"Stop, stop!" Hoseok cries, though it's with a laugh, his ears going warm with the compliments. "I don't think I can do that, the race, and I'm not, I'm not handsome," he laments, covering his face with one palm.

He's tipsy (more than) and he seems to be happy and cuddly when he's drinking, so he doesn't think about it in a maudlin way, but he can still remember the taunts of his primary school classmates, the ones who compared his face to a horse and made of his teeth, who shoved him and teased him about his gangly limbs. He doesn't look in the mirror in the morning and see someone attractive. He just sees himself, nothing remarkable.

"You're not puny," Hoseok says, looking down at the way Jungkook's hand rests on his leg, his fingers long and graceful and strong. "Or bug-eyed. Your eyes are cute," he insists, blinking so he can look right into Jungkook's face. "You're all cute. Cute eyes and cute little nose and cute smile, with that cute little freckle, riiiight here," he adds, touching the freckle beneath Jungkook's lips with a gentle fingertip. "Cute and handsome and talented, that's Jungkookie."