He's so close, it would be the work of a moment for Yoongi to tip his head up and kiss him, and he hates how badly he wants that — so much so that, when Jungkook pulls back, his head moves instinctively to follow, tilting to try and keep him near. In a way, the panic that blooms in his stomach at the realization of what he's done is even more familiar than the lingering desire, almost comfortable in its familiarity. When they're this close, when he's doing things like that, there's no way one of the other boys won't notice, and then what? Worse, Jungkook might notice, might start to realize that his hyung has feelings he shouldn't have, might push him away. No more quiet chats, no more tiny touches, no more afternoons at the piano.

It takes him a moment too long to answer, his heart beating too hard. "Don't be ridiculous," he says. "Getting taller won't make you any older. Or less cute." Or less mine. If he's a bit more wistful about that than he should be, maybe he can attribute it to drunken nostalgia. Isn't it his responsibility as the elder to take care of Jungkook? Not to try and get him all twisted up the way Yoongi is, to want to lure him into something that would be trouble for them both. He isn't his. He can't be, and it's stupid of him to think that way, even for a moment.