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Hoseok’s deep, even breathing is a sedative like no other.
Granted, there isn’t much competition in this tiny motel room. Between the insistent buzzing of some fly trapped against the windowpane that Jimin’s too exhausted to swat, and thunderous rumbling of the AC unit, it’s not exactly paradise. Jimin didn’t ask for that, though, didn’t expect it. Thank God Hoseok never expected it either. Content to go along with whatever Jimin decides.
He’s stretched out on the bed beside Jimin, stripped to his black t-shirt and boxer shorts. Unbearably dazzling like this. Jimin thinks he might burst, might implode if he tries to voice his adoration. So he doesn’t, not usually. Hoseok’s the one who coos over him, tells Jimin he’s proud and how he thinks the places Jimin maps out for them are fucking awesome, because he knows Jimin needs that validation.
Jimin smooths a tentative hand over the back of Hoseok’s head, marveling silently at the downy softness of his hair. Recently dyed to a red-brown that shook something loose within Jimin upon seeing it. Sticky affection trickles down his spine when Hoseok hums in approval. Hoseok squirms a little in place, making himself more comfortable, and Jimin can’t breathe for a moment.
It's been two weeks now of them on the escape like this. (That’s what Hoseok likes to call it, as opposed to them being on the run. The escape, as if Jimin has a clue where they’re fleeing to.) Two weeks of seedy motels when they blow most through of the day sightseeing, and a little more glamour when Hoseok flat-out refuses to sleep on stiff pillows the whole night.
They’ll be in Arizona tomorrow. An itinerary of all the things he and Hoseok agreed to visit- go to the Petrified Forest national park, hit as many of the landmarks as they can- lies hidden away on Jimin’s phone. Jimin liked the idea of witnessing landscapes larger than himself, natural wonders to remind him that the world doesn’t begin and end with his warped mindset. Hoseok’s simply drawn to pretty things.
Hoseok gives a little snort in his sleep. Jimin draws his hand back, worrying at his bottom lip, making a conscious effort not to break through skin. He’d promised Hoseok he’d work on that. Things seem to matter more when they’re for Hoseok.
He still feels out of place here, no matter what he does. Hoseok can get along with anyone, can adjust to whatever environment he needs to. Jimin’s painfully aware of himself at all times. Sometimes he looks at his reflection under the dingy yellow motel lights, washing up at night, and doesn’t recognize what he sees. As if the hands idly scrubbing over his face belong to someone else. (The haunt in Jimin’s eyes, how they go a little dead whenever he’s alone, that’s all Jimin.) That was the point of this trip. Or was it?
All this distance they’ve put between themselves and Jimin’s life, and Jimin still can’t admit what he’s running from. What he’s looking for.
As he watches Hoseok shift again- Jimin likes to tease him about how restless he gets, like a dog dashing in their sleep- his heart constricts. He’s used to it softening when Hoseok’s around, some of the ache smoothing away when Hoseok swings an arm around his shoulder or asks him, in that slow careful tone that Jimin’s a little desperate for, if he ate. But in the past few days, it’s pooled in Jimin’s hands, slipping through his fingers like water from a mere smile of Hoseok’s.
I don’t deserve this bubbles under Jimin’s tongue. He’s careful to keep those words locked up, tucked under his ribs and always, always a gradual ache across his chest. I don’t know what I’m doing, or where I’m going, and I don’t know how I managed to get you with me but please, please don’t go.
The room feels too stifling. Hoseok likes to call it clouded over when Jimin feels like this. (He wonders if Hoseok understands just how significant it is that Jimin finally told him, a week into their escape, sat down with Hoseok over a late meal at a diner and stared at his hands the entire time. How merely getting the words out left Jimin the most vulnerable he’s ever felt, skin raw and fingers trembling as he braced himself. But Hoseok didn’t look uncomfortable, merely a little saddened, a little understanding. When he told Jimin Thank you for trusting me with this, Jimin nearly collapsed.)
It's an accurate description, Jimin thinks as he automatically rises, hunting around for his bomber jacket. Like he’s perpetually drifting along in the air, and sometimes the clouds get too much for him, roll in across him until he’s isolated. Unable to even bring himself to text people back without feeling like a burden. The last time it got this bad, Hoseok was there. They don’t talk about why Hoseok flinches every time they pass over a bridge now, why rivers make him sick, and he gets all croaky-voiced if Jimin wants to walk alone.
Jimin breathes in deeply when he steps outside. Two AM air cradles his face, invigorating him as he shakes a cigarette out of his pack, hopping up onto the hood of Hoseok’s ancient red car. Clouds streak across the sky above him, but the night isn’t light-starved, with a crescent moon shining bravely through a surrounding silver ring.
He’s felt defined by two concepts for so long now: the storm of his mind, and his love for Hoseok. How can he live like this, with such polar opposites warring inside of him? How can something as pure and light as what he feels for Hoseok exist alongside Jimin’s internal crisis?
“When will things make sense?” Jimin asks the radiance of the sky.
The stars hold no answer for him. A sigh rattles through Jimin, and he takes another drag, watching the tiny blaze of orange burn through his cigarette.
Footsteps crunch into the parking lot. Jimin doesn’t look over, occupied with his thoughts, until Hoseok’s low voice startles him.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Hoseok asks. He’s wrapped his arms around himself, grey jeans back on. His eyes are still a little heavy and soft, like he’d rolled right out of bed and come to find Jimin. The thought makes Jimin’s mouth curve.
“I never tried.” Jimin shifts over, laying carefully against the windshield. With a hum, Hoseok hops up to join him. He plucks the cigarette out of Jimin’s hand, finger briefly brushing against Jimin’s, and it settles deep into Jimin’s bones.
“You gotta drive tomorrow.” Hoseok chastises him gently.
They both know Hoseok would drive the entire time if he could, content to let Jimin lose himself in his reverie as he stares out the window, and when Jimin reaches for Hoseok’s hand across the console, Hoseok makes this soft pleased sound that makes it all worth it.
“Get a little coffee in me and I’ll be golden.”
Hoseok hums in response, eyelids fluttering when he inhales, and Jimin gets lost in watching. All these natural wonders they’ve explored, but Jimin can’t think of one that holds a candle to Jung Hoseok bathed in moonlight, lips slightly parted, one arm propped behind his head.
“What’s on your mind?” Hoseok asks.
Jimin loves how he says it. Not as a passing comment, out of obligation, or prying. He truly cares how Jimin feels, wants to work through his state of being with him.
“Ah, you don’t want to know that.” Jimin says reflexively, accepting the cigarette again.
This is what he does, sees himself push away the people he cares for the most. Hoseok exists on a different plane than everybody else. He doesn’t deserve Jimin’s usual, especially not when he agreed to leave his life behind to come on Jimin’s escape.
Hoseok simply watches him. Not pressuring. Jimin traces the slope of his jawline with his eyes, the tiny mole on his upper lip (Jimin’s swept his tongue over it, tasted the smile lingering on Hoseok’s mouth, shuddered as Hoseok murmured sweetness into the gap between them) the bangs falling across his forehead. He’s beautiful.
“Jimin-ah.” Hoseok says.
“You want the short answer or the long answer?” Jimin sighs.
Headlights sweep over the road across from them, illuminating a pathway just for a few seconds, and then they’re gone. Something about that feels oddly poignant. Jimin’s hand trembles as he rests it on the hood. He can feel dust collect under his fingertips. He needs to remind Hoseok to wash the car soon.
“Whatever you want to give.” Hoseok replies. He’s still watching Jimin.
Jimin takes a deep breath, scratching his hands through his hair.
“We’re so- so far from everything. From home.”
Hoseok smiles a little. “My Busan boy.”
“I mean, where are we going? Doing this day-by-day, only mapping it out for the next stop, what are we-“ Jimin flips onto his side. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but worth it to look at Hoseok fully, to bask in him and warm himself under Hoseok’s patient gaze. “Why are you following me?”
It comes out as a whisper. Jimin hates when this happens, when he wants to scream over the world, echo with his desperation, but all that spills forth is a breath. A mere drop in the ocean.
Hoseok remains silent for a moment. Jimin’s breath hitches when he reaches forward, thumb brushing across the space under his bottom lip. The way Hoseok handles him sometimes makes Jimin want to melt at his feet, sink into Hoseok completely because he knows Hoseok will catch him. It’s not just love that lingers within Hoseok’s touch, but reverence. He admires Jimin, holds him in the highest regard while still acknowledging the flawed parts of him, and Jimin doesn’t think there could ever be anything greater than the way Hoseok feels for him.
“Sometimes you can ask the dumbest questions.” Hoseok finally says. There’s a weary smile painted into his voice, slurred a little with exhaustion. “I’m not following you. I’m existing with you. You and me…”
He exhales slowly. It feels so important, that rush of air, and Jimin scoots a little closer, suddenly a little crazy and he doesn’t know why.
“Me and you what?”
“There’s nothing more important than this.” Hoseok gestures around them, making a lazy arc with a sweep of his hand. “Not to me. Maybe it doesn’t all make sense, and maybe we’re treading water, but you and me are together. And I know that doesn’t automatically make things better, but I’m here.”
That’s what matters. Hoseok’s here.
It took months of this, their back-and-forth, before Jimin stopped asking permission before he kissed Hoseok. The hesitance still lingers, not because he doesn’t want to, but it feels delicate. What he has with Hoseok needs to be cradled, attended with care, and Jimin wonders if he’ll ever stop fearing that he’ll let it shatter.
He likes the way Hoseok’s eyes flicker to his mouth, a deep shudder ringing through his frame, and Jimin skims the pad of his thumb across Hoseok’s cheekbone before leaning in.
Hoseok tastes like smoke and cold, frosted light. As if he’s kissing shine into Jimin’s mouth, the radiance left behind by stars long since faded. He curls a hand around the back of Hoseok’s neck, tugging him in until they’re pressed flush together.
Jimin has this way of talking, murmuring against Hoseok’s lips because thoughts seep into his mind and he needs to share them. Can’t even drag himself far away from the heat of Hoseok’s mouth to properly speak, but it seems to drive Hoseok kind of wild.
“You looked really good today when we were taking pictures.”
“Yeah?” Jimin can taste Hoseok’s smile, can feel the little preen spill onto his tongue, and a streak of boldness jolts through him.
“Yeah.” Jimin nips playfully at the corner of Hoseok’s mouth. The little gasp he earns rattles within his chest. “Always.”
Hoseok’s hand fists into the back of Jimin’s jacket, pressing firmly between his shoulder blades until he bows Jimin’s body against his own. Jimin wonders vaguely if they might topple off the car, hit the ground with the force of their craving for each other, leave a mark behind in the shape of Hoseok-and-Jimin.
“You taste like ash.” Hoseok laughs, pressing his face into the crook of Jimin’s neck.
“And you’re no better!” Jimin tilts his chin back up, another kiss seared against Hoseok’s mouth before he brushes his thumb over the reddened swell of his lips, silently marveling again.
Hoseok hums. He rubs a gentle circle down Jimin’s spine, resting his hand there, and Jimin resists the urge to break apart on top of him.
“We should go inside.” Hoseok says quietly. “Make ourselves a little more comfortable.”
Jimin doesn’t know how he managed it, but the thought of that shitty motel bed sounds infinitely more appealing than it did just an hour ago.
“Okay.” Jimin breathes Hoseok in, savoring the blend of his natural scent with the brisk evening, and finally rolls off of the hood, laughing when Hoseok snaps at him to be fucking careful, Jimin-ah, God!
Their room is stuffy as ever, even with the monstrous AC, and Jimin shucks his jacket and shirt with little thought. Hoseok’s back to his boxers, smoothing out a place for Jimin beside him, and Jimin lays on his stomach.
Like clockwork, Hoseok’s thumb brushes across the knob at the top of Jimin’s spine, guiding itself downward. Hoseok has a fascination with Jimin’s tattoos, especially the moon phases traced across his back. Jimin’s eyelids flutter as a nail circles around the middle of his spine.
“I like your hair long.” Hoseok murmurs.
Jimin cherishes the tenderness in his voice, loves the feeling of Hoseok’s gentle fingers skimming through his hair. Sometimes he’ll do it at the brink of dawn, when he thinks Jimin’s still sleeping. Jimin’s happy to lie motionless to indulge in Hoseok’s touch a bit longer. He doesn’t know how to tell Hoseok that it’s out of exhaustion, not choice, that his hair brushes against his collar now.
“I like yours.” Jimin answers, voice a bit muffled by his yawn.
A kiss, pressed between his shoulders.
“How far are we going, Jimin-ah? How far do you want to take me?” Hoseok asks.
Jimin wishes he had a real answer for him. He can hear the tired affection laced through Hoseok’s words, the troubled edge, and he wishes he could turn over, kiss certainty into Hoseok’s skin, tell him he’ll be better by tomorrow. By next week.
“I don’t know.” Jimin whispers. “I don’t even know what I’m searching for. The edge of the world, maybe.”
He listens to Hoseok’s breathing gradually even out, slow into the same pattern as before, and he’s too weary to even sigh.
“Then that’s where we’ll go.” Hoseok breathes.