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The agreement had been made. Jungkook would be sharing Jimin’s room for the night.
Jimin hadn’t stopped blushing since.
And now, they were all seated around the dining table, the air filled with the scent of steamed rice, grilled meat, and soy-glazed vegetables. Jimin’s mom kept piling food onto everyone’s plates like they hadn’t eaten in days, while Mr. Park narrated embarrassing childhood stories like it was his favorite hobby.
Jimin sat stiffly beside Jungkook, holding his spoon like it was a weapon. Jungkook, on the other hand, looked entirely unfazed-eating neatly, posture perfect, listening attentively to every word.
Mrs. Jeon was mid-sentence about Jungkook’s childhood obsession with toy trains when Jimin burst into sudden coughing.
He had taken too big of a bite while trying not to laugh at something Mr. Park had said.
“Jimin?” Mrs. Park leaned forward, concerned.
Jimin’s eyes watered as he waved his hand, coughing hard, unable to speak. His face turned pink, then red.
Without a word, Jungkook was already moving.
He reached forward, grabbed the glass of water in front of Jimin, and brought it to his lips with one hand while the other gently rested on Jimin’s back.
“Drink slowly,” Jungkook said calmly, voice low, as he tilted the glass for him.
Jimin’s hands clutched the cup as he sipped, his coughs beginning to ease. The warmth of Jungkook’s hand on his back felt unexpectedly grounding.
The table had gone quiet for a moment. Then-
“Well, now that’s what I call husband material,” Mrs. Jeon said proudly, breaking the silence.
Mrs. Park gasped, “See? He’ll take such good care of our baby.”
“Mom,” Jimin croaked between small coughs, absolutely mortified, “please.”
Jungkook calmly placed the glass back on the table, then turned to Jimin. “Are you alright now?”
Jimin nodded quickly, still a bit red in the face. “Y-Yeah. Thank you.” He avoided Jungkook’s eyes, his heart thudding too hard in his chest.
Jungkook just gave a quiet nod and went back to his food, as if it was nothing.
But under the table, Jimin’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve.
He didn’t expect his first real moment with his fiancé to feel… like that. So careful. So gentle.
So unforgettable.
___
Upstairs- Jimin’s room.
The room was quiet when they stepped in, the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp washing the space in a warm hue.
Jimin gently closed the door behind them, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. He still felt heat rush to his face every time he remembered how Jungkook had held the glass to his lips at dinner.
Jungkook, already slipping out of his wristwatch and folding his blazer with quiet precision, turned to him and said softly,
“You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “No, no-you’re the guest. I’ll take the sofa.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “It’s your room.”
“And you’re the fiancé,” Jimin replied, then instantly bit his lip like he wished he hadn’t said that word out loud.
Jungkook only gave a quiet chuckle-more breath than sound-and walked to the side of the bed. “Alright. Let’s not argue. We’ll both sleep where we feel comfortable.”
Minutes later, Jungkook lay on the bed, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. Jimin curled up on the narrow sofa across the room, his legs pulled to his chest, a small blanket barely covering him.
And it was clear-he wasn’t comfortable.
He shifted every few minutes, adjusting the pillow that kept slipping, stretching his legs, then curling back again.
Jungkook noticed.
He turned his head, eyes calmly watching the small figure across the room. Then he sat up and grabbed his pillow.
“Come to bed,” he said gently, but firmly.
Jimin turned his head with wide eyes. “No, it’s okay. I’m fine.”
“You’re clearly not. That sofa is too small for you.”
“You’re the guest, Jungkook. You’re supposed to take the bed.”
Jungkook stood, quiet but determined, and walked across the room. Jimin tensed as he approached, but before he could protest further, Jungkook leaned down-strong arms slipping under his knees and back.
“Wait-what are you-!” Jimin gasped as Jungkook lifted him off the sofa like he weighed nothing.
Jimin clutched his shirt, heart hammering. “Put me down-Jungkook!”
But Jungkook walked to the bed, placed him gently onto the mattress, then straightened without a word.
He turned, grabbed the spare pillow, and walked back to the sofa.
“I said I’m fine,” Jimin said softly, sitting up slightly. His voice lacked conviction now, like he’d already given in.
Jungkook glanced back at him, his tone calm. “You don’t have to make yourself uncomfortable just bc I’m your guest. I’m used to sleeping in worse places.”
Then he lay down on the narrow sofa-knees slightly bent to fit, one arm over his chest, the other tucked behind his head.
The silence returned, but now it was heavier. Thicker.
Jimin stared at the ceiling, biting his lower lip, eyes flicking toward Jungkook. The older boy looked uncomfortable, long legs barely fitting, and he kept shifting-yet not once did he complain.
Not once did he offer to trade back.
Not once did he ask for the bed.
Jimin’s heart ached a little.
He hugged the pillow tighter, whispered into the dark,
“…Thank you.”
Jungkook didn’t reply for a long moment. Then came the softest hum.
“Good night, Jimin.”
Jimin turned to face the wall, his cheeks pink.
“Good night… Jungkook.”
In a room shared between almost-strangers, on one bed and one sofa, something quiet and kind had taken root.
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