Chapter Text
In retrospect Jungkook thought it wasn’t quite fair. It wasn’t like he’d done something abominably stupid. Peter Parker breaking into restricted areas of Oscorp had been far more deserving of the consequences than his innocent investigation into a tiny glow at the side of the Han river. Whether he should have put his hand so close to the glow, well, that was a different story.
It had been a fairly boring day. He wasn’t ungrateful for the fact that actual weekends were now a normal part of their schedule post-military service, far from it. He’d never take that for granted, not after those first ten years of three-days-off-a-year. But one could only sleep until noon, cook a large bowl of makguksu, go live for two and a half hours, and box until his knuckles bruised so many times before his skin itched with the need to get out of the house.
He pulled on his joggers, beanie, and facemask with little thought, slipping out of the house, pulling in a grateful breath of the damp, autumn night air. It was a long run to get down to the Han river, even longer if he planned to run along it. He loved the run. Feet pounding on the pavement, the fresh smell of the river clearing the lingering smell of the city from his nostrils, his breathing heavy but even, he could feel the antsiness evaporating beneath his skin.
It was late, late enough that there was no chance of any buskers which was a mild shame. Late enough that he barely glanced for bicycles as he cross the bike lane and jogged down the stairs to the path directly next to the river.
He slowed to a brisk walk half an hour later, a small stitch forming in his side, the scenery less familiar than usual. He didn’t generally go quite this far, evidenced by the aching in his legs. Calling for a taxi to go home was rapidly becoming an appealing option. Not ideal but…appealing. It was still early enough that the Saturday night Itawon post-club rush shouldn’t have monopolized them yet.
He’d nearly turned himself back to the nearest staircase bringing him closer to the main road to call a taxi when a wet drop spattered onto his forehead, jerking his attention upward. It was followed too swiftly by another one and then a handful more. Cursing under his breath he eyed the small overhang no more than a ten paces away, dashing toward it with little more thought as the rain began hurling down in unforgiving sheets.
He shook out his hair under the protection of the bridge, looking down at the rain-beaded screen of his phone and flicking to the weather app. He rolled his eyes at the app’s display of a rainless night, shutting off the screen and putting it into his pocket to conserve the small amount of battery. It probably wouldn’t rain hard for that long anyway and he could handle the gentler rain long enough to get a taxi if he really needed to.
He leaned back on the stone at the back of the overhang, arms tightly crossed to stave off the chill as he gazed off across the river at the glowing city, obscured through the rain. It was beautiful, if a little inconvenient.
He sniffed hard against a running nose, turning around to absently survey the dark underbelly of the small overhang. It wasn’t well taken care of, weeds and overgrown plants growing through the cracks near the back, nothing more than shadows in the dark as he surveyed them without much interest.
He’d nearly turned back to the scene of the city when something caught his eye. He leaned closer with a frown, the small glow out of place in the otherwise-dark corner near the river. It was hard to see without a flashlight but the battery of his phone had been uncomfortably low and it wasn’t worth losing his chance to easily get home for a mysterious small glow. He bent closer, moving aside the small clump of grass with single minded curiosity. The glow moved away from his prying fingers too quickly for him to see.
It was instinct more than anything else that reached his hand further forward, palm blocking the escape of the glowing thing which ran directly at his hand, hardly stymied as it ran up his palm. The unpleasant crawling feeling gave him a jolt and he shook his hand, trying to dislodge the creepy-crawly which refused to be so easily disposed of.
He bit off a shudder, feeling a small amount more sympathetic than usual toward Hoseok and Seokjin’s distaste of bugs. His hand clenched automatically as the creature crawled across the dark lettering on his knuckles. Fed up, he shook his hand more viciously, the small glow finally flicking off into the darkness as his knuckles rippled with disgust.
He clenched his fist a few more times, giving the back of his hand a cursory inspection. Ink aside, the skin was clear— or at least clear enough that nothing stood out in the dark. Jungkook pulled in a long breath, letting it out and watching the white cloud dissipate into the air, shivering a little. It should be too cold to be raining if his breath was visible, the temperature must have been fluctuating just on that line between freezing, and he was beginning to thoroughly regret his little outing.
The rain continued down as hard as before, promising a bad cold at least if he ventured out into it. He could already see Namjoon’s mildly disappointed expression, the way Hoseok’s mouth would downturn in scolding-worry, and the concerned wrinkle that formed between Jimin’s brows when he walked into dance practice on Monday, nose red and throat swollen from an untimely illness.
He’d ruefully turned over this mental image a few times, drawing his arms tighter across his body. He huddling into light jacket he’d thrown on for privacy more than warmth, hoping to conserve warmth, when a cramp rippled harshly through his stomach. He bent over with a low cry. His arm gripped at his stomach, pain radiating from his belly as it howled with hunger.
He hardly had time to consider that it really hadn’t been long since he’d last eaten, and anyway since when had he been so hungry it literally hurt, when he was doubled over with another low groan. There was an unusual intensity to this hunger, howling so loudly that the rain and cold fell swiftly by the wayside, his mind narrowing onto one subject and one subject alone. Food.
He was barely aware of the freezing drops that swiftly drenched through his thin jacket as he dashed through the rain, his eyes on the prize glowing about a hundred meters away.
He had truly never been so grateful for the consistency with which convenience stores dotted their way down the Han river.
In no time at all he was roughly shoving his way through the door, flinching a little at the jingle that played far too loudly as he stepped into the store. He beelined toward the large ramen cups, unusually careless of the brand, stacking four-five-six into his arms, stopping on his way to the register only to grab as many two-packs of pre-boiled eggs as he could hold in his free hand before slamming them all down at the register.
If the college student cashier was phased he didn’t show it, scanning the items as Jungkook suppressed a flinch at the noise level of the scanner, pulling out his card and scanning it with a shaking hand before the cashier even finished muttering the total.
His hands continued to shake with a strange urgency as he headed toward the hot water dispenser, filling two of the five ramens and sealing them shut for their required four minutes of cooking time before realizing quite suddenly that he would not be able to wait. He ripped open the third, experiencing one moment of odd clarity looking down at the disk of uncooked noodles with uncooked dehydrated vegetable flakes before he was desperately shoving chunks of raw ramen into his mouth.
He had nearly finished the first when he remembered the eggs, ripping open the plastic packaging and only barely resisting the urge to shove both eggs in his mouth before even peeling them. As it was, his hands were shaking hard enough that he certainly hadn’t cleared away all the shell by the time they made it to his mouth, but it was hard to distinguish that crunch from the pieces of uncooked ramen he hadn’t quite swallowed.
He nearly gagged as he brought the the third and fourth eggs to his mouth, the egg smell suddenly, overwhelmingly nauseating, but the hunger overcame as he stuffed them in anyway, the taste less offensive though he hardly processed it, turning back to the ramen. It had cooked for hardly two minutes, but that would have to do he thought, seizing a pair of chopsticks and forcing them into some semblance of use between his trembling fingers.
It was the first bite of ramen that paused him, the flavors exploding onto his tongue with an intensity he’d never experienced in his life. All of his years traveling and tasting every cuisine the world had to offer, but nothing compared to this simple brand of convenience store ramen. It was so strong he wasn’t sure if he could even bear it, but it hardly mattered a moment later, his stomach demanding satisfaction at any expense.
By the fifth bowl of ramen he was back to eating it raw, the bland, unseasoned noodles almost a relief, though the crunchy texture was wildly overstimulating.
He was still hungry after the sixth bowl, but the urgency had died down to a more normal level of ravenous hunger, closer to post-concert than the genuine starvation levels from before. The intense flavors that still lingered on his tongue had taken over priority and he stumbled toward the back of the store, wrenching open the drink refrigerator and reaching down toward the 700 won bottles of water, unable to stomach the thought of any more flavor than pure water.
He drained four bottles in quick succession, gathering the presence of mind to collect them and stagger toward the register to pay, empty as they were. This time the cashier looked slightly more concerned, peering over at him.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Jungkook muttered, his voice hoarse, grateful as the cashier gathered the bottles and tossed them out himself.
Jungkook’s stomach churned suddenly at the smell of the chicken that wafted from the warmer next to the register. Usually an appetizing snack, the smell of the fresh chicken could not have been more overwhelming in that moment and Jungkook stumbled urgently toward the door, hardly breathing past the smell. The rain had calmed down a little, but instead of fresh smell of rain, all he could process suddenly was an overwhelming stink of the nearby trash cans.
He wretched suddenly, barely holding onto his recent meal by the skin of his teeth as he doubled over, hands on his knees.
There were too many smells and the lights of the store seemed to drill into his head. He stumbled away, hands pressing over his nose, shielding his eyes, desperate from some kind of shelter from this sudden hell.
The smell of ramen clung to his fingers, the eggs on his breath trapped by the mask as he pulled it up and then down again just as quickly. The sound of the rain may as well have been a set of drums in his sensitive ears. His own heavy breathing heaved in his ears as every sight and sound and taste and touch - his very clothes shredding across his skin - but most of all the encompassing, choking smell felt like a sudden, horrible torture.
He could never remember afterward how he had managed to get from the river to that apartment in Hannam-dong, so tormented by every sense that the trip could have been nothing short of a pure hell. His memory mercifully kept him from reliving it.
He could only ever remembered the way he had focused, in single minded, feverish desperation, on a single memory.
It was one of those insignificant moments that one remembered without any particularly good reason. Nothing big or interesting or remotely special. Just a finished dance practice five years before.
Skin sticky with sweat after an exhausting few hours, his nose wrinkling with the smell of his own body odor mixing in a potent stink with that of his bandmates. Nothing so horrible as everything was now, but still unpleasant enough for him to scrape his exhausted, five-years-younger body across the floor to drape himself over another prone body.
“Aigoo, Jungkook-ah.” He had felt his hyung’s stomach tense with a fond huff as Hoseok’s arm came up and over, wrapping loosely around Jungkook’s waist as Jungkook had buried his nose in Hoseok’s neck. The rest of his body spread half on and half off his hyung as he pulled in a breath and then another, unbothered by Hoseok’s second huff of laughter. It was a familiar routine, and Hoseok never minded when his maknae came sniffing, mildly curious at most and a bit amused when Jungkook tried to explain.
Hoseok always smelled good. Not too strong, maybe a little musky with sweat sometimes, but whether it was the scent of his bathing products or just a natural thing, Jungkook had always found comfort in it. And, while never totally understanding, Hoseok had always given freely, willingly, with nothing more than a gently teasing laugh or an overly-endeared smile and an ‘’ooooo jungkookie.”
Jungkook’s mind had fixated on this memory, one of the many similar moments he’d shared with that particular hyung over the years. As he stumbled through the rain, overwhelmed, feverish with every other sensory input, he had fixated on one oasis.
Perhaps minutes but more likely hours later he was hunched, trembling against the door of Hoseok’s apartment, his knuckles beating urgently into the door.
The night guard had been startled by the dark, looming, drenched figure he’d made coming through the door, but recognition, and then professional concern had chased them quickly away. He’d allowed Jungkook up per Hoseok’s longtime instructions that allowed his bandmates to his apartment at any time. He had warned them not to abuse the privilege, which Jungkook had obeyed much better than Jimin or even Seokjin for that matter. This, however, felt like a necessary abuse, even if it was nearer to one AM than midnight.
The very sound of his own knuckles against the door was agony to his throbbing head. The hallway of the prestigious building smelled of a suffocating, nauseating blend of cleaning supplies that had him choking down another wretch, breathing through the discomfort, hoping, praying his hyung would answer the door, please Hobi hyung answer the door—
He flinched away, hands flying to his ears as the intercom beeped, sounding more like an alarm than an intercom, Hoseok’s voice rough with sleep and nervous as it crackled through the speaker.
“Who’s th—“
“Hyung, it’s me, please open the door,” he pleaded.
“Jungkook-ah?” Hoseok immediately sounded more awake, less nervous, maybe a little annoyed, “aish, what—“ but the lock clicked and rang, the door opening to—
“Hyung—“ Jungkook let out a shudder of relief.
Hoseok stood in the doorway, eyes swollen and hair fluffed with sleep, a soft robe haphazardly tied around him with legs and chest bare underneath, and Jungkook was certain he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He threw himself headfirst, all but collapsing onto Hoseok, burying his face against Hoseok’s neck, pulling in breath after desperate breath—
Clean. Comfort. Clear.
He could feel a bit of the desperate tension leave his body in pure relief as a few of his senses eased at the finally-acceptable levels of input.
He could feel Hoseok stumble slightly at his weight before regaining balance. Slightly shorter and a lot smaller than Jungkook but sturdy nonetheless, his arms curling around instinctively around the body that threw itself on him as they always did, always would for any of his brothers.
He was muttering a string concern, the tone ladened with sleepy Gwangju satoori, the sound louder than it should have been but less overwhelming than any other.
“What’s going on, are you okay? You’re soaked through, did you run through the rain? Jungkook-ah what’s wrong?” Hoseok’s hand made its way up to the back of Jungkook’s head, stroking from the crown down to his neck, the touch grounding and gentle, opposite to the still-excruciating feeling of his clothes raking across his skin. Jungkook settled deeper into the grasp with a small groan.
“You need to tell me what’s going on, Jungkook-ah.” Hoseok’s tone was firmer as his hold on the situation solidified. Jungkook could feel him attempting to pull back, most likely just to look at his face, to meet his eyes, but the thought of pulling his nose away from Hoseok’s gentle scent felt unbearable. Jungkook pressed closer, pulling his hyung tightly against him. Perhaps a little harder than he meant to as Hoseok grunted at the pressure, their bodies suddenly melded tightly together. Jungkook loosened the grasp just as quickly but kept his face buried in the junction between Hoseok’s shoulder and neck.
“Don’t feel well, Hyung,” was all he could really manage, murmuring it low and hoarse. It felt like too much to put the overwhelming agony of every screaming sense into words.
“What doesn’t feel well? You drunk?” Hoseok sniffed lightly, “you don’t smell like alcohol…”
“Not drunk,” Jungkook shook his head, “feel sick, I don’t know what’s wrong, I feel awful—“ he shuddered, the dreadful, tormentuous unease solidifying quite suddenly into heavy nausea.
“Okay, alright, you’re okay,” Hoseok was saying, his voice steady despite the wrinkle of unease between his brows. How could he be blamed when the last time Jungkook had willingly admitted illness and gone for help had been well over eight or nine years ago?
Jungkook pulled suddenly away, a hand pressing to his mouth as his stomach churned dangerously. The ramen that he had so painfully kept down threatened more instantly than ever before, his shoulders heaving with an aborted wretch.
He caught vague sight of Hoseok’s eyes, wide and startled in the all-too-harsh light of the hallway. His head throbbed once more, no longer protected by his hyung’s embrace from the onslaught of sensory input, only adding to the nausea. He swallowed, once, twice, all too certain that, as overwhelming as the food had been going down it would be twice as bad coming up but his stomach didn’t care as he found himself in the bathroom, Hoseok forcibly leaning him over the toilet.
“I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” he murmured. His hand continued the steady smoothing at the back Jungkook’s head, “let’s try not to make a mess, hm?”
Ever practical and tidy with a sensitive stomach, Jungkook knew how much love and concern must be keeping his hyung there with him in the bathroom, his hand barely faltering as Jungkook threw up. Maybe military service had toughened Hobi-hyung up, maybe Jungkook just looked that bad, maybe it was some combination of both. Hoseok had always been a good mother-hen right before and right after anyone puking, but he generally preferred to go running for the hills the moment of, sending Yoongi or Jimin in as a temporary replacement. If he didn’t, the dancer’s sensitive stomach tended to send him dashing as quickly as whoever really was ill.
But Hoseok’s hands were unshaking, combing back the loose hair from Jungkook’s fringe, not long enough to get caught in the mess but overstimulating nonetheless, his voice concerned but not panicking as he murmured reassuringly.
It felt like an hour but finally, finally Jungkook’s stomach seemed to relent, his legs weakening and sending him crashing back against Hoseok, who caught him before he could hit the tile. Hoseok’s tongue clicked with sad sympathy, “You’re really ill, Jungkook-ah.” Jungkook looked up at him, tears from the effort of vomiting still clouding his vision, wet down his cheeks. It should have been too dark to see in the bathroom, Hoseok hadn’t turned on the light, probably for both their sakes, but somehow he could see every detail of his hyung’s worried face, down to the light greenish tinge around his mouth. “Do you feel a little better now?”
Jungkook shook his head. The misery of nausea may have subsided but in its wake flowed back the host of other miseries. It has almost been nice to focus on just one for a few moments. The smell of vomit was almost asphyxiating, his whole mouth burning with acid, his clothes felt closer to steel than cotton against his skin—
He pulled himself away from Hoseok only insofar as to clutch at the hem of his shirt, his hands still trembling as he struggled to pull it off.
“Hang on, let me help.” The clothing slid off smoothly with Hoseok’s assistance, even as Jungkook winced at the feeling of it rubbing against his skin. He reached toward his shoes, his socks, his pants, receiving the same help until he was shivering in the cold of the bathroom, still more comfortable than with the touch of the clothing.
To his credit Hoseok said nothing of the wisdom of removing his clothes while shivering— perhaps because they were wet anyway, and only gave a small huff as Jungkook made to push his face against the triangle of skin that the v-neck robe revealed.
“Hang on a sec,” Jungkook felt his face held between Hoseok’s long and particularly strong fingers, just inches from the haven of his hyung’s embrace. He let out a mournful sound and felt Hoseok’s thumb stroke against his cheek in response, “hang on Jungkookie, just let me—“ he could hear the distinct sound of toilet paper ripping as it echoed through the room before the tissue pressed up against his lips. He flinched away, the tissue feeling more akin to sandpaper scraping his skin than the four-ply luxury his hyung usually preferred.
“Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok sounded mildly miffed, chasing his face with the tissue much like a mother with a consternating baby, “you’re all pukey, I’ll let you—“
“Hurts hyung,” Jungkook managed, twisting his head with more effort and displacing Hoseok’s hand more easily than he anticipated. “Don’t— don’t.”
“What hurts? The tissue?” Hoseok’s brow wrinkled. “Do you have a cut?” He pulled Jungkook’s face back, studying it closely. Jungkook could clearly see the small mole at the top of his lip as his lips pursed in concern. “Ugh, I can’t see anything in the dark, here—“
“Don’t—“ Jungkook begged as Hoseok reached for the light switch, “my head—“
“Jungkook-ah, just for a minute, let me look at you, okay? I’ll turn it right off, just let me—“
Jungkook could see him reaching despite the heavy dark of the room, could already feel the lancing pain the light would send through his head, unbearable on top of everything else. He grabbed, desperately at Hoseok’s wrist, pulling it away from the light switch, away from the new torment—
Hoseok’s cry rang through the small bathroom, echoing off the tile and lancing through his ears as painfully as the light would have. Jungkook loosened the grip as if he’d been burned.
The sound of Hoseok’s voice turned into a hiss of pain, and Jungkook felt his stomach jolt for an entirely new reason.
“Hyung? Hyung, are you okay?”
Hoseok’s breathing was heavy for a moment, echoing through the room, twisting at Jungkook’s stomach. He knew a cry of pain when he heard one, and Hoseok had a high threshold for it. Had he—
“Jungkook-ah,” the voice was breathy, “you—“ Hoseok cut off, breathing still stuttered.
“I’m sorry, Hyung, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to—“ he felt almost more sick than he had while actually vomiting at the thought that he’d hurt his hyung. Hoseok pulled in another breath.
“I know, I know, Jungkook-ah it’s okay, Hyung’s okay, you startled me more than anything else— here—“ and Jungkook felt his face turned back toward the Hoseok’s comforting scent and allowed himself to fall back against him. Had he been slightly more cognizant he would have been far less easily appeased by the words— Hoseok didn’t cry out in pain easily. But overwhelming awareness of the burning acid in his mouth swept back into the larger part of his consciousness again.
“Water,” he begged, “please?”
“Okay, alright, hyung will get you water. You wanna stay in here or come—“
“Don’t leave, hyung,”
“Okay, come with me, then.”
It was as much Hoseok’s wiry strength as Jungkook’s own legs that hauled him up and into the kitchen. Hoseok mercifully didn’t attempt to turn on the light, just fumbled around for a glass as Jungkook vaguely wondered when his hyung had started going blind. Even without the lights it wasn’t hard to see. He flinched away from the sound of the water filling up the glass, hands pressed over his ears, catching the frown of concern that twisted Hoseok’s lips, easily hearing the whispered reassurance anyway. He carefully pulled his hands away, gratefully clutching at the offered glass and downing it in a few gulps.
“Careful, you’re gonna throw up again,” Hoseok warned.
“More,” Jungkook rasped, holding out the glass in a still trembling hand.
Three glasses later and the fire in his mouth had more or less receded. He could feel himself drooping in exhaustion. Hoseok’s arm wrapped back around his shoulders and he followed the pressure back down the hall.
“Let’s get you in bed, okay?”
Jungkook grunted agreement, savoring the relief from any particular assault on his senses for the first time in hours, willing to do anything to keep this fragile peace. He wrinkled his nose as they stopped outside of a door, Hoseok reaching to open it. The spare bedroom, clean and tidy as any space in Hoseok’s home, but there was a stale smell to it. It held none of the comforting scent that imbued every other room his hyung frequently used. Jungkook could feel the headache coming back at the thought of stepping into it. He cringed back, shaking his head.
“Hyung’s room?” he rasped, looking over at Hoseok who sighed. “Please?”
“Okay,” Hoseok nodded, closing the door with no argument. He huffed something that might have been a laugh. “It’s been a while since we did that, huh? A while before military service, I guess. Just like old times, Jungkook-ah.”
He led Jungkook to the bedroom, the blankets mussed from when he’d been pulled violently from sleep by Jungkook’s knocking. He pulled back the covers but Jungkook was reaching for the soft, fuzzy blanket at the end of the bed, wrapping himself in it before falling back onto the mattress. The whole bed smelled more concentratedly of his hyung than anywhere else and he pulled in a deep breath, settling back against the pillows.
“Don’t fall asleep just yet, okay? I wanna take your temperature before you go to sleep, you feel pretty warm.”
“Mm,” Jungkook mumbled, taking another sniff of the pillows.
“Smell good?” Hoseok’s voice was teasing but Jungkook didn’t care. The bed may as well have been heaven.
“So good,” he muttered, his body melting down into the mattress, his skin soaking in the softness of the blanket. Hoseok was saying something else but the words dribbled into nothing more than a comforting honeyed drizzle of sound as he fell back into blackness.