License to Cuddle

8

—"I want you to stay right here with me."

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Any second.

Help and comfort and solace would be here any second now.

Jungkook's heart slammed against his ribcage as he paced behind his front door, too jittery and restless to stand still, wait patiently, and breathe easily. His apartment intercom had just buzzed, signaling that someone was here for him—that Taehyung was here for him. Only a quick elevator ride separated them from each other; mere moments stood between Jungkook and the relief he craved. The relief he intentionally denied himself for far too long.

Fuck, he had wasted so much time, so much of his sanity, trying to appear like he had his shit together and that the pressure wasn't getting to him. But he didn't have his shit together. The pressure was getting to him. There were cracks in his facade—deep and jagged and raw—that grew with each new deadline, with every additional set of unrealistic expectations and competing priorities. And it wouldn't take much more for those cracks to become irreparable. It wouldn't take much more for Jungkook to break completely.

And if it got to that point . . .

A shudder rippled down Jungkook's spine as he continued to pace back and forth. He didn't want to consider what would happen if he fell apart, if he was unable to pick up the pieces and fit them back into place. So the only solution was to avoid that outcome. Jungkook's only option was to ask for help.

So he did. He had. Rather than fear judgment, rather than dismiss the voice screaming in his head, begging for some sort of remedy, Jungkook had pushed his fear aside. He had listened to that voice.

And he had called Taehyung.

It was the scariest, bravest thing he could've done. And now . . .

Any second. Help and comfort and solace would be here any second.

Still pacing—Because what else was he supposed to do? Stare through the peephole and whip open the door as soon as he caught a glimpse of Taehyung? That wouldn't be creepy in the slightest—Jungkook felt a rivulet of water drip down his neck. Several rivulets. And it wasn't sweat; even if his heart was racing and his breathing was a bit shallow and his muscles were all wobbly, he wasn't that nervous about his hyung's arrival. Really. But he had just taken a lightning-fast shower, washing the stiff gel from his hair and the layer of stress-induced perspiration from his body. And in the midst of getting ready for Taehyung, slipping into soft clothes and eating a bowl of ramen, Jungkook had never thought to dry his sopping wet hair.

Right on cue, another drop rolled down his temple.

God, he probably looked so stupid right now. Did he have time to grab a towel? Or perhaps change into a new shirt since the water had turned parts of the white fabric see-through? Or maybe—?

Footsteps sounded from out in the hall, causing Jungkook to freeze midstep and forget about the current state of his hair. Holding his breath, he strained his ears for any additional sounds . . . and yup, those were definitely footsteps. And they were getting closer. Closer and closer and—

Three knocks sounded at the door, quick in succession and full of purpose.

Taehyung.

Well, Jungkook assumed it was Taehyung. Just to be sure, he quietly approached the door and looked through the peephole. And what he found? Dark, wind-tousled curls. Smooth skin the color of honey. Wide and concerned eyes. A pink tongue smoothing over a full bottom lip, leaving behind a slightly glossy sheen.