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length: 170 words

Namjoon and Jungkook sat across Taehyung's bed as the movie played, two inches apart because they're not gay. At least, not for each other. At least, not Namjoon for Jungkook.

For a robot. Not for Jungkook. For a fucking robot.

Five minutes into the movie, Jungkook got up to drink water, and when he returned, he sat closer, and their sides were pressed against each other.

Ten minutes into the movie, Jungkook's head was on Namjoon's shoulder.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, Jungkook's ankle was locked with Namjoon's.

Twenty minutes into the movie, Jungkook had to take a bathroom break. He sat on the tiled floor and breathed. And breathed. And breathed. In two minutes, he breathed all the breathing he couldn't do while being around Namjoon.

But his chest still ached and his lungs remained empty and the burn in his throat was from jealousy and envy. Of a robot. A motherfucking robot.

Thirty minutes into the movie, Namjoon and Jungkook sat next to each other. Three inches apart.

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