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Jungkook perceived love through all five senses even before knowing the word and what it meant.

The all-too sweet fondant gives his six year old self a sugar rush. The smell of lavenders perforate his nose more strongly than usual. He hears the crooning of a record that his Father chose; a song that isn't exactly appropriate for a six year old's birthday party yet enjoyed by the adults. There are certainly more adults than children in such a celebration.

Yellows and reds explode in his vision like fireworks every time the song plays. He re-focuses on his slice of cake, the plate something the staff took out from the special cabinet. Hand-painted by some artist, or this is what Jungkook hears. He doesn't really know what it means.

Touch and sight went hand in hand when he sees him.

The newcomer to his birthday party filled with unfamiliar faces is wearing a crisp white shirt completely buttoned up, highlighting his face more. Jungkook may be young, but he's smart, he's always been told he is. The song coincides with the person so well: Angel.

"Darling," His Mother says sweetly as she stands in front of where he is sitting, hand on the angel's shoulder, "This is your Seokjin-hyung. He was in South Korea the past months, but he came home specifically to meet you and greet you a happy birthday. Won't you introduce yourself?"

Jungkook's lived here all his life, and he has never seen Seokjin. A hand extends to his, and he automatically places the fork down.

Seokjin smiles at him, towering over Jungkook that he has to look up. "Nice to finally meet you." 

Jungkook is young, but when he was much younger, his parents brought him to a neurologist. 

Chromesthesia. They tell him that it is fascinating, that he will for sure be gifted in music due to this. He sees color in music and sounds, not necessarily voices.

Seokjin said five words to him and Jungkook's entire world became engulfed in color.

Later, they bring out another birthday cake. Everyone sings him a happy birthday, the mishmash of voices giving Jungkook a headache from the different colors popping here and there. 

Adults who he assume are Seokjin's parents stand in watch beside his Mother while she records the occasion. Seokjin stands beside him, clapping softly and not singing. Jungkook looks at him, the only area where he can rest his eyes and not get assaulted by splashes of hues. 

Jungkook blows the candles out and makes a wish.

He wishes for silence when he needs it, he wishes for explosions when he least expects it, and he wishes that maybe, the angel is the one providing him those moments.


Turning a year older brings to him changes similar to crashing waves. 

Jungkook discovers that his neurologist is a liar. Classical music bores him to death, the colors too light and pale and soft. Of course, he dutifully learns the stringed instruments since it is one of the few times he can spend time with his angel. 

He breezes through instruments and music sheets easily, the pattern easy to learn with the aid of his disability. Jungkook referred to it once out loud with that term and his Mother burst into tears. He doesn't really understand why since that is what all the pamphlets in the clinic say. He does apologize though, flowers he made the gardener pick for him presented to her as if he did all the work.

Back to topic, Jungkook's neurologist is a liar. Classical music does not help; it makes him want to sleep. But rap and rock? Jungkook sees fire and feels energy, the type of thing he discovers he thrives in. 

Somewhere in the Southeastern region, among lavender fields, vineyards, and massive country houses, Jungkook subverts the scenery by trading Bach for Biggie Smalls. 

Besides Seokjin, he also meets Park Jimin. 

Jimin lives a good twenty minutes away yet he never seems to disappear from Seokjin's side. Always dragging the oldest and forcing Seokjin to play him something while he practice his ballet routines, or whatever excuse Jimin comes up with to steal Seokjin away after every violin class. Class doesn't even permit him to speak with the other, robbing Jungkook of his opportunities to befriend Seokjin.

Their violin lessons are held in either Jungkook or Seokjin's houses, sometimes out in the garden when their instructor feels like it. Jungkook particularly hates those days, the environment and the music a snooze fest for him.

One day, they hold lessons at those exact conditions. Jungkook is about ready to bound up his room where he can indulge in interesting things, like playing Tekken or watching anime. He's holding the violin by its neck and doesn't bother returning it in the case when unfamiliar yellow hues dance on what is a familiar path back to the house.

"Jungkook, I was asked by your Mother to stay for afternoon tea. Show me the way?" 

Radiant and warm, that's how Seokjin says it. Jungkook pauses and turns around to the other. "You're talking to me?" 

"Well, who else?" 

Their instructor left minutes ago, racing to another upper class family's country home in the endless stretch of purple for lessons. Jungkook is still looking up, and it makes him wish for time to stop. Jungkook is growing and Seokjin is too. He sincerely wishes to catch up soon.

"Uh, okay then, Jin." 

It makes Seokjin pause, looking at Jungkook weirdly. "Jin?"

"Your name is too hard to say."

"Not even going to call me hyung?"

"Why should I?"

As they exchange words, the yellows become brighter and more vibrant. It reminds Jungkook of the marigolds that the house staff cultivate in springtime.

"To be polite, Jungkook." Seokjin says, laughing.

A sea of marigolds. It's what Seokjin's laughter looks like.

It is all Jungkook could think about while sitting in another part of the house's many gardens, listening with half an ear as Seokjin entertains his Mother with stories of his travels. He picks up from the conversation that Seokjin is a big fan of art, some Pablo Picasso guy.

When Seokjin leaves, he asks his Mother if he could get a board and brush. By night time, Jungkook's fingers are covered in acrylic paint and on his blank canvas are marigolds that look more similar to cabbages.


Jungkook does not understand why he cannot go with Seokjin to the city when Jimin is allowed to. They tell him he's too young to understand, but Jungkook knows that Jimin is too.

Another day of lessons, and Jungkook is ready to fall over and beg Seokjin to stay with him instead. Or at least bring him along.

Their violin lessons end too quickly when most days it drags on and on. One minute Seokjin is playing Beethoven and the next he's packing up and ready to leave. Jimin, the smug little spawn of Satan, is waiting for the oldest outside the courtyard. 

Jimin enters the Jeon household, charming and polite to Jungkook's mother and a terror to the youngest. She leaves the three of them alone by the foyer, telling Jimin and Seokjin to have fun and be safe. Jungkook tries one last time to ask her if he could go with them only to get the same response.

The moment she disappears, Jimin sets his eyes on Jungkook and laughs.

"Enjoy your cartoons squirt." He teases Jungkook relentlessly, lording his and Seokjin's closeness over Jungkook's head every chance he gets. 

"Jimin, stop bullying Jungkook and let's go." Seokjin says this but he doesn't look back. "We'll be late if you keep this up."

Always forward, only ever towards the sun, and never on Jungkook. He once again curses the circumstances that led to him being born five years late. 

Jimin doesn't even deserve to stand next to Seokjin; the other could barely play the piano! And yet, Seokjin chooses Jimin as his friend and only because they are closer in age.

Jungkook could be playing Seokjin's favorite, Ave Maria on the violin, with eyes closed and using his toes but he'll never be enough.

Jimin snickers one last time, eyes mischievous. His dyed blonde hair irritates Jungkook so much.

Maybe he could sneak into the Parks' vineyard and set Jimin's ballet shoes on fire, then he'll see who the emotional one is.

"You're the youngest in your family, and you don't even want to get into the business. How will you ever make Seokjin-hyung happy?"

Feeling feisty, Jungkook opens his mouth to let Jimin have a piece of his mind. "Watch me. I'll be able to!"

He sucks back the tears because god damn it, will he really be able to? All Jungkook knows is how to make beats and sing about stuff he sees on the news or storybooks. 

"Keep dreaming!" Jimin bounds up to Seokjin, sticking his tongue out at Jungkook one last time. 

The glare of the morning sun highlights them, tweed coats and shiny leather shoes all ready for the opera.

Jungkook remains standing by the door and watches them disappear off into the lavender fields, once again alone. 


Seokjin turns twelve and receives the birthday gift of a lifetime from his doting parents. 

His celebration is held indoors in their manor, December bringing a chill in the air that would hinder the festivities. The food served is Korean, such stark contrast from the house's interior and its design.

Once again, the party is populated by adults dressed in luxurious finery. Jungkook, Jimin, and Seokjin are the only children and Jimin still monopolizes all the attention that Seokjin could've been giving Jungkook too. Jimin sits between them, regaling Seokjin about how he's going to be the star in a recital. Jungkook tunes them out and scowls the entire time.

In the coat room where he left his stuffy trench is Jungkook's gift to Seokjin. There is no way he was going to attend empty handed. He'll patiently wait for his opportunity and steal the older away while everyone is busy peacocking their wealth and what plans they have for Christmas. 

Dinner comes to an end and with it the big reveal.

A work of art is Seokjin's birthday present. Blues and browns and burnt tones depict a boy holding a pipe with a wreath of flowers around his head. 

Unlike the gasping guests and the celebrant himself standing up in shock, Jungkook does not see the appeal of it. He's more entranced by Seokjin's wide eyes and hands covering his mouth to suppress a gasp. 

"Garçon à la pipe," Seokjin breathes out, "Is this for me?" 

There's a round of applause and Jungkook feels more out of place. Seokjin steps away from his chair, encircles the long dining table to where his parents are standing with the painting at the head of the table, and hugs them. 

"It's by Pablo Picasso," Jimin says proudly as if he's the one who received it. "I heard it cost Uncle a hundred million dollars."

The number doesn't faze Jungkook's seven year old brain. "Okay, so?"

Jimin rolls his eyes at Jungkook's ignorance. "So you and your little painting has nothing against this. Save yourself from the embarrassment." 

Jungkook blushes, full attention now at the other older than him just by two years. "How do you know about that?!"

"You don't exactly lock your bedroom door," Jimin spares him a side-eye and a curl of his upper lip before looking back at the heartwarming familial scene with adoration towards the birthday boy, "I saw it and it doesn't hold a candle to this so just give it up."

"You snooped through my stuff?!"

"Oh, please. Your Mom wanted me to check on you to ask if you wanted to join us on a trip to the local market, but I was too horrified so I told them you said no." Jimin moves away with ease when Jungkook moves to kick him on the ankle. 

The rest of the night trickle down so slowly that Jungkook falls asleep and wakes up in a guest bedroom. The clock tells him that it's twenty minutes till midnight, and this wakes him like no other. Parties like these give the adults an excuse to drink the night away, their chatter instantly reaching him while he exits the unfamiliar room. 

He makes his way back downstairs, just in time to find Seokjin assisting the Parks with their outerwear already worn. "Happy birthday again, Seokjin. You are an absolute delight." The Park matriarch gushes, pinching his cheek. 

Jimin is pouting, face a bit puffy from being awoken. "Can't I just stay the night here?" He whines. Jungkook snickers to himself, watching as Jimin's parents ignore their only son. 

This is it. Jungkook's opportunity couldn't have come at a better time. 

Seokjin spots him first. "Jungkook? You're awake?" 

Running towards the other as quick as his short legs could take, Jungkook grabs his hand and says, "Come on before he comes back!"

"What- Who?!"

"Jimin!"

They run through the house, feet stomping against hardwood floors. The sound makes him see red; exhilaration and thrill pumping in his veins. Stopping at the door of the coat room, Jungkook finally lets go of Seokjin's hand. 

Seokjin is panting, not used to physical activities. Jungkook on the other hand is only grinning, turning the knob in excitement. 

"Jungkook, what do you want?" Seokjin asks between pants, his full bangs sticking to his forehead. The person in question doesn't answer, only motions for Seokjin to follow him inside while he steps into the windowless room filled with racks of fabric. 

It's easy for him to find the square board covered in brown paper bag tied with twine; it's the only thing not wearable and sitting on the floor nearby his and his parents' clothes. Jungkook runs toward it, picking it up and placing it behind his back. He's not an idiot, he knows Seokjin can see it, but he tries.

"Jin, I made you something for your birthday."

The word choice confuses Seokjin, eyebrow raised and standing in front of the other. He's gotten so used to Jungkook calling him Jin now, the nickname something he has associated with Jungkook. "Made?"

Jungkook presents it to him with arms outstretched and a toothy smile.

"Happy birthday, Jin!"

Seokjin accepts, head tilted and still skeptical. He scans the gift all over, the weight of it on his hands giving him an idea of what the present is.

"Unwrap it!"

Sighing, Seokjin complies. 

Paper being torn shouldn't give Jungkook this much excitement and yet it does. Seokjin's expression shifts quickly. It goes from hesitant, surprise, shock, wonder, and lastly, he looks up at it with a smile so beautiful it reminds Jungkook of the song playing the first time he met the other. 

Angel. Definitely an angel.

"A painting for me?"

Jungkook nods in affirmation. Seokjin scans it once again, stopping at the lower right corner where Jungkook wrote the title for his first ever piece.

"Laughter? What does laughter have to do with a vase of marigolds?"

"It's your laughter, Jin. You sound like a garden of yellow flowers when you laugh." Jungkook explains simply. 

For him, it is what it is. Seokjin's giggle, his laughter, and even the way he chuckles has marigolds blooming right in front of Jungkook's eyes. 

Seokjin lets out a breath that sounds like he's been holding it in for too long. He clutches the painting closer to his chest, arms cradling it protectively from the rest of the world. 

"I never received art specifically made for me." Seokjin sounds dreamy, like he just discovered something others never heard of. "I've always just been given what is painted for others."

Jungkook's childish brain interprets this in the simplest, and quite possibly, the best way possible. "Then if you like it, I'll keep creating for you! I'll make you music and more paintings and maybe I can even write too!"

Seokjin giggles at that, positively charmed. "Would you now? I'm thankful though, Jungkookie. This might just be the best present I have received."

Feeling prideful and arrogant, Jungkook couldn't help asking, "Even better than the one earlier?"

"Of course. Boy with the pipe was made with an unknown model, but this is something you made with me specifically in mind. There is no higher honor, really." 

Jungkook sees shades of blue so light twinkling from each word. He discovers later in spring that Seokjin's words of gratefulness resemble blue irises. 

In six years time, Jungkook articulates the colors he sees through music.

Like an ouroboros eating its own tail, Jungkook starts writing songs about what he sees whenever he hears sound. He fills the art studio and the house in general with paintings such as trees all in varying hues of green entitled Jimin when he is literally seeing jealousy, and of course the flowers. 

One day, among a sea of yellow and orange flowers, Jungkook adds a camellia. 

He doesn't know when or how it started. Seokjin just turned to him one day, another afternoon of violin lessons spent in the gardens, and Jungkook saw pink and red. 

A quick scan of his paintings evoke emotions in him that he realizes has been there all along. Pink and red were always there, even when he wasn't aware.

Love has been with him since the beginning.


Seokjin’s been stuck on Brahms’ Intermezzo far longer than expected that Jungkook has the tune memorized. Jungkook’s still in his schoolboy uniform, book bag by his side. The sun is about to set, and soon, Seokjin can be free from the clutches of his evil piano teacher. 

“Jungkook-ah!” His mom shouts from inside the house, “Change into fresh clothes!”

Jungkook huffs in annoyance but complies. He did play soccer with the other boys before getting in the 1937 Cadillac Phaeton that was Jungkook’s grandfather’s. Ever since he decided to attend school, one of the farmhands, Boseong has taken up the responsibility to drop off and pick up Jungkook from school. Just so happens that their family did not have normal middle-class cars, and his mother forbade Boseong from using the Italian ones, so now they are going through his grandfather’s collection of vintage automobiles. 

Jungkook goes through several flights of stairs and hallways to get to his room. He has an electric piano by the side, an acoustic and electric guitar, and a drum set as well. Comic books fill his shelves, and so do several action figures, movie tapes, and music CDs.

The one thing in Jungkook’s room that can be considered as “personal” and not just a hobby, is the lone picture frame by his bedside table. It's a picture of him during his 6th birthday with Seokjin who was eleven at the time. 

Presently, fourteen year old Jungkook snickers at the memory. He thinks to himself that he’s always got a good head on him, already thinking in advance at such a young age. 

After getting dressed, Jungkook hurriedly exits his room but not without grabbing the plain brown drawstring bag on his bed. His mom and the people in their house has stopped telling him that he should not run inside the house since Jungkook never listened, especially when it concerns Seokjin. 

Once outside, he’s delighted to hear that Seokjin is still trying to his best to play Intermezzo.

Jungkook heads straight to the fields of lavender slowly being bathed by the setting sun’s orange glow.

Just up ahead, there’s a lonesome tree perfect for lounging around in the afternoons. A hammock that has been there for years is Jungkook’s second favorite thing in the farm. This is where he lazes around and where all the magic happens for him; the perfect spot to sprawl in and see the entirety of the farm and the two looming houses. Jungkook can’t really see that far ahead, but the figure running his way can only be Seokjin. 

Jungkook hurriedly opens his bag, taking out a CD player and a headset. He places the headset over his ears, throws the bag by his feet, hugs the CD player to his chest, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t press play, simply pretends to sleep and waits. 

He hears Seokjin approaching, so close to him now. The approaching footsteps halt right in front of him, and a shadow looms. “Jungkook, you’ve been doing this since you were six.” Jungkook does not relent. Keeping his eyes closed, he listens to the familiar drag of the wooden stool.

Now that Jungkook is growing rapidly each day, Seokjin has decided to leave a lone stool underneath the tree for moments like this.

Jungkook groans in surprise at the sudden weight on his chest. He opens his eyes to see Seokjin with his arms on Jungkook’s stomach, right cheek resting on his outer arm, and gaze directed at him. 

“You’re heavy!” Jungkook complains. He doesn’t move though, careful to not hit Seokjin.

Instead, Jungkook settles by running his hands through Seokjin’s hair. “You dyed it back to black already?” He doesn’t even try to hide his disappointment. Seokjin and blonde hair was something that felt like a personal attack to Jungkook’s heart, and the other emotions a young boy like him deals with.

"I’m not attending university as a platinum blonde; like the walking, eccentric, film major stereotype personified.”

Right. University.

Jungkook has hated that word ever since it became attached to Seokjin. Last year, Seokjin traveled to the big city and fell in love with the looming buildings and lifestyle of college kids. He’s Seokjin, so of course he gets accepted. A beautiful face that speaks three languages and delicate fingers that play multiple classical instruments; Seokjin is going to be popular, a Parisian, and Jungkook hates it all. What’s more is that Seokjin will be studying film. Next thing he knows Seokjin will be attending shows in Montmartre and dating celebrities.

Seokjin reaches his hand to smooth the crease forming between Jungkook’s eyebrows, “I’ll write you letters. Many letters.”

It makes Jungkook roll his eyes. He swats the hand away, pouting at the older boy. “This isn’t the 1800s. Just text me or something.” Seokjin laughs and takes the headset from Jungkook to place it on his ears. “So what are we listening to today?”

The question makes Jungkook fumble for a bit. He’s been waiting to do this since he had the idea, which really, was only last night but he’s still excited and nervous at the same time. “It’s more of a who, than a what.” 

“What?”

Jungkook presses play. He instantly recognizes the tune although instead of the saxophone and trumpet at the beginning of the song, it’s a piano. 

Someday, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

Jungkook’s singing voice fills his ears. He is actually singing; singing a song that Seokjin adores and not rapping some cypher he saw on YouTube. Jungkook’s half sitting on the hammock, looking at him with such a soft and fond expression on his face. Jungkook opens his mouth, mouthing the lyrics perfectly aligned with the recorded version. It dawns on him that this is the first time he is hearing Jungkook sing properly. Seokjin’s always told him he has the potential to be a great balladist someday, but Jungkook prefers rap and rock and rhyming verses dripping with venom. 

Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm

And your cheeks so soft

Seokjin averts his eyes. He stares off far away because he is not going to do this right now. Jungkook doesn’t allow him though. He places his hand behind Seokjin’s neck, blunt nails grazing the skin there. They stay like that until the song finishes, and Seokjin still refuses to look at him. The same hands remove the headset from his ears, placing it somewhere on his side.

“Do you like my goodbye present?” 

“Why do you make it seem like you’re about to die?” Seokjin counters, voice strained and tears threatening to fall blurring his vision. He’s still not looking.

“You love it,” Jungkook grins toothily, “You do, right?”

Seokjin finally turns to him, eyes still watery. He manages a weak glare and a scoff. “Of course I do.”

“Enough to make you cry right?” 

Seokjin doesn’t understand why Jungkook has to point out the obvious. “Yes.” 

“Do I have a cool voice?”

“You have a wonderful voice.”

“Will you marry me?” If it wasn’t for the fact that Jungkook’s been pestering Seokjin about marriage since he was six years old, this would shock him.

“You’re a literal baby. Ask me again when you’re 18.” It’s his usual answer whenever Jungkook asks, holding his age over the other.

(“And when he finally turns 18 and runs to you demanding your hand in marriage, what are you going to do then?” Seokjin’s mother asks, a cigarette perpetually placed between her lips. 

“Nothing. He’ll get over it.” Seokjin did not have time for gossip, but he remains seated for afternoon tea with his mom and Mrs. Jeon who giggles. He should be practicing his violin, not indulging them.

“Ah, he’s just like his father. The Jeon men always fall for the first person they find pretty.” Mrs. Jeon looks nostalgic, probably remembering her own childhood. Seokjin looked to his mother for help, who only shrugs at her youngest son. “She’s not lying. We’ve known each other since childhood. The moment he saw her, he knew she was the one.”)


Present Day

[8 Years Later]

Jungkook awakes with his cheek pressed on a broad shoulder.

Inside the moving car, only the engine's humming is heard. The darkness amplifies the fact that he is leaving and will soon be on a chartered plane flying to Korea without Seokjin accompanying him.

The reminder of this has him squirming closer to his husband, arms that were crossed over his chest unfolding to wrap around Seokjin's waist and pulling him impossibly closer. 

Seokjin only sighs, gaze not moving from what he's reading on his phone. He does start having a hard time scrolling what with his right arm being trapped in Jungkook's embrace. 

It gets to a point that he can't scroll anymore, so Seokjin readies himself to tell Jungkook off, when he feels the other drawing circles on Seokjin's left side with his thumb.

The action softens him up instantly, has him closing his phone and taking it with his left to place it on the car door's side pocket. 

"May I remind you that this was your idea." Seokjin finally says, still sounding a little huffy than how he imagined it would come off as. 

Jungkook grumbles, face burrowing further into his shoulder and almost digging on his chest. His hair has been freshly cut, short and showing off his chiseled face. Seokjin's sure by the time they meet again it'll be long and curling at the ends. 

"My idea," Jungkook finally moves his head to look at Seokjin while he speaks, "Is that you were coming with me." 

"I have a nine to five job." Seokjin retorts. "I can't be running around the world with you when I'm earning money the way regular people do."

Jungkook only snorts, rolling his eyes at Seokjin. "Baby, I pay the bills."

Seokjin tries to hold the mask of indifference up, but he knows his lips are already curling. "So what? If you ever fall off the grid I'll at least still have my job to sustain me."

The sparkle in Jungkook's eyes whenever they banter like this gives Seokjin a metaphorical whiplash. Four years of marriage and it still feels like it was just yesterday.

Jungkook eyes the ring on Seokjin's finger, an obnoxious, princess cut, blue diamond set on a silver band. "With your hobbies and spending habits? I don't think you'll be, as you say it, sustained." 

"And that is exactly why you're going into this little adventure for your new album. How are you going to keep me pleased with no checks coming in?" 

They stare each other down, and it's not even a minute and the two of them are already laughing. 

Jungkook runs his hand up Seokjin's entire left side, stopping to cup his cheek and pulling him down for a kiss. Finally allowing him movement, Seokjin moves his own arms to encircle it around Jungkook's neck. Jungkook usually kisses him like he's on a mission to take Seokjin's breath away, but this time it's only soft. 

A press of lips once, a nip to Seokjin's bottom lip, and Jungkook is pulling away. Seokjin misses him already. 

"Come with me, Jin." Jungkook presses their foreheads together, speaking the words into almost non-existent space. "Late night sessions in obscure studios. Just you and me. Maybe a quick one on a couch if you're feeling up to it." Jungkook raises his brows suggestively at the last part, earning him a light slap on the chest.

"I already told you my answer weeks ago and it won't change."

Weeks ago, Jungkook finally decided to start on his second album. He insists that it won't be an album, but that's what his manager, their label, and Seokjin start calling it. It's kept hush because of course, news that JJK releasing a new album will basically be a field day for the press. 

Fans have been hungry for a new release from the most dominant artist on the charts and of the decade. The full-length debut album Jungkook released at 18 years old continue to receive critical acclaim and praise despite it being four years ago.

To work on this project, Jungkook chose to return to his roots: Asia. Studios and producers have already been contacted; all they need now is his presence. There's no time frame as to when it'll end, but Jungkook's manager insists, no, pleads on six months maximum work.

Truthfully speaking, it's not like they need the money. 

Between the family business, the trust funds, and several bank accounts set up for them, the money Jungkook earns from making music is change at best. 

"Enlighten me, what will you be up to while I'm gone?" Jungkook's question disrupt Seokjin's train of thoughts. He didn't even realize that Jungkook pushed the leather seats of the car down, laying on his back while Seokjin's on his chest. 

"My job, obviously." 

Jungkook gives him a look that conveys his disbelief. 

"Film festivals, fashion shows, gallery openings, and maybe a trip to Morocco." The last has Jungkook gasping, making Seokjin giggle. 

"Without me?"

"You'll be with me in spirit. Your credit cards, that is." 

Jungkook does not take offense. In fact, he smiles at this. "Yes, of course. Spoil yourself silly for me, will you?"

Seokjin hums in agreement, this time the one dipping down to initiate a second kiss. "I'll send you letters." He mumbles against Jungkook's mouth, coaxing the other into something more than just a peck.

Jungkook obliges him, he always does. "This isn't the 1800s just text me or something." 

The car finally comes to a stop. Seokjin is quick to get himself off his husband's person, straightening out his midnight green silk shirt and running a hand through his hair. Jungkook doesn't bother, spending his last few minutes with Seokjin burning the image of the other in his mind. 

They are parked at an area around the airport where Jungkook wouldn't have to walk in public but the bodyguard sitting at the front still takes caution and tells them to wait while he goes down first. 

Jungkook takes hold of Seokjin's hand once, clasping their fingers tightly. The car door on his side opens wide, their bodyguard waiting for him to exit. "Off to work now, honey. Last chance to join me?" 

Seokjin smiles at him, always an angelic face but words dripping in sarcasm. "Don't you have our bills to pay, baby?"