Jikook oneshots

114. peanut butter jelly time🥜

Author: wordcouture

Summary:

an epic tale of miscommunication and badly-executed food analogies

Notes:

this was supposed to be a drabble; it is now more than 1k words. #amazing

Work Text:

Somewhere between the lines of living and learning to live, Jungkook finds love. He finds it in music, he finds it in the way his body responds to the music as if it were born to be swayed by its shifts and ways. He finds it in the freedom of moving through the notes and letting the note move through him—he finds it in the story his body can tell when he closes his eyes and lets his mind go blank.

But no love story would be complete without a couple of trips, stumbles, and falls—and well, he just never expected one to come so soon, in the form of one Park Jimin, youth dance instructor at the academy he'd signed up for only a month ago and really, Jimin can't be that much older than him—he's already got a good inch over Jimin but the moment the music stars, Jungkook knows he can't win. Not in this.

Jimin doesn't just dance to the music—his body sings to the song and the song sings back.

Jungkook remembers having to consciously close his goddamn jaw cause it feels like he's just seen something of a dream, that Jimin is something of a dream, with his cupcake cheeks and crescent moon smile and chocolate kiss giggles whenever anyone gives him a compliment. When they shake hands, Jungkook feels his whole body thrum, as if someone had just put on his favorite song.

"J-Jungkook," he says, and blushes way too hard because damn this isn't fucking grade school, he's a grown-ass teenager and there's no reason in hell that he should be stuttering but when Jimin just giggles and smiles back, telling him that he thinks Jungkook's talented, that he's excited to see Jungkook improve, and Jungkook figures that alright, there might be a reason or two up in heaven for him to be so nervous.

He makes it his mission to formulate a complete sentence around Jimin but Jimin's already turning away, called back by a friend, one of his many Jungkook soon realizes, and Jungkook has to swallow the words already piled on his tongue, lace his hands behind his back and watch Jimin laughing at something someone else said.

Soon, Jungkook figures that he's alright with admiring from afar. Soon, he figures that Jimin is popular enough as is, that he could have anyone in the world and there's no reason he should spare awkward, gangly Jungkook a second glance, so he buries himself in practice, vowing that well if he can't talk to Jimin, at least he could dance with Jimin on a level. He takes all of Jimin's advice to him with short nods and furrowed brows and pushes himself to the limit and back. All the while, he can see Jimin in the corner of his eye, watching him, not smiling like he usually is, but studying him, wondering something Jungkook is sure and in some strange way, it makes him happy that Jimin thinks about him.

Better than nothing, right?

"Nah, he definitely hates me," Jungkook overhears Jimin one day, a half-finished cup of ice water in his hands, leaning against the lounge counter, two of Jungkook's classmates around him. Never alone, Jimin is—Jungkook's never seen Jimin without the company of someone else. Guess some people really are just that popular.

"Jungkook? Bruh, I think you got it all mixed up man—he's got like the biggest crush on you since PB and J."

"What the fuck does that analogy even mean?"

It occurs to Jungkook just now that he doesn't know their names. He presses his back to the wall as he hears Jimin laugh, the other two arguing.

"Like, you know there's that saying like 'we go together like peanut butter and jelly'?"

"But what does that have to do with Jungkook having a hard on for Jimin?"

Jungkook blushes too hard—he does not have a—okay so like maybe he's woken up once or twice in the middle of the night after rather vivid dreams about Jimin in less than socially acceptable situations but he's a goddamn teenage boy with access to The Internet. He thought it was normal but maybe—

"You guys are reading too much into it—I think he honestly just doesn't like me that much. I shouldn't have laughed when he stumbled over his name when he introduced himself," Jimin says and Jungkook feels his stomach knot. He should really, really go smooth this over. But god he can't, it'd be so damn embarrassing.

He'd never make it through the entire sentence without turning redder than pan seared tuna.

He doesn't get time to finish up the terrifying train of thought as he hears footsteps approaching the hallway and Jungkook swears he's never ducked into a closet so fast as he did then. He listens as they go off, joking about dumb analogies and food, their previous conversation long forgotten, and Jungkook heaves a sigh, leaning back against a stack of towels all embroidered with the dance school logo, BPM pitching back down to that of a normal human as opposed to an overexcited pup.

He presses his face into the pile of towels and groans—great, so Park Jimin thinks that he, Jeon Jungkook, hates him. Absolutely brilliant.

He takes another breath and draws back, staring forlornly at the pile of towels, the little image of a person dancing around a cluster of notes staring back at him in the relative darkness before an idea hits him straight in the chest and his heart is racing all over again.

The next day finds Jungkook clutching a bottle of water and a folded towel behind him, peering in on Jimin's last dance session, the advanced class at night where Jimin actually gets to do routines as opposed to just supervising.

"Thanks for all your hard work," Jungkook blurts out, all too fast, he's sure, and shoves the bottle of water and the towel into Jimin's arms before rounding on his heels and beelining for the door. He doesn't stop when he hears Jimin's confused and slightly exasperated shout behind him and it isn't till he's closing the door to his own room in his own house almost eight blocks away that he allows himself the room to breathe.

He's done it; it's done, and for a blissful moment, Jungkook thinks that it's all over and he can sleep better at night knowing that Jimin doesn't think Jungkook hates him anymore. His five seconds of reprieve ends abruptly as he realizes that he's going to have to explain to Jimin why the fuck he was eavesdropping on their conversation tomorrow, when they see each other in the weekly three hour long class session.

What a time to be alive.

But the next day, Jungkook is almost a bit disappointed that Jimin treats him no different than before, with a kind of professional friendliness and enthusiasm, pointing out where he's a bit sloppy with their new routine, and helping him adjust his arms and legs and general timing when need be and it isn't till the end of class, when Jungkook is out of breath and dripping in sweat that Jimin approaches him with a bottle of water and the same folded towel as before.

Jungkook's entire stomach drops through the floor of the studio and he's pretty sure he can feel it crashing through the core of the Earth straight through to America on the other side.

Jimin grins and offers him the water and towel, "Thanks for all your hard work," he says, voice just teetering on the edge of laughter, a glint in his eyes that somehow seems mischievous and shy all at once.

Jungkook nods rather dumbly and accepts, guzzling half the bottle of water before shaking out the towel to pat down his face. A slip of paper falls out of the towel and he recognizes the words on it as his own handwriting—his cheeks flush immediately.

I really like PB&J.

But there are more words, words that are not written in his own handwriting.

I do too. But only when they're together.

Jungkook thinks that at this point, he won't even be upset if his cheeks burned right the fuck off.