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Loving You isn’t Hard to Learn 05

genres: hybrid, romance, found family, slow burn(ish) series rating: mature (mentions of/references to death and abuse. eventual smut) chapter warnings: mentions of death. nondescript nudity relationship(s): ot7 x female reader

In the middle of what many would call nowhere, a sign glows bright yellow. Old, unmaintained, and on its last legs, the letter e flickers for a few seconds before going dark. H aven’s Door Motel, it now reads.

prev | chapter five (5.8k) | next

From outside the room, frantic footsteps rush up to your door, but they stop at the threshold. You hear Hoseok’s hand grasp onto the doorknob. It doesn’t move.

Jimin’s cold red eyes hold you in place, though you have no intention of backing down, whether he lets you or not. With your forearm held up in front of his face, you keep your breathing even and your eyes set on his.

You don’t know if it’s an eternity or a millisecond that passes before Jimin’s hand snatches your wrist out of the air. His grip is strong; enough to keep you stuck if you wanted to escape, but you don’t flinch. Or, at least, you try not to. Maybe something flashes in your eyes, because Jimin’s expression shifts as he pulls your arm so your pulse point is just under his nose, your palm mere centimetres from his cheek.

“You humans...” he hisses lowly, his eyes half-lidded as he now takes in your scent. This isn’t like Hoseok, though, with his short, quick sniffs. Jimin just breathes. “There is no in-between with you, is there? Either trembling cowards...” He meets your eyes, his red irises seeming more and more unnatural under the light. “...or sick freaks like you -- obsessed with death.”

You frown, but his grip tightens. You can feel your tendons and veins shifting under your skin, protesting the intense squeeze of Jimin’s hand. Already, you know your arm will be sore come next morning.

“Jimin--”

“You’re just like him, you know that?” Jimin whispers, closing his eyes. He breathes in your scent, his plush lips grazing the skin of your wrist in a way that sends a small shiver up your arm and down your spine.

You watch in silence as his jaw stretches wide. His teeth -- his fangs make their appearance once again, and you can only stare as they find your skin in the lightest of touches.

But the bite never comes.

His teeth don’t sink into your flesh, and venom doesn’t flood your veins like he threatened. Instead, he breathes a sigh through his wide open mouth, hot air blowing against your skin. Jimin pulls back his head with a scowl and tosses your arm away like it disgusts him. Bringing up a knee in front of his chest, he rests his arm on it and presses his forehead to his hand, eyes closed.

“How did you know?” he asks, voice lowered and full of an emotion you can’t quite read yet. It sounds a lot like defeat.

Rubbing your other hand over your -- no doubt bruising -- wrist, you sit back on your legs right in front of him.

You don’t want to tell him your most prevalent thought -- the idea that you can’t bring yourself to believe those in charge of making and developing hybrids would give them a veritable weapon such as venom, which would easily allow snake hybrids to overpower any human. It’s why dog hybrids don’t actually have canines that can tear through raw flesh; why cat hybrids don’t have real claws.

“You know those things you learn as a kid?” you say instead, and your strange half-answer seems to perk his attention. His head raises just slightly. “Those useless facts you remember because you think you’ll need them in the future, even though you probably never will? Like how to get out of quicksand. Don’t panic, just lay backwards and let yourself float to the top.”

Jimin looks at you, his eyebrows quirked in confusion and the corners of his lips turned down.

You push your lips up into an awkward smile and shrug. Maybe now isn’t the best time to get sidetracked and ramble. “There’s that rhyme. ‘Red touching black, safe for Jack. Red touching yellow, kill a fellow.’”

Jimin groans. Back falling to the floor, he stretches his legs out and brings both hands up to his face. Now further away from him, near his feet, you scoot up so you can sort of see his face, still keeping your distance in case he doesn’t want you any closer.

“Your scales...” With his coat now shed, you can clearly see the pattern of scales spanning over half his neck. “You’re a scarlet kingsnake hybrid, right?”

Another groan rumbles from Jimin’s throat. “A rhyme. You knew because of a fucking rhyme.”

Solemnly, you nod. “Sorry... If you don’t mind me asking--”

“I do mind.”

Jimin doesn’t remove the hands over his face when he cuts you off, and you shut your mouth, nodding again even though you know he can’t see it. Though, now with your questions effectively cockblocked, you have nothing to fill the thick silence that has flooded your bedroom. You just watch Jimin -- the way his lips hardly move from his permanent frown, the way his chest rises and falls slower and slower the longer this silence stretches on. It’s almost enough to make you give up on trying to get through to him, but then Jimin seems to get sick of the silence a beat quicker than you do.

“Fine.” One of his hands falls down to his side, the other still covering the upper half of his face. “What?”

Surprised but not deterred, you school your expression before you ask, “Why do you want people to think you’re venomous?”

When he doesn’t say anything for a good few seconds, you continue.

“Why do you want to scare people away?”

Tense silence follows once again; you’re starting to think you might choke on it soon. You open your mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to answer, but you don’t get the chance.

“It doesn’t fucking matter anymore, does it?” Jimin breathes, chest shuddering. “The one person... the one person who needed to believe it...”

As he trails off, you face scrunches in confusion. You have no idea what he means, but you don’t want to push him, either. Jimin mumbles something under his breath, inhales deeply, and exhales through his mouth. It doesn’t take a genius to tell he’s holding back tears.

You sit there for a few seconds, eyes awkwardly skirting over your room even though it’s all stuff you’ve seen a hundred times before.

“Shit!” Jimin jolts up, his back hunched as his legs curl up slightly, both hands moving to his face.

“Jimin?” All your previous thoughts of giving him space drop down a rung on your ladder of priorities at his pained grimace. You kneel next to him. “What’s--”

When you remove the hands from his face to inspect what’s wrong, a tearful, brown eye greets you. The other is squeezed shut in discomfort, but that isn’t what drops your jaw. Brown eyes...?

In one of Jimin’s palms, a bent, red-ringed contact sticks to his skin.

“...You wear coloured contacts?”

“No...” Jimin’s bottom lip trembles. His other eye opens, still poppy red -- though, you realize now, unnaturally so. “I’m... I’m special...”

Your heart shatters in your ribcage. “Jimin...”

He avoids your eyes, looking down to his lap. Like this, he seems ashamed, and you’re at a loss for what to do or say. What can be said in a situation like this? You barely know Jimin; you don’t have context; you don’t know if what you say will make him feel better or worse. What he said earlier still confuses you. You’re just like him. Like whom?

“Jimin, I--” Your eyes flit to the contact on his palm again. “Wait, how long have you had these in?”

He shakes his head slowly, not looking up. “A couple days...”

“Oh my god, dude!” You gasp, your hands instinctively tightening around his. “Take it out!”

“No!” He tries to push you away and hide his face at the same time, which doesn’t do much for either attempt, and without thinking, you swing one leg over his hips to lock yourself to him. The top of Jimin’s head bumps into your chest. He makes a sound of complaint, but you aren’t having it.

“You’re gonna damage your-- eyes--” You grunt as you struggle to keep his hands from pushing you off.

Jimin tucks his chin close to his chest, keeping you from looking at his face while his arms flail in your hold. “I don’t care! I’m special! I’m... I’m...”

His voice breaks, and in that moment of hesitation, you accidentally push him backwards, his back hitting the floor. Jimin looks up at you with teary eyes, one red and one deep brown. A single sob breaks past his lips.

“Jimin, you have very pretty brown eyes. Now take out that contact and join us for dinner.”

After awkwardly getting up off Jimin and leaving him to take the contact out -- trusting the garbled promise he responded with -- you open your bedroom door to a very irritated-looking Hoseok.

“You’re insane,” is all he says.

You shrug cartoonishly, bringing up both hands to flutter your fingers under your chin with a wink. “And I look good while I’m at it.”

Reheating dinner isn’t much of an affair, but you notice that as soon as Jimin walks in and sits at the dinner table, Hoseok stands up from it to come over and ‘lend you a hand’. You don’t bring it up.

Jimin seems shy now, taking different scoops of food in small intervals even though you can tell how hungry he is by the way he hardly chews before swallowing. You try to encourage him to have as much as he wants, but he avoids your eyes as much as humanly possible. Hoseok glares at him from across the table every time he practically ignores you, but you nudge Hoseok’s side with your elbow when he does.

“Don’t be impolite,” you hiss under your breath.

Hoseok directs his glare at you. “You want me to not be impolite?”

Knowing Hoseok heard everything that went on in your room, you nudge him again. He should know just as well the kind of shit Jimin’s had to go through -- even if you don’t have all the context.

Jimin’s eyes flick up at the short interaction, and you clear your throat, looking away from Hoseok.

“Hey, how old are you?”

Caught in a spotlight he wasn’t expecting, Jimin gulps down his bite of food and stares back at you with wide eyes. You’re still getting used to that dark brown.

“...Twenty-five.”

“Oh, we’re the same age then.” You nod along with your train of thought, smiling across the table at Jimin. “We’re basically friends already.” At that, though, you turn to Hoseok again with a frown, realizing you never asked how old he is. “What about you?”

As if also realizing the same thing you just did, Hoseok furrows his brows. “Twenty-six.”

Your brain takes his answer, tries to file it under ‘Things I Know About Hoseok’, and instead throws it in a trashfire. You blink slowly. “Say that one more time.”

“Twenty-six.” Hoseok lowers his spoon. “Are you feeling dizzy again?”

Hesitantly, you bring one of your hands up to the back of your head, where the bruised scalp is still tender from when it hit the cold hard floor of the motel lobby. The pain when your fingers put a bit of pressure against your skull isn’t sharp enough to make you react, just dull and unmistakably present. “I don’t think so...”

Hoseok sighs, but he doesn’t say anything else about it, turning back to his food. Across the table, Jimin watches the way you rub your temples.

“Did you hit your head?” he asks.

“Yep.”

“How?”

Lowering your hands, you sneak a glance at Hoseok, who, although he hasn’t looked up from his dinner, sports a grimace. “Uh, I just fell.” You send a smile towards Jimin. “I’m a bit of a klutz.”

His lips form into a natural half-pout, and your eyes stick on them for a few seconds more than necessary. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Beaming at his concern, you bring up both your hands in A-okay gestures. “Golden like a goose. Thanks for asking, Jimin. Can I ask you something?”

Even though he looks nervous, Jimin nods.

“Do you think a snake is all body or all tail?”

Jimin blinks, completely at a loss from your random question. You wait patiently for his answer, though.

Hoseok inserts himself into the conversation with, “All tail,” just when Jimin decides, “All body.”

They both dart their eyes at each other, Hoseok’s gaze a touch harder, but you choose to ignore that as you nod enthusiastically at Jimin.

“I thought so too! I talked about it with Luc one day, and they called me crazy--” You scoff playfully. “--but they can’t say shit now that you’ve got my back.”

For the first time, you’re pretty sure you see a genuine smile on Jimin’s face. It’s small and faint, but the warmth of it feels real, and you let that fuel you. The rest of dinner isn’t anything close to chock-full of conversation, but it’s not too awkward after that, especially when Hoseok tries to back himself up on the ‘all tail’ idea, and it turns into a friendly debate you and Jimin end up winning.

Jimin doesn’t help clear the table, just sitting in his spot and watching you and Hoseok move around the small kitchen. You don’t think it’s because he’s rude; you think he might just feel like too much of an outsider to join in. From the sink, you look over at him. His eyes are roaming your apartment, finally taking it in for the first time.

“You wanna take a shower?”

Jimin’s head whips towards you, and his eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, hoping to seem casual and calm. As much as you think Jimin has warmed up to you, (not a lot, but you’re moving in the right direction,) you don’t want to accidentally set him off. “I bought a pyjama set for Hoseok at the store today. You can change into that afterwards.”

While Jimin prepares for his shower, you turn back to the sink and its seemingly endless supply of dirty dishes. Having only ever really prepared meals for yourself over the last couple years, you aren’t used to this much upkeep. Oh well. You have a feeling your life is going to have a lot of changes a lot bigger than this soon enough.

Hoseok silently takes dishes from the rack and dries them, putting them back in their places around the kitchen, which takes a bit longer than it would for you since he’s still new to the space. It’s an uncomfortable silence, not like the ones you’ve shared with him before, so you speak up.

“Okay, why are we all grumbly now?”

Finally looking at you after avoiding your eyes ever since Jimin left the room, Hoseok shakes his head and skirts his eyes away again. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“We may have just met, Hoseok, but I can tell when people are in a bad mood.” You pat your hands dry on your pants and put one on your hip. “So c’mon. Tell me what’s wrong, and we’ll fix it.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

You sigh. Trying not to seem upset -- you’re not, but you have a tendency to get read wrong -- you stop yourself from crossing your arms. “Hoseok, the last thing I want is to tell you what to do, but from what I can see, we’re going to be tackling forever together. I’d hope at some point we’d figure out how to talk to each other.”

Hoseok meets your gaze, his hands pausing around a plate. “‘Tackling forever’?”

“Well.” You tilt your head, thinking for a moment. “If you’ll have me, I think we’re going to be working and living together for a long time. This motel thing seems like a huge task... but I’m not the type to quit that easily.” You click your tongue. “Getting fired is another story, but you wouldn’t fire me, right?” Even as you flash a joking smile at him, Hoseok doesn’t move a muscle. For a second, you think you’ve said something wrong, but as you comb through your words in your mind, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You mean it?”

Blanking, you ask, “Which part?”

“You’re gonna keep me forever?”

The earlier boy-ish and disgruntled look that was on his face is completely gone now. Hoseok just looks at you, the plate in his hands long dry, and you can see in his eyes that this question isn’t one he’s asked easily. Still, you can’t stop the slight downturn at the corners of your lips. You can tell he notices, something rippling and fading behind his eyes, so you’re quick to respond.

“’Keep’ is a weird word for it, but I’m gonna do my best to take care of us, yeah?” You put one of your hands on his bicep, just above his elbow. “For as long as I can.”

Hoseok brings the hand from his opposite side up to graze over yours, his thumb sneaking under your palm and squeezing gently. He smiles at you, his eyes flitting from your face to the floor, bashful. You smile back.

“Um.”

You both turn to the entrance of the hallway from the main room, where Jimin is half hidden behind the corner, which is strange considering you can hear the shower running. He’s wrapped in nothing but a towel, and thankfully a large one at that, because he’s got it draped cutely around his shoulders like a kid jumped fresh from a pool. It barely reaches past his butt. Your hand relaxes, and it would fall from Hoseok’s arm if he didn’t hold on to it, but he does.

“Jimin? Is something wrong with the shower?”

He’s completely dry, so it doesn’t make too much sense when he shakes his head. “No, I just... um. I wanted to ask...”

Noticing the way Hoseok just glares at him, you try to tap your thumb reassuringly against his bicep while you keep your eyes on Jimin. “Wanted to ask what?”

“It’s stupid.” Jimin shrinks back behind the corner. “Nevermind--”

“No, hey, it’s not stupid,” you tell him, silently relieved when you see him pause and meet your eyes. “What is it?”

“Would you...” Jimin breaks eyes contact again, then takes a deep breath and looks up. “...wash my hair?”

Hoseok growls, and his hand over yours tightens. You give him a stern look, lightly smacking his arm with a whispered, “Calm down.” You turn to Jimin and point at yourself. “You want me to wash your hair?”

Jimin hurriedly shakes his head. “You don’t have to. It’s just that she used to...”

As he trails off, you frown. Some deep part of you, despite having never had to take care of anyone but yourself, feels some sort of instinct to protect Jimin at all costs. It crawls up your throat and makes you say, “Alright.”

Hoseok gives you another one of his looks of disbelief, (you’ve been collecting quite a few of those today,) but you just smile at him as you take your hand from his grip. “Relax.” You walk over towards the hallway, past Jimin, and point at the bathroom door. “C’mon, let’s do this before I overrun the water bill.”

You’re trying to figure out how you’re going to manage washing Jimin’s hair without getting yourself completely soaked when Hoseok appears in the doorway and leans against the frame, his arms crossed. He avoids your eyes when you smirk at him, clearing his throat in feigned nonchalance.

“Okay, I think if you just sit in the tub with your back facing me, we can do it that way,” you figure out. Jimin looks at you nervously, his hands gripping tighter at the towel around his shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eyes north of the equator.”

You miss the way Jimin’s shaky eyes dart over to Hoseok, who nods towards the tub with a look that dares him to try anything shady.

With a bit of space between Jimin’s back and the edge of the tub, you manage to perch yourself behind him and grab the shower head with one hand, testing the water temperature first before running it gently over his shoulders. You watch as the muscles tensed under his skin relax with the flow of warm water. It’s not a stretch to call it strange, at least not to you, how, when you move the water across his back, it gently bounces off his scales rather than the way it falls simply over his human skin. A thin mist slowly dampens your legs, perched on the edge of the bathtub. The scales are different, of course, from anything you’ve experienced before, but they don’t bother you. If anything, you find a growing concern in the way his skin turns red and irritated where it meets with his scales. Patches of it run not only over his neck and upper back, but down his arms as well. Seeing it all now, you can discern the pattern much better. Black, red, black, yellow. Down his arms, though, the skin touching the scales is even more irritated, red and bumpy, and in some places, there are still fresh scratch marks. “Tilt your head back a little,” you say softly, not wanting to cut through the serene mood that’s taken over the bathroom -- bar Hoseok, whom you’re selectively choosing to ignore. You’ll address Jimin’s scales and irritated skin another time. Jimin does as he’s told, and you see that his eyes are closed. They’re not scrunched shut in fear or anger, but lying shut as if he were sleeping. You feel a swell of satisfaction in your chest, taking it as a sign that he at least trusts you to the extent of not pouring soap in his eyes. Raising the shower head, you aim the water to fall just at his hairline, wetting his hair for a little bit before you cut the water and hang the shower head back on the wall. Without the sound of the shower, the silence is a bit awkward, but you choose to pay it no attention. “I don’t have scent-free shampoo,” you say as you reach for the bottle. “I hope that’s alright.” As you squeeze some shampoo in your palm, Jimin nods silently, his eyes still shut. You smile. “I’m going to start, okay?”

As soon as your soaped-up fingers touch his scalp, Jimin lets out a long breath through his nose, his shoulders falling from where they’d tensed up in the seconds before. You take that as a good sign and begin to run your fingers through his oily hair, careful not to pull on any knots. “Is this good?”

Jimin hums in response, and you let yourself chuckle quietly at the way he seems lost in your touch. Maybe you should’ve gone into cosmetology. Grabbing the shower head again, you turn the water on and point it towards the drain, waiting for the hot water to come back. “You cool if I rinse you and go for a second round? No offence, but I think you and your hair could use it.”

“Please,” Jimin doesn’t hesitate to whisper.

You turn your head at the sound of Hoseok clicking his tongue, but he’s not looking in your direction when you do.

After you rinse the shampoo from Jimin’s hair, you squirt another palmful into your hand and once again dig your fingers into his scalp. He practically moans this time, and you smile at the way he tries to press his lips together to stop the sound. You don’t comment on it though. It’s fine to let him believe you didn’t hear it if he’s going to be embarrassed.

A few minutes pass where you get lost in the motions, but when you blink yourself back into the present, you notice the slight tremors in Jimin’s shoulders; the shaky way his breath leaves him. He sniffles.

Mouth gaping, you look up at Hoseok, who’s noticed the same thing. He looks almost as worried as you suddenly feel, his brows furrowed slightly.

“...Jimin?” you ask hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

He sniffles again, shaking his head under your fingers. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You try to rub your thumbs soothingly on the back of his head. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You have no plans on forcing him to talk, especially when he shakes his head again, but before you can assure him it’s okay not to tell you anything, he speaks.

“She used to always wash my hair.”

Blinking, you pause the movements of your hands. You don’t know what to say, but thankfully, Hoseok finally speaks up.

“Who?”

Jimin leans his head back into your touch, so you return to your initial task, hoping he doesn’t notice the concerned look on your face. “Rayoung. My owner.”

You grimace at his words. They bring you back to that first time meeting Hoseok in the motel, when he talked about Mr. Jung in the present tense. If Jimin’s been on the streets for a year...

“Was she nice?” you ask instead of losing yourself in your thoughts. Hoseok’s eyes widen at you, and he jerks his focus to see how Jimin reacts to your question.

Jimin takes a breath, his eyes still closed. The slightest of smiles appears on his lips. “She’s the best.”

Hoseok frowns, obviously expecting a different answer. He readjusts himself on the doorframe, his arms crossing tighter in front of his chest. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Hoseok,” you scold gently, flicking a wet, soapy hand against his jean-clad shin. Hoseok ignores that completely, his hard gaze on Jimin, who’s opened his eyes to meet Hoseok’s. The tears are gone, replaced with a fire.

“Her stupid boyfriend found out I’m not actually venomous,” he spits at Hoseok. “He’s the reason she left me.” As if starting makes him unable to stop, Jimin continues. “Rayoung kept me for years. Years. And she never found out. Then this fucking sicko comes along, stealing all her time, telling her all this bullshit...” Jimin tucks his legs close to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself and propping his chin on one of his knees. His eyes shut again. “He brought this... this mouse. Wanted to watch me kill it with my venom. Something about the fucking soul in its eyes or whatever the fuck.”

Your hands have long left his hair by now, hanging awkwardly over the tub to not drip soap on the floor. You have no idea what to say -- if you should say anything.

“And when I couldn’t...”

Jimin doesn’t finish his sentence, and it’s clear that he isn’t going to. You readjust your legs on the edge of the bathtub, suddenly aware of the tingling under your skin, the lack of blood able to flow through your veins as you’ve sat in the same spot for too long. About to say something, you stop when Hoseok appears next to you and puts his hand on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin opens his eyes and bends his head back, looking up at Hoseok as he gives Jimin nothing but a grim, knowing smile.

Watching from the sideline like this isn’t necessarily unexpected. Hoseok and Jimin, though they met at the same time you did, are connected to each other in a way you will probably never understand. At least not enough. Still, something in you jerks with a sharp pang, jealous, almost, that you can’t console Jimin in the simple way Hoseok can. You shake away the feeling.

As Hoseok steps back, his smile still present, you breathe normally and pick up the shower head once more.

“Let’s get you rinsed up, hey?”

Grabbing your extra throw blankets from your closet, which are usually stowed away until winter becomes colder, you try to make your way to the living room on muscle memory alone, your vision blocked by the huge pile of fluff in your arms. Before you can make it, the bathroom door opens, and you bump softly into what you have to assume is Jimin. “Ope! Sorry.”

Jimin says nothing, so you just scoot around him, shooting him a little smile once he shows up in your line of sight. He’s dressed in the new pyjama set you left in the bathroom when you and Hoseok left Jimin to carry on with the rest of his shower -- no doubt a cold one after all that hot water was used up. The pants are a little too long on him, the hems tucked under his heels, but they look quite cute like that. His eyes roam over you and the big pile of blankets you’re hugging to your chest. “...Where are you going?”

“Guests take the bed,” Hoseok’s voice says from somewhere behind the blankets blocking your vision. You see Jimin turn to where Hoseok must be standing. “Don’t bother trying to argue.” The weight in your arms lightens, and you let out a little confused hum as Hoseok takes the blankets from you. He holds them more at his side than in front of him, so he can see both you and Jimin, whom he smiles at. “You get used to her.”

You roll your eyes. “Like you have room to talk about ‘not arguing’, Hoseok.”

His smile turning shy, Hoseok just averts his eyes and turns around to head into the living room with the blankets. You return your eyes to Jimin, who watches Hoseok go, and you wrap your arms around yourself, your hands resting comfortably on your elbows. “Seriously, though, feel free to head to bed. You deserve a good night’s rest.”

“I had a nap--” Jimin stifles a yawn behind his hand. “--earlier.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I can see you’re super up and alert.” Stepping up to him, you gently place your hand on his lower back, barely touching him. You guide him back into your bedroom, and he follows without an ounce of resistance, too tired to do anything but shuffle over the hardwood flooring. As you lay him down on your bed, you pull the comforter up to his chin, smiling softly at the way his eyes drift shut. He blinks several times, trying to stay conscious, but he's succumbing all too easily to the warmth of the blanket draped over him. Now that his hair is clean and dry, it's fluffy to the touch as you brush some stray strands out of his eyes.

There's still so much you don't know when it comes to him. Why did his old owner think he was venomous? Why did he feel like she needed to? Why did he lie in the first place? You have a feeling you'll always have more you don't know about him than things you do.

"Goodnight, Jimin."

He falls asleep before he can even respond.

Returning to the living room, you find Hoseok lying on the floor in front of the couch, one of the blankets folded beneath him and a throw pillow tucked under his head. You stand near his feet and put your hands on your hips, a light chuckle leaving your lips. Your leg stretches out, and you poke your toe into the sole of Hoseok's foot. His eyes open just as you say, "What're you doing down there?"

Hoseok just smiles and closes his eyes again, wiggling his shoulders in tandem as his arms rise up so he can link his fingers together under his head. "I'm not your newest guest anymore since Jimin is here now."

"You're still a guest," you say. "And I don't make guests sleep on the floor."

A huff leaves Hoseok's nose. "You're not sleeping on the floor. You're still injured."

"I wasn't thinking that, either." You roll your eyes and step over him to sit on the couch, pulling a throw pillow into your lap.

One of Hoseok's eyes peeks open, and he looks over at you with a slight frown. "What were you thinking then?"

You pat the cushion next to you. "Splitsies? Well, as long as you don't mind sleeping sitting up. But at least it's not the cold hard floor, right?" With a teasing smile, you use one hand to take the pillow off your lap, then hold both your arms open. "Unless, of course, you wanna cuddle?"

Fully expecting Hoseok to laugh at your joke and argue further for his case to sleep on the floor, you pull your head back when Hoseok clambers up and over you, his hand bracing himself on the back of the couch.

"Oh--"

Hoseok wraps his arms around your torso and, to put it lightly, manhandles you until you're on your back. "Oh. Okay. This is happening I guess." You stare at the ceiling all of a sudden when seconds ago you were sitting normally. Hoseok lies on his side, tucked snug between you and the couch, with his back to the back cushions. His cheek lies just below your collarbone, the tip of his nose brushing against your neck. "Okay."

Hoseok breathes in a deep breath, sighing out on your neck. You shiver at the feeling as he wraps the arm that's already over your middle even tighter. Pulling out your arm from under him, you gently pat his back, weirdly reminded of when you'd see moms trying to lull restless babies to sleep.

"A cuddler, are you?"

Hoseok's face is out of sight, but he shifts slightly in your hold. "...Maybe."

You can't help the tiny snort that comes out. "Cute. You know, you never answered my question earlier."

"Which question?"

"What got you so grumbly after dinner?" you ask again. "Was it something I said?"

A few seconds of silence follow, and you wonder if maybe Hoseok's fallen asleep, but then he tucks his face further into your neck and whispers against your skin, "...You gave him my new pyjamas."

The laugh that escapes you is twice as loud as his confession. You feel him bristle at the sound. "If I remember correctly, you were insisting I didn't need to buy you any clothes, and you only stopped when I pushed them through the scanner anyway."

"Yeah, well." Hoseok shrugs awkwardly. "They were still mine."

You pat his back some more. "Okay, okay, my big bad wolf."

"Not a wolf."

"I'll buy you a new set next time, alright?"

Hoseok shakes his head and mumbles, "You don't have to spend money on me."

"What if I want to?"

A pause.

"Go to sleep."

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