1 | A Place Without Noise 🐰

JUNGKOOK'S POV

The boat ride over was quiet.

Jimin sat with his hoodie up, chin tucked in, and sunglasses hiding his face even though the sky was cloudy. He hadn't said much since we left the airport. Not because something was wrong. Just... tired. Worn thin.

And I got it.

After all the lights, the noise, and the nonstop movement—silence didn't feel awkward. It felt like mercy.

I kept glancing at him anyway, just to make sure he was breathing deeply, not too cold, still leaning slightly in my direction like he always did when he was about to fall asleep sitting up.

I didn't wake him when his head dropped onto my shoulder halfway through the ride.

Didn't move when his fingers curled into my sleeve either.

I just sat there—the sea wind in my hair, Jimin pressed close—and let myself be still for the first time in what felt like months.

🐰

We were dropped off on a private dock.

There was no resort. No staff. Just a stretch of pale sand, a narrow wooden path, and the soft thrum of waves folding in on themselves like they were exhaling too.

The house was waiting beyond the palms. Small. Quiet. Made of soft wood and wide windows, already stocked with the groceries I'd had delivered earlier. I chose it myself, months ago—when the idea of this trip was just a daydream.

Jimin lifted his sunglasses once we stepped off the boat and looked around.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "You didn't tell me it'd be this nice."

I shrugged, trying not to smile too hard. "You needed to breathe. I thought this might help."

He looked at me for a long second. Then he stepped forward and leaned into my chest without a word.

I wrapped my arms around him. Just held him there.

No cameras. No judgment.

Just us.

🐰

He dropped his bag the moment we stepped inside.

Not in the bedroom. Not on a bench. On the actual floor.

"I'm going to live on the floor now," he declared, face-down on the wood like it was a five-star mattress. "Wake me when the world ends."

I laughed, then picked him up without asking. He squawked in protest but didn't really fight me.

"You carried me offstage in Paris and again in Busan," he mumbled as I walked him to the bed. "You better not be planning a pattern."

I smirked. "I'll carry you everywhere if it means I get to show off."

"Gross," he said. But he was grinning.

🐰

We didn't do much that first afternoon.

Jimin took a long nap while I unpacked both our things. I set his skincare by the bathroom sink in the exact order he uses them. Hung his shirts carefully. Made sure his favorite hoodie wasn't wrinkled. I lined up his vitamins on the kitchen counter, even though I knew he'd pretend to forget them.

By the time he shuffled out of the room, his hair sticking up and a sleepy pout on his lips, I had fruit cut and ramen ready.

"Did you do all this for me?" he asked, blinking at the table.

"No, I did it for the ghost of Yoongi hyung, who haunts me when I leave the kitchen messy."

Jimin snorted. "You're such a freak."

"Eat your ramen, Baby."

🐰

We sat on the deck floor while we ate—just legs stretched out, bowls in hand, watching the sun ease down into the horizon.

"Is it weird that I already feel like I never want to leave?" Jimin asked between bites.

"No," I said. "It's the whole point."

He nodded like he understood something that hadn't even been said.

"Promise we can just be lazy tomorrow too?" he asked softly.

I looked at him—sea breeze in his hair, face golden from the light, legs pressed against mine.

"You can be as lazy as you want," I said. "I'll do everything."

His eyes flicked to mine. "Don't say that. You will."

"Exactly."

🐰

When the sky went dark, we moved inside.

He showered while I cleaned up. I turned on the little Bluetooth speaker he packed and played that playlist he always makes when he thinks I'm not paying attention. Soft songs. Stuff he probably wouldn't admit he listens to.

He walked out with damp hair, wearing a tank top and the sleep shorts I liked on him most. The ones that made his legs look—

"Stop staring at me like I'm meat," he said, smirking.

"You are meat," I replied. "And you're cooked perfectly."

He threw a pillow at me.

🐰

We didn't sleep right away.

We curled up under a thin sheet, the window open, the air warm and quiet.

Jimin tucked his head under my chin, his hand resting on my chest.

"You're being really soft tonight," he said quietly.

"I'm always soft."

"No. You're usually... clingy. But tonight you're soft."

I laughed under my breath. "What's the difference?"

He shrugged. "Clingy is touching. Soft is listening."

I didn't say anything.

Because he was right.

And because I didn't want to interrupt his thinking.

🐰

A long pause. Just the sound of waves and crickets.

"Do you think we'll still feel like this when we go back?" he whispered.

I thought about the hotel lobbies. The scheduled interviews. The thousands of eyes. The comments. The ones that try to take what we have and make it ugly.

"I think we'll carry this with us," I said. "Even if it gets loud again."

He was quiet. Then he nodded, like he believed me.

🐰

Later, when I was half-asleep, I felt him kiss my shoulder.

Not for attention. Not for teasing.

Just a quiet thank you.

And for the first time in a long time, I slept without waking up in the middle of the night.

Because for once, we weren't rushing.

We weren't hiding.

We were just here.

Jimin's breath on my collarbone.

The sea outside.

No one is watching.

Nowhere else but us.

🐰🐰🐰

Author's Note:

I've always wondered how they find moments together despite their fame. I hope this short getaway I imagined for them brings some small comfort to our curiosity.