperately pushing all of his body weight against the sliding glass. Jimin's own balcony didn't have a roof, and rain was absolutely flooding through his door. It took Jungkook a few seconds to put two and two together, but finally, he realized that Jimin's balcony door had been jammed.
Jungkook was out his front door faster than he could even think, steaming tea completely forgotten. Within seconds he had arrived on Jimin's doorstep and began pounding his fist incessantly against the window.
God, please tell me he can hear me, this poor guy—
The door suddenly swung on its hinges and Jungkook found himself staring down at a very small, very panicked, very wet Jimin. Jungkook felt a look of bafflement spread across his face as he desperately attempted to ignore the way Jimin's soaked t-shirt clung to every dip and curve of his torso. (He had a lot more muscle mass than Jungkook had originally imagined.)
Pulling himself together, Jungkook stuttered, "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I saw you trying to get your balcony door closed, it looked like you needed help—"
He was abruptly cut off by a light whine from Jimin. "Please. Please."
Oh, god. Jimin was so fucking cute, standing there wide-eyed and alarmed, covered in rainwater from head to toe. The sight made Jungkook want nothing more than to pick the guy up and cuddle him to oblivion. Without another sound, Jungkook found himself brushing gently past Jimin and approach the sliding door at the back of the apartment.
Moment of truth. He could do this, if it meant helping Jimin. Jungkook still felt residual guilt from the grocery incident last week, and he was sure that Jimin probably was terrified of him. But if Jungkook could close this goddamned glass door, then maybe? Maybe Jimin would realize he's not that bad of a guy?
Jungkook grasped the handle and gave a tentative pull, testing the waters. The door didn't budge, and he could already feel raindrops quickly saturating his shirt from the storm outside. Slowly, and with more muscle strain than he would have liked to admit, Jungkook shoved the door closed one inch at a time.
It actually took so much fucking effort. Jungkook could feel his biceps shaking uncontrollably, and by now he was just as sopping wet as the boy standing next to him.
"Thank you so much, can I get you anything? Do you need a glass of water?" Jimin asked delicately, flicking his eyes down Jungkook's body (with a brief glint of what Jungkook prayed had been lust). " Oh, you're... soaking wet..."
Jungkook blushed violently at the words, craning his head away from Jimin and taking a step back. "If you have an extra towel I could borrow..."
Without thinking twice about it, Jungkook had reached down to take off his soaked t-shirt, wringing it out in Jimin's sink. He abruptly froze as he realized that he had just stripped down in Jimin's apartment, without the older boy's consent.
Jesus Christ, this is why Jungkook can't make any friends.
"Towel! I have one of those, let me go get a towel!" Jimin scurried off into the nearest bathroom, and Jungkook let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.
He was so fucked.
It was a long, grueling two weeks before Jungkook was presented with the golden opportunity to talk to his neighbor again. The two had been dancing around each other in a flurry of brief greetings and curt "good morning"s and a million other interactions with no real substance.
Or, at least, no real substance in Jimin's eyes, probably. To Jungkook these little moments had embarrassingly profound meaning. He was never very good at human interaction.
So when a ridiculously oversized package labeled "Park Jimin" arrived on Jungkook's doorstep, he sent up a brief prayer to whoever was watching out for him.
Hypothetically he could have just dropped the package off at Jimin's door, but that would have taken away Jungkook's excuse to have a rare, glorious interaction with Park Jimin.
Carefully and slowly, Jungkook picked the package off the ground (fuck, this thing was heavy, was there a body hidden in there?). He waddled a few steps over to Jimin's door and haphazardly balanced the box against his face, reaching out one hand to knock a couple of times.
"Coming!" came a muffled, high-pitched voice from within the apartment. Jungkook heard a subsequent bang followed by hushed curses, and he couldn't help but grin a bit at his neighbor's clumsiness. A moment later, the door swung open and Jungkook was once again greeted by Park Jimin's small figure.
Jungkook absentmindedly noted that Jimin was dressed in the same adorable grey sweater that he wore the day they had first met, down by the mailbox.
Craning his neck around the oversized cardboard box, Jungkook shyly muttered, "This is addressed to you, but they dropped it off on my doorstep."
"My lamp!" exclaimed Jimin, face breaking out into a blinding grin, and Jungkook's heart stuttered at how damn cute he was.
Holy fuck, I'm so far gone for this guy.
"Oh my God, that's gotta be heavy, come inside," Jimin stated, blushing as he stepped to the side and let Jungkook pass into his apartment. "Do you need any help?"
Honestly, Jungkook probably did need help. Despite the fact that Jungkook considered himself a very fit person, this box weighed a shit-ton. But his pride got the better of him, and he kindly refused, trying to hide his obvious exertion. Finally, Jungkook set the package onto the kitchen counter and felt the neurons in his arms functioning correctly once more.
Jungkook realized he must have been grimacing, because Jimin's face morphed into one of worry.
"Is something wrong, did you strain a muscle?"
Yes, Jungkook was positively sure he had pulled something in his back, but he didn't want Jimin to fret on his account.
"No, I just worked a little too hard at the gym yesterday," Jungkook replied. "My back's tense." It wasn't a complete lie, at least. He had upped his weights yesterday, and he was definitely feeling the ache today.
Jimin's next words sent Jungkook into a mild hypovolemic shock.
"I can help."
Holy shit, was Jimin implying...?
"I've been told I give pretty good back massages."
For a split second, Jungkook felt his soul leave his body as he realized that maybe, possibly, he had a spark of hope. With a subconscious, delicate smile, Jungkook murmured, "That would be great, if you don't mind." He prayed the older boy didn't notice the way a beet-red blush crept up his jawline and grazed his cheeks.
As Jimin timidly motioned to a clear spot on the floor, Jungkook took the cue and quickly unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off of his aching shoulders. He realized with slight embarrassment that this was now the second time he had gone shirtless in Jimin's apartment.
God, Jungkook was undoubtedly coming on too strong, wasn't he? Jimin most likely isn't even gay, he kept reminding himself, this is probably completely platonic for him.
Gradually he lowered himself to the floor, facedown, resting his head on his crossed arms. He attempted to keep his breathing steady as he sensed Jimin's small, delicate hands ghosting over his own warm back.
Distantly, Jungkook realized there was no such thing as a platonic back massage. There was something so intrinsically intimate about the whole thing.
As he felt Jimin's fingers knead between his shoulderblades, sturdy and light at the same time, Jungkook fought back a groan that bubbled up in his throat. He didn't want to make this any weirder than it already was. But the second that Jimin's hands reached a particularly tender spot, a pang of pain and relief shot through Jungkook's body.
He moaned involuntarily, deep and husky.
Well, shit, there goes any chance of this being normal. Jungkook felt Jimin's hands freeze in their ministrations upon his back, and he almost had to groan again at the loss of relief. "Please, keep going, Jimin."
This whole thing was going downhill so fast. If Jimin was freaked out, he showed no signs of it, and continued to run his hands along Jungkook's tense muscles. Slowly Jungkook finally felt himself relaxing, Jimin's small fingers working wonders on him. After a while he stopped holding back the small whines that occasionally escaped his mouth, and let himself melt under Jimin's touch; the boy hadn't been kidding when he said he was good at this.
(A very small but very persistent part of Jungkook's mind wondered how nice these hands would feel if they caressed other, more interesting places.)
Not gay, Jungkook kept insisting to himself. There's no way Jimin is gay.
Letting out a particularly loud whimper, Jungkook realized that he was in way too deep.
The ticking of Jungkook's wall clock was getting to be obnoxious.
Almost three-thirty in the morning, lying on the bed, starting at the ceiling. Blankets askew. A couple of stray shirts littered on the floor, faint green light blinking slowly from the laptop on the desk. Too hot and simultaneously too cold.
Jungkook couldn't sleep.
Last night he had stayed up far too late studying for a test that turned out to be horrendously easy. Was he grateful that the test was a breeze? Of course—but, at the same time, now his sleep schedule was fucked up from the nap he took when he got home.
So he sat in the dark, throbbing silence, and tried not to think about anything.
Read: 'tried not to think about Park Jimin.'
The last few months had been torture for him. Jungkook wasn't the type to get crushes; he wasn't the type to do relationships at all, really. All of his friends emphasized how attractive he was, how mysterious. Jungkook didn't feel mysterious, he just felt painfully and achingly shy. It was hard enough for him to make friends—forget trying to start a goddamned relationship. But Jimin was just cute enough to make Jungkook's whole face turn red, make his head spin. It was a foreign feeling, one that wasn't entirely welcome.
Jungkook stiffened as he barely, faintly heard a small sound from the other side of the wall next to his bed. Surely his ears had to be tricking him. There was no way in hell...
There it was again, a bit more audible this time—a very clear whimper, short and high-pitched and so sweet. Completely frozen, Jungkook couldn't stop himself from listening intently.
Another groan, a tiny bit deeper this time. Jungkook felt his face saturate with blood, warming uncontrollably as he realized what exactly it was he was hearing. He was immobile with astonishment and embarrassment (and just a hint of curiosity). A jolt of shock wormed its way through his body as Jungkook realized that his suspicions were correct, Jimin had a girlfriend and they were making love right across the wall, and he couldn't stop the jealous sadness that washed over him—
But wait. Jimin had come home alone tonight, Jungkook had seen him walk through the front door. But if Jimin was alone, that meant...
Oh. Oh, fuck.
The visual hit Jungkook like a fucking train. Jimin palming himself under his sweatpants, panting lightly. His pretty, thick lips parted and slicked with spit; eyes hooded with lust and fluttering slightly.
Jungkook's eyes snapped open and he felt a familiar tightness in his boxers as Jimin suddenly let out a noisy, lust-filled moan. The walls were so goddamned thin, Jungkook couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't ignore the heat that was coiling in his stomach and the weight that was suddenly pressing against his thigh.
Fuck it.
Jungkook's hand flew down to grip his cock tightly over his boxers. The sudden pleasure was electrifying, and it took all of Jungkook's self-control to hold back the choked groan at the back of his throat. By now he was embarrassingly hard, and could feel himself twitching with every stifled whine he heard from the other side of the wall.
His fingers moved under the fabric to finally massage his bare cock, heavy and hot and gorgeously sensitive. Without warning Jungkook found his mind wandering back to Jimin's hands, so delicate and goddamned talented. Jungkook shuddered at the though of those hands wrapped around his length (god, Jimin's hands were so small, they probably wouldn't even be able to wrap all the way around Jungkook—he knew he was so thick—and that thought by itself was almost enough to send him over the edge).
Jungkook battled to stay silent as he pumped himself, stroking roughly up his shaft and stopping occasionally to swirl his thumb around the hypersensitive head. Every noise that Jimin made sent a rush of pleasure down Jungkook's spine; he wanted to hear Jimin whine for him, whimper around his cock, plump lips slick with pre-cum and wide eyes begging to be fucked harder.
By now he was so close that he could taste it. Jungkook's toes curled, his eyes rolled back and his hand sped up, guiding him nearer to his orgasm with each wet thrust.
All it took was Jimin screaming his name from the other side of the wall, and Jungkook saw stars.
His orgasm wracked through his body without warning; Jungkook tossed his head back in a silent cry, his vision blurring as he felt cum spill between his fingers. Near-painful heat flowed through his veins as he felt every muscle stiffen.
Panting, trying desperately to hold back Jimin's name from tumbling off his lips, Jungkook harshly stroked his cock through his climax. His thighs shook violently and a whimper had been building up in the back of his throat. Kneeling on the bed, hand working wonders between his legs, Jungkook threw his head back once more and letting the last residual waves of pleasure course through his body. Cum littered the sheets, staining all over the bed (had he really came that hard? Jesus,) but Jungkook couldn't find it within himself to care right now. He flopped back onto the bed, completely motionless, and tried to slow his heartbeat.
Wrapping his mind around his current situation was proving to be difficult. Because not even twenty seconds ago, on the other side of the wall, very loudly and with crystal-clear pronunciation, Jimin had just shouted Jungkook's name as he came.
This complicated things.