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The bass thrums hard enough to make Yoongi’s heart pound with it. His head is swimming a little, not because he’s all that drunk, but more from the dizzying mixture of strobe lights, jungle juice and the heat of hundreds of bodies pressing in on him. Hoseok had gone all out for Halloween this year and Yoongi is really beginning to regret coming to this shindig.

Just come,” Hoseok had said, “It will be chill, just a few people.”

Well if this is Hoseok’s definition of a few people, he would hate to see what he thinks is a crowd. His house is packed with sloppy college kids, far too many frat boys dressed in half-assed renditions of Risky Business and dozens of sorority girls masquerading as Harley Quinn.

At some point in the night, someone had sloshed half a cup of vodka on him and his jeans are still damp and sticking uncomfortably to his thighs. He’d thought that going out onto the back patio for some air might expedite the drying process, but the stifling humidity had made it a moot point. He’s beginning to think he might never not be sticky here.

There are just as many, if not more people packed around the side of the pool, dancing to some sort of dubstep remix of the monster mash. It’s embarrassing is what it is and he’s definitely going to make fun of Seokjin later for this playlist. Right now though, he needs to get away from the oppressive rush of the crowd. He can feel at least one pair of boobs pressed against his back and there’s another girl in front of him, batting her eyelashes with breasts threatening to spill out of her coconut bra. He really does not need to see that.

He hightails it into the kitchen where things aren’t quite so wild. There are a few people standing by the table, refilling drinks and chatting idly, but they don’t pay any attention to him when he enters. He’s pretty sure there’s a couple hooking up in the pantry, their outlined figures shifting through the clouded glass of the door. Real classy.

He pours himself a cup of pure sprite over the kitchen sink. He really doesn’t want to be drunk right now. He’ll probably only stay a bit longer, just enough time to find Hoseok and tell him he’s going home. He’s already envisioning how he’s going to shut himself up in his apartment, take a long, thorough shower and then hopefully sleep for the next sixteen hours. Work has been really kicking his ass lately and he is quite looking forward to his day off tomorrow. That and that alone is why he’d agreed to come out at all. If he had work in the morning, he would feel completely justified being in bed at precisely 9:30 pm.

A dry snort sounds over his shoulder.

“Take it easy man, I know you want to numb the pain, but this isn’t the way to do it.”

A guy wearing a hideous Hawaiian print shirt and an equally atrocious pair of mismatched Hawaiian print trunks is standing behind him, leering at him over the brim of his own cup. His floppy brown hair is plastered rather attractively to his forehead, glowing with a light sheen of sweat, and he’s flushed down to his chest, which is very visible under his half-buttoned shirt. Yoongi has to remind himself not to stare, instead focuses on screwing the lid back on extra tight-- no one likes flat soda, he’s not an animal.

“Shut the hell up,” he mutters. It’s clear this kid thinks he’s real funny, but Yoongi does not need some fuckboy freshman judging his drink choices. He is a responsible adult now, and if he wants to remain painfully sober at this overcrowded, too-loud party, then that’s his own prerogative.

“Whoa, sorry,” the guy holds up his hands defensively. “I was just kidding.” His shirt rides up at the gesture and his abs look senselessly good, somehow make the shorts seem much less offensive. His eyes are wide, too earnest, like he thinks Yoongi is actually offended.

Yoongi has to bite back a sarcastic remark because he is mature now and mature adults don’t argue with children.

“Real funny,” he says, “You’ll probably be wishing you took a page from my book when you wake up tomorrow morning feeling like baked dog shit.”

The guy makes a face. “I’m sure I’ll feel just fine tomorrow. I haven’t had that much to drink either. I’m supposed to be driving my roommate home.”

“You’re old enough to drive?” Yoongi can’t help but snip.

The guy blinks in offense. “I’m nineteen, ” he says. “What about you, are you sure you’re tall enough to see over the wheel?”

“Shut up,” Yoongi repeats in lieu of a better comeback. It seems maturity is wearing on his wit as well as his sleeping schedule.

The guy snickers, but it’s not mocking, kind of bright, cute even. Yoongi will never ever tell him that though, he seems overconfident already, doesn’t need Yoongi feeding into him the way his classmates probably do.

“What are you even supposed to be?” the guy asks, raking his eyes up over Yoongi’s body in a way that’s far from innocent. He holds still while the guy’s gaze roves over him, puffs out his chest a little and relaxes his shoulders. He will not be intimidated by a child. He’s posturing a bit maybe, but sue him, the guy is a tiny bit attractive. Only a little though, barely even hot. Luke-warm, like a leftover slice of pizza he couldn’t be bothered to microwave long enough.

“A straight guy,” he says bluntly. It’s mostly a joke, more of an excuse to not dress up than a statement really. Costumes are embarrassing and ever since the toga fiasco of 2014, he steers far away from anything remotely resembling such. The guy seems to find that line really funny for some reason.

“Dude, you’re hilarious,” he slaps Yoongi on the shoulder and startles him, makes him spill his sprite on himself a little. Not that it matters, he’s just decided he is throwing this outfit away the second he gets home. “I’m going to use that one next time.”

“Um... kay. Go ahead.”

“I can’t wait to tell my roommate about this,” the guy continues, “He’s going to get a real kick out of it.”

“Oh yeah?” Yoongi hums mildly, trying to convey his disinterest in the subject. It hadn’t been that amusing.

“Yeah, he’ll think it’s funny I bet, I mean he’s gay so…” he waves a hand like that alone is explanation enough.

Yoongi frowns. “Oh really?”

The guy nods in affirmation. “Yeah totally. He has a boyfriend and everything. Don’t worry,” he says, seeming to notice Yoongi’s confused expression and mistaking it for concern, “I’m totally cool with it. I mean I’m not a huge fan when they start hooking up in the room and I have to crash in the study lounge, but…” he trails off again with a shrug.

So apparently he hadn’t been checking Yoongi out. It had really seemed like it though, the way his pupils went all wide and dark as his eyes dragged over the tops of Yoongi’s thighs. What a disappointing turn of events.

No . Not disappointing because Yoongi is decidedly not attracted to him. He’d just been momentarily enticed by that first little peek of abs under his shirt. He definitely won’t be seeing more now though. Which is fine because he doesn’t even want to, honestly.

“Yeah, good thing you’re not a homophobe,” Yoongi says, somewhat sarcastically.

The guy seems to pick up on it and laughs again, this time nervously. “Sorry,” he says, “That was too much, right? Jimin says I ramble sometimes. Should I shut up and leave you alone?”

He sounds oddly sincere, like he really wants Yoongi to know he hadn’t meant any offence by it.

He’s a weird kid, Yoongi decides, some odd mix of borderline arrogance and genuine, frightened uncertainty. A juxtaposition of confidence and the delicate sensibility of youth. Too cute for his own good.

Fuck.

“It’s alright,” Yoongi finds himself saying, “I mean next time you feel tempted to give a speech like that I would hold off, but no harm done.”

The kid looks relieved, flashes a small smile at Yoongi. If he didn’t know any better he would think the kid was staring at his lips. “I’m Jungkook,” he says, and extends a hand for Yoongi to shake. “What’s your name?”

Yoongi takes his hand and finds his palm grossly sweaty. Yoongi can’t really judge though, his own hand is just as sticky and thus an equal contributor to their moist, and generally unpleasant handshake. “Yoongi,” he offers. He discreetly wipes his hand off on his jeans once Jungkook releases it.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice, brightening considerably at the prospect of a new friend. “So are you a student too?” he asks, taking a step forward to prop himself against the kitchen counter. He’s come a bit closer than decorum would typically call for in this situation, but Yoongi’s ass is already pressed back to the cabinets. He really couldn’t step back if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t, but…

“Nah, I graduated last year. I work for a record label now, I’m kind of an aspiring producer.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. He looks hot, all leaned up against the counter all cool-like, mussed hair and smooth skin. It’s really not Yoongi’s fault that his stomach flutters, he knows about a dozen girls who would be feeling the same way in his shoes. They’d probably have better luck though.

“That’s so cool,” Jungkook says, “I’m majoring in Political Science, that sounds so lame in comparison.”

“Poli Sci is cool,” Yoongi cocks his head. Jungkook mirrors the gesture, looks a little pensive now that it’s been brought up, a hint of doubt beginning to cloud his expression.

Yoongi changes the subject to spare the poor kid. “How do you know Hobi?” he asks, taking a sip of his sprite to wet his suddenly dry throat.

“Who?”

“Hoseok? The guy throwing this party. His house.” He gestures helpfully around the messy, poorly-lit kitchen, all done up in booze-soaked streamers and fake cobwebs.

“Ah,” Jungkook nods. “Never met him actually. He’s friends with my roommate’s boyfriend though I guess.”

“You guess?”

“That’s what he says. I guess they went on a date once so Jimin’s not a huge fan.”

Yoongi snorts. “Hoseok would.”

Jungkook clearly doesn’t get why it’s funny, but he’s a good sport. He just smiles and blinks down at Yoongi with these wide blown doe eyes. Yoongi stares right back and forgets to look away. They look at each other for an unacceptably long period of time, until Jungkook finally seems to remember himself and breaks their eye contact.

“Wow am I starving,” he says abruptly, “I really wish they served food at these things,” he jokes stiltedly, shifting seamlessly back out of Yoongi’s space.

“I’m sure Hobi has food hidden here somewhere. Help yourself,” he motions vaguely towards the cabinets. He really needs to get himself together before Jungkook starts to notice the way his eyes can’t help but linger over his collarbones, trail down his chest and all over his body. It’s really inappropriate and definitely unwarranted, especially when Jungkook had made it clear he wasn’t interested in dudes like that.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook hesitates, “I’d feel bad just intruding like that.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Yoongi says, “Hoseok won’t care, he owes me like a thousand favors anyway.”

He marches over and yanks open the door to the pantry. “Oh fuck,” he says and slams the door shut. “ Shit. Nevermind, I take it back. I take it all back.”

“Huh?” Jungkook looks confused. Yoongi envies him. This scene will probably be imprinted on the insides of Yoongi’s eyelids when he tries to sleep tonight, the guy kneeling on the floor of the pantry, mouth stretched wide and tears streaking down his cheeks.

“Nothing.” he barks, too quickly. “Don’t,” he advises when Jungkook moves like he’s going to see for himself. “I can promise you you do not want to see that.”

Jungkook’s eyes flash in understanding. “Suddenly I’ve never been more stuffed in my life, maybe we should make our way to the living room.”

“Great idea, wish I’d thought of it myself.”

Unfortunately, the living room is packed with drunk, gyrating people and after being groped twice in the span of five minutes, Yoongi feels compelled to make a retreat. He hadn’t even really liked these things when he was a student, but somehow it’s much worse now, stone-cold sober at twenty three.

“Maybe try upstairs?” Jungkook mumbles into his ear, breath tickling his neck and sending hot chills down his back. He’s going to need to stop doing things like that if he doesn’t want Yoongi to go crazy tonight.

He leads Jungkook up the stairs, past a couple very obviously feeling each other up against the wall, and into the second door on the right. Jungkook clicks the door shut behind them and the lights flick on in Hoseok’s bedroom. It’s just as much of a mess as it usually is, dirty clothes strewn over every available surface, bed still in it’s perpetually unmade state. The smell is a little musty, but at least it’s quiet and a little bit cooler that it is downstairs. The fan rotates lazily overhead, stirring up a pleasant draft that cools Yoongi’s flushed skin just slightly.

He’s not sure what they’re doing, but now that they’re truly alone together it feels a little tense. Yoongi takes a precarious seat on the corner of Hoseok’s bed with his hands in his lap and finds himself at a sudden loss for what to say.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to share in the sentiment. “Can I ask you something?” he asks. He’s still standing by the door, but he takes a cautious step forward when Yoongi looks over at him.

“Sure,” Yoongi says, watching the way he edges carefully over, brows furrowed deeply. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell Hobi about bringing you in here if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Jungkook looks only mildly comforted at that.

Yoongi pats the mattress beside him. “Here, sit. I won’t bite unless you ask me too.”

If Jungkook had looked stressed before, he looks downright concerned now.

“Kidding.” He conjures up his least threatening smile, the one usually reserved for job interviews and meeting the elderly. “Sit down. Talk.”

Jungkook perches on the edge of the bed. He stares down at his hands for a long moment, like he’s never seen them before and has a sudden need to conduct a thorough inspection. Yoongi coughs into his fist and finally Jungkook looks at him.

“What is it like?” Jungkook asks. His voice is too harsh for the tranquility of the room, overly loud and too quick to spit out the words.
“What is what like?”

“You know…” Jungkook makes a vague hand gesture that really doesn’t explain anything. “Doing uh,” he wrinkles his nose up, “gay stuff.”

Yoongi blinks. “Uh. What? Is this you trying to shame me or something? Where’s the punchline?”

“No no no,” Jungkook rushes out, looking flustered. “Not judging at all. I’m genuinely curious. I always wanted to ask Jimin but that would be way too embarrassing.” The apples of his cheeks have grown rosy and Yoongi can’t decide whether it makes him look weirdly hotter or just downright cute.

“And it’s less embarrassing to ask a stranger?”

“No. Or, well, yeah. Just, you seem cool.” Jungkook runs his hand through his hair, finally brushes his sweaty bangs off his forehead. “Sorry, this was stupid. Just forget it.”

Hundreds of thoughts fly through Yoongi’s head at a million miles per hour. “No, it’s fine. I was just surprised I guess.” His brain is screaming at him to shut the hell up but his mouth doesn’t seem to get the memo. “You can ask if you want. I won’t get too graphic, I promise.”

“I mean you can if you want to…” Jungkook says and then seems to immediately regret it, snapping his mouth shut quickly and scrunching up his nose. There’s an awkwardly drawn-out pause that makes Yoongi shift uncomfortably. He pulls a wadded pair of leather leggings out from underneath him and flings them across the room. He does his best to repress the images his mind starts to conjure up of exactly what Hoseok might have been doing with those.

He clears his throat loudly. “Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Jungkook echos, composing himself. “I guess you’ve, like, kissed a guy before.” He makes a face that Yoongi tries not to be offended by. “But have you ever tried kissing a girl?”

Yoongi purses his lips. “Sure, plenty of times. It’s pretty much the same thing though. Everyone has a mouth.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being so awkward about this. Maybe he’s just a teeny bit attracted to the kid after all. Not that it’s going to go anywhere― because it’s definitely not. He’s going to keep reminding himself of that until it sticks.

“You know I’ve always wondered what it would be like with a guy. Is that bad?” Jungkook says, more like peeps, so quietly that Yoongi almost ignores it, chalks it up to wishful thinking.

“Um. No?” he guesses.

“I’m not gay,” Jungkook says quickly. It seems more like he’s trying to convince himself though.

“Yeah, okay,” Yoongi nods cautiously. “Of course.”

Jungkook tilts his head, a look of deep contemplation etched into his face. “Will you kiss me?” he asks suddenly, meeting Yoongi’s eyes with this dreadfully hopeful look.

“I don’t really think that’s a good idea.”

Meaning that Yoongi is not about to be this kid’s gay awakening. Even if the selfish part of him really wants to be.

“Please?” Jungkook looks distraught, biting his plump, reddening bottom lip. “I promise I won’t freak out or anything. I just want to see.”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says, but he finds himself leaning in a bit despite himself. Jungkook seems so innocent for a college student, doesn’t appear so at first with that look of cocky self-assuredness, but something about the way he’s looking at Yoongi now, he just―

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” Jungkook whispers.

That’s a red flag if Yoongi’s ever seen one, so why can’t he bring himself to leave?

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Yoongi says gently.

“Then why won’t you kiss me?”

There are a lot of reasons Yoongi shouldn’t kiss him, the first of them being what Jungkook had told him himself: he’s not gay. Only Jungkook looks like he’s genuinely a bit hurt at the rejection, and Yoongi can’t quite convince himself to deny him.

“I’m…” Yoongi blows out a long huff of air between his lips. “You know what? Fine.”

He drags Jungkook in by the collar before he really has a chance to register the words coming out of his own mouth and remind himself what a terrible, terrible idea this is.

He can tell Jungkook hadn’t been prepared by how stiff his lips are under Yoongi’s. He’s about to let up, let them both chalk it all up to the alcohol they hadn’t really been drinking, but then a beat passes and Jungkook is wrapping his arms around his shoulders and kissing back and it’s…

A lot.

Jungkook says he’s not gay, but he’s having a hard time convincing Yoongi of that with the way he absolutely melts under his mouth. Yoongi tries to pull away after a few seconds, but then Jungkook winds his fingers through his hair and tugs . Yoongi fails to stifle a groan, and he’s almost certain it’s going to spook Jungkook off. Only it doesn’t. In fact, it seems to do quite the opposite.

Jungkook pulls his hair and licks into his mouth and no way is Yoongi going to pull back now. Jungkook is a great kisser, better than his last three ex boyfriends combined. And his hands… They rake up and down his body, hold him in all the right places. He has Yoongi going along so easily now, keening embarrassingly high when Jungkook parts their lips to suck at the base of his throat.

Shit . I uh,” he pants out and then immediately loses his train of thought when Jungkook bits into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

He’s going to have a real problem if Jungkook doesn’t let up soon, can already feel himself starting to chub up.

Hold on a second, he’s going to say, but then Jungkook’s lips are back on his and he promptly forgets any protests. His mouth is so good it’s addicting. He knows exactly what to do with his tongue, how to nip teasingly at Yoongi’s lower lip until he whimpers. He’s really here letting this nineteen year old take him apart in his best friend’s unlaundered bed and honestly he doesn’t even have the capacity to feel bad about it.

Until Jungkook reaches for the front of his pants.

“Whoa, down boy.” Yoongi parts their lips with an obscene sound that does nothing to help his situation and catches Jungkook’s wrist. “What the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out quite so harsh, it’s just that Jungkook seems like a such a sweet, albeit confused, kid and Yoongi will not be involved in any gay deflowerings when Jungkook is so clearly not emotionally equipped to handle that right now.

Nothing. ” Jungkook yanks his hand away so quickly Yoongi thinks he might have actually caused a spark.

“Whoa, hey, I mean it’s fine. Just maybe we shouldn’t― uh.”

Jungkook shakes his head frantically, so hard that his puka shell necklace clacks noisily against his clavicle. “Yeah, no. We definitely shouldn’t. Sorry.”

He looks like he’s starting to panic and it doesn’t seem to help much when Yoongi places a comforting hand on his shoulder. Jungkook flinches away like he’s been burned and Yoongi lets his hand slide limply back into his lap.

“Hey.” He snaps to get Jungkook’s attention. “Don’t freak out, okay? We can just chalk it up to experimentation. Lots of people are curious.” No straight guy Yoongi has ever met has been quite this curious, but he politely doesn’t mention that.

Jungkook lets out the long breath he must have been holding. “Exactly. Just curiosity,” he sighs. Then he pastes on what must be a false smile. It’s so convincing that even Yoongi is almost fooled. “I’m just drunk.” Jungkook huffs. “That’s all it is.”

Jungkook is definitely not drunk. Yoongi knows this, Jungkook knows this, Yoongi knows that Jungkook knows that he knows this.

Yoongi smiles anyway. “Sure thing buddy,” he claps Jungkook on the shoulder just like the guys on his high school basketball team used to. Slightly harder than necessary just to make sure he is truly conveying the hetero-bro message.

Jungkook frowns as he rubs his shoulder, but says nothing. He stares off into the middle distance like Yoongi isn’t sitting right beside him in the midst of their conversation. Yoongi takes that as his cue to exit, gay crisis successfully averted.

“Welp.” He jumps to his feet. “See ya later kid.”

He doubts that he will see Jungkook later. Yet another reason he is proud of himself for not hooking up with the kid. It would probably be an all around traumatizing experience for the both of them and Yoongi doesn’t need that on his conscience.

Jungkook glances up at the movement, mouth popping open, but Yoongi cuts him off before he can speak.

“Don’t worry, our secret.” He mimes zipping his lips shut tight and Jungkook visibly deflates as Yoongi slips out into the hallway, casting one last look in Jungkook’s direction before he mentally and physically closes that door for good.

He runs into Hoseok as he’s rushing down the last of the stairs.

“Heyyyy! Yoongi!” Hoseok catches him by the shoulder and yanks him into an awkward, bony hug. He’s clearly very intoxicated, sloshes his beer down Yoongi’s back when he loops an arm around his neck. “What’s up man?”

Yoongi tries to gently shove him off, but Hoseok arms are deceptively strong.

“Hey. I’m about to head out actually.” He discretely tries to pull away again. “So bye.”

Hoseok holds fast. “What? Nooo,” he slurs, “We were just starting to have fun though.”

Yoongi has personally seen Hoseok take at least three shots of tequila from between some girl’s tits, and dive naked into the pool. He’s been having plenty of fun.

Yoongi shrugs. “I really wish I could stay dude, but I forgot to feed my cat before I left.”

“You got a cat?” Hoseok gasps.

“Yup. You’ll have to swing by and meet him sometime. His name is Tyrone.”

Hoseok will probably not remember this conversation in the morning, that’s how Yoongi justifies it to himself when he finally manages to shuffle out from Hoseok’s arm and makes a break for the front door.

“See you later man, great party!” he calls and then slams the door in Hoseok’s face and books it to his car.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

Yoongi does not, in fact, get to sleep for sixteen hours that night. He wishes he had though when he wakes up to six missed calls from Hoseok and a slew of texts from their group chat.

 

Hobi (4:16 am):

You bitch! u don’t have a cat!!!

Hobi (4:27 am):

Wait do you???

Seokjin (10:01 am):

Why the FUCK did you tell Taejin that my playlist was shit????

Seokjin (10:01 am):

YOU’RE shit

Seokjin (10:03 am):

how dare you, the Chainsmokers monster mash remix is a fucking classic

Hobi (10:27 am):

Wait im confused now

Hobi (10:27 am):

do you or do you not have a cat???

Seokjin (11:04 am):

Ofc he doesn’t, Yoongi is just a LIAR

Hobi (11:05 am):

Aww fuck what am i supposed to do with all this cat food then??

 

Yoongi leaves the bastards on read― precisely what they deserve for forcing him to attend the third-worst Halloween party of his life. He’s seriously contemplating whether or not it will be worth it to get out of bed and actually eat something before his stomach starts digesting itself when a knock sounds at the front door. He drags himself out of bed, joints creaking in protest as he stretches to reach the pair of sweatpants lying crumpled on his bedroom floor. He’s half hoping that whoever it is will have fucked off by the time he makes to the door.

He has no such luck.

“What do you want?” he grumbles, cracking open the door to poke only his head out.

Hoseok shoves past him and worms inside without an invitation. He dumps a stack of cans onto the kitchen counter.

“Nice to see you too,” he says, kicking off his shoes. “Enjoy your fifty cans of cat food.”

“Hi,” Yoongi says. “What are you doing here again?”

“What, can’t a guy drop by unannounced to spend a little time with his best friend every once in a while?”

“He can if he doesn’t respect that friend’s wishes or his explicit instructions to never bother him on a Sunday.”

Hoseok invites himself to rummage through Yoongi’s cabinets until he digs out a half-eaten bag of Doritos that has probably been collecting dust in there since last Halloween. “What if there are extenuating circumstances?” he stuffs a handful of chips into his mouth and then makes a face. “Dude these are so stale.”

“Yes, help yourself, please.” Yoongi grimaces when Hoseok crams in another handful. “What kind of extenuating circumstances could there possibly be?”

“I need you to go on a date with me. And before you say no, let me just say that I am not above grovelling.”

“Did you actually, honest to God wake me up before three o’clock on the day of the Lord to ask me out?”

Hoseok barks out a laugh and a few stray chip crumbs fly out of his mouth onto the carpet. “Hell no.” He kicks Yoongi in the shins. “I do need you to pretend to be my boyfriend tonight though. Just temporarily.”

“May I ask why?”

Hoseok parks his ass directly on the kitchen island and starts sifting through his stack of unopened mail like the little snoop he is.

“I have this friend who invited me out to dinner to get to know his new boyfriend. He’s kind of had this weird jealous thing going on with me lately. Super Awkward. So I’m going to do them both one better by showing up with a date.” He flashes a smile like it’s some genius idea and not a recipe for a medley of future disasters. This plotline sounds vaguely familiar, and that only makes Yoongi more certain that this is a Bad Idea.

“If the guy already doesn’t trust you, don’t you think it would be better to be honest and upfront about things? You know, instead of founding your relationship on lies?”

Hoseok pauses to mull it over for a moment. “Nah. This way is definitely better.”

Yoongi sighs, snatches his mail out of Hoseok’s prying hands. “Whatever. Count me out, I’m not getting involved.” He crams the envelopes in the nearest drawer, out of Hoseok’s reach. He’s already certain he’s going to forget all about them until the next time he’s looking for the perpetually missing kitchen shears.

“I’m paying,” Hoseok waggles his eyebrows, “Free dinner and dessert. Plus my charming company.”

Yoongi only has to consider it for a second. “Knock off that last one and I’m in.”

A slow and frankly disturbing smile spreads over Hoseok’s face. “Excellent.” He taps his fingers together like some kind of Bond villain. “You will not regret this.” He looks a little too satisfied at the prospect of this fake-date.

“Whatever. As long as I don’t have to kiss you.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “No offense, but ew. We’re not gonna kiss, just try to seem like you’re all hot for me. Compliment my ass or something.”

“What ass?”

Hoseok punches him in the shoulder. “No talk like that on our date, you gotta seem in love.

Hoseok is definitely crossing a line with this. He is really a terrible person for going along with it.

“When do we leave?”

 

The date isn’t until seven, which gives Yoongi plenty of time to consider and reconsider his complicitness in all this. He has come to the conclusion that this is definitely, one-hundred percent the wrong thing to do. Even Seokjin had agreed with him and his moral compass is at best questionable. But Hoseok had promised him lobster. Lobster. He really isn’t getting paid enough to turn down an offer like that.

Which is what he keeps telling himself, right up until the point when he and Hoseok walk into the restaurant and he recognizes the couple that stands to wave them over.

His heart sinks into the pit of his stomach. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses under his breath. He digs his heels into the ground and both of them jerk to a sudden halt. “Hoseok listen to me very carefully,” he mumbles under his breath, “We need to abort, right now . We need to--”

“Hiii,” Hoesok calls cheerfully, dragging Yoongi over to the table and forcing him roughly down into the booth.

The couple across the table smile over at him and Yoongi tacks on what must be a grimace, because there’s no way he can look these people in the eyes right now and pretend like nothing is wrong when his entire world has just been rocked. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it is really awkward sitting across from these people after he’s already seen one of their dicks for Christ’s sake.

“Hello.” Yoongi waves stiltedly. “Nice to meet you.”

Hoseok pinches his thigh under the table. “This is Yoongi,” he says. “Yoongi, meet Tae and Jimin.”

The guy on the left with the obnoxiously bleached blond hair offers him a little wave. “Jimin.”

The other offers his hand across the table. “Taehyung,” he grins and squeezes Yoongi’s hand way too tightly. There’s an odd glint to his eyes that Yoongi doesn’t quite trust. “I can’t believe Hoseokie didn’t tell me he had a boyfriend. Let alone such a cute one.” He winks.

Jimin makes a face next to him.

“Back off Tae, Yoongi’s all mine.” Hoseok wraps an arm around Yoongi’s neck and squashes their cheeks together.

Yoongi holds very very still, manages to force out an awkward chuckle. “Yep,” he says, staring over at the salt and pepper shakers on the end of the table. “I sure am.”

“Aw, you guys are so cute,” Taehyung coos. “Look at them Jimin, aren’t they so cute?”

“Mm hmm,” Jimin nods with a mouthful of bread. “Really cute.”

“Thanks,” Hoseok gushes, “Not as cute as you guys though, how long has it been now? Three months?”

“Two and a half,” Jimin’s smile is sappy when he looks over at Taehyung.

This interaction is so disgusting. Yoongi wants to end himself right here and now.

Hoseok turns to face him. “Do you remember when we first started dating, darling?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, like now Yoongi is supposed to be the one to come up with some gross meet-cute story on the spot.

Nope. ” He smiles tightly.

Hoseok kicks his ankle and then laughs loudly to cover up Yoongi’s pained grunt. “He’s just embarrassed. Sweetie it’s okay, Taehyung and Jimin are friends.”

“Shut the hell up ,” Yoongi bites reflexively.

Taehyung and Jimin shoot him alarmed looks from across the table.

Hoseok pinches his thigh again, hard. “He’s just joking around. You know he secretly loves it when I call him dumpling?”

“I told you that was only for the bedroom, honey. ”  

Yoongi has the satisfaction of watching Hoseok turn a bright shade of scarlet. This time he’s the one laughing as Hoseok fumbles to recover.

“Right, sorry darling. I guess I forgot.”

On the other side of the table Jimin’s mouth hangs open rather indiscreetly. Yoongi has an abrupt, unwelcome flashback to that night at the party; Jimin, kneeling down on the floor gagging on a mouthful of cock; Taehyung’s head thrown back against the wall in ecstasy, fingers gripping at the underside of Jimin’s jaw. Suddenly Yoongi doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. He might just throw up instead.

“You guys have quite the banter,” Taehyung says. “Refreshing.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Hoseok mutters.

When the food comes, Yoongi keeps his eyes glued quietly to his plate. He’s not paying a whole lot of attention, more focused on keeping his mind from drawing any more unwanted parallels. There’s no lull in the conversation despite his marked absence, Taehyung and Jimin are very enthusiastic conversationalists. Read: they won’t shut up. But then Jimin starts telling a story about his roommate, and something clicks for him.

“Jimin!” Yoongi snaps his fingers. “Of course.”

Hoseok starles beside him, sloshing his water all over the table, and Jimin pauses mid-story to give him an odd look.

“Sorry, sorry,” Yoongi passes Hoseok his napkin. “Just, I think I met your roommate at Hobi’s party the other night. He mentioned you actually,” he says.

Jimin raises his eyebrows, “Oh really?” He looks suddenly intrigued.

“Yeah. Jungkook, right? About yay high, gives off kind of a fuck boy vibe but he seems alright.”

“That’s the one,” Taehyung confirms. “He’s a sweet kid. Kind of shy, can get pretty awkward at times but he means well.”

Jimin huffs a laugh. “You know he hates it when you talk about him like you’re his dad.”

Taehyung doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. “I know, but I can’t help it. He’s just so darn cute.” He assumes the dreamy expression of a proud parent, that gooey, distant look of someone who’s five year old beat all the other five-year-olds at hop scotch. Jimin’s gaze is similarly sappy.

Yoongi reads their faces, tries to gauge if they know ― or at least suspect― what he does about Jungkook. Results inconclusive.

Hoseok cocks his head at Yoongi, oddly perceptive. “Huh. You never mentioned him before, sweetie.”

Yoongi cringes a little. “Yeah we didn’t talk for too long, I just happened to bump into him in the kitchen. Small world.”

“Small town, ” Taehyung corrects. They all chuckle a bit and then thankfully the subject is dropped.

He doesn’t make much contribution to the conversation after that, but he must make a decent enough impression on Taehyung and Jimin because when they all get up to leave they both give him huge hugs. Jimin even hugs Hoseok, and Taehyung looks unduly pleased to see his boyfriend embracing another man.

They’re waiting for Taehyung and Jimin’s cab on the curb outside the restaurant when Jimin sidles up to him and nudges him a bit, shoots him a conspiritory look. Taehyung and Hoseok look like they’re taking turns trying to push either into incoming traffic so all is good and normal on that front. Yoongi musters a weak smile in return and they both watch as Hoseok narrowly misses face-planting into the asphalt.

“It really was great to meet you,” Jimin says. “I realize this was probably a little uncomfortable for you after last time but, I think we pulled it off.”

“Pulled wh― last time ?”

“Yeah,” Jimin nods slowly, gives him a look laced with meaning. “Last time.”

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Yoongi stutters out an apology that sounds idiotic even to his own ears and stumbles back a step, face probably losing what little color it’d had. This is somehow much worse than being called out as a fraudulent date would have been. Jimin cackles at the look on his face as he tries and fails to find words. He slips into the back seat of the cab after Taehyung and turns back with a wide smirk.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again,” he says, and then he fucking winks .

It seems like Yoogi barely has a chance to blink before the car door slams shut and they speed off, quickly enough to leave Yoongi feeling whiplashed.

 

Hoseok waits approximately 0.2 seconds after they get in the car to interrogate him.

“What the hell was that about? That was so weird, right?”

If Yoongi had ever had any pride, it was gone by now. “No idea,” he lies.

Hoseok stares at him for a moment, rakes his eyes down as far as he can see with Yoongi buckled into the driver’s seat. He lets out a hum of mild interest.

“Maybe he wants you to have a threesome with you?”

Yoongi scowls at him. “Shut up.” And then he remembers something else.

Ow , what the hell was that for,” Hoseok rubs his shoulder.

“For the pinching. You know I have sensitive thighs, asshole.”

Hoseok snickers. “Oh yeah. My bad.”

“Whatever dude.”

Hoseok is quiet for most of the drive, lulling him into a false sense of security. He seems abruptly to recall something though, and his gaze finally lifts from the screen of his phone to Yoongi’s face.

“Hey,” he says, stabbing a finger at Yoongi. “Jimin’s roommate, he’s the guy you were hooking up with at the party, isn’t he?”

He tears his eyes off the road to glance over at Hoseok, who has this sly, smug look on his face that never spells anything good. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dude, I saw you coming down the stairs. No one goes upstairs at a party unless they’re hooking up.”

“Maybe I just had to pee.”

“Did you?”

Yoongi purses his lips and stares hard at the steering wheel. “No,” he admits with a sigh.

“I flippin’ knew it.” Hoseok cackles. “This makes things way more complicated though. If Jimin ever finds out we’re going to have to tell him you cheated on me, just so you know.”

“How is that even―” he bites back a curse, “You know what? Whatever. Go ahead.”

Yoongi fixes his eyes back on the road and pushes a little firmer on the accelerator. When he glances back over Hoseok is still giving him The Look.

“So how was it?” He waggles his eyebrows.

Yoongi plays dumb. “How was what?”

“The sex,” Hoseok says blunty. “Oh God, did you use my bed? Please say no.”

“Wh- of course not. We didn’t even hook up, really.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes. “Then what…”

“Jungkook’s straight, Hoseok,” Yoongi groans.

Hoseok looks confused for a moment. “But he― Oh .”

He is probably jumping to a thousand wrong conclusions, but Yoongi doesn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah.”

“Did he…” Hoseok looks pensive, “... hurt you?”

Yoongi snorts. “Hurt me? No. It’s him I’m worried about.”

Shit. He really shouldn’t have said that. Hoseok is a lot of things but slow isn’t one of them.

“What is that supposed to mean? Yoongi,” he warns when Yoongi refuses to meet his eyes.

Trying to keep a secret from Hoseok is like trying to block a goal against Cristiano Ronaldo. Resistance is futile.

He tries anyway. “Nothing. I’m tough. Why wouldn’t it be the kid that got hurt?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Well now I know you’re lying. Min Yoongi you better spill, right now .”

Yoongi has only a fleeting thought for Jungkook’s privacy before he blurts out literally everything. He is so, so weak. He should really work on that.

“Jungkook is in the closet. We didn’t hook up but we did kinda make out on your bed for a bit― he was great by the way. Also I kind of promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Hoseok reaches across the console to slap his chest. “You shit,” he yelps. “What the hell, then why’d you tell me?”

“You forced it out of me! You know I’m bad with secrets and you pried anyway, this is your fault!” Yoongi veers back into his lane and waves an apology to the driver next to him.

“I can’t believe you,” Hoseok gasps. “Do you think Tae and Jimin know?”

“No, and you better not say anything to them. I’m serious. Not a single word.”

Hoseok looks startled by his passion. “Fine, I get it, alright. I know better than to out the poor kid, jeez.”

Yoongi tries not to heave an audible sigh of relief. “Good. Yeah, good. Thanks man.”

Hoseok waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” His phone lights up between his legs and he glances down before looking back over with an indecipherable expression. “So how would you feel about another date?”

☆ ☆ ☆

Yoongi does not want to go on another date with Hoseok, let that be known. But let it also be known that he is probably the best best friend in the known universe. Soon to be the first of that title to be convicted of homicide.

“Hobi, this ridiculous. Please don’t make me do this.”

“Why? You look good.”

Yoongi glares at him from under the edge of his visor. “We both look like idiots. I told you there wasn’t a dress code for mini golf.

Hoseok grins hugely as he adjusts his bolo tie. “I think you look dashing.

“I’m wearing pleated fucking khakis and a sweater vest. People are going to mistake me for a grandpa. I’m not even twenty five yet, this is bullshit.”

Hoseok tugs him out of the car anyway. “Come on, they’re waiting on us. Do you want to make a bad second impression?”

“I don’t want to make a second impression period. You told me one date.”

“And now it’s two, big whoop. You’re getting a free night’s entertainment out of this.”

“I’m beginning to think it’s not worth it,” Yoongi grumbles, but still he trudges up to the rental desk alongside Hoseok and tries to ignore all the stares they’re receiving.

The employee openly snickers at them as they approach, eyes roving from Hoseok’s horrid plaid beret to his pin-striped knickers.

“Try not to throw out a hip, we’re uninsured,” she quips as she slides their gear over the counter.

“Ha. I’m hope you’re getting paid to be this hilarious.”

The girl’s smirk doesn’t dim and Hoseok winks obviously as Yoongi stalks off with his ball and club. He bumps into Jimin on his way out to the course, and all it takes is a single look at Yoongi’s face before he bursts out laughing.

“Dude, this is mini golf, not the PGA championships,” he snorts.

Yoongi just glares; Jimin pats him on the shoulder consolingly.

“That’s alright, I’m sure Tae will love it.” He holds open the door and gestures for Yoongi to go first.

They seem to catch Taehyung’s attention almost the instant they step outside.

“Yo dude, sweet vest!” Taehyung waves over at them from hole one. He’s standing beside another guy who has his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his baggy black sweatshirt and his hood drawn up over his face. His posture is reluctant and he doesn’t even turn when Taehyung starts shouting, though they’re clearly together.

“Who’s that?” Yoongi asks as they draw nearer and Taehyung comes bounding up to meet them.

“Oh.” He can’t tell if Jimin sounds disappointed or thrilled. “That’s Jungkook. We brought him along because he was moping. Try not to make him feel like a fifth wheel, okay?”

Yoongi’s heart rate picks up. “Um. Yeah, okay,” he nods, biting nervously at his lip. This is going to look so bad, he already knows it. He’s sure that Jungkook isn’t going to call him out, but damn if he’s not about to look like a real tool.

“Hey Jungkook, look it’s Yoongi,” Taehyung shoves Jungkook’s shoulder once he’s back within range. “Take out your earbuds and say hello.”

Suddenly Yoongi understands perfectly what Jimin had meant about him acting like a dad. Jungkook clearly hadn’t been able to hear any of them because he double takes when he looks up and sees Yoongi. His hands fumble with his headphones and his face morphs into an expression of what can only be described as horror. He looks over with wide, panicked eyes, and it’s all Yoongi can do not to mirror the expression.

Taehyung nudges Jungkook again when he fails to speak and he blinks for a moment or two before mumbling out an awkward greeting and turning a violent shade of purple.

“Hey,” Yoongi says shortly, scuffing his toe in the fake grass, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Jimin looks between the two of them and frowns. “I heard you guys met at Hoseok’s party last weekend, isn’t that cool?”

“Oh, really?” Jungkook finally seems to regain his composure and his face shuts down like a vault. His lips press tightly back together, eyes going cold and dead. “I guess I don’t remember, I was awfully drunk,” Jungkook shrugs, hunches in on himself and stuffs his hands back into his pockets.

Taehyung’s mouth drops open in offense. “Jeon Jungkook, no you were not. Don’t be rude. Yoongi told us all about your little encounter, you know.”

“He what? ” Jungkook’s eyes look like they might bulge out of his head again. Yoongi tries to subtly shake his head, but he’s not sure Jungkook gets the message.

“That’s right, you lying little punk, we know all the dirty details.”

It if was possibly for a human being to spontaneously combust on the spot, Yoongi suspects that Jungkook would have done it that very moment. Instead his hands come up to cover his suddenly very pale face and an honest-to-god whine slips out of his mouth.

He chokes on his words as he tries to spit them out. “Fuck, no. Oh my God― that’s not―”

Yoongi can’t watch this anymore. He laughs loudly, and hopes it covers up the latter half of Jungkook’s string of expletive-laden denials.

“Jokes, man,” he says and punches Jungkook in the shoulder. He hopes it comes off as playful, he really can’t tell through the rushing in his ears. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, maybe a sympathetic response to Jungkook’s evident panic. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He lifts his brows subtly.

Jungkook’s shoulders finally relax, and the slightest tinge of green begins to seep into his face. Taehyung finally seems to notice that something isn’t quite right with this interaction and he turns to look at Jungkook questioningly. “Why do you look so sick all of the sudden?”

“Oh, um... I think I ate a bad corndog,” Jungkook says stiffly. “I’m going to go to the bathroom, bye.” And then he power walks away faster than a suburban mom on a juice cleanse.

“Sorry. He’s not usually this weird.” Jimin watches him go with a perplexed look.

“It’s all good,” Yoongi waves him off as he watches Jungkook’s retreating back disappear into the lobby. “Gee look, Hoseok’s here,” he says in a rather obvious attempt to change the subject. They take the bait anyway and Taehyung goes skipping over to greet him with a very enthusiastic hug. Jimin rolls his eyes a little but he doesn’t seem too upset when he reaches out to give Hoseok one of those weird half-handshake half-hug things that frat guys always used to try on Yoongi before he’d dropped of the face of the social scene.

By the time Jungkook returns from the bathroom they’re already on the sixth hole and Yoongi is losing badly. He’s not sure which is more embarrassing, his outfit or his score.

Jungkook slinks up behind them without a word and accepts his putter from Jimin.

“Sorry we started without you,” Hoseok says with an apologetic smile, but Jungkook just shrugs him off.

“All good,” the corners of his mouth turn up but it seems he can’t bring himself to actually smile, his eyes drooping tiredly and his face still looking a little clammy. “This low-carb thing I’ve been doing has me all messed up. The arcade food did not agree with me.”

“Aw, poor Kookie,” Taehyung sidles up next to him and twists his fingers in the sleeve of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. “Do you need some water and a baby-aspirin?”

Jungkook grits his teeth. “No dad, I’m fine.” He slaps Taehyung’s hand away before he can press the back of his hand to his forehead. “I may have just thrown up a tiny bit in the bathroom, but now I’m back, and I’m ready to kick all your asses. Get ready.”

He takes to the course with astounding concentration, and Yoongi is barely surprised when he gets a hole-in-one on his first stroke.

“Jeez.” Hoseok whistles lowly. “You could sure teach Yoongi a thing or two.”

Jungkook glances over at him for a split second before his eyes cut away and his focus goes back to the ball. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he mutters and then shuffles on to the next hole.

Hoseok gives Yoongi a Look™ and Yoongi just shakes his head. I’ll tell you later, he mouths, and Hoseok’s eyebrows reach his hairline.

Really it’s amazing how tonight of all nights Hoseok has somehow managed to be discreet for the first time in his life. Maybe Yoongi hadn’t made a grave mistake in choosing him as a friend all those years ago. Maybe Hoseok was one of the only real constants in his life since he was thirteen and he had been underappreciating him all this time. Maybe he―

“Hey Yoongi!” Hoseok crows, groping Yoongi’s ass none-too gently for literally everyone to see. “Watch me sink these balls in the hole, babe.”

Over Hoseok’s shoulder, Jungkook’s mouth drop open as his eyes follow the motion of Hoseok’s hand. He seems to come to the only logical conclusion that would come from that super obvious display of public grossness (cheers Hobi) and then his eyes finally land on Yoongi for longer than half a second and he stares , hard.

Yoongi shoots him a panicked look, tries to communicate his simultaneous innocence and guilt with his eyes.

Jungkook turns his back, but not before Yoongi sees the disgust etched onto his face.

“I swear after this I’m fake breaking up with you,” he hisses in Hoseok’s ear. “You hear me? We’re doneso.”

The way Hoseok smiles is absolutely smarmy. “I don’t understand sweetie, what’s the matter?”

Yoongi gives him a look that could wilt an entire field of crops and stalks over to tap Jungkook roughy on the shoulder.

“I think we should talk.”

Jungkook only glances back for a split second before shrugging him off. “Nah, I’m good, thanks.” His back is turned but Yoongi can tell he’s searching for someone, an excuse to escape Yoongi’s presence without making a scene. Only currently, Taehyung is using the most cliché flirting tactic in the book to ‘help’ Jimin with his golf swing and Hoseok is already on the next hole, trying to fish his ball out from where it’s been lodged in the propeller of the obligatory windmill.

Yoongi shouts to catch all of their attention. “Jungkook and I are going to go grab some drinks. Anyone else want anything? No? Good.” He drags Jungkook back towards the arcade area and he has no choice but to stumble along after him with the utmost reluctance.

Yoongi marches him right past the rental desk and makes a beeline for the restroom. The girl behind the counter is wearing that same smirk from before and he ignores her pointedly as he pulls Jungkook inside after him and bolts the door.

Jungkook looks half annoyed and half terrified, arms crossed over his chest and leaning as far away as he can in the cramped space. Yoongi doesn’t know why, but suddenly his heart is beating fast again and he’s drawing a blank on what he had meant to say now that he has Jungkook here in front of him.

Yoongi falters, fish mouths for several seconds before he clamps his lip shut and settles for fixing Jungkook with a look.

Jungkook appears unimpressed . “Is there a reason you dragged me in here or are you just going to stare?”

Yoongi recovers his tongue enough to blurt out the first excuse that comes to mind. “Hoseok and I aren’t really dating.” Shit. Bad move. If Jimin, finds out it’s all over.

Fortunately, Jungkook doesn’t appear convinced.

“Okay fine, we are.” Yoongi fights the urge to scrunch up his nose at the idea. “But it’s not like, a serious thing. It’s just casual.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “So he wouldn’t care that we—”

“Kissed?”

“We didn’t kiss.”

Yoongi has to fight not to roll his eyes. Oh to be nineteen and this stupid.

“Ha, right. I guess I forgot what happened. I was just so darn drunk it was all a blur,” he snarks.

Jungkook scuffs his toe on the grimy tile floor. “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, reminds himself how he’d felt before he had come out of the closet. Terrified. Though definitely not this much of a dunce about it. “Yeah, fine... sorry it’s a reflex.”

“It’s fine, just― we both have things we don’t want getting out, right? We can be allies. I don’t know about you, you don’t know about me, fair?”

Yoongi nods. “Fair. And for the record, I would never out you to your friends.”

“I’m not gay though.”

“Right.”

A beat. Jungkook peers at him with unreadable expression, eyes slightly narrowed, lips parted. His breath comes out in audible little huffs and his hand comes to rest on the wall over Yoongi’s shoulder. Suddenly the stall feels that much tinier.

And now Jungkook is leaning closer, for some unascertainable reason, and his eyes are drifting shut, and he’s— he’s…

They both flinch hard when someone bangs on the door, rattling the lock and Yoongi’s heart.

“Excuse me. Excuse me. ” The door rattles again. Jungkook looks like he might faint. His eyes say do something but his body remains rigid.

Yoongi clears his throat. “Um. Yeah?”

“Sir this is the ladies room.” A pause. Jungkook motions frantically. Indecipherably.

“Oh, geez. I’m sorry uh, I’ll—”

Jungkook slaps a hand over his mouth.

“What are you doing?” He hisses. “She’s going to fucking see us.”

No shit, Sherlock. Yoongi does not lick his palm, but it’s a near thing. He reaches behind Jungkook and slides the deadbolt out of place. The door swings outward to reveal a crotchety middle aged woman with a bob cut that just screams ‘ let me speak to your manager’. She recoils when the both of them step out of the stall, Jungkook doing his best to hide his face in his hoodie.

Yoongi smiles apologetically. “Sorry ma’am, must have mistaken the sign.”

She does not appear placated, but they dodge out of the bathroom before she can launch into the tirade she so clearly is rearing to.

As soon as they step out into the hall, Jungkook heads off in the opposite direction of the course.

“Hey. Where are you going?” Yoongi calls.

Jungkook doesn’t look back. “Tell Tae and Jimin I took an Uber back. Something came up.”

He shoves through the front door aggressively and vanishes without another word. Yoongi is left gaping, still looking like a major idiot, in the middle of the arcade.

☆ ☆ ☆

The next time Hoseok asks him out on a date, Yoongi does the prudent thing and tells him to fuck off. Henceforth, Yoongi will cease to be involved in this web of lies. There will be no more nonsense; he won’t stand for it. And that is precisely why he has dodged approximately sixteen calls from Hoseok in the past week.

And now, for his efforts, he has a string of messages that looks a little something like this:

 

Hobi (Sunday 12:01 pm):

please come to the Museum of Modern Art with us

Yoongi (Sunday 1:34 pm):

no.

Hobi (Sunday 1:40 pm):

pleaseeee.

Im in too deep now

I need your helllppppp

Yoongi (Sunday 4:46 pm):

NO

Hobi (Sunday 5:02 pm):

Fine.

Hobi (Tuesday 8:32 am):

I lied

it’s not fine

Im telling them you have the flu

Don’t expose me

Hobi (Wednesday 12:21 pm):

Wtf why are you blowing me off

helloooo?

Hobi (Thursday 10:58 pm):

I see...

I can only assume you’ve died now

RIP

bitch

Seokjin (Friday 11:14 am):

Stop being a hermit

Yoongi (Friday 12:02 pm):

I’m NOT

Seokjin (Friday 12:14 pm):

Suurrreee

Come to Fat Joe’s tonight?

Yoongi (Friday 12:15 pm):

Can’t

Seokjin (Friday 12:18 pm):

YOONGI

If I dont see u there i will be at your door

I will not be disobeyed

And i am not above calling your mom

Yoongi (Friday 12:20 pm):

I’m 23… you can’t call my mom

Seokjin (Friday 12:21 pm):

W A T C H M E

 

“How long are you going to avoid Hoseok?”

The bar’s ever-dimming lights cast shadows across Seokjin’s cheeks. They make eyes his look much darker than usual as he regards Yoongi over the brim of his glass.

“As long as it takes for him to get the message.”

Seokjin snorts. “And what message is that? That you’re a shitty friend?”

“That I won’t put up with nonsense,” Yoongi huffs. “He made me look like a fool. A damned fool.”

“Ah. So you’re embarrassed.” Seokjin’s lips curl up at the edges, just the hint of a smirk. Yoongi doesn’t know what he’s so damn smug about.

“Of course not. I have nothing to be embarrassed about. Hoseok should be embarrassed. He’s the one who lied, I was barely even an accomplice.”

“Is that right?” Seokjin hums. This almost certainly means that, as far as he is concerned, it is vastly untrue.

Yes.” Yoongi tries not to sound like he’s whining, but he probably does anyway. “Now Jungkook probably thinks I’m some cheating bastard who doesn’t know how to dress himself. Meanwhile, here I am being victimized by a manic buffoon.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Don’t give me that look, you know it was wrong too.”

“Well yeah, obviously . That’s not what the look was for.” His eyes rove over Yoongi’s face, like he’s expecting some sort of revelation from it. “Who’s this Jungkook kid?”

“Don’t act like Hoseok didn’t already tell you everything.”

“Fine. Maybe he did. But it would be nice to hear you admit to your big fat crush in person.”

“It’s not a fucking crush. That kid is so far in the closet he doesn’t know what to do with himself. You know as well as I do that that kind of thing just doesn’t work out.”

Seokjin leans forward conspiratorially, almost knocks his beer over and gets his hand in the bowl of queso just so he can say, in a low voice: “So what I hear you saying is that you’re into him but won’t pursue him on principle.”

No , what you’re hearing is that even if I did like him, which I don’t, I wouldn’t do anything. Also shut up.”

Seokjin leans back at that, but his eyes are still gleaming. Yoongi can just tell that he doesn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. Which is fine. Totally fine. Whatever. Seokjin is entitled to his own wrong opinion.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Yoongi mutters after several seconds have passed with Seokjin giving him that look that’s about to literally drive Yoongi up the wall.

“Bring me back something sweet?”

“I’ll bring you back what I bring you back.”

Yoongi slinks off to the bar and tries to catch the attention of the bartender, who seems a little too preoccupied juggling limes than making actual drinks. Yoongi leans over the counter and waves to get his attention.

“Excuse me.” The bartender doesn’t even glance in his direction, a look of intense concentration on his face as he tries for a fourth lime. “ Excuse me, ” Yoongi tries again. The bartender drops one of the limes and goes scrambling down below the bar top to search for it.

Yoongi is strongly considering hopping over the counter and mixing the damn drinks himself when a decidedly unwelcome hand cups his ass roughly. He’s dealt with drunk idiots before and he is more than prepared to tell this guy on no uncertain terms to go straight to hell. What he’s not prepared for is Jungkook standing― or more accurately swaying― right behind him, far too close to be considered acceptable in any sort of social interaction between mere acquaintances.

He takes one look at Yoongi’s face and balks.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry, I shouldn’t ‘ve done that, huh?” He slurs. Yoongi has to catch him by the wrist when he staggers forwards, leaning on the counter for support.

“Jus’ you look so sexy, baby,” he mumbles down at his own hand. “Wanted to shh hurgs blanisss…” he trails off unintelligibly. He’s very obviously trashed, and Yoongi really hopes he’s not here alone, because that would be ridiculously dangerous and majorly stupid on Jungkook’s part.

“What are you―”

Jungkook manages to propel himself off of the edge of the bar and uses all of his momentum to send himself careening directly into Yoongi’s chest. Yoongi has no choice but to catch him, looping his arms around his waist before he has a chance to go toppling to the floor.

“I want you to do bad things to me.” Jungkook whispers in his ear. His breath smells like pure tequila.

“No way. You’re drunk.”

“I know.” Jungkook blinks sleepily. “But I want still want you.”

Yoongi tries to shake him off, but Jungkook somehow manages to get a grip on his hand and holds fast.

“Just a dance?” He bats his eyes at Yoongi like he knows what he’s doing, even though there is no possible way that he does. “Please?”

A dance sounds innocent enough, but one look into Jungkook’s eyes tells him it could also be very dangerous. He lets Jungkook tug him out to the dance floor anyway, goes easily even, despite the little voice screaming at him in the back of his mind.

Jungkook spins him around and fits himself up against Yoongi’s back. He grips Yoongi’s hips firmly, but not too tight, like a claim. Yoongi doesn’t allow himself to acknowledge how good it feels. And then they start swaying, slowly at first, but then the tempo of the music picks up and Jungkook starts moving faster and yeah they’re grinding now. Yoongi doesn’t know how to feel about it; guilty, excited, a little turned on. Maybe a mix of all three.

The song is some vulgar hip hop piece that Yoongi would probably only listen to if he were in a very specific mood, but it seems oddly fitting now. Jungkook’s hands leave his hips to roam over his chest, rucking his shirt. Then they creep down his torso, all the way to his belt, threatening to slip down further. Yoongi ignores the swooping in his gut and makes a warning noise in the back of his throat. Jungkook lets go, instead pulls Yoongi’s hand up to fit the curve of his neck and intertwines their fingers over Yoongi’s stomach, just an inch or so north of his belt.

The short strands of Jungkook’s hair at the back of his neck are silky smooth under Yoongi’s fingertips. Jungkook’s body feels solid in a way that sends a shiver racing down his spine. It’s a more than a little hot, gets Yoongi worked up in a dangerous way.

The song changes but neither of them make a move to stop. Jungkook’s chin comes too hook over his shoulder and it’s almost filthy the way they’re rocking together now. Yoongi doesn’t hear him at first when he starts whispering, breath hot on his ear and neck. But then there’s the  swell before the bass drops, when everything gets quiet, and he hears it all.

“You’re so hot. Yoongi, God .” Jungkook pants. “Got me so hard just thinking about you.”

Yoongi lets his hand drop from Jungkook’s neck and whips back around to face him. “What did you just say?”

Jungkook, undetered, slings his arms around Yoongi’s neck and tugs him closer. “I said I want you to choke me with your dick.”

Yoongi doesn’t know where this sudden boldness is coming from but it’s really making things tough for him.

“No, Jungkook I― I heard what you said, just… No.”

He attempts to push Jungkook back but he’s leaning too heavily on Yoongi for it to have much of an effect. He buries his nose into the crook of Yoongi’s neck and mumbles into his shoulder.

“Floor… no… walk…” He slumps forward and Yoongi staggers under his weight.

His eyes flit around the bar, finally making contact with Seokjin, still perched at their table from before. He’s watching them with a little smirk― half annoyed, half amused.

Help. Yoongi mouths at him, trying to communicate with his eyes the nature of the situation.

Seokjin, in an unusual bout of usefulness, slides off of his stool and pushes his way through the crowd. His head appears over Jungkook’s shoulder and he gives Yoongi an odd look.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I’m not interested in a threesome.”

Jungkook’s head lolls limply onto Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Shut up. We gotta get this kid out of here, he’s drunk out of his mind.”

“Well who did he come with?” Seokjin’s eyes scan the bar.

“I don’t know, himself maybe. Doesn’t matter, he’s leaving with us.”

Jungkook does not voice his approval or dissent, probably isn’t processing a thing they’re saying.

“You sure his friends won’t miss him?”

“Positive,” Yoongi grunts. “Now help me lug him out of here.”

The two of them together manage to get Jungkook out the door and they sit him down on the curb outside and try to get him to drink some water. Seokjin has to hold him upright so he stops trying to smash his cheek into the pavement.

Yoongi huffs a long breath through his nose. “I’m texting his roommate to come down here and get him.”

“You know his roommate?” Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Wait… this―” He gapes. “This isn’t―”

Yoongi’s skin turns the color of cooked lobster. “Don’t say a fucking thing.”

Seokjin splutters for a moment before he breaks into a fit raucous laughter. “ Wow. ” A single tear trails down his cheek. “So that’s what unattached looks like. I always wondered.”

“I’m not― whatever.” Yoongi turns his back so he doesn’t have to see Seokjin gloat.

Jimin gets there within minutes of Yoongi’s text, dressed like he’d come from the gym or something, in sweats and a tank top.

“Christ,” is the first thing he says when he gets a good look at Jungkook. “He’s in bad shape.”

Jungkook seems to shrink as Yoongi helps Jimin pull him to his feet and usher him into the back of the cab. He presses himself against the opposite door ad puts his hands over his face.

Jimin stops him before climbing in after Jungkook. “Thanks for looking out for him man,” he tells Yoongi, squeezing his shoulder.

“Yeah um. It’s no problem,” Yoongi says. “Just wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

“Oh he’ll get home okay. I’m going to kick his ass in the morning though.” Jimin mutters. “I can’t believe he would pull this shit again.”

Again?

Yoongi smiles tightly. “Yeah, freshmen, amirite?”

Jimin just shakes his head. “This kid,” he sighs. “He’ll be the death of us all.”

Yoongi waves them off as the cab speeds down the street and he sincerely hopes that what Jimin says is not the case.

“Dude,” Seokjin says once the car has disappeared around the next block. “I cannot believe you.”

Yoongi blinks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Back at his apartment, alone, in the dark, and much more sober than a typical night at the bar would have left him, Yoongi has a revelation. Because now that it’s quiet, with nothing left to occupy his mind and no one to distract him from his own ruminations, he can’t stop thinking about Jungkook. The way he had looked at him back at the bar; how he’d been practically begging, drooling for him. And of course Yoongi couldn’t have done anything in that moment, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t wanted to, isn’t thinking about it now, replaying everything Jungkook had said to him in that bar.

Doing anything with Jungkook would be a mistake though, Yoongi has to keep reminding himself of that. ‘Straight’ boys are strictly a no-no, especially straight boys who are roommates with his fake-boyfriend’s sort of ex’s current boyfriend. Too complicated.

His phone lights up on the pillow next to his face. The screen is blindingly bright and he has to squint to see the notification from Snapchat.

Jeon69kookiexx added you!

Jungkook would have the username of a pubescent tween. Yoongi’s not even surprised at this point . His thumb hovers over the home button. He’s basically obligated to add him back, a screen name like that deserves to be mocked via any appropriate web interface at his disposal.

He’s just about to send a chat message. Something casual, like:

Dude, glad you made it out of there alive

or

69, really? I didn’t realize we were still eleven

Only before he can, he gets another notification:

SNAPCHAT from Jeon69kookiexx

Reflexively, he taps to open it. Huge mistake. He tries to look away, really, he genuinely does. Only he can’t, and the only thing that keeps running through his brain as he’s staring down at the screen of his phone, mouth gaping, is yeah, that’s a dick. A real-live dick.

It’s sort of a nice one too, if he’s making admissions. It’s not clear where Jungkook is in the picture, but it’s dark and he can see the waistband of his sweatpants bunched around his thighs in the background. He’s gripping himself at the base, obviously hard, like he’s been touching himself for a while now. A bead of precum buds at the tip. Yoongi wets his lips involuntarily.

Okay. This is― okay. Not earth-shattering at all, just… okay.

The notification banner pops up with an unread chat message.

He nearly swallows his own tongue when he reads it; concise, to the point, very effective in making Yoongi’s throat dry up and his stomach drop down to his toes.

Jeon69kookiexx: Thinking about you…

Thinking about you. Suddenly Yoongi has a headache. He locks his phone and hurls it to the opposite side of the bed. Fucking Jungkook. He tries to muffle a scream into his pillow, doesn’t work. It’s still loud enough to make his grouchy neighbors bang on the wall. Like he isn’t forced to hear them fucking on a weekly basis.

He contemplates texting Seokjin, but then he imagines his face as he reads the text, and the urge fades. Whatever. He’ll deal with it in the morning. It seems he’s out the second his head hits the pillow, and he has the fleeting consciousness to be thankful that he doesn’t have to spend another restless night thinking about Jungkook.

☆ ☆ ☆

The cafe below Yoongi’s apartment is not the nicest cafe out there. The coffee is weak, the pastries are dry, and the baristas are slow as molasses. He’s pretty sure he’s been going there long enough for them to memorize his order, yet every single time the kid up in the front asks what he wants, like he and Yoongi haven’t been on a first name basis for over a year. That doesn’t stop Yoongi from being there four days out of the week for his morning double shot, though.

Hoseok knows this, obviously. It’s the only explanation for why Yoongi finds him sitting there in the morning, right next to the door so Yoongi can’t miss him. He waves when Yoongi walks in and motions for him to sit down. He has two cups on the table, and he slides one over to Yoongi as he approaches. Yoongi snatches the cup off the table without a word and slumps into the chair across from him. He waits for Hoseok to speak first.

Hoseok grimaces, like this was the reaction he’d been expecting. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Seokjin told me why you were mad at me.”

“Seokjin should mind his own business, but okay.” Yoongi takes a sip of his drink. Made perfectly, ugh.

“I didn’t know it was like that between you and Jungkook or I would have never asked you to do that. Honestly.”

Hoseok has the most pitiful pout. But what’s really tragic is how easily Yoongi can forgive him when he’s sitting there looking at him with those shining, earnest eyes and the best coffee Yoongi has had in months.

He scowls down at his cup. “It’s fine. There’s nothing between us, anyway. Just, you know.”

Hoseok stares at him. “Know what?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. I’m sorry too. I guess was probably overreacting.”

“Probably?”

“Like― overreacting a little bit. Slightly.”

Hoseok nods slowly. “Right. And I was being excessive. Just a tiny bit.” There’s a moment of awkward pause. “So I guess we were both wrong.”

“Guess so.”

Yoongi makes a face as the barista knocks a tray of muffins off the counter and hurries to stack them back on top before anyone notices. Nice.

Hoseok snorts. “You and the kiddo though. What’s with that?”

Yoongi takes another sip of his drink. “God damn it, they always make this like shit when I order it. What did you do?”

“Picked it up from Starbucks on the way.” Hoseok says, like that much should have been obvious. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Huh?”

“Yoongi.”

“Ugh. Fine. I don’t know what you want me to say. Jungkook’s a nice-ish kid. And yeah he’s like ‘smokin’ hot’ or whatever, but yeah he’s not really an option if you know what I mean, so…”

“If he’s not really an option then why were you guys necking at the bar?”

“Is that what Jin told you? We weren’t necking, he was just really drunk.”

“So he wasn’t trying to bone you?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Eh. He may have said something but obviously I couldn’t take him seriously. He was shitfaced.”

“Okay but what about before? That girl from the mini golf place said she got a complaint about you guys doing something in the women’s bathroom together. You’re really telling me there wasn’t anything going on?”

“Wha― why were you even talking to her?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hoseok shoots. “Were you or were you not getting down.”

Yoongi cringes. “We were not.” Hoseok looks skeptical. “I’m serious! We have not, do not and will not hook up. Ever. I do not have room in my life to deal with any more antics, crises or other miscellaneous tomfoolery.”  

“Hmm.” Hoseok fiddles with the sleeve of his coffee cup, peeling off little pieces of brown cardboard and scattering them on the table. “Maybe you could be his friend.” Hoseok tilts his head thoughtfully.

“Were you listening to anything I just said?”

“Come on Yoongi, he could probably use one. And he seems to have taken a liking to you― for some indeterminable reason.”

Hey.

“Yoongi, remember when you too were a closeted gay? You told everyone you had a girlfriend named Joannah living in Zimbabwe.”

Yoongi taps his fingers rhythmically against the table. “What’s your point?”

Hoseok places his hand over Yoongi’s and squeezes. “Sweetie. We all knew you were lying, but we humored you. And then, when you were ready, we accepted you with open arms and everlasting friendship. Hell, I even deflowered you myself.”

Yoongi yanks his hand back. “Hold up, not true.”

“Right.” Hoseok jabs a finger into his chest. “But I could have.”

“Beg to differ, but moving on. You think I should befriend him, ride out his sexuality crisis, and then sleep with him?”

Hoseok shrugs. “Not exactly, but that’s good too.”

“Sounds kind of wrong.”

“How is it wrong? You help a young adult come to terms with who he is, and he finally gets to suck your dick.”

“Ew.”

“What, you don’t want him to?”

“Um.” Yoongi freezes up. Hoseok seems to take that as an affirmation.

“So then what’s the problem?”

Yoongi sinks further into his chair. “I guess I just don’t want to like― manipulate him, you know?” He runs his fingers over the lip of his cup and he can feel the liquid sloshing inside. “He’s probably fragile right now, it’s seems kinda cruel for me to just waltz in with an agenda and then end up hurting him.”

Hoseok looks like he’s seen a ghost. “ What? ” The table jolts as his knee connects with the underside. “What did you just say? I’m sorry, but for a second it sounded like you were expressing some actual human empathy.” He gapes. “Yoongi you do like him you liar.”

“Urg. No comment.”

Hoseok huffs a laugh. “Seokjin is going to die when I tell him this.”

Yoongi sputters. “Tell him― Why, what do you guys do, just meet up on the weekends to chat about me when I’m not there? Don’t you have more interesting things to do?”

“Ha. My civics assignment means nothing to me in the face of this discovery.”

“Well unlike you, I actually have a life,” Yoongi harrumphs. Not really true; he has like four friends. “And you’re making me late for work.” He stands and toes his chair back underneath the table.

Hoseok looks up at him, more hopeful than he has any right to be. “See you tomorrow though? Dinner?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi grumbles. “See you tomorrow.”

 

The next time Yoongi is in the same cafe, drinking some much shittier coffee, he has another unexpected encounter.

Jimin and Taehyung make a beeline over the second they see him, all bundled up in matching scarves and shivering from the rain.

“Dude. Sorry to hear about you and Hobi,” Taehyung gives him the most pitiful look that he has ever been on the receiving end of, his wet sleeves dripping water onto the table

“I know. I can’t believe you guys broke up,” Jimin pouts. “That’s rough, man.” He massages Yoongi’s shoulders, it feels a lot more familiar than their relationship really is.

“Oh, um. It’s okay.” Yoongi grimaces. “It was a mutual decision.”

Taehyung sighs wistfully. “Still. Sucks. You’re welcome to keep hanging out with us though, we promise we won’t be awkward about it. When Hoseok’s not there if you would feel more comfortable that way.”

“No, it’s okay. We decided to stay friends so… Yeah.”

Jimin nods. “Good, good. Hoseok’s a nice guy.” He glances over at Taehyung. “I was a little eh at first but he’s pretty cool once you get past all the yelling and the loud.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Taehyung claps loudly, and one of the girl’s sitting at neighboring table startles. “Ooh. You should join our movie nights. Helps ward off the depression and the self doubt. The end of a relationship can be a trying time.”

Yoongi tries to wave him off. “Nah, I’m okay, really. Not depressed.”

Taehyung’s eyes look suspiciously watery. His face is flushed a vibrant red from the cold, and a few stray drops of rain drip from the tip of his nose. “Please. You say that now, but then suddenly it’s 3 am and you’re sobbing into a plate of lasagna wondering what you did wrong. Just come this once and if you hate it you don’t have to come again.”

Yoongi hesitates. “Uh… I d―”

“Oh come on,” Jimin nudges him. “Just for fun. We won’t make you talk about your deep-seated emotional problems on your first night.”

“Unless you want to,” Taehyung adds hopefully.

Yoongi doesn’t know where he is in his life to have a couple of college kids feeling this sorry for him. And now he’s about to agree to attend some glorified sympathy party for his breakup with his fake-boyfriend. Whatever this state is, it’s probably not a great one.

“Okay,” he sighs.

Taehyung and Jimin both grin.

“Excellent,” Taehyung says. “I’ll bring the pineapple and the moist towelettes.” He skips towards the door, drink forgotten on the table.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin says, scooping up both of their coffees. “This is gonna be good.”

 

Yoongi should have never believed that. When does a good time ever really mean a good time when anyone Yoongi knows is involved? He’s not sure how he ends up hosting, but he now has an apartment full of weird college kids he doesn’t know, a quite-likely drunk Taehyung loudly arguing the merits of High School Musical 2 versus the original, and a smoky kitchen from one spectacularly burnt pan of cookies. But the worst part by far is when Jungkook turns up, takes one look at Yoongi and then books it down the stairs. Jimin ends up having to chase after him, and by the time the two of them reenter five minutes later, they’re both looking sweaty and flushed.

“You have a lovely apartment Yoongi,” Jungkook grits out as Jimin holds him tight by the bicep. “I didn’t know you lived so close to campus.”

Yoongi smiles uncomfortably. “Thanks. I’ve lived here since junior year, so um… yeah.”

Jungkook nods mechanically until Jimin releases him.

“Stop being weird dude,” Jimin elbows him. “Yoongi’s nice, why don’t you talk to him for a bit. Get to know each other.” He shoves Jungkook forward and then scuttles off to the living room to wrestle Taehyung down from the coffee table.

“You’re not my father,” Jungkook calls after him, but it falls on deaf ears. With Jimin gone he looks smaller, fiddling clumsily with the cuffs of his shirt and looking down at his shoes.

“So…” Yoongi waits for Jungkook to meet his eyes; he squirms a bit under Yoongi’s gaze, looks like he’s considering bolting again. “Been to many bars lately?”

He’s probably a dick for saying it, but he has this niggling itch to know exactly how much Jungkook remembers from that night. Seems like a lot by the way he rapidly pales.

“Oh God,” Jungkook moans, raking his hands over his face. “Please, please, please―”

Yoongi backs off immediately. “Whoa chill. It was a joke, dude.”

“I know, just―” Jungkook scrunches his nose up and glances around furtively. “Can we talk somewhere else real quick?”

“Sure.”

“Kitchen?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “People in there. Bedroom.”

“Uh…” Jungkook looks uncertain.

“Promise I won’t bite.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“And it was true, wasn’t it?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer but he follows Yoongi into the back and sits down in Yoongi’s desk chair obediently, his hands in his lap. His face is placid, but his leg jiggles nervously, shaking the desk.

“Listen,” he says, as soon as the door clicks shut. “I’m so sorry for all of that. I don’t know what I was doing, I’m never like that, really.” He leans forward, fingers clenching over his thighs, earnest.

Yoongi hovers by the door, doesn’t move to get any closer. “You don’t have to convince me.”

“Yes I do .” Jungkook’s expression clouds. “I don’t want you thinking I’m some sloppy kid, who goes around throwing myself at anything with a pulse.”

“Jungkook, of course I don’t think that.”

“You don’t?

Yoongi sighs, inches forward until Jungkook is at arm’s length, close enough to reach out and touch if he so desired. He doesn’t. “No. I think you’re maybe going through a rough patch,” he says gently. “It happens to all of us. And if you ever decide you need someone to talk to or like― confess to or anything, you can talk to me. Only if you want.”

Jungkook bristles unexpectedly, spine going rigid and shoulders drawing up tight. “Confess what? Do I seem like I’m hiding something?” he snaps.

“No. Or, uh. I don’t know, just… anything you wanted to say, I would like… listen.”

“Why does everyone always treat me like that?” Jungkook erupts, face going all red, like he can’t control the rush of rage, or maybe it’s embarrassment. “Like I’m some ten year old who doesn’t know how to cope with his own shit. I don’t need help, okay?” His voice mounts, bordering on a yell, loud enough for Yoongi’s neighbors to hear, maybe even for the people outside. Yoongi tries to motion for him to bring it down a notch, but it only seems to further incense him. “There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m normal, alright? Or maybe I’m not. But I’m not like you .”

Ouch.

“Jungkook…” Yoongi breathes. “What—”

“I’m not gay,” he chokes. It sounds like he might actually cry. Like he has any business being upset after lashing out at Yoongi for trying to be nice .

Yoongi should be the mature one. He knows this. He’s four years older, that’s four more years of life experience, time to realize that fire to match fire can only end in flame. So he’s probably not at all justified in what he says next.

“I don’t know who in your life taught that you needed to be like this,” he growls, looming over Jungkook who cowers in his desk chair. “But why don’t you try, just for one second, to forget all that indoctrinated bullshit and understand this.” His palm slaps the table inches from Jungkook’s shoulder. “There is no dichotomy between what I am and what you are. ‘Normal’ or ‘right’ doesn’t exist, so get over yourself and stop acting like this erratic, finicky dick bag.”

Jungkook visibly shrinks before him, wrapping his arms around his chest protectively. “No, I didn’t—” he stutters, shaking his head. “I’m—”

Yoongi interrupts him. “No heterosexual man ever looked at another guy the way you looked at me. So you can say what you want to whoever else, but don’t keep feeding me bullshit, okay?”

“Yoongi, I—” he cuts himself off with a long, shuddering breath.

Yoongi regards him flatly. “What.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whimpers. “I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry. I know there’s not anything wrong with you. It’s me. Just me.” His lips quiver and he looks devastatingly guilty.

Yoongi takes a step back cautiously. “What do you mean?”

“I know it’s okay to be like…” He cringes. “—whatever. But I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird ,” he whines. “Like, I wouldn’t even know what to do, or how to act. How to do stuff with other guys. It’s so much harder than it is with girls, and like, why should I have to subject myself to that?”

“Well you seem to want to.”

Jungkook huffs. “Well I don’t. Or, I don’t know, maybe I do. I shouldn’t.”

Yoongi resists the urge to roll his eyes at Jungkook’s stubbornness. “Well maybe you should stop focusing so much on what you think you should do and think about instead what you’d like to do.”

“That’s irresponsible.”  

“That’s life.” Yoongi corrects. “Just because something seems easier in the short run doesn’t mean it’s good for you in the long term.”

“Okay dad . I didn’t ask for you to unload your philosophical crap on me.”

“It’s just an observation,” Yoongi snorts, “based on personal experience. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself, and I know your friends don’t either.”

“What friends?” Jungkook says bitterly.

“Uh. Jimin, Taehyung, whoever the hell all those people out there are.” Yoongi gestures roughly in the direction of the living room.

“They’re not my friends,” Jungkook mumbles. “They just feel obligated to take care of me. They think I’m like a baby that needs protecting.”

“No one thinks you’re a baby. That’s just what friends do, they look out for you. They might go a little far, but it’s out of love.”

“What do you know about love?” Jungkook peers up at him intently.

Yoongi blinks rapidly. “Damn. Okay, that was a burn.”

“No, sorry.” Jungkook flaps a hand uselessly. “I just meant like… you’ve done the whole romantic thing with dudes, so like― what gives? I heard you and Hoseok broke up.”

“Oh yeah?” Yoongi stiffens.

Jungkook plows on anyway. “Were you in love with him?” he asks bluntly.

“No.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“I mean… kind of?” Yoongi falters. “Not like, meaningfully.”

“What does that mean?” Jungkook narrows his gaze, still focused raptly on Yoongi’s eyes.

Yoongi shrinks away. “It means what it means.”

Jungkook seems to ponder that for a moment, and then his shoulders slump, and he bites his lip. “I don’t get it,” he sighs. “Love sounds fake. Like, the romantic kind I mean.”

“Not understanding it doesn’t make it unreal.” Yoongi mutters, “What about your parents?”

“Divorced since I was eight.”

“Friend’s parents?”

“Disturbingly codependent and inequitable. Also straight.”

“Jimin and Tae?”

Jungkook cocks his head, considering. “Yeah, I guess. But they’re like… gross. And not me. I just can’t picture it.”

“Well…” Yoongi says unhelpfully. “Hmm.”

Jungkook is quiet for a moment, pursing his lips. “Maybe you could teach me,” he says.

“Teach you what?”

“The homosexual lifestyle.” Jungkook gestures grandly. “What is it all about?”

“I’m pretty sure the answer to that question is different for everyone. And dude, I can’t tell you how to live your own life. I barely know what I’m doing.”

“But you are an experienced gay, are you not?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that.

“Have you or have you not done—” Jungkook makes a very vulgar hand gesture, “—with a guy.”

“Ew, stop.”

“That’s a yes.” Jungkook nods to himself. “Maybe if I knew what this was all about, I could—” he jerks his chin. “You know.”

“I do not know.”

“Just… see.” Jungkook says vaguely.

“Right.” Yoongi squints. “Well I’m not going to like, proclaim myself as your expert gay guide or anything but like, if you have any questions I guess you could text me. I guess you already got my number from Jimin.”

“How do you figure,” Jungkook challenges. Yoongi fixes him with a hard stare, raises his eyebrows. Jungkook seems to catch on and he scrunches up his face and looks away. “Ugh, alright, I got it. Can we not be weird about it.”

“This is weird. We made out, bro. And I’ve seen your dick. Hard.”

Jungkook has the good grace to look ashamed. “Yes, and for that I would like to apologize. That will not happen again if you help me. Even if you don’t help me.” He searches Yoongi’s face. “Unless you wanted it too?”

“Jungkook, please shut the hell up now. Remember what you said about making it weird?”

“Yeah, sorry. You got it,” he makes finger guns. “Huh. I actually feel much better now. I’ve been feeling kind of anxious lately. You should really consider going into therapy.”

In fact, Yoongi had called him out rather rudely, but he doesn’t remind Jungkook of that. “Yeah, I’ll look into that. Now if we’re done here…”

“Ah, right,” Jungkook says, jumping up. “The movie.”

Jungkook turns back on his way to the door. “Hey. Thanks.” He leans forward like he might be going in for a hug, but then instead holds up his hand for a high five.

Yoongi slaps at it weakly. “No problem.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

The next time he runs into Jungkook it’s a happy accident. Jungkook is coming out of the University library and Yoongi is cutting through campus on his way to meet Hoseok at their spot, a little breakfast place called Archibald’s, nestled between some mediocre chain pizza joint and a sandwich shop that’s been closed for as long as Yoongi’s been there. It’s basically the only dine-in restaurant within a 2 mile radius that stays open all night, which makes it a pretty popular spot for drunk kids returning from frat parties. He and Hoseok have been going there since freshman year, and the owner, Martha, knows them both by now, sometimes passes along a few free pastries when she’s feeling particularly nice.

It seems only natural to invite Jungkook along after he expresses his plans to eat half a box of granola bars and then nap in the study room while Jimin and Taehyung bang it out.

“You seem like you get sexiled a lot,” Yoongi hums as they walk. The sun has set already, but it’s still warm out, probably won’t ever cool down enough to warrant a jacket at this time of year.

“A lot doesn’t even begin to cover it. I swear they sometimes go for hours. Like what could they possibly be doing in that amount of time? It’s ridiculous.”

Yoongi has a few ideas but he offers up no explanation. “Dude that’s kind of messed up,” he says instead. “You can’t even be in your own room when you want to be?”

“To be fair, they’ve told me several times that I’m welcome to stay and watch, but like—” Jungkook shudders, “I think I prefer crashing in the lounge.”

They’re nearing the restaurant now, and the iridescent Domino’s sign casts blue across Jungkook’s cheekbones. He’s cute when he talks like this, all animated and indignant.

“They never use Tae’s room?” Yoongi asks, tearing his eyes from Jungkook’s dimples.

“Eh, sometimes. His roommate Namjoon is usually there though and I’m pretty sure Jimin is kind of intimidated by him. Actually I should ask him if I can just crash there, he probably wouldn’t mind.”

“Well if things ever get really bad, I live just around the corner,” Yoongi says in a thoughtless moment of ill-advised generosity.

Jungkook seems surprised by the offer, but he smiles. “I might have to take you up on that sometime.”

 

Hoseok looks nothing short of smug when Yoongi arrives with Jungkook in tow. Jungkook shoots him a concerned look and Yoongi subtly shakes his head, nudging Jungkook to slide into the booth first. He peeps a hello to Hoseok and plasters on the most obviously uncomfortable smile Yoongi has even seen.

“Hey Jungkook,” Hoseok says, ignoring the awkwardness, “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” Jungkook nods tersely. “What about you, how are you holding up?”

Hoseok frowns, and it’s like he doesn’t even remember what Jungkook is talking about. Yoongi kicks him under the table and turns to Jungkook.

“You can relax,” Yoongi says. “It’s all good between us, we won’t make it uncomfortable if you don’t.”

Jungkook looks unconvinced, but he stops shifting in his seat and looks up at them both with a much less pained expression. “Sorry, but like… none of my exes have ever wanted to do dinner days after a break up. Or even to see me again at all.”

Hoseok laughs loudly, though Yoongi is pretty sure that it hadn’t been a joke. “Damn what’d you do?”

Jungkook looks haunted.

“Please ignore him and his lack of social skills.” Yoongi aims a glare across the table. “Hoseok and I have been friends since sixth grade. We always said our friendship would come first, and it still does, even though we’re no longer romantically involved .”

Realization dawns over Hoseok. “Oh, right. Our breakup,” he says. “Yeah it was really too bad, but we just wanted different things. I wanted to settle down with a few cute dogs, he wanted to keep banging twinks in club bathrooms. It just wasn’t― ow! ” he rubs his shin under the table.

“Stop making me look like an asshole, asshole!” Yoongi snaps, “He’s just kidding,” he adds for Jungkook’s sake.

Fortunately, Martha interrupts their soon-to-be argument then, sidling up to their table to take their orders.

“Hey sugar.” She winks at Hoseok. “Back again so soon?” Her accent has softened a bit since the first time Yoongi met her, but she still sounds like a Georgia girl through and through.

Hoseok’s grin is sickeningly saccharine. “You know it darlin’,” he says. “I can never stay away from you long.”

“Is it me or my waffles?” she teases.

Hoseok feigns offense. “Honey the only thing here sweeter than the syrup is you.”

Martha looks terribly flattered, clutching at her chest like her heart just can’t take it. “You sure do know how to make a woman’s heart flutter.”

Yoongi has to look away. “I think I’m gonna throw up,” he mutters to Jungkook, too softly to be audible to anyone else. Jungkook sits up, looking alarmed.

“Kidding,” Yoongi says, “They do this every time.”

“Oh God.”

Hoseok watches as Martha sashays off with their orders, unblinking until she disappears into the kitchen.

Yoongi grimaces. “Must you do this every time? What is the point? You know you’ll never follow through.”

“What if I already have?” Hoseok waggles his eyebrows.

Yoongi is about to tell him to shut the hell up but Jungkook speaks up before he can.

“Wait hold on, you actually slept with her?”

Hoseok laughs delightedly. “Nah. I’ve thought about it though.”

Jungkook fishmouthes. “But she’s like… forty.”

“She’s thirty eight,” Hoseok corrects, “And she looks great, especially after two kids.”

“But you’re not― I thought you were, like… into guys.”

“I am,” Hoseok says.

“Oh.” Jungkook sits back and narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “Wow. So you’re like… pretty much the ideal threesome candidate then.”

“That's... offensive." Hoseok gives him a weird look and then his eyes flick to Yoongi, questioningly. "The term I’d use is bisexual but okay.”

“Fuck, sorry. I really didn't mean―" he flinches, face red. "I just yeah. Forgot that one.”

“Forgot about my existence, or?" Hoseok says evenly. Jungkook's eyes bulge out of his head and Yoongi resists the urge to laugh at his frog face.

"No! I mean― of course not. I mean―" He searches Hoseok's stony face as if to gauge his next response. “-no?"

Yoongi nudges Hoseok's toe, scowling. “Lay off the kid. He's dumb, he doesn't know these things yet."

Hoseok cracks a smile, one he'd obviously been holding back, the fucker. "I'm just kidding. Mostly. But on the real I would warn against that sort of discourse in the future." 

Jungkook nods fervently. “Of course, of course! I don't even think that, I was just―" Hoseok interrupts his flustered babbling by generously changing the subject.

“So tell me Jungkook, what’s it like being away from home? How’s your first breath of freedom treating you?”

“Pretty good.” Jungkook says cautiously, the red slowly creeping out of his cheeks. “I’m still kind of adjusting to the college thing. I honestly thought it would be better, but life is pretty much the same, just with less regular meals and more dirty laundry.”

“I feel that,” Hoseok nods. “Reminds me of my freshman year. Things will be better when you get to move out of the dorms next year, I promise.”

Jungkook flashes him a small but genuine smile. “I hope so, Jimin is great, but he’s exhausting.”

Hoseok snorts. “Is he always so hard to get to know.”

“Nah, he’s just naturally suspicious of people who try to bone his boyfriend.”

“It was a start on the wrong foot,” Hoseok acknowledges, “Though there’s no way me and Tae would’ve even gone there, he was so obviously into Jimin it was ridiculous.”

“Still is ridiculous,” Jungkook mutters.

“Speaking of ridiculous,” Yoongi says. “You remember that night at the party?”

Jungkook eyes him warily. “Um.”

“Not that. I’m talking about the pantry.”

Jungkook blinks in confusion. “What about it?” Yoongi raises his eyebrows and after a moment the uncertainty clears from Jungkook’s expression. “Ohh. Oh shit, yeah. That couple was going at it.”

“Ew, you saw people hooking up in my pantry and you didn’t do anything?” Hoseok says.

“Not just people…” Yoongi trails off suggestively.

Jungkook and Hoseok seem to get it at the same time.

“Ah, ew,” Hoseok says. “What the hell, those sick bastards.”

Jungkook gasps with laughter. “And to think, you’ve been eating food from there this whole time, none the wiser.”

“This isn’t funny,” Hoseok whines. “I was wondering what that stuff on the wall was. Oh my God. I think I touched it.”

There is a fair chance that Jungkook might actually be crying now. His face is flushed, his eyes all shiny and gleaming. He wipes at them with the back of his hand as his body shakes with laughter. Yoongi thinks he looks good like that: happy, face wet with the good kind of tears.

When their food comes Jungkook eats ravenously, like he’s been starved for days. Yoongi highly doubts that he can actually taste the food, though he claims it’s delicious. He resists the urge to wipe at the little smear of syrup at the corner of Jungkook’s mouth.

“See it’s a good thing you came along,” Yoongi tells him. “Just imagine, you could have been sitting at the dorms as we speak, starving and trying to tune out the sex noises.”

Jungkook stuffs an entire sausage patty into his mouth. “Yeah this is way better. I used all my meal points for this week too, so I though I was going to be out of luck until Sunday.” His words are only slightly muffled by the food.

“Does that happen often?” Yoongi asks, concerned.

“Eh. Sometimes, but it’s okay. I don’t starve. I can always buy food, I just try not to because it gets expensive. I don’t want to be any more of a burden on my parents than I already am.”

Hoseok coos at him and Jungkook looks terribly embarrassed.

“Well if you’re ever in need of a hot meal, you should definitely hit Yoongi up,” Hoseok says. “He makes a mean pot of spaghetti.”

Jungkook looks surprised. “You cook?”

“Just a little,” Yoongi mumbles.

“I should really learn how to do that. Hey, if ever come over to escape we’ll have something to do.” He brightens.

Yoongi gives him a thumbs up and ignores the way Hoseok looks searchingly between them.

When they finish eating, Jungkook excuses himself to the restroom to clean up. Hoseok leans over the table to whisper once he’s out of sight.

“He’s cute.” Hoseok smirks, and it’s as if  he can read every thought and feeling off of Yoongi’s face. “A little awkward but I think you should keep him.”

Yoongi can only snort. “I wish.”

Chapter Text

A month passes. Autumn turns to winter. Things at work mellow out a bit and he finally gets a chance to catch his breath for what feels like the first time since graduation. He sees Jimin and Taehyung around sometimes, Jungkook too. They chat a little, just bits of small talk in passing, inconsequential and forgettable. Jungkook seems to have truly rebounded from his breakdown that night, or at least appears to from the little glimpses Yoongi gets every now and then. Sometimes— on those rare occasions when Yoongi manages to spot Jungkook from a distance, making the trek home from his evening class by the fountain where Yoongi goes to work when his apartment is feeling especially stifling— he gets to watch unobserved, see that healthy glow shine on his skin and admire the way his face lights up when he laughs. It’s absurd how badly Yoongi wants to hear that laugh up close and personal. Perhaps that alone is the reason he agrees with little protest when Taehyung corners him in the campus coffee shop one evening, asks him how he feels about hosting another movie night with half a smirk twisting his lips, like he’s got his answer before Yoongi ever opens his mouth.

 

Jimin is the first to arrive that Friday night, a giant duffle bag slung over his shoulder and sporting a pair of jeans with enough holes to render them virtually useless in generating any sort of warmth in the rapidly cooling weather. He looks suspiciously tall in a pair of Doc Martens, and it seems he shrinks a solid two inches when he kicks them off beside the door.

“I only brought The Princess Bride, so no arguments this time.” Jimin grins as he shrugs off his sweater and tosses it over the back of a stool. Yoongi thinks that’s not really a victory for anyone but he nods and smiles anyway.

“So,” Jimin says, unzipping his bag and producing a box of microwavable carrot cakes which he slams down onto the counter with unnecessary force. “Jungkook tells me you’re back on speaking terms with Hoseok.” He rips at a packet with his teeth. “Got any scissors?”

“Back on— what?” Yoongi asks as he riffles through his junk drawer for the scissors. “We were never off speaking terms.” He slides the scissors across the counter and Jimin swipes them up and snips open the cake powder without ever breaking eye-contact.

“So you still thinking about rekindling that flame?”

“No way. Hell no.”

“I see.” Jimin narrows his eyes and Yoongi shrinks under the full weight of his calculating gaze. His hand comes down hard to clap Yoongi once on the shoulder before he turn to riffle through his pantry with a suspicious degree familiarity. “That’s alright,” he hums. “Probably for the better, anyway.”

Yoongi snorts. “The best would have been if we hadn’t dated at all.”

Jimin stops with one hand on the cabinet door and looks back over his shoulder to eye Yoongi for a long second. “Wow. Strong statement.” His posture doesn’t change, but Yoongi can hear the suspicion in the way his tone shifts, knows he’s been a bit too careless by the way Jimin’s brow has begun to furrow.

“I mean— Hoseok is great,” Yoongi says quickly. “I just think dating him was a mistake. We’re lucky we stopped before things got too awkward between us. I’d hate to ruin a friendship like ours over what turned out to be nothing, you know?”

Jimin cocks his head slightly, but seems to accept it. He appears to give up on whatever he’s looking for and lets the cabinet door slams shut resoundingly. “Yeah. I always thought you guys had kind of a weird dynamic. I can dig it though. I can’t even imagine going back to being friends with someone like that so soon,” he seems saddened by the thought, “It’d be so weird after all the feelings and sex and stuff. Sappy shit is the hardest to get over.” He dumps the cake mix into the trash with an impassive expression. Yoongi doesn’t ask.

“Huh.” He watches Jimin dust his hands off over the sink. “Guess it’s a good thing Hoseok and I never actually―” he starts and then bites down hard on his tongue before he says something inadvisably revealing of the true nature of their relationship.

Jimin catches on anyway and gapes. “You really never slept with him?” Yoongi can do nothing but shake his head and curse himself for having such a big, dumb mouth― a mouth that seems to open far too frequently these days.

Jimin’s eyes are wide. “Oh wow,” he sees the look on Yoongi’s face and makes a visible effort to appear less shocked. “Sorry, I guess I just assumed…” He clears his throat, looking embarrassed. “So are you like one of the traditionalist types?” His eyes flick over Yoongi’s body like he might find the explanation there, and Yoongi has to fight not to let the offense show on his face. “I mean not that being gay is like, traditional, traditional, but are you waiting for something first? Love? Marriage?”

“Uh… Not really. Or― I don’t know,” Yoongi mumbles as he tries and fails to produce a decent lie. “It just never happened.” He wonders who exactly he needs to bribe to open a vortex right in the middle of his kitchen to swallow him up.

“Whoa―” Jimin says. “So are you like… a virgin?” he hisses, like there are other people in the kitchen there to overhear some dirty secret.

“God. No.

Jimin looks too relieved. “Ah, okay. Just a Hoseok thing then?”

“Yup. Just a Hoseok thing.” Yoongi says around a smile-turned-grimace. He wishes he had something to do with his hands but he doesn’t, so they hang awkwardly by his sides as he tries not to look as guilty as he feels. Somehow just standing here now feels like the least-casual thing he’s ever done.

“Then I guess it really is a good thing you guys broke up. Lacking sexual chemistry has got to be one of the quickest ways to tank a relationship.” Jimin pauses, contemplative. “Unless you’re like… asexual I guess.”

“Speaking from experience?”

A slow, lecherous grin makes its way across Jimin’s lips. “Nope.”

“Oh. Nice.”

“Yeah.”

A long, drawn out moment passes in silence. Yoongi is suddenly very aware of the hum of the refrigerator, the sounds of cars whooshing by outside the window, voices echoing distantly in the hall. He swallows hard and fiddles with the waistband of his jeans. Jimin is still looking at him, impassive yet contemplating. Someone pounds on the front door and Yoongi jerks so hard he almost knocks a glass onto the floor.

“Come in,” he calls, voice somewhat scratchy.

Taehyung barges in as the words have barely passed his lips, Jungkook trailing behind somewhat reluctantly, hesitant as the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Babe,” Taehyung squeals. He squirms his way past Yoongi in the kitchen, gives him a little pat on the shoulder in passing before he shoves him aside to get to Jimin. He thrusts his hands into the pockets Jimin’s jeans and leans in much closer than is necessary or appropriate to ask, “Did you bring the stuff?”

“Yup.” Jimin jolts slightly when Tae gropes at his ass roughly. “It’s not in there though.” He moves like he’s going to pull Taehyung’s hand away, but then he doesn’t, just holds his wrist and lets his fingers roam over all the places Yoongi does not want to see them go.

“I know,” Taehyung stares into his eyes intensely.

Jungkook makes a gagging sound behind them. “Please. You told me this wasn’t going to be another awkward third-wheel, couple thing.” He shifts forward cautiously as he speaks, sparing Yoongi a quick glance and then looking away quickly, like he’s embarrassed.

“This isn’t a couple thing, Yoongi’s here too,” Taehyung protests. “I didn’t know there was a law against us spending time with our friends together.”

Yoongi feels it when Jungkook prickles beside him. “Where’s the rest of the group?” he asks, an attempt to seamlessly change the subject.

“There is no group, sweet thing. Just us.” Taehyung winks. “Too hard to coordinate schedules with more than a few people.” Jimin pinches him and he squawks, slipping his hands out of Jimin’s pockets to protect his nipples. Jungkook groans.

“Great, maybe you guys won’t make a huge fuckin’ mess like last time.”

Taehyung grins, squirming as as Jimin’s fingers start to creep up his ribs and press in. “No promises,” he gasps, trying to slap Jimin’s hands away.

They settle on the couch, a little too cramped with all four of them. Jungkook ends up shifting to the floor as Jimin pulls a bottle of cheap, shitty whiskey from his bag and pours them all shots. Yoongi grips the glass between tentative fingers and watches Jimin slam his and immediately pour a second. Jungkook downs his and makes a face.

“Do you guys usually get hammered on movie night?” Yoongi asks.

“Nah, but there’s no way to watch the Princess Bride without a slight buzz,” Jimin says, “That shit’s awful.”

He motions for Yoongi to take his shot and then pours them all another. “Last one,” he promises when he sees the disgusted twist of Yoongi’s lips.

“Dude, where’d you buy this shit?” he coughs.

Jimin laughs. “Pretty sure this has been under my bed since freshman year. Found it while I was looking for the DVD actually.”

“Urg,” Jungkook says from the floor.

Jimin kicks him. “Shut up, the movie’s about to start.”

The movie does start and Yoongi manages to watch for approximately five full minutes before his eyes begin to wander. The lights in the living room are dimmed, but there’s a faint yellow glow coming in from the streetlights below his window, pooling on the carpet at their feet. His gaze trails over Jungkook, who’s got his head propped against Taehyung’s knee, eyelashes fluttering as the dancing lights from the TV screen flicker across his face.

He looks tired today. Not that Yoongi can see much of his face from this angle, but there’s something in the slump of his shoulders and the way his head lolls limply over Taehyung’s thigh. His eyes are fixed vacantly on the screen and his fingers twist idly in the fibers of the rug. It’s not until he huffs a little laugh at something on-screen that Yoongi finally remembers to tear his eyes away.

Beside him, Taehyung seems to have given up on the movie entirely. He shoots Yoongi a suspicious look when he notices his stare and Yoongi forces himself to assume a look of blank innocence in return. Taehyung purses his lips but seems to lose interest quickly and sinks back into the cushions, jostling Jungkook’s head slightly when Jimin’s fingers come to grip his thigh and he twitches.

Yoongi turns his eyes back to the screen and lets his mind wander off.

“Ow fuck,” Jungkook hisses from the floor. Yoongi feels a warm weight grip his calf, looks down to see Jungkook clutching him, one hand cupping the back of his head. “God damn it Tae.” he growls.

Taehyung snickers a little and throws both of his thighs over Jimin’s so that he’s damn near in his lap. “Sorry babe, find a new pillow.”

Jungkook scowls but shifts back to lean against the cushions. There’s some shuffling on the couch beside him and Yoongi is honestly half-afraid to look over at this point. Instead, he fixes his eyes back on the screen and tries to ignore it when he hears Jimin let out a muffled grunt.

Another twenty minutes passes in relative silence. Jungkook is the only one really enraptured by the film, Yoongi distracted by the too-loud tick of his watch and the glossy sheen of Jungkook’s hair. What fuckin’ shampoo did that little bastard use to get it so silky?

But then there’s the distinct sound of smacking and Yoongi’s eyes flick over involuntarily to the other side of the couch. Taehyung has moved again, this time to straddle Jimin’s thighs, and both of his hands are gripping onto the back of the couch as Jimin licks into his mouth heavily, fingers digging bruisingly hard into his ass planted firmly over Jimin’s crotch. Yoongi averts his eyes quickly and inches away until he’s almost hanging over the arm of his own couch.

“Ugh. Can you guys like, not?” Jungkook screws up his face when he looks over. “The noises are really detracting from the film.”

Jimin wordlessly removes one hand from Taehyung’s ass to fumble for the remote and dial up the volume four notches.

“Thanks a bunch,” Jungkook mutters sarcastically. He scoots away from them until his full body is pressed up against Yoongi’s leg, cheek smushed against his thigh. Yoongi has the fleeting urge to reach down and ruffle his hair. Jungkook is even cuter than usual like this, all huffy and soft and tired. Yoongi folds his hands together and jams them between his thighs in case he gets any other ideas.

The awkwardness is almost tangible with the wet, barely muted sounds of kissing as a background track, and Yoongi’s not sure whether he should go hide in his room or kick them all out before he has to see Taehyung get his dick out again. When Jimin lets out an honest-to-God whine, Yoongi has had about enough. He clears his throat loudly, but neither of them seem to get the message. Jungkook tilts his head back to look up at him. Kill me, he mouths. Yoongi is right there with him. He reaches over for the remote and hits the power button. The screen goes black, pitching the room into near darkness. Even without the visual, the slick sounds of lips locking are enough to make Yoongi want to squirm.

“Aw, what the hell,” he deadpans. “Looks like my TV broke. Guess we’re going to have to cut movie night short.”

“Huh?” Taehyung finally rips away, lips visibly swollen and glistening wet even in the dark. “It’s over already?”

“Yup,” Jungkook says. “Guess it’s time to get home.” He leaps up from the floor to flick on the light.

Jimin blinks rapidly as his eyes adjust. “Mmm. Okay,” he says, sounding dazed. His hands slip out of Taehyung’s waistband to trace up over the knobs of his spine.

Taehyung arches under his hands, sighing softly into the skin of Jimin’s throat. “Mmm. Can I sleep over babe?” he leans in close to murmur, nibbling at one of the studs in Jimin’s ear.

Jungkook hears it too and pulls a face. He opens his mouth to resist but Jimin beats him to it.

“Hrrg. Yeah,” he groans, twisting his neck so Taehyung can get a better angle. “Jungkook, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Um.”

Taehyung’s voice is slightly muffled as he says, “You can try out those new noise cancelling headphones my mom got me for Christmas.” A wet pop as he switches ears. “I think I left them on your desk the other day.”

Jungkook is an adorable mixture of sleepy and grumpy as he stifles a yawn. “You know what, that’s okay. I’ll just hit the library for an hour,” he says. Jimin pants harshly against Taehyung’s throat, bucking up against him unsubtly, hands sweeping the hot skin under his shirt.

Jungkook grimaces. “Maybe two… three.”

“Mmm.” Jimin hums, not really listening. “ ‘kay Kook.”

Yoongi almost misses the way Jungkook’s eye twitches at that. He’s trying not to show his irritation, clearly, but it’s obvious to Yoongi that he’s pissed, gnawing on his bottom lip and tapping his toe on the floor, casting his eyes between Jimin and the door like he’s thinking hard about bolting.

Yoongi comes up beside him and brushes the back of his hand to catch his attention. “You can just crash here if you want,” he says quietly, not that he needs to under the cadence of Taehyung’s groans. “The couch isn’t the best but it sure beats those chairs at the library.”

“I don’t know.” Jungkook scrunches up his nose and looks away when Jimin’s hands start to slip back below the belt. “I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“You’re not.” Yoongi says and waits for Jungkook to meet his eyes again. “Really.”

The remote and someone’s phone go clattering to the floor as Taehyung writhes on top of Jimin, almost tearing down the blinds as he claws blindly behind him. Jungkook glances over and only hesitates for half a second before he coalesces. “Alright.” he nods slowly, carefully. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

A loud, throaty moan shatters any semblance of quiet that might have fallen between them.

“Jesus Christ. They’re not going to have sex here, right?”

Jungkook blinks rapidly. “Fuck. I hope not.”

Ehm. Guys?” Yoongi clears his throat awkwardly. They both ignore him. “Not to be rude― because I like you both a reasonable amount considering how long we’ve known each other― but please get the fuck out of my apartment now.”

At first it seems like they’re going to ignore him again; between the spit-slick sounds of kissing and the loud hum of the refrigerator, it feels like his words might have drowned in the thick fog of awkwardness that permeates the room. But then Taehyung sighs softly and breaks away, eyes never once straying from Jimin’s. “Sorry, sorry. Going.” He plants one final, reluctant kiss to Jimin’s jawline and pushes himself up, smoothing obviously over the front of his jeans with both hands.

Jimin stands too, running a hand through his mussed hair. He fits himself up against Taehyung’s back and strokes down his sides sweetly. Yoongi finds himself averting his eyes. This feels somehow more intrusive than watching them dry hump on the couch. They make it halfway to the door before Taehyung turns back and notices Jungkook, still hovering halfway between the table and the couch, looking like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Jungkook's not coming?” he asks.

Jungkook looks awfully conspicuous when he mumbles down at the floor. “Nah, Yoongi and I are going to hang out for a while. I’ll see you guys tomorrow though.”

Jimin looks over his shoulder in surprise, eyes darting first to Yoongi and then on to Jungkook. “Wh-” he starts and then his mouth snaps shut and his head tilts to the side. “Huh.”

Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest, half defensive, half self-conscious. “Something wrong?”

“You just…” Jimin shakes his head as if to clear it. “Nothing. All good. See you guys.” He shoots them one last quizzical look in parting before he and Taehyung stumble out into the hall. Yoongi turns the deadbolt behind them.

Jungkook visibly relaxes once their loud voices are no longer audible echoing down the corridor.

“God, I want to kill them sometimes,” he groans and slumps back onto the couch, pillowing his head on the armrest.

“If the cops come knocking on my door next week I’m totally ratting you out.”

Jungkook laughs tiredly, hiding another half-suppressed yawn in the palm of his hand.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Hmm?” Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah. ‘M just really tired I think. I’ve got a huge project due next week and I’ve been working on it for the past three nights straight.”

“Ugh. Say no more, you’re giving me sympathy stress.”

“Can’t be worse than experiencing it first hand.”

“I know. Believe me, I’ve been there.”

Jungkook cranes his neck up. “Right. I keep forgetting you were a student too last year, you just seem so old.” He balks when he notices Yoongi’s scowl. “Or― I mean, not like old, old. Just like… wise beyond your years.”

Yoongi fixes him with a flat look. “Wow. Thanks.”

“It was a compliment, I promise.” Jungkook’s smile is coy. “Who doesn’t love a mature man.”

“Okay, I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re making me sound like a grandfather.”

Jungkook stares up at the ceiling consideringly. He looks awfully comfortable on Yoongi’s couch, like the cheap pleather has melded to the curves of his body. “You know now that you say it, I gotta say, I can kind of see the resemblance.”

Yoongi dons his best impression of what he imagines an eighty year old man who frequents the Bingo hall would sound like. “I think it’s past your bedtime there sonny. How about we run you a nice warm bubble bath and then Pappy will read you a bedtime story.”

“Mmm that sounds nice,” Jungkook sighs. “Real comforting. Tell me more things.”

“Your gramps could sure use a foot massage before that bath. Just watch out for the corns, you don’t want to cut yourself.”

“Ew. Maybe I take it back. A shower would be nice though.”

“Anything for my favorite grandson.” Yoongi roots through the hall closet for a spare towel, brimming with over two year’s worth of compiled junk. A few loose gloves go tumbling to the ground and he stoops to pick them back up and cram them into the darkest recesses of the coat rack.

Jungkook makes an appreciative sound. “Now your ass on the other hand is way too nice for a grandpa. Damn.” Yoongi does not know where the fuck this bold, new Jungkook came from, but he is struggling to convince himself that he does not appreciate it one bit. It’s not a lie if he believes it, right?

Yoongi wads up the towel and chucks it towards the couch. It lands directly over Jungkook’s smug face. “How sweet. Just for that I’m going to let you shower second.”

Jungkook grunts, somewhat muted by the towel. He looks like he could fall asleep at any second, arm draped limply off the side of the couch and his breath coming in long, deep huffs through the fabric. It seems quite likely that he’ll be quite unconscious by the time it’s his turn in the bathroom.

So it’s somewhat of a surprise when Yoongi comes out of the bathroom some fifteen minutes later to an empty living room. The first thing that runs through his mind is that Jungkook has left, just took off without saying anything, slipped out the front door never to be seen again. Yoongi has the fleeting thought that he’d been too pushy with him, had pressured him into something he wasn’t actually comfortable with, all because he was trying to be accommodating. He should know by now that nice doesn’t suit him.

But then he picks up on the sound of labored breathing, and he takes another few cautious steps forward until Jungkook― who has not, in fact, fled― comes into view. He’s laying sprawled out on the living room rug; his shirt’s been flung across the couch cushions and there’s the tiniest sheen of sweat coating his bare, heaving chest. He looks like a bronzed God. Which is why the second thing that comes to Yoongi’s mind is: abs.

Jungkook startles when he notices Yoongi lingering by the bathroom door and he sits up . He seems to quickly come to the realization that Yoongi cannot tear his eyes from his body and smirks a little as he follows Yoongi’s gaze down his own abdomen.

“What, uh―” Yoongi swallows, tries to wet his dry throat. “What are you doing down there?”

“Isometrics. I’d usually do it the gym but I’ve been so busy this week I didn’t have time.” Jungkook looks like he’s waiting for Yoongi to say something but it’s like his brain has shut off and he can’t form any thoughts beyond, wow and holy shit and is this heaven?  

“Dedication, I’m impressed,” he finally stutters out.

“You look it.”

“Well,” he amends with a casual little half-shrug. “Not that impressed.” he hopes he’s not drooling.

Jungkook huffs a little laugh. “Right.” He stands up and reaches for his shirt.

“Oh don’t let me stop you.” Yoongi says, too quickly. He’s not sure why, but he knows he doesn’t regret it when Jungkook drops the shirt back onto the couch and turns around. The way he looks without a shirt is honestly ridiculous― all honey abs and smooth skin and toned chest.

There’s a challenge in his eyes too as his pupils gleam, daring Yoongi to come closer. “I won’t.”

Yoongi feels like he’s being compelled nearer, beckoned by that dip in Jungkook’s waist that’s just begging for his hand to fit to it. He sidesteps the end table, pretending to examine his nails― can’t look too interested now.

“Squats, huh? Nice,” he says, trying his best not to seem creepy as he examines Jungkook’s form― like he’s in any place to be critiquing his technique when he hasn’t been to a gym in months.

“Yup.” Jungkook doesn’t sound winded at all. Yoongi doesn’t know why that’s so hot to him.

“I bet you could fuckin… do that with the both of us,” he says unthinkingly, staring at Jungkook’s quads flexing through his sweats with too-wide eyes and not enough breath.

Jungkook pauses, standing up right and cocking his head. “What do you mean?”

Yoongi blanches. “Just like… muscles,” he pokes at Jungkook’s thigh by way of demonstration. “You could probably squat with both of our body weights.”

“Well yeah, that’s like… easy,” Jungkook looks confused at the notion, like there is no existing universe in which he wouldn’t be able to squat Yoongi like nothing. “You weigh like half of me.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Yoongi jabs his thigh again. “You’re like two inches taller than me.”

“Three.” Jungkook grins wide. “Come here.”

Yoongi remains resolutely rooted to the spot; he’s not sure he could move if he wanted to. Jungkook sweeps his knees out from under him anyway, scoops him up like some sort of budding bride. It’s rather undignified, is what Yoongi tells himself. He still happily takes the opportunity to feel up Jungkook’s triceps.

“How are you even lighter than you look?” Jungkook scoffs, hefting Yoongi up higher, crushing him into his chest. It’s not hot. Maybe if Yoongi keeps repeating that he’ll start to believe it.

“Bet I couldn’t say the same for you,” he shoots.

Jungkook’s smile is undimmed. “Count for me,” he says simply, and dips down. Yoongi hooks his arm around his neck for balance and blinks up at him in rapt silence. “I said count.”

Yoongi counts.

Jungkook is quiet for the first twenty reps, lets Yoongi fade into a mindless bliss as he teases his fingers along the top of Jungkook’s pecs under the guise of holding on. He seems to tire midway into the second set, though and starts making these adorable little huffing sounds with the effort, a single bead of sweat trickling down his neck right in front of Yoongi’s face.

“Come on, is that all you got?” Yoongi goads, tightening his grip and resisting the disgusting urge to lap up the line of sweat.

“Oof.” Jungkook grunts. “I take it back. You’re heavy as fuck.”

Yoongi twists his nipple hard.

Jungkook lets out a hiss and drops Yoongi so fast he can feel the bruise forming on his ass on impact. He tries to blink away the stars in his eyes.

“Shit sorry,” Jungkook reaches to help him up. “I’m just, uh―” He looks flustered, skin all red and blotchy, definitely not just from the exercise.

“Sensitive?”

Jungkook nods so slightly it’s almost imperceptible. Yoongi doesn’t miss it though― can’t when he’s hyper-focused on every little detail of Jungkook, just waiting for him to give something up, reveal a little piece of himself in the process. He tries hard to ignore the throb he feels in his lower belly as his eyes trail the line of his v-cut.

“Oh shit. I, uh― sorry.”

Jungkook waves him off. “Mmm, it’s okay. Might’ve just liked it a little too much, is all.”

Yoongi tries hard to repress what that information does to him. When Jungkook gets in the shower it takes him a solid ten minutes to will down his half chub. It’s a rather futile effort, as his heart rate spikes again the second Jungkook comes trailing out of the bathroom in only a towel, chest damp and hair dripping rivulets down his back. Yoongi can’t even bring himself to care about the puddle that is no doubt forming on the carpet at his feet.

“Can I borrow a pair of sweats or something?” Jungkook asks, looking somewhat bashful under Yoongi’s hard stare.

It takes him far too long to respond. “Uh.” Yoongi coughs into his hand. “Uh. Yeah. Let me just―” he darts into his room to catch his breath. He’s not sure how he ever convinced himself that he wasn’t attracted to Jungkook when he so clearly wants to hop on that. His pulse is racing with just the knowledge that Jungkook is a room away, naked and wet and… fuck— he’s waiting. He assumes his most dead-eyed, unbothered look before he pushes into the hall and hands Jungkook a baggy tee shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants that will completely drown his frame if Yoongi has any luck at all.

Down goes the towel to the floor and up go Yoongi’s eyes to the ceiling. It lends only the illusion of modesty, he’s already seen what Jungkook has to offer and he is not interested, read: very interested in seeing more.

Jungkook snorts when he notices the direction of Yoongi’s gaze. “All done. You can stop pretending to be decent.”

“Pretending?” Yoongi sputters, “I am decent. You’re just― just so―” He stumbles to find the words.

Jungkook looks utterly unabashed― a stark comparison to his bumbling nervousness from a month ago. “Just what?”

“Immodest.”

Jungkook snickers. “Maybe I am. But I think you like it.” His eyes glint, whether it’s with mirth or suggestion is unclear.

“What?” Yoongi says stupidly.

“I’m not blind.” Jungkook bats his big, dumb doe eyes. “I can tell when you’re staring. And you stare a lot.”

“I think you’re mistaken buddy.” Yoongi takes a step back as Jungkook presses forward. His back bumps up against the wall opposite the door and Jungkook crowds in closer, suddenly so much taller and broader than he had seemed a moment ago.

“I don’t think I am.” Jungkook leans in until their noses are almost brushing, just a few fingers width apart. He could breach that distance effortlessly if he wanted. “I think you want me. You already know how I feel.” He bites his lip and his eyes flick down to Yoongi’s.

“Do I?” He means for it to come out snappish but instead it’s just breathy and weak.

“I think you do,” Jungkook says lowly. And now he’s leaning in further, caging Yoongi up against the wall. Their chests crush together, and then their hips are flush and Jungkook is pressing himself up against Yoongi’s thigh and…

And he’s hard.

Yoongi doesn’t think, just reacts. He shoves Jungkook away harder than he means to, hard enough to send Jungkook careening back into the bathroom.

“Fuck, fuck,” he hisses, staring down at his own palms like they’ve betrayed him. “We can’t do this.”

Jungkook looks utterly lost, rubbing his knee where he’d collided with the counter. “I’m sorry. Did I misread this?” His mouth gapes slightly, like he hasn’t quite processed the rejection yet.

A thousand different thoughts race through Yoongi’s mind, but none of them adequate enough excuse to explain exactly why he’d pushed Jungkook away when he’d wanted desperately to pull him closer, yank on those silky strands of hair and pry apart those cherry lips with his own. “No. I’m sorry. You didn’t misread anything. Just…” his eyes meet Jungkook and every single though rushes out of his head. “Can’t.”

“Oh.” Jungkook says, like he doesn’t really understand. “Oh, I see. I guess I just thought…” He turns away, pained. Yoongi can see his reflection in the bathroom mirror, can see his downturned lips and the masked hurt in his eyes. “Nothing. I can go if you want.”

He doesn’t move though, stays rooted to the spot like he’s waiting for Yoongi’s protest.

“Don’t go. It’s my fault, really,” he rushes to say. “You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? It was a misunderstanding. Please stay. I don’t want you to sleep in the library.”

Jungkook still won’t look at him directly, but their eyes meet in the mirror and he seems to sag a little, lose his resolve. “Okay,” he says simply. “I’ll stay.” He takes his place quietly on the couch and pulls the blanket up over his knees, sinking into the cushions like they can both camouflage and comfort him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles again once he settles in.

Yoongi locks himself in his room and spends longer than ever trying to convince himself he’s not a terrible person as he listens through the door for the sounds of Jungkook’s long even breaths. The apartment is silent. He falls asleep on the floor with his ear pressed to the door crack and wakes up with carpet fibers imprinted on his cheeks and a crick in his neck.

Jungkook is gone in by the time Yoongi dares to step foot into the living room. He finds his sweats folded in a neat pile at the end of the couch with a tiny green post-it note stuck on top.

Sorry for last night. It says. I’ll try not to bother you anymore. xx -Jungkook

Yoongi wonders if he’s made a big mistake.

 

 

Hoseok’s apartment is even shittier than Yoongi’s. The carpets look like they haven’t been shampooed since ’83— long before even Yoongi was born. The courtyard in the center of the complex is in a perpetual state of shambles, and the whole place reeks of mothballs and aftershave. His roommate is kind of an asshole too.

Hoseok looks awfully surprised when Yoongi shows up unannounced on a Sunday morning, looking much frumpier than usual in a pair of baggy sweats and a tee shirt.

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing he asks, like there’s no good reason for Yoongi to be there beyond some hypothetical crisis event. He still opens the door so that Yoongi can step in and shed his coat.

“Yeah fine. Why?”

Hoseok looks like he has some serious doubts. “Dude, it’s not even ten. Usually I’m lucky to even hear from you before two.”

“Yeah well I woke up early.” Yoongi grumbles, stretching out across the length of the couch so that there’s no room for Hoseok to sit. The cushions smell like musk and glue. “And I’m bored now, so entertain me.”

Hoseok perches on the coffee table and looks distastefully at Yoongi’s shoes on the couch. “It’s finals week, I don’t have time to run a daycare service.”

“Fuck off. Like you were actually going to study.”

“I’ll have you know that I was planning to hit the books for a full hour today. I’m not playing around this semester.”

Yoongi groans with his face buried in a pillow. “You say this every time. Just accept that you’re a natural-born slacker and move on.”

“Somehow that sounds a little disingenuous coming from Mr. Try-hard himself.” Hoseok lands a slap on the back of his thigh. “This time is different. I’m determined— I’m gonna achieve my dreams and then some.”

“Sure,” Yoongi snorts. “Well if you’re not going to keep me company then pass me that blanket. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Dude,” Hoseok groans, but he reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the and flings it over. “You know you could have done this at home right?"

Yoongi pulls the blanket up over his head. “Good night Hoseok.”

Hoseok sighs. “Good night.” He mutters something else under his breath that Yoongi doesn’t care to decipher.

Some indeterminate amount of time later Hoseok wakes him with his crushing weight pinning Yoongi’s legs to the couch. He yanks the blanket back and the muted sunlight streaming through the dirt-streaked window makes Yoongi squint. “You were right, I can’t do this,” Hoseok whines, burying his face into the back of the couch.

This is when a good friend would say something encouraging. “I’m sure you’ll do passable work anyway,” Yoongi says gruffly, patting his knee.

“Gee, thanks.” Hoseok twists his neck to look over. “And why are you here again?”

“I told you why.”

“You told me bullshit.”

“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, you’re not my a therapist.”

“Yet.” Hoseok snatches the pillow out from underneath him to smack him with it. “Not that it matters because it wouldn’t take one to know you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Yoongi sits up and blinks around, takes in the true mess that is Hoseok’s apartment, scattered with half-crumpled papers, unopened textbooks, and a concerning number of red-stained popsicle sticks. “Why would I be upset? I’m not.”

Hoseok blinks twice. “Nice. That didn’t make it obvious at all.”

“Hrg. Can you just stop talking.”

No,” Hoseok punches him on the thigh. “Fucking confide in me. I know that’s what you came here for, why must I always force it out of you?”

“You don’t have to force anything.” Yoongi kicks away a chocolate wrapper at his feet. “Nothing happened.”

Hoseok punches his leg again and then jabs his fingers into the ticklish spot on Yoongi’s hip. “Ha. I didn’t ask if something happened. But now I know it did so spill.”

Yoongi rolls over to protect himself, dragging his knees up to his chest. Hoseok’s hand comes down hard right over his tailbone. “Ow. Fuck that’s sore.”

Hoseok shakes him by the leg. “Ugh, why can’t you just say it.” Abruptly he freezes and his hands drop off of Yoongi’s calf. “Unless… Wait. Does this have something to do with Jungkook?”

“…No?”

Yoongi.

“Maybe.”

Realization seems to dawn over Hoseok. His eyes rake down over Yoongi’s prone body, hovering over his ass like his x-ray vision alone will uncover the truth. “You’re—” Yoongi meets his eyes guiltily and he gasps. “You dirty bitch!” He screeches, slapping at the back of Yoongi’s calf. “I can’t believe this.”

Yoongi shoves him off and scrambles up to a sitting position. “First of all this really isn’t what you think. And even if it was, weren’t you the one who told me to sleep with him?”

“Yeah but I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Oh my God.”

“This is a gross overreaction.”

You’re a gross overreaction.” Hoseok’s voice mounts in volume until he’s practically screaming.  Distantly, Yoongi thinks this may in large part explain why his roommate seems to get so huffy whenever Yoongi comes around. “I can’t believe you fucked Jungkook. Or he fucked you. He’s like fourteen.”

Yoongi cringes. “Ew, don’t make it creepy, he’s nineteen. And I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Oh.” Hoseok takes a long look at Yoongi’s downcast eyes and his tone pitches down instantly from shrill to soothing. “Oh honey, is that the problem? Did you try something with him? Did he turn you down?”

“Don’t call me honey,” Yoongi mumbles, though he can’t bring himself to really mean it. “And no. Pretty much the opposite actually.”

“What, you said no to him?” Yoongi’s silence is answer enough. “But…” Hoseok looks taken aback, “I thought― Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Yoongi glares

“I mean, like. You’re into him, obviously—” he shoots Yoongi a look that dares him to protest. “And he’s definitely into you too so what’s the problem?”

“The problem— which you so conveniently seem to have forgotten— is that he is heavily closeted, and likely emotionally unprepared to handle me sexually.”

Hoseok makes a face at that last part. “I don’t know if I would say heavily. And isn’t that his call to make?”

Yoongi lets his head fall back over the top of the couch and glares up at the water stains on Hoseok’s ceiling. “I guess, like theoretically. But I’m not going to scar him just because I want to get into his pants.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes and for a moment, it seems he might burst into laughter. But then his expression evens out and he looks on blankly. “You know Jungkook and I hang out sometimes,” he says, all too casually. By the way he avoids Yoongi’s eyes it’s clear there’s something else he’s not saying. Yoongi is ashamed at the little pang of jealousy that reverberates through his empty stomach.

“You do?"

“We do.” He nods. “And I’m only telling this because you pretty much already know, but Jungkook is not straight. He knows that.”

Yoongi feels it when his pulse starts to pick up. He rolls his head sideways to look at Hoseok from the corner of his eye. “What do you mean? He said that?”

“Yeah, he did actually. He says a lot of things.”

“Like what?” Yoongi asks, all too eager.

“Like none of your business.” Hoseok crosses his arms. “Nothing about you if that’s why you’re asking.”

It’s not the only reason he’s asking but he lets it drop. “So you’ve been what, coaching him?”

“Not coaching. Being a friend, lending an ear.”

“Aw what the hell. How come when I offered to talk he blew me off?”

Hoseok notices his scowl and slings an arm around his shoulder to massage the back of his neck. “Dude. You probably make him nervous. Like if I had a thing for someone I definitely wouldn’t go confiding all my dark, dirty secrets to them before the first date. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this about him but he’s kind of closed off.”

Yoongi has, in fact, noticed this. “Well he coulda said something before he up and tried to seduce me. I wasn’t prepared.”

“What was he supposed to say?” Hoseok scoffs. “Hey I’ve been thinking it over a while and I still want to smash? What even happened?”

Yoongi is sure he goes all red at just the thought of it. “Nothing. He tried to kiss me and stuff and I pushed him away.”

“And stuff?”

“Yeah. Stuff. And then I jumped in and like― I’ve literally never seen a boner die so fast— and now I’m pretty sure he never wants to see me again so like, that’s nice.”

“Wow.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet, almost reverent as his fingers work at the knots in Yoongi’s shoulder. In awe maybe, of how much of a dumb-ass Yoongi is. “Way to blow it. Figuratively, I mean. Just imagine. It could have been literally if you’d just kept your mouth shut.”

Yoongi whacks him upside the face with a pillow. “Shut up, I’m sad. Let me wallow in peace as I reflect on what could have been.”

“You’re so dramatic. Just text him.”

“And that, my friend, is the true tragedy of it all.” Yoongi sighs wistfully. “I never even got his number.”

 

Of course Hoseok passes on Jungkook’s number before he kicks him out to study. Of course Yoongi doesn’t use it. It burns a metaphorical hole in his pocket though the screen of his phone on the walk home, glares at him from his kitchen table as he sits there later that day, working on a composition and wishing he had a home office so he that wouldn’t have to drag himself out of his apartment any time he needed to get anything done. He doesn’t have anything to say to Jungkook, anyway. Or rather he has a lot but he’s too chicken-shit to say it.

 

Almost a full week after that, he’s slouched over on the couch after a long, dragging day at work, trying to muster up the energy to drag himself to the fridge and actually eat something before he passes out in the living room for the third night straight. He hasn’t heard from Hoseok in days, and Seokjin’s supposedly busy doing some bullshit bachelor-retreat for his cousin’s wedding party, so his whole week has pretty much consisted of dry sandwiches, work, and going to bed so early he’s pretty sure his 9 year old neighbor across the hall hasn’t hit bedtime yet.

So when his phone chimes with a text from Jungkook, unexpected enough to make all the muscles in his bladder contract at once in a flutter of nerves, he practically leaps on his phone.

Jungkook (8:24 pm):

Hey

so I know this is probably gonna be weird for you but can I call you?

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate at all before he sends back a hasty, Yes. Which sounds way too eager so he follows it up a second later with, I mean sure, I’m not too busy atm.

His phone buzzes seconds later and he wills down the nauseous excitement threatening to erupt in his gut.

“Hey,” he says into the receiver, as smooth as he can be after picking up on one ring.

Jungkook sounds surprised on his end of the line. “Oh— hey Yoongi.” He says, all breathy and quiet. “Um. That was quick.”

“Well I was holding the phone, so…” The phone line is dead quiet as Yoongi wracks his brain to find words. He can hear Jungkook shifting through the receiver, the hushed sound of faint voices and the hiss of white noise. “Where are you?”

“Um,” Jungkook sounds hesitant. “Bathroom. Not using it though, just standing.” He emphasizes. Another painfully awkward silence. Jungkook clears his throat. “I’m actually back home for break now. Getting dinner with my brother.”

“What, now?” Jungkook hums in assent. “And you’re calling me from the bathroom?” Another sound of agreement— which explains the slight echo of his voice and the rush of water on the other end, but leaves one question. “Why?

“I don’t know, I panicked.” Jungkook says. He inhales like he’s going to add something else and then stops short. Yoongi waits several agonizing seconds before he has to ask, very cautiously:

“About what?”

Jungkook snuffs a heavy sigh into the microphone, sounds like a gust of wind being carried through the phone right into Yoongi’s ear. Goosebumps prick the back of his neck. “So as you know― or maybe you don’t actually―” Jungkook amends, and Yoongi can picture the way he’s probably got his head cocked now, is probably twisting his fingers together that way he does when he’s starting to doubt himself. “But I’ve been like… exploring my sexuality a lot lately.”

“Uh-huh.” It’s all Yoongi can manage as he tries to squash the searing hope that bubbles just below his ribs.

“And I really want to tell my brother.” Jungkook titters nervously, like he’s barely holding it together over there, is probably quaking in his boots inside the Cheesecake Factory bathroom. “Maybe my parents too, eventually but like… baby steps.”

“I see.”

“So I guess I was hoping…” Jungkook’s voice cuts out midway and Yoongi has to check to see if the call has dropped. A deep, shuddering sigh cuts through the line after a few seconds and Jungkook’s voice is more hesitant than ever as he peeps; “I was hoping you could give me some advice… Or like, encouragement maybe?”

Yoongi misses his cue to speak, is caught up halfway between exploring my sexuality and need your advice. He’s not sure if he should  be congratulating or apologizing right now. Maybe both.

Jungkook has gone suspiciously quiet on his end, like he’s waiting for something. It’s only when he finally speaks does Yoongi realize he’s fucked up. Again.

“You know what never mind, this was stupid, sorry,” Jungkook rushes, sounding embarrassed. “Fucking Hoseok,” he mumbles, barely audible, like he’s holding the phone away far from his face.

“Wait, wait,” Yoongi calls. “Hold on, don’t hang up.”

Jungkook groans, distantly but audibly, and Yoongi thinks he probably wasn’t supposed to hear that. “What?” Jungkook’s voice finally comes through clearly, the borderline hysteria even more evident in the pitch, just slightly off of normal. “What do I do?”

“First of all take a deep breath.” He can hear when Jungkook does it, sounding shaky and panicked.

He doesn’t sound any calmer when he finishes and says; “Okay, feels great, what next?”

“Can you try to calm down a bit? Does that sound like something you can do?” Yoongi asks gently.

“Um,” Jungkook squeaks, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. Okay tell me what your worried about then.”

“I’m not worried.”

“You’re not?” Yoongi says, severely doubts that from the tremor in Jungkook’s voice.

“Nope. I’m terrified.” Jungkook’s breathing sounds heavier than normal, a little off tempo.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Yoongi says, tries to make his voice sound soothing, like Hoseok’s on those rare occasions when Yoongi has had a particularly rough day and just needs to be coddled— when he’ll run his fingers through Yoongi’s hair and tell him he’s not useless at all, no matter that he feels like living, breathing garbage.

“Uh. yeah there is,” Jungkook scoffs. “Try abandonment, rejection― what if he’s so disgusted he leaves me here. I’m not going to be able to walk home. It’s miles from here. I didn’t even bring a warm jacket, I thought we were going to be inside. Maybe I shouldn’t do this―”

“Stop, stop.” Yoongi cuts off his train of thought before he can spiral any further. “Look, obviously I can’t make the decision for you, but I think you should tell him. You’ll feel a lot better once you do.”

“But what if he hates me,” Jungkook says weakly.

“What if he doesn’t?”

A long silence. Then a hiccup. “Was your family mad?” Jungkook’s voice comes out shaky and choked, like he’s barely repressing tears. It’s a little hopeful too, but not expectantly so, like he’s not really, truly anticipating a happy ending. “What— how did you do it?

“No, they weren’t mad,” Yoongi says, softly because he can just feel Jungkook beginning to fall apart in that bathroom stall, can envision his lower lip trembling and his fawn eyes welling up. “They were mostly surprised, I think. They told me they were disappointed that I had lied to them for so long, and that their only son would choose to deny them the grandchildren they deserved, but they got over it eventually. Honestly I think they’re still kind of expecting me to change my mind at some point but they don’t really pressure me about it so I let it slide.” There’s another long stretch of silence on Jungkook’s end; it drags on for so long that Yoongi starts to fear he’s said something wrong. “Look, I know it’s not like the best case scenario, but parents can surprise you sometimes, you know?”

Jungkook makes the tiniest little sniffling sound through the phone, one that would have been almost inaudible if Yoongi hadn’t been listening for it. Baby― don’t cry.” It slips out before he can stop himself and he freezes where he’s sitting, gripping the pillow tightly to chest, like it’s going to shield him somehow from the new level of awkwardness he’s just introduced into the conversation.

But Jungkook doesn’t even seem to notice it, or at least pretends he doesn’t. He sniffles again, louder this time and then says petulantly, “I’m not.”

Yoongi sags back into the couch. “Good. Now get back out there and tell your brother, okay?”

“O-kay,” Jungkook says hesitantly. “Yeah. Okay. I’m gonna do it… I think.”

“Good,” Yoongi says, cautiously relieved. “You know whatever happens, you still have your friends, okay? Feel free to call me back after you’re done talking to your brother if you need to vent or something… just if you want to.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook mumbles, like he’s only kind of listening. “Yeah okay. And hey, if everything goes to shit and my parents disown me, I might end up crashing on your couch for the rest of the foreseeable future, just a heads up.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that, but my couch and I would be happy to have you if it did.”

Jungkook lets out a little huff of laughter. “Thanks.” A shaky sigh vibrates though Yoongi’s speaker. “Okay, well… my brother’s probably wondering if I fell in the toilet now so I guess I should go.”

“Yeah. Right, of course.” Yoongi shakes himself as if from a daze. “Bye,” he says softly.

“Bye,” Jungkook whispers, and the line goes dead.

He doesn’t call back.

Yoongi waits up, stupidly, for hours hoping he will. He’s certain that Jungkook’s absence is a sign that either A: things went really well or B: that they went terribly wrong. It’s the not-knowing part that has Yoongi all worked up, has his anxiety mounting to an all time high. He knows he probably won’t sleep tonight, not with the way his stomach is twisting and his mind is racing so fast he can’t sit still, won’t stop fidgeting, twisting the frayed edges of the throw pillow between impatient fingers. He is hyperaware of the fact that he very well might have just given young, impressionable Jungkook the worst advice of his life. Like, there has to be at least a sixty percent chance of it, maybe sixty-five. So Yoongi does what any reasonable person with nothing to do and everything to forget on a Tuesday night does.

 

Seokjin is more than happy to ditch his cousin’s bachelor party to meet Yoongi back at Fat Albert’s for round 2. It’s a pretty shady joint, has been shut down and re-opened so many times since Yoongi’s lived here he’s lost count. The air surrounding the bar area is hazy and thick, despite the chipped old ‘no smoking’ sign that sits high on the wall above the bartender’s head. It reminds Yoongi of a place that would have held cabarets back in the thirties, before the brick walls began to crumble and the paint started to peel. Now it’s just this seeding looking building where freshman with bad fake IDs go to get drunk. It’s the perfect place for a distracting night of weak but cheap drinks and music just loud enough to drown out unwanted conversation.

“Dude I’m so glad you called me,” Seokjin says, cheeks already flushed with alcohol, shouting much louder than necessary to be heard over the meager crowd. “I never thought I’d have to say this but there were way too many titties, bro. Way too many.” He shakes his head for emphasis and it makes his slightly damp hair flop into his eyes and his beer slosh precariously in his glass.

“Huh. I thought you would’ve liked that,” Yoongi ponders, letting his eyes rove over the bar, pausing for a moment over a group of girls eying up Seokjin’s back from a table over. One of them catches his eye and winks. He blinks evenly in return; means not interested, but by the way she leans farther over the table, arms squishing her boobs together as she does, she’s not getting the message.

He turns his attention back to Seokjin who gestures noncommittally. “Eh. What I said was that I could appreciate the occasional breast in like― a purely aesthetic way. I don’t get what you don’t get about that.”

Yoongi’s eyes zero back in on the girl across the bar’s cleavage, which still feels like it’s being directed towards him somehow. She dips her head slightly, sending glossy hair cascading across her bare shoulders. Nothing.

When his eyes meet Seokjin’s again his expression is worryingly smug. Which can only mean that he’s figured out what’s happening right now, or there’s some other embarrassing thing that he’s going to bring up in two seconds.

“But anyway,” Seokjin says, leaning unnecessarily closer to yell directly into his ear, gripping at the collar of Yoongi’s shirt for balance. “What’s up with you lately? I hear you missed out on yet another dicking, what’s that about?”

“Could you talk a little louder? The people next door might not have heard you.” Yoongi shrugs Seokjin’s arm off his shoulder and shrinks in on himself. “Can you just leave me and my misguided non-romantic endeavors to it?”

Seokjin snorts, shifting to lean instead on the bar top. “Sorry,” he says without shame, “It’s just that your ineptitude makes me feel a lot better about my nonexistent love life, which is approximately four hundred percent drier than the Atacama desert as of late.”

“You say that like it’s not by choice.”

“It’s not,” Seokjin insists, “I never realized how difficult it is to date as a handsome, eligible bachelor with little to no money.”

Yoongi resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Excuse me if I find that hard to believe. I see at least four people in this very room who look like they’d be more than willing to change that.”

“Oh really?” Seokjin sounds interested. Too interested for Yoongi’s liking. “Where exactly do you see these people?”

“Dude, no. No, it was a joke. Don’t do this to me. Please.”

But Seokjin is already turning around, has spotted the table of girls behind him before Yoongi has the opportunity to snatch away his attention with some thinly veiled flattery and more booze. “Ah,” he says, turning back to Yoongi with one eyebrow raised. “Found ‘em.” He winks over at their table and one of the girls immediately stands and starts making her way over. She’s the type of hot that could walk all over you and have you saying thank you afterwards. Yoongi fears her immediately.

“I really hate you,” Yoongi grits between bared teeth as he watches her sidestep a squat balding man in a polo who approaches her with a wild sort of desperation in his eyes. He looks rather unsurprised as she blows past him without a word, stares after her with bulging eyes and slightly gaping mouth. When she’s just feet away, Seokjin stomps on Yoongi’s foot, doesn’t let up even once she’s right in front of them, towering in a dangerous looking pair of heels.

“What’s up,” she extends a hand and Seokin takes it when Yoongi makes no move to. “You guys want to join us?” she asks, straight down to business.

Yoongi lets out a pained grunt as his heel digs in firmer. “We would love to,” Seokjin says over him, and drags him by the arm to follow her back to their table.

“Hey,” the girl with the boobs from before nods in Yoongi’s direction with a sultry smile. “How’s it going?”

“Not great,” he says shortly, looking up at the light fixture overhead to avoid eye-contact― anything to communicate his severe lack of interest.

She pouts exaggeratedly, thick lips painted in a deep plum. “Want me to help you make it better?” she cocks her head, eyes dragging up his legs which have never felt thinner nor more insubstantial than in this very moment.

He grimaces, shifting between the balls of his feet. He would make a dash for it in an instant if he weren’t such a good friend; in fact, he’s considering it even so. “Nah, I should probably just sleep it off.” He edges back in the general direction of where the door must be, tries to catch Seokjin’s eye but to no avail.

“Now that I can definitely help you with,” she purrs, fingers dancing over the tabletop, drawing Yoongi’s attention away from the door and onto her blocky acrylic nails, sharp like glass shards.

“I― um. No thanks.”

“You sure about that?” her gaze is heavy, intense, but not altogether hopeful. She blinks slowly, lazily, refuses to avert her eyes even as the tension weighs heavier on their already stilted conversation. It’s the look of someone who truly doesn’t give a damn beyond that flimsy veil of contrived interest.

“Positive.”

Perhaps expectedly, the girl shrugs, slumps back into her chair and takes a deep swig of what appears to be whiskey, dry. “Fair enough,” she mutters, more to herself than Yoongi. Her eyes flick briefly over to her friends, flirting shamelessly, one already pressing her sticky glossed lips to the side of Seokjin’s throat while he yelps with laughter. Her lip curls slightly at the sight and that Yoongi can relate to on a spiritual level.

“You okay?” He can’t help but ask, though by the look of pensive irritation she fixes on the bottom of her glass, she is not.

“Eh,” she offers a small wave, weak like the martini Yoongi’s been nursing for the past twenty minutes. “A little drunk, but doing great.”

“Bullshit.”

The girl looks back up at him then, all smoky eyes and full lips to compliment a dark scowl. If he had any interest in women at all he’d be quaking in his Chuck’s right about now. “Fuck off,” the girl snorts and goes back to pondering her dirty glass.

Yoongi slides onto the stool across from her and pretends to examine the chipped tabletop, gouged deep from years of abuse. “Hey, I just call it like I see it,” he says, scratching at a flaking spot of paint. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly having a great time either.”

Her eyes are back on him then, taking in his clouded expression, his wrinkled, unwashed shirt and his slightly rumpled hair. “Let me guess, girlfriend problems?”

“Nah.”

The girl fixes him with a blank stare. “You know that was me giving you the opportunity to spare my feelings, right?” she rolls her eyes at Yoongi’s blank expression. “Never mind. Stings a lot less the second time around anyway, in case you were wondering.”

“Ah. Let me guess. Boyfriend problems?”

“Nah,” the girl echos, just a hint of sarcasm in the twist of her plum lips. “Not really at least. Didn’t ever get to call him my boyfriend, but he still fucked me over. Figuratively and literally.” She eyes Yoongi’s drink with barely disguised interest. He slides it over to her and she takes it, smiles blandly before she knocks it back. “Thanks.”

“Mmm hmm,” Yoongi hums vaguely. His phone buzzes in his pocket for the first time in hours and he whips it out, a low pulse of excitement making his heart flop uselessly in his chest. The hum of anticipation quiets when he sees it’s just a message from Hoseok, probably another picture of his parents’ new labradoodle or something else that seems so utterly irrelevant in the present moment. He silences his phone and stuffs it away, tries not to show the disappointment on his face.

“What about you?” The girl asks, dabbing at the lipstick smudged on the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t seem to notice the way his lips have twisted incrementally downward, nor the way his knee has started to bounce beneath the table. “If it’s not girl problems then what, your goldfish died?”

“Same as you— more or less,” he says evenly, feels that little prickle in the back of his mind like he always does when he’s offering himself up to be seen, to be judged by other people.

“Oh.” The girl sounds slightly surprised, though not terribly offended. Not that Yoongi particularly cares for her approval, though it would be an unpleasant twist to an increasingly off kilter night. “I see.” She seems to ponder this for a long moment, clacking those long, lacquered nails against her glass, rattling the ice inside. Finally, she makes a face and says thoughtfully, “Guys are the worst, aren’t they? Let’s get shit faced.”

She looks about halfway there already, Yoongi thinks, and he really has no intention of getting trashed tonight, has work in the morning even. He’s already fucked his carefully cultivated sleep schedule now, there’s absolutely no need to add a hangover to his imminent exhaustion. So why he finds himself slapping his palm down on the table with a vehement: “Hell yes.” is quite beyond him.

It’s really not that serious at first, just a few shots of tequila, another beer or two. But then his newfound drinking companion is yelling at the bartender, a tall, handsomely lanky, though startlingly uncoordinated boy who keeps shooting them odd looks when he thinks they’re not paying attention.

Make me the strongest shit you have,” she’s shouting, and then suddenly it’s Yoongi holding the glass, filled to the brim with an unidentifiable murky looking liquid.

“This one’s my specialty.” The bartender grins, and then the glass is being tipped up to Yoongi’s mouth by someone else’s hand, cold metal rim pressing into the his teeth until his lips are practically forced open. He swallows and it tastes like death; paint thinner and windex and pure acid all in one.

“God,” he coughs violently, “What the hell was in that?” The bartender’s answer is drowned out by the ringing in his ears. No, not ringing, music. The sweet, smooth melodies of Iggy Azalea rasping through the bar’s sorry speaker system. “Oh shit.” Yoongi sits bolt upright. “I love this song.”     

 

Yoongi has been known to be a morose drunk, but that couldn’t be further from the truth tonight. His head is spinning pleasantly and the gentle fuzziness that fills his mind dulls that ever-present voice niggling in the back of his brain, the same one that makes him doubt himself when he really shouldn’t. He stumbles over a stool on his way over to Seokjin, loses his balance a bit, but it’s okay because Seokjin’s shoulder is right there to hold him steady as Yoongi leans up to press a sloppy kiss to his cheek, to tell him how much he loves and cherishes his friendship. The rest of the table looks on slack-jawed, expressions ranging from perturbed to mildly intrigued.

After that comes a long stretch of drunken haze. More shots maybe, dancing on top of the pool table until the bouncer shoos them off with a menacing glare. More blur.

Yoongi’s back at the bar now, and he has the briefest moment of crystalline clarity in the midst of a blurry stupor. And in that single fleeting, enlightened moment he happens upon a revelation. He is very drunk. And now he’s the one yelling at the bartender, though he’s sitting on the wrong side of the bar this time, isn’t wearing that tacky logo apron anymore.

“Are you responsible for this bullshit?” Yoongi slurs, sloshing liquid onto the counter as he shakes his cup in the bartender— no Namjoon’s face. “Fuck you, these drinks are terrible.”

“I know,” Namjoon says, “I make ‘em like that on purpose. It’s an experiment of sorts. My boss said I could—”

“Shh,” Yoongi silences him with a slightly sticky finger pressed over his lips as they try to form the words. Namjoon’s eyes bulge and on his other side, the girl cackles. “I forgive you.” Everything is spinning again, the floor, the ceiling, the reflection of the lights off of Namjoon’s glasses. Yoongi loves this song. “But only if you start shaking that sorry excuse for an ass,” he commands. “Now.

Namjoon startles to life, starts swaying stiffly, completely off, like his life depends on avoiding the rhythm. And then one of the girls from before comes up behind him, slides her hand down to his hips and guides him to the beat, as best as he can be guided. They lurch together, still slightly counter to the music, and it’s an awkward movement, simultaneously fascinating and unpleasant to watch. And then Seokjin is joining in too, just as off-tempo, the caboose to the shittiest excuse for a grind train Yoongi has seen since his sixth grade semi-formal. That doesn’t stop him from joining in, eventually, when he’s got another shot sloshing around his empty stomach and Seokjin’s broad back seems to be the only thing in the room that’s not shifting unpredictably.

Now e verything is a bit hazy around the edges. The girls from before are gone and he’s shivering, feels like the temperature inside the bar has somehow dropped twenty degrees.

“Hey buddy,” Namjoon shakes his shoulder. “The cab is here.” And Yoongi doesn’t remember leaving, but somehow he’s sitting on the curb outside, bundled up in someone else’s jacket with Seokjin helicoptering just above, a confounding mixture of smug and concerned.

Yoongi stumbles into his apartment some minutes later and is violently sick into the kitchen sink. Namjoon hovers uncomfortably just inside the front door, seems more out of place then he really is in Yoongi’s tiny one-bedroom flat. He tries to take a shower despite Seokjin’s protests, ends up slipping and nearly braining himself on the edge of the bathtub when he bends over for the soap. He lies there on the tub floor, staring up at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity as the hot water beats down on his flushed chest, splashing up into his eyes until he’s forced to close them.

Seokjin comes crashing in some indeterminable amount of time later, takes one look at Yoongi and starts yelling for Namjoon, who scrambles into the bathroom in a panic. The two of them haul him out of the tub and into bed, all damp and floppy. Seokjin shoves his legs into a pair pajama pants and then starts firing off a bunch of instructions, as if Yoongi is actually going to remember them more than ten seconds from now.

“Should I stay?” Seokjin is asking him, fingers on his chin to make sure Yoongi is looking at him, listening.

“Of course not. I’m fine.” Yoongi sits up, get terribly dizzy and then slumps right back into the pillows. “Just gonna sleep it off.” There’s a heavy sigh, some muted whispers he can’t bother to decipher and then, distantly, a door slams. Yoongi blinks singularly and then he’s out like a light.

 

 

It’s b y some working miracle he manages to roll himself out of bed four hours later and drag himself  into work. His entire body aches like he’s been run over by a bus multiple times and no matter how long he spends brushing his teeth, the inside of his mouth feels chalky and thick. He doesn’t get the opportunity to do more than set his things down at his desk before his boss takes one look at him and sends him right back home.

“You work yourself too hard,” she tells Yoongi, squeezing his shoulder as he fights off a wave of nausea. “Take a break, get some rest. You know it won’t kill you to call in sick every once in a while.”

Yoongi tries to protest anyway, to tell her that he’s perfectly fine to work, just needs a cup of coffee or two. But then one of the production assistants walks by with a sausage and egg sandwich and he dry heaves around his words. “Go home Yoongi,” she growls with finality, and that’s all it takes for Yoongi to turn tail and flee the building.

It’s around this time, as he’s riding the bus back home, forehead pressed against the smudged glass of the window that he finally remembers what’s been niggling at the back of his mind for hours now.

“Shit,” he hisses, sliding his phone out of his pocket. He has four missed calls, one from Seokjin this morning, and three from Jungkook, two from last night and one dated some forty minutes before Yoongi had blindly silenced his alarm for work. “Ah, fuck.”

He’s still seeing double as he peers down at the screen but he types out a text anyway with heavy, shaky fingers.

Are you okay???

His thumb hovers over the send button for a split second before he deletes the message. He’s freaking out just a little imagining what might have happened― the worst possible scenario in which Jungkook’s brother freaks and tells his parents, who not only disown Jungkook, but are on their way over now to kick Yoongi’s ass for corrupting their sweet, innocent son.

He waits until he’s thundering back up the stairs to his apartment before he calls, heart constricting between every ring. No answer.

He calls again— same thing.

He realizes, perhaps quite distantly, that he is likely overreacting. But also he’s exhausted— still a little drunk from last night, definitely not thinking straight― and it takes everything in him not to call for a third time and leave a voicemail he might regret.

He chucks his work bag down next to the couch and microwaves a mug of tap water for tea, takes a few deep breathes while he waits for it to heat. There’s no reason for him to be as nervous as he is. No reason at all.

He keeps telling himself that, but it doesn’t really stick. He’s still worked up when the microwave beeps, and even more so a few seconds after that, when his phone starts vibrating on the counter.

It’s Jungkook.

He snatches it up and accepts the call before he can even give himself time to compose himself, to make half an attempt to sound less flustered than he is. Jungkook?” he says “What the hell happened?”

“Um.” Jungkook sounds meek, like a child being scolded. “Huh? I— nothing really.”

And Yoongi forces himself to take a breath because the kid sounds fine, surprised even at the strength of Yoongi’s reaction.

“Sorry,” he clears his throat, wills his voice to come out much calmer as he retrieves his hot water and makes his way to the bedroom. “Everything went alright, then?”

“Yeah, we— we had a nice dinner by the lake,” Jungkook falters. “—Or I think it was nice, I mean. I couldn’t really taste it because I was too busy panicking. And then I waited until we were in the car on the way home to tell him, just in case.”

“And…” he leads when it seems Jungkook is waiting for something, encouragement maybe, or for his own will to fortify.

“And it was…” Jungkook exhales heavily down the line. “It was good, I guess.”

“You guess?” Yoongi croaks through the rush of relief that seems to open up his airways, make his breath come much easier. He slumps over sideways in bed and almost spills his tea everywhere when his shoulder knocks against the nightstand.

“Well yeah, I mean he didn’t really… react? all that much.” Jungkook’s voice pitches up a bit, like he’s asking Yoongi what happened and not the other way around. “It was kind of a let down actually, I was expecting at least a little yelling. Followed up by either a brawl or heartwarming moment of brotherly bonding. But he was just like ‘cool’ and that was the end.”

“Are you sure he heard you?” which might be an unfair question, even a bit cruel even given the circumstance. But once it slips out, there’s no taking it back. Yoongi bites down on the inside of his cheek until he’s in danger of drawing blood.

“Yeah, I mean,” If there were a way for a person to convey a blush through the phone, Jungkook was doing it now, the pink hue of uncertainty coloring his voice. “He uh— he asked if I had a boyfriend, so yeah, I think he heard it.”  

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. Well on a somewhat related note, I guess now might be a good time to—”

But Jungkook is speaking over him before he can finish, cutting him off so seamlessly it’s like he’s been practicing. “No— wait. It’s okay, really.” He rushes out. “I already got the message, I promise. Can we please just not talk about it? It’s really embarrassing.”

But Yoongi, in this singular, precise (and somewhat drunken) moment, is feeling bold. “Well what if I want to talk about it?”

Jungkook’s pitched sigh is shaky, edged with humiliation. “Look. I’m sorry for coming onto you all those times. I understand how uncomfortable that must have made you. I won’t do it again, okay? Seriously.” And he sounds so genuinely sorry, so embarrassed that Yoongi feels this twinge of sympathy in his chest, this urge to protect Jungkook at all costs. It makes him almost regret saying anything at all. Almost.

“And what if I want you to?”

He hears Jungkook’s short intake of breath, and then there’s a long, weighted pause. Yoongi’s heart thumps so heavily he can feel it, bashing against his ribs. Jungkook snuffs a confused, winded little noise through his nose. “I’m— wait what? What do you mean?” he asks, sounding pained.

In a perfect world, a world in which Yoongi isn’t a a wishy-washy, indirect piece of shit, that one little sentence would have conveyed it all; the unbridled lust, the repressed longing, the regret. He had hoped, really, that Jungkook would just get it, would understand exactly what he meant when he said what he said without really saying anything at all. Only the real world is nothing like Yoongi’s perfect world, and Jungkook doesn’t seem to get it at all, is sputtering on the other end of the line like an old furnace.

“Sorry. Ehm. I’m just a little confused here. You want me to… what?” he says, like Yoongi the most perplexing thing since differential calculus.

“I want to have sex with you!” Yoongi bursts, thoughtless and abrupt and all too loud. “Fuck, Jungkook. You’re so young but you’re so— so…” He growls low in his throat. “You drive me insane half the time and you don’t even know how long I’ve fantasized about tearing that hideous Hawaiian print shirt you were wearing that night off of your body. I thought you were going to regret it, that’s the only reason I pushed you away, dumbass.” He pauses to swallow thickly, remembers he’s probably being too harsh. “Actually— you know what— I’m the dumbass. You told me— you told me you were straight, and then it felt like I was forcing you, or pressuring you or something into stuff you weren’t really comfortable with. Which like, judging by your massive fucking boner for me, you were plenty comfortable, so I guess that was my bad.”

Jungkook coughs. “My bo— um. You. Forcing me?” he squeaks out finally, after what Yoongi assumes is a stunned silence. “You thought you were forcing me?

“I know, I know. Stupid.”

“Yeah it’s stupid,” Jungkook scoffs. “I practically threw myself at you on multiple occasions and you thought you were forcing me? I thought you were about to press sexual harassment charges on my ass after what I told you that night at the club.”

The memory alone burns a hole in the bottom of Yoongi’s stomach, sears goosebumps down his arms. “I wanted it too,” he mutters shamefully. “Like, really bad.”

Jungkook groans at that, dark and shudder-inducing. “Shit Yoongi. Why would you tell me this over the phone? What the fuck, why would you wait until I was a hundred miles away to say this shit to me?”

Yoongi is getting whiplash from how quickly Jungkook shifts roles between the awkward, tentative kid who acts like he’s probably never seen a boob in real life to this persona of violent sexual energy. Or maybe that’s just Yoongi projecting. “Uh… sorry.” He says because that seems much more appropriate any of the other filthy shit he wants to say.

“Let me ask you something, do you blue-ball me because you think it’s funny?”

Yoongi does not think it’s funny at all, in fact, is getting a little turned on right now from the low timbre of his voice, imagining the shape his lips make around the word fuck. “Er.” He clears his throat, “Not particularly.”

Jungkook laughs, a little disbelievingly. “Of course you don’t,” he huffs and then another, more desperate noise comes ripping out of his throat. “Oh my god, I’m hard.”

And Yoongi, solely because he is a massive idiot and for no other reason than that, goes: “Mmm, what are you wearing?”

The millionth awkward silence falls over them, heavier than a palate of bricks. Yoongi thinks maybe he’s finally done it this time. He’s killed Jeon Jungkook.

“Are you serious?” Jungkook says after a long time, not dead, apparently, but voice about two octaves higher than usual. “Are you actually serious?”

Yoongi is more than serious, is aching— throbbing even with how serious he is. Which is precisely why he hangs up the phone a second later, hurls it across the room and buries his head in the blankets. His phone thumps onto the carpet with a muted thud.

“FUCK,” he screams into his pillow, so loud that he’s definitely going to be getting another complaint from the neighbors. “FUCK ME!”

Only Yoongi is not getting fucked by anyone but himself today, and probably won’t be anytime within the foreseeable future.

 

 

Unfortunately, none of Yoongi’s useless friends are available for a mid-week pity party, so he just eats half of a cheesecake in bed instead and calls it a night at around four pm. His phone is pointedly devoid of any new notifications. It’s what he deserves, really. The next day is much the same on that front, no new communications— he’s starting to think he has finally, permanently ruined what shambles of a relationship had still remained. He contemplates sending an apology text, but ultimately chickens out because Jungkook is probably, definitely pissed at him now and Yoongi clearly doesn’t know how to deal with people and relationships.

After three days he breaks and calls Hoseok to vent, which he realizes is a mistake approximately thirty seconds into their call when Hoseok can’t seem to quiet his giggles.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he wheezes. “Oh God Jungkook has to be an even bigger idiot than you are if he’s still into you.”  

Yoongi wants to scream. Instead he hangs up.  

 

Some amount of hours later and Yoongi’s on the couch again. It’s Saturday night, which means that according to any and all social conventions he should be out having fun, de-stressing from the work week with friends and drinks or something. Instead he’s alone, listening to Drake on repeat and eating lukewarm takeout for the forth meal in a row, scrolling through his phone and  refreshing like if he does it enough times something of interest will spring into existence. He’s in one of his existential moods tonight, one of the ones where he doesn’t feel like talking or moving or being, just wants to lays very still and contemplate his infinesmal place in the universe.

So he’s none too thrilled when the doorbell rings twice— three times in a row and he has to roll himself all loose-limbed off the couch to tell his dick-hole neighbor to fuck-off— he’ll turn his music down the day he and his wife stop having screaming sex at seven am every Friday like clockwork.

He yanks open the door, already glowering. “I fuckin’ lowered it twice already,” he snarls. Only this isn’t his dick-hole neighbor. Yoongi blinks— once, twice— but when he opens his eyes it’s still Jungkook standing there, looking soft in a hoodie and adidas sweats, blinking down at him in a stunned sort of silence. “I—” he says and stops. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook stares for another long moment before he seems to jerk back to life, cheeks stained slightly red. “My, um. My parents went out of town for the weekend so I thought— I thought I’d just come back for a bit?” he says waveringly, like he’s realizing for the first time how flimsy an excuse it is. “I guess I should have asked first.” He twists the string of his backpack between nervous fingers and looks down at his shoes.

Yoongi doesn’t bother asking how he got there, just blinks for one long, stunned moment as he watches Jungkook’s confidence visibly deflating. “No, no it’s fine. Come in,” he steps back so that Jungkook can trail inside, looking lost. “Not like I’m busy, as you can see.” He toes the door shut and motions for Jungkook to sit down on the couch. He doesn’t though, stays hovering by the front door hesitantly, like he’s waiting for something.

Yoongi steels himself before he turns around, bites his tongue then takes a deep breath and says, “Well since you’re here, I guess I should apologize.”

“For what?” Jungkook asks evenly, and whether it’s a challenge or a genuine inquiry, Yoongi can’t tell.

“You know,” Yoongi edges back involuntarily under Jungkook’s heavy, laden gaze. “Just… everything.”

“Everything?” Jungkook snorts derisively. “You can’t be sorry for everything.” There’s a desperate, almost hysteric edge to his voice this time. “Don’t say sorry if you’re not.”

Yoongi takes half a step forward, itching to reach out. He holds himself back, arms glued stiffly to his sides. “Jungkook why did you come here?”

“I guess I just had one question for you.” Jungkook’s face is unreadable, baby pink lips set in a pettish pout. “Did you mean it?” he asks, and he doesn’t have to say what he means really, because Yoongi already knows what he’s trying to say, has been trying to work up the nerve to say them himself.

“Yeah. I did.”

Jungkook’s eyes are magnets, impossibly dark and pulling Yoongi in, in, in. “Then prove it.”

And Yoongi doesn’t know who moves first but then they’re clashing. Yoongi’s back hits the door as they collide, knocking the wind from his lungs and the last bit of sense from his head.

“You’re so fucking—” Jungkook pants, whines into his ear, and then he’s kissing him, hot and urgent, with all the weeks of pent up want.

Jungkook’s lips are insistent— claiming— and Yoongi’s head thunks against the wood of the front door as he tilts his head back for more. He barely registers the pain, doesn’t care, thinks it’s worth even it because Jungkook is kissing him finally, after what feels like an eternity of missed opportunities and close encounters, circling around each other only to meet like this.

Jungkook’s lips are like fire, burning him from the inside out, and Yoongi loves every second of it. He parts his lips when Jungkook’s tongue nudges at the seam, lets him lick hot inside his mouth, claim there too. His fingers find the sleeves of Jungkook’s hoodie and cling, use the leverage to pull him in that much closer, until Jungkook’s chest rests against his and he has to crane his neck just slightly to keep meeting his lips. Jungkook’s hands stroke down his sides, slip around until they cradle the base of Yoongi’s spine. He leans his weight forward until their hips are flush and oh, Yoongi can feel already just how eager he is.

Jungkook lets out a tiny whine when Yoongi parts their lips to take a breath, to try to slow the heat pooling low in his gut. Jungkook takes the opportunity to suck at his pulse point, searching for that spot on Yoongi’s neck that will make him go slack and boneless. Distantly, Yoongi thinks that this precise moment, with Jungkook pinning him to the door, mouthing down his throat and making these tiny, desperate noises as his hips jerk, hardly restrained, into Yoongi’s thigh, will go down in history as the single most unpredictably arousing encounter of his adult life.

“Shit— shit, slow down,” Yoongi groans when Jungkook finds the spot right below where his neck meets his jawline and abuses it. He’s definitely making a mark but Yoongi can’t bring himself to stop him, can only let his head loll back uselessly as Jungkook takes what he wants.

When Jungkook finally, reluctantly pulls back, he doesn’t go far, keeps his gaze fixed on Yoongi’s lips as he struggles to string together a coherent sentence. “I’m— Yoongi, I want—” he pants, breaths dusting over Yoongi’s bared collarbones.

Yoongi has to bite back the urge to say something stupid like: baby, what do you need or anything for you darling or just take me over the kitchen table now why don’t you. “What do you want?” he asks, smoothing his hands softly through Jungkook’s hair because he can’t not touch him, not now that he’s been given permission. “Tell me.”

Jungkook makes a high-pitched, embarrassed sound and buries his face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck, nibbling at the junction of his shoulder. “Wnns ugh yresock,” he mutters unintelligibly.

“You what?” Yoongi pulls him back, gently by the hood of his sweatshirt until Jungkook is meeting his eyes again. He looks flushed, eyes blown with lust and a tinge of embarrassment. He glares a little when Yoongi doesn’t release him right away, holds on steadfastly to his hood so Jungkook has nowhere to hide.

“I said,” he mumbles when he realizes this, face setting stubbornly, “I want to suck your cock.”

All of the blood goes rushing out of Yoongi’s head at an alarming speed. “You…” he says dumbly, arm going limp and dropping back down to his side. Jungkook is equal parts demanding and pleading, his swollen red lips quirked expectantly, but his eyes betraying just an ounce of doubt. Yoongi can’t imagine there’s a soul out there that would willfully turn down an offer like that.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, “You wanna… with me?”

“No, with the other guy who lives here,” Jungkook snaps, but it holds little bite. His breaths come out too fast, betraying his nervousness. Yoongi can feel the way Jungkook’s chest heaves against him, swears he can even feel his heart thudding against his ribcage with how closely they’re pressed.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi can’t help but repeat. He can tell immediately from the look on Jungkook’s face that it’s the wrong thing to say. “I mean— have you ever done this before?”

Jungkook snuffs uncomfortably and doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m not a total virgin,” he mumbles petulantly to Yoongi’s shoulder. “I know what to do.”

Yoongi ignores the shudders that go pulsating down his spine when Jungkook shifts, brushing up tantalizingly against him. “I’m taking that as a no.” Jungkook doesn’t deny it. Yoongi moves to put some space between them, forcing Jungkook back a step by the shoulders. He misses him almost instantly, feels cold without the heat of Jungkook’s body crushing him to the door. “Maybe we should talk about this first.”

Jungkook scowls. “What is there to talk about? You want this, I want this. We’re both adults capable of making adult decisions.”

“I know, I know. Just—”

The frustration is evident in the hard set of Jungkook’s jaw as he stares Yoongi down, seems to read his mind somehow. “I’m not a child.” He catches Yoongi by the hips again, pulls them flush and grinds on his thigh, slow and dragging as if to illustrate his point. “Alright? Now do you want this or not, because if you don’t I’m going to need to use your bathroom for a minute.”

Jungkook looks like he wants to devour him with his skinny legs, bed-hair, days old shirt and all. It gives Yoongi the little confidence boost he needs to let himself be absolutely blunt.

“Yeah. You have no idea how much I do.”

Jungkook, for all his pressing, seems half-surprised to hear it. He gets a little flustered, a hint of that bumbling shyness from before resurfacing. “Good then. Yeah, great. I’ll just—” He drops to his knees right there, starts grappling clumsily with the button of Yoongi’s jeans and nuzzling into his thigh.

“Jesus Christ.” Yoongi hisses, and his head hits the door again as Jungkook’s fingers grasp him through his jeans and squeeze. He feels his knees wobbling already, knows he’s not going to be able to hold himself upright if this is any indication. “Not here,” he tugs insistently on the strands of Jungkook’s hair until he gets the message and stumbles back to his feet. “Couch.”

What can only be a second later, Jungkook is winding his hands around Yoongi’s back and hefting him up by the back of the thighs. His legs wrap instinctively around Jungkook’s waist, a choked-off groan catching in his throat as Jungkook’s teeth find that spot again. A dizzying wave of arousal crashes over him, so disorienting that he can’t help but cry out when Jungkook slings him down onto the couch and settles in front of him.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks, brow creasing with concern. His voice has gone all husky and deep now and it only adds to the overwhelming mix of lust that’s making it hard for Yoongi to string together a coherent sentence.

“Mmm great,” he affirms. “Please just touch me.”

And Jungkook does, finally pops open the button of his jeans and works them down around his thighs, pressing sticky, wet kisses to his exposed hipbones while he does it. It’s not until Yoongi is fully exposed does he first seem to hesitate, looking half intimidated while Yoongi does all he can not to writhe under him.

“So, um. I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Jungkook confesses, running one tentative, exploratory finger down the length of his dick. Yoongi twitches in his hand. “You might have to guide me a little bit.” He laughs nervously and wets his lips.

Yoongi finds Jungkook’s hand where it’s gripping his thigh and laces their fingers together. He tries to give a reassuring squeeze, tries to convey all the things he can’t really spit out right now like I really like you and I hope this isn’t a one-time thing and please touch my dick now before I explode. “You know you really don’t—” But before he can finish the thought, Jungkook is dipping down, enveloping the head of his cock in his hot little mouth. “—have to,” Yoongi squeaks, thighs clenching.

Jungkook had said he was inexperienced, but it feels harshly untrue the way he sucks Yoongi down easily, bobs his head and swirls his tongue and gets Yoongi arching up off of the couch far too quickly. He pulls off for a moment to press little open mouthed kisses down the side and Yoongi gasps at how debauched he looks with those puffy, spit-slick lips and watery, blown eyes. Either this kid has watched a lot of porn, or… or he’s watched a lot of porn.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses, has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second when the visual gets to be too much for him to handle. Jungkook’s mouth is so wet, so tight around him, makes him feel like he could burst at any second. What he lacks in finesse he more than makes up for in eagerness, and

Yoongi is starting to lose his grip already, muffling low sounds with his knuckles in his mouth.

Jungkook suckles on the head, looks so simultaneously sweet and obscene while doing it that Yoongi’s hips jerk up once involuntarily— shallow and uncoordinated. Jungkook takes it like a champ, hardly even gags, slapping the top of his thigh in retaliation. “Sorry, sorry,” Yoongi pants around a moan. “Shit, Jungkook. You gotta— hnggg.” Jungkook dips even lower, throat fluttering around his cock and warm hands splayed over his hips, pinning him to the couch. His lips are stretched so prettily— he looks so good with a wiener in his mouth that Yoongi wants to cry. He threads his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, careful not to put any pressure. “Baby,” he says, unthinking, and it comes out almost like a whine. “Pull off, I’m gonna—”

Jungkook’s lips make the most lewd sound as they slide slickly off of his cock. “Wanna swallow,” he rasps, blinking up at Yoongi through wet eyelashes. Yoongi can only nod jerkily as Jungkook goes back to peppering his head with little kitten-licks before he swallows him back down. He slurps messily around him, and Yoongi’s fingers involuntarily tighten in his hair at the sensation. Jungkook seems to like that more than anything, hums deep in his throat, and then he’s sinking impossibly lower, until Yoongi can feel the heat of the back of his throat pulsing around him. His eyes flick up meet Yoongi’s, mouth stuffed full and cheeks streaked with tears, and that’s it really— Yoongi goes tense all over, spills down his throat with a hoarse cry. Jungkook gags on it a little, pulls back just until he’s leaking out the corners of his mouth but doesn’t let up.

“Holy shit,” Yoongi pants, shuddering through a particularly intense aftershock. “Where did you learn to— holy shit.”

Jungkook slides off finally and his face is the smuggest Yoongi has ever seen a on person just seconds after having a dick in their mouth. “Not bad for a first time?” He smirks, voice gone ragged and raw.

Yoongi lets his head flop back against the back of the sofa, fingers still carding softly through Jungkook’s hair. “Not bad?” he laughs breathlessly, “Fuckin’—” Mind-blowing, earth-shattering, life-altering. “Great.” Jungkook preens under the compliment, lets his chin rest on Yoongi’s knee and closes his eyes while Yoongi works his fingers through the silky strands of his hair. Once his limbs finally feel like they have some substance too them, Yoongi sits up a bit. “Come here,” he says gruffly and tugs Jungkook up into his lap.

Jungkook goes easily, settles over his hips and tips his head forward onto Yoongi’s shoulder as he tugs down the waistband of his sweats and pets over him. He makes the most sinful noises while Yoongi jerks him off, hot and breathy and overwhelmed. Yoongi guides him down into a kiss, tries to lick the taste of himself out of Jungkook’s mouth as he swallows down the vibrations of that beautiful cacophony. Jungkook bites down on his lip when he comes, rocking weakly into Yoongi’s fist and spilling hot through his fingers. His breaths come out long and shuddering, warm over Yoongi’s sweat-cooled skin.

“Are you good?” Yoongi murmurs— softly, because the moment feels strangely fragile now, like the most delicate of glass just waiting to be shattered if he moves too quick, scares Jungkook off.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to share the sentiment; he flashes a lazy grin, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

“Never better.” He squirms off of Yoongi’s lap to flop down beside him on the couch, arms just barely brushing. Yoongi thinks they must be quite the sight like this, sat side by side, both staring dazed at the wall with their dicks out. Jungkook turns to look at him and Yoongi’s heart lurches when their eyes meet— stupid really after everything. Jungkook holds up a hand, and for a moment Yoongi stares at it, confused. He thinks he must be missing something somewhere because this isn’t— it can’t be…

“The fuck are you doing?”

Jungkook looks a little too puzzled for it to be genuine. “High-five?”

Yoongi socks him in the shoulder. “This isn’t a soccer game asshole, we don’t high-five after.” Jungkook lets his hand drop into his lap and barely manages to hide his smirk. “Oh?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Yoongi grouses, but his scowl dampens when he feels Jungkook slide their palms together and stroke over the back of his hand so gently, like maybe he feels something too, masked behind this easy facade.

“I know this probably sounds sappy,” Jungkook squeezes his fingers. “But don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

“Thats not sappy, idiot.” Yoongi says, but he smiles despite himself. Jungkook nuzzles softly into the crook of his neck and it’s such an innocent gesture, so sweet even with the come drying tacky on his hand and his pants still bunched awkwardly around his knees. Yoongi has so many questions about what this means for their non-relationship, what this means for Jungkook, but he’s too tired to voice any of them now as a sleepy silence seems to blanket them.

“You’re the idiot,” Jungkook huffs after a pause that lasts just a second too long. He jostles the both of them as he stretches out across the couch, legs draping over Yoongi’s thighs. Yoongi struggles to kick his jeans the rest of the way off and uses them to wipe the mess from his hand before he lets Jungkook pull him down too so that he’s sandwiched between heavy, hot boy and the back of the couch. Although he doesn’t say it, Jungkook clings on tight like he’s terrified that Yoongi will get up and leave him there, doesn’t matter that it’s his own house and he realistically cannot.

Yoongi doesn’t have the heart to move, even when Jungkook’s eyes lids start to droop and his breaths go suspiciously quiet. He has no idea what will happen when they wake up, but he knows in this moment that he is so, so weak for Jungkook it’s ridiculous.

Yoongi really is the idiot.

 

Chapter Text

 

Three weeks later and the gang is almost back together. The five of them haven’t kicked it since November’s mini-golf disaster, which— Yoongi can’t help but think as he watches Jungkook trip over his own foot on his way through the door— must bode somewhat poorly for the night ahead. Nevertheless, there they all are, at the cheapest little Mexican joint in town, crowded around a too small table in the midst of the Wednesday night rush.

Jungkook is back from his parents place looking somehow even more attractive than Yoongi remembers. Hoseok is back from his family trip to Hawaii with a wicked tan and an absurd assortment of pooka shell necklaces that clatter with his every move. Jimin is back from… wherever it was he went. The only person who has yet to arrive is Taehyung, whose flight’s been delayed since morning to Jimin’s very vocal dismay.

The four of them have gone through enough baskets of chips now that their waiter has started to give them shifty looks, but Jimin insists that they wait. By this point Yoongi is so full he couldn’t care less and Jungkook seems more than content to wait Taehyung out if it means more guac. Eventually Hoseok orders a round of Margaritas just to appease the gawky server kid, who keeps popping up every three minutes to ask if they’re ready to order.

“Oh yeah, and a virgin one for the kid,” Hoseok adds, waving a hand towards Jungkook, who scowls at the nickname.

“I have a fake, you know,” Jungkook huffs once the waiter has scurried off, flicking a chip crumb across the table into Hoseok’s lap.

Hoseok wrinkles his nose in annoyance, brushing his shirt off towards Jimin’s side of the booth. “I know, I’ve seen it. That’s how I know that shit’s not fooling anyone.”

Yoongi squeezes his thigh under the table, out of Hoseok’s sight. “You can trade with me when the waiter’s not looking.” He leans in close to whisper, fingertips brushing softly over Jungkook’s knee. “I hate tequila anyway.” Jungkook swallows visibly and nods, looking infinitely less bothered than he had a moment ago.

Yoongi isn’t sure what he’s doing as his hand starts to slip higher, thumb tracing along the inseam of Jungkook’s jeans. They’ve spoken on several occasions since that night on Yoongi’s couch, but not once have they discussed what exactly this thing is that they’re doing. Yoongi knows about enough to predict that nothing good will come of that, but little enough to not really care. He keeps circling his thumb until Jungkook clears his throat, barely audible over the din in the restaurant. He moves to pull away but Jungkook stops him with a firm hand around his wrist, smirking when Yoongi catches his eye. His fingers trace higher still.

Jimin’s phone vibrates in the center of the table and it’s hard to tell who startles the hardest. Jungkook slams the underside of the table with his knee and Jimin spares him a brief, odd look before he snatches it up. Yoongi quickly retracts his hand and folds it into his own lap, where it remains until the waiter comes with their drinks. Jimin downs his immediately, still on the phone with Taehyung, and slams down the empty glass before the waiter can even finish setting down the rest of them.

“Um,” the kid says, eying him with thinly veiled shock. “Can I get you another?"

Jimin starts to nod but Jungkook interrupts with a desperate grip around the waiter’s wrist. “Nope.” He shakes his head not quite subtly. “He’s good.” He catches Yoongi’s puzzled look and rolls his eyes. “What, he’s an amorous drunk. How do you think that’s gonna go once Taehyung gets here?” Across the table, Jimin smiles serenely and flips him off.

Something draws Yoongi’s eyes to the door then, and it’s at that moment that Taehyung walks in, still toting his luggage from the trip. He looks exhausted, in sweats and a beanie and with under-eye bags dark enough to be visible from some twenty feet away. Somehow none of that manages to dim the ecstatic grin on his face.

“I know, I can’t wait to see you either.” Jimin croons. Yoongi watches as his expression morphs from wistful to confused. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Jimin,” Taehyung says from behind him.

“What?” Jimin says into the phone.

“Turn around, idiot.”

Jimin whirls around with a yelp. “Babe!” Hoseok cringes at the sheer pitch of the squeal in his ear as Jimin leaps to his feet to go crashing into Taehyung. They both attempt to jump into each others arms at the same and careen into a neighboring table with a clatter. “Babe, I haven’t seen you in forever.” Jimin says, tugging Taehyung up from the ground to pull him into a kiss that is not at all appropriate for a public setting.

“I know babe, I missed you so much,” Taehyung says directly into his mouth, snaking his arms around Jimin’s waist and squeezing. The elderly couple at table behind them looks positively scandalized.

“Ugh. Babe, I’m gonna throw up,” Hoseok jokes, raising his eyebrows at Yoongi. He seems to realize his mistake the second it slips out of his mouth and he grimaces as Jimin and Taehyung break apart just to stare. Three pairs of eyes bore uncomfortably into Yoongi’s, looking various degrees of perplexed.

“Um.” Yoongi stalls, trying to avoid everyone’s stares at once. He tries to telepathically beat Hoseok about the head. It doesn’t work.

“Oh.” Jimin’s hand slips from Taehyung’s neck in surprise. His eyes slide between the two of them confusedly. “Did you guys…”

“No, no,” Hoseok rushes. “We’re not, uh… my bad.” It all sounds rather unconvincing to Yoongi’s ears, but the rest of them only look concerned. Hoseok laughs awkwardly, and after a nudge from Yoongi, Jungkook joins in with a stilted, forced sounding chuckle. They really need to be stopped before this whole thing is blown.

“Wow, that’s a great sweatshirt, Tae. Is it new?” Yoongi asks, somewhat frantically. He already knows it isn’t. He’s seen him wear that exact outfit on at least six occasions.

Taehyung looks at him like he’s stupid, which he is. Really stupid, in fact, but not as stupid as Hoseok for starting this mess.

“No.” he frowns. “I’ve had this forever.”

Yoongi has to close his eyes for several seconds to retain his urge to go on. “Well it looks just… great.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Fortunately, the waiter pops up a not a second later; Yoongi has never felt so excited to see a pimply high school kid with such a piss-poor understanding of social cues.

“I see we’re all here now,” he says with a plastered on smile that couldn’t be further from genuine. “Are we ready to order yet?” And that’s all it takes to bring down the tension to a nice, low simmer.

Things don’t get awkward again until about halfway through dinner, when Taehyung begins to nuzzle into the side of Jimin’s neck, murmuring in his ear in a way that is clearly not meant to be overheard. Yoongi can’t make out what he’s saying, but Hoseok very obviously can from his spot smushed up against Jimin’s other side. and appears visibly uncomfortable with this progression of events.

It’s only a few minutes after that when Hoseok answers a call that has his face turning sour. He listens for a long time before he hangs up, muttering a “Thanks a lot asshole,” that probably (hopefully) doesn’t get picked up by the receiver.

He stuffs the last few bites of his burrito down his throat before he assembles his expression into some semblance of apologetic. “Sorry guys, roommate.” He stuffs his phone back into his pocket and stands, chair dragging against the tile with a screech of protest. “He said the bathroom at our place flooded while I was gone and the water’s starting to get into my room.”

“Oh shit, do you need help?” Taehyung asks, making to stand too.

“No, no! I’ll just catch you guys later,” Hoseok says hurriedly, already midway to the door. “It was super great to see everyone, we should definitely do this again.” Much of the sincerity is lost in the way he doesn’t bother to turn back as he bolts for the exit. The door swishes shut behind him and they all watch through the windows at the front of the restaurant as Hoseok jogs around the corner towards the parking lot.

“Uh. Wow.” Is all Yoongi can think to say.

“I know.” Jungkook says around a mouthful of food, the only one not watching as Hoseok slows to a near trudge and shuffles up to the drivers side door. “I hope his stuff doesn’t get ruined.”

Outside, Hoseok collapses forward onto the roof of the car and buries his face in his arms. A second later, his shoulders begin to shake as he sobs wantonly into the sleeve of his jacket. He lets out a wail so loud it’s audible through the glass. Taehyung’s mouth drops open and a few grains of rice come tumbling out onto the table. “Yeah. Somehow I doubt that.”

At the noise, Jungkook seems to notice the direction of their gazes and finally looks over. He shoots Yoongi the most adorably puzzled look as Hoseok lifts his face from his arms, tears streaking down his cheeks as he fumbles with the buttons on the door. He slumps into the drivers seat dejectedly, bangs his head on the steering wheel. Yoongi would be very concerned… if he didn’t recall him practicing that exact same move from his high school drama class.

“Oh,” Jimin breathes. “Poor thing.”

Yoongi again feels the uncomfortable sensation of three pairs of eyes on him as he struggles to piece together an appropriate response. “Wow.” He swallows dryly. “I— hmm. Maybe I should go check on him.”

Taehyung grips his wrist across the table before he can even pretend like he’s going to stand up. “Are you kidding? You can’t go out there and humiliate him like that. Obviously it wasn’t something he wanted you to see.” Ah, yes— probably why he did it right in front of the window.

“Right.” Yoongi grits. “Of course. Um, I’ll just talk to him later then.”

“Be gentle. Clearly this is affecting him a lot more than he wants you to know.”

Yoongi barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Eh. I’m sure he’ll be alright.” At Taehyung’s appalled look, he backtracks a bit. “I mean uh… I think they have renter’s insurance, so…”

Jimin shoves aside his plate as though it’s offended him and rests his elbows on the table in it’s place. He leans over as far as he can for intense, meaningful eye contact. “Yoongi, please. You saw the way he ran out of here. No one cares that much about plumbing.”

“Actually my—”

“You idiot, he’s still in love with you!” Taehyung explodes, slamming his fist on the table and only narrowly missing Jimin’s plate. Jimin nods emphatically, hands steepled in front of him like a school principal, forced to explain for the hundredth time why pushing is not allowed on the playground. Jungkook remains silent beside him, but Yoongi can feel his leg bouncing under the table. He wants to grab his knee to still it, but something tells him now is not the time.

“He probably just has a lot going on.” Yoongi argues, shrinking back under the intensity of their stares. “Maybe he’s stressed out about starting his last semester.”

Jimin shakes his head, slowly— like Yoongi is one of the most dense people he has ever had the pleasure of talking some sense into. “Remember what you told me? Well Hoseok clearly doesn’t feel the same way. You might want to give him some space to get over you, because he clearly hasn’t.”

“I think you might be overanal—”

“Please.” Jimin cuts him off with a hand. “Having feelings for a friend is messy, trust me.” He turns to Taehyung quite abruptly. A sappy, disgusting look takes over his face— hearts practically gushing out of his eye sockets. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Babe,” Taehyung coos, catching him by the chin with both hands.

Yoongi averts his eyes just in time, wincing at the wet, smacking sounds of love at its most enthusiastic.

“Now you’ve done it,” Jungkook hisses in his ear. Across the table, the eskimo kisses begin. “You went and set them off again.”

Me?

But Jungkook ignores him, faking a giant yawn into his hand. “I am so exhausted from the drive in. I can’t wait to go to bed super early.” Neither Jimin nor Taehyung so much as spare him a glance to acknowledge that they’ve heard.

Jungkook tries a second time, clearing his throat with unnecessary force. “So Tae.” He waits patiently for them to break apart to continue. “Is Namjoon back yet?”

“Hmm?” Taehyung has trouble tearing his lips from Jimin’s throat. “Nah, not ’til tomorrow.”

“Ooh.” Jimin tickles up the side of Taehyung’s neck until Taehyung swats at him playfully. “Want me to come keep you company?” Which seems to be precisely what Jungkook was looking for.

“You kids don’t have too much fun without me.” By the satisfied way Jungkook tips back in his chair, it is more than apparent that it a non-concern for him.

“Oh, we’re going to have all the fun, Jungkook. All of it.” Jimin cocks his head to let Taehyung nip at his earlobe from a better angle. “There is not a corner of that room in which we will not have fun.”

“Please. I’m eating.”

 

How Yoongi manages to land himself in Jungkook’s dorm room after that is somewhat of a mystery. Hoseok had been his ride home, so he had ended up splitting an Uber with the rest of them back to campus. Taehyung and Jimin had been just as disgusting in the car as in the restaurant, and he and Jungkook had necessarily taken to small talk just to drown out the soundtrack of their passion. Somewhere in that span of time, Jungkook had mentioned getting a synth for Christmas and Yoongi, naturally, had offered to show him a few things. From there it seemed only logical for Jungkook to invite him over to try it out.

Only now that he’s here, sitting on Jungkook’s bed waiting for him to set it up, it just feels awkward. Watching the way the muscles of his back shift subtly beneath the translucent fabric of his shirt as he digs through his things, all Yoongi can think about is how that had felt under his hands when Jungkook had had hoisted him up, pressed him into the wall and then the couch. He’s itching to feel that again, fidgeting uncomfortably each time Jungkook reaches forward and the hem of his shirt rides up over his back. God, he needs something to do with his hands. He pulls out his phone and texts Hoseok, who he imagines is probably relaxing in bed by now, digesting his free meal and ruminating on new ways to fuck everything up for no good reason. Yoongi is so, so tired.

Yoongi (9:08 pm):

hey dude, what the fuck

what was that.

Hoseok (9:08 pm):

THAT was exactly what we needed to sell the breakup story… 

things were getting a little too chummy, it seemed suspicious

Yoongi (9:09 pm):

literally what

ur so dumb

how do you see this turning out for you, huh?

Hoseok (9:09 pm):

O i

Yoongi (9:10 pm):

just tell them the truth this is getting ridiculous

you’re gonna give me a migraine

you know how i get with my migraines…

Hoseok (9:11 pm):

:(((

just

wait a while longer

please

Yoongi (9:13 pm):

im not pretending forever

u better FIX THIS

dumbass

Hoseok (9:14 pm):

;)))

Yoongi (9:14 pm):

that did not make me feel better

whatever you’re thinking of doing…

DON’T

“Hey,” Jungkook says, sitting up from where he’s still riffling through his old, oversized suitcase that looks like it’s seen more years than he and Yoongi combined. “What the hell was that about earlier?”

“What was what about?” Yoongi asks, already knowing full well what the what Jungkook is referring to is.

Jungkook looks at him dubiously, one eyebrow cocked. “You know. The meltdown in the parking lot?”

“Ah yes. That… Really weird.” Yoongi pretends to be confused, though judging by the look on Jungkook’s face, it doesn’t work.

“Don’t play stupid, it doesn’t suit you.” He grumbles, and then: “You know me and Hobi are friends right?”

Yoongi does know that, however he does not see the applicability. “I mean… sure.”

“So then you should also know that I know you guys weren’t really dating. He told me after that thing at Archibald’s.”

Yoongi processes that for a few seconds. “And you never bothered to mention that you knew?”

Me?” Jungkook dodges Yoongi’s jab at his side, scuttling out of reach so that he’s crouching beside Jimin’s bed just a few feet away. “You were the one that lied in the first place! Are you really mad at me after you tried to lie to me again about a lie that that I lied about not knowing?”

Yoongi contemplates that for a moment. “You’re right, too confusing.” He relaxes again. “Anger absolved for now. And I suppose then I don’t have to feel bad letting you know that what you fell for tonight was an elaborate ruse. I’ve seen Hoseok cry for real. It is nowhere near that pretty.”

Jungkook, looking like he doesn’t quite want to believe him, blinks several times in rapid succession. “Okay, but then like… why would he do that?”

Yoongi shakes his head very slowly. “Blatant, simple dumbass-ery.”

Perhaps sensing his growing annoyance, Jungkook drops the subject with a short nod. He crosses the room in a few strides to root through the closet. Yoongi can do nothing but stare as he shuffles through piles and piles of black jeans, stacks and stacks of white tee shirts with rapidly increasing franticness. “Fuck,” Jungkook mutters to himself when he reaches the very depths with no luck. He grimaces apologetically when he notices Yoongi’s slack-jawed stare. “Sorry, man. I can’t find this fucking cord anywhere.”

“Did you leave it at home, perhaps?”

Jungkook sucks his cheeks in until he rather resembles a fish. “That is… very possible, yes.”

“Nice.”

They sigh in tandem. Jungkook kicks his scattered crap back into the closet and crawls over to the side of the bed once he’s finished to peer up at Yoongi with a face full of childish impishness. “So what do you wanna do now?”

“What do you wanna do now?” Yoongi blinks twice. “Whoa, that was weird. Suddenly I had an extremely vivid flashback to my first sleepover in the fourth grade.”

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook uses Yoongi’s knees to push himself to his feet. He’s smiling again, but it’s  a suggestive sort of smile, obvious, like he’s planning something. “I bet in the fourth grade they didn’t do this.” He tips forward uncoordinatedly and then he’s straddling Yoongi’s thighs, heavy and solid in his lap.

Yoongi is not necessarily opposed to the implication, but he also knows how much Jungkook hates to love being teased. “I thought you said you were exhausted?” He says tonelessly, lets his hands come to rest over the tops of Jungkook’s thighs, hardly the ghost of a touch.

Jungkook seems to catch on to what he’s doing almost immediately.  “Dude. Never too tired to vibe.” Yoongi grunts as his back hits the comforter, Jungkook’s hands on his chest.

“Ooh your douchey frat-boy lingo is turning me on.”

“Hey.” Jungkook looms over him, loose hair forming a shadowy ring around his face. “I’ll have you know that I’m cool as fuck. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“Mmm, not really. Think you’re confusing me with Janice from Alpha Beta Pi. She’d definitely love this.”

Jungkook doesn’t even pretend to care about the teasing, still unduly smug as he stares down into Yoongi’s face. Surely he tell how much Yoongi is enjoying this underneath all the snark, and is taking great pleasure in it. “You know what else I think you’d both like?” He cocks a brow. Yoongi doesn’t get the chance to ask before Jungkook sits back to start unbuttoning his shirt, letting the sides fall open around his chest. His tanned, sculpted, smooth chest that is complimented perfectly by that precise shade of baby blue he’s wearing. Go figure.

“This is nowhere near as sexy as you think it is.” Yoongi bites, just to be an ass. Actually it is probably much more so, but there’s no way he’s going to say that out loud.

“Well then it must still be pretty sexy.” Jungkook lets the shirt slide off of his shoulders to pool on the floor behind him. If anyone else were to do the same, it would sound arrogant, but when Jungkook does it… well, it’s still arrogant, but in an undeniably hot way. It’s hot when his pecs flex with the movement of his shoulders, hot when he chews on his bottom lip with nervous energy, everything he does is hot up— right up until the moment he leans over to hit the space bar on his laptop and music starts to blare through the speakers on his desk. It’s some teeny-bop song that sounds vaguely familiar, catchy and cliché and very contrary to the mood.

Yoongi sits up on his elbows. “Dude. Is this One Direction?” Jungkook tries to play dumb, but the way he’s nodding along to the music, humming under his breath slightly gives him away. “I’m… What the hell is going on?”

Jungkook frowns and scoots back to settle precariously over Yoongi’s thighs. “Ugh. I don’t know man.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “What the fuck else do I need to do to get you to make out with me?”

Yoongi forces back a smile. “Sorry, not interested.”

Jungkook lets out a little surprised huff, tottering dangerously close to the edge of the bed. “Oh.” He makes to stand up, looking terribly confused and slightly embarrassed, but Yoongi catches his wrist before he can, tugs him back down firmly until his arms bracket Yoongi’s shoulders. Jungkook starts gnawing on his lower lip again and Yoongi gently presses a thumb into his chin until he lets up.

“Dude, it was a joke. Just fucking kiss me.”

Jungkook seems to stop breathing for a moment, eyes focusing intently on Yoongi’s lips. “Oh. Okay.”

And then he’s surging forward to flatten Yoongi into the mattress, cupping the sides of his jaw to hold him in place, and kissing him. Right away, it’s hot and messy and wet, all teeth and tongues and breath hot between the two of them. The tension builds almost like their first kiss, but there are no protests this time, and Yoongi doesn’t feel guilty in the slightest when he lets his palms slide up the exposed skin of Jungkook’s back, pulls him in as close as he can get him. His fingers dig bluntly into the skin of Jungkook’s shoulders as he nips at his bottom lip playfully— teasing.

Jungkook pulls back after a second, still breathless, and chuckles. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” he says smugly. “You love it when I act like a stereotypical, frat boy fuck-head.”

Yoongi doesn’t go chasing after his lips, but it’s a near thing. “Shut up, your seduction was terrible. Your abs and your abs alone prevented me from leaving the room immediately.”

“Like I said,” Jungkook grabs him by the collar, pressing light, fluttering kisses along the base of his throat. “Couldn’t resist.”

Yoongi fights to stifle the little, pleased sound that threatens to come rumbling out of his chest. “Please. You’ve been dying to get your hands on me again since two weeks ago.”

“Lies.”

“Are they?” Yoongi shudders at the teeth nipping hot up the side of his neck. Jungkook doesn’t let up from the spot under his ear, but Yoongi can feel his glare all the same.

“Shut up.” Jungkook’s lips are hot against his skin as he whispers.

Yoongi threads his fingers through Jungkook’s hair and tugs until his head tips back. “Why don’t you make me?” he growls.

Jungkook makes a valiant effort to do just that, swooping back down to reclaim the inside of his mouth. Yoongi had meant to say more, to tease him a little— get him nice and riled up, but he forgets his words the second Jungkook parts his lips with his tongue and wedges a knee between Yoongi’s thighs. He’s swept up in the current of Jungkook’s skin under his hands, the way his eyebrows furrow as he starts to grind, very lightly, against Yoongi’s leg. He lets out a surprised whine when Yoongi’s hands find his ass and squeeze, and he jolts against him, finding friction against the zipper of his jeans.

“Take your pants off,” Jungkook demands, yanking at the button roughly, fingers brushing tantalizingly over the of seam of Yoongi’s jeans.

“Why would I do that?” Yoongi cocks his head, a mockery of innocence.

Jungkook does not appear amused. “Do you want to get your dick sucked or not?” he snaps, sitting upright again to grip just below Yoongi’s waist, waiting. Yoongi wants to tell him no just to get him frustrated again, to see that crease he gets in his forehead when things aren’t adding up and he doesn’t like it. Similar to the face he makes when Taehyung tries to wipe his mouth for him while they’re in public.

“Okay,” he says instead, and arches up off the bed so that Jungkook can work his pants down. He flings them across the room, into Jimin’s unmade bed, and Yoongi snickers. His amusement is cut short, however, when Jungkook’s fingers flutter over the fabric of his underwear.

This time when they kiss it’s sloppier, more urgent. Jungkook grabs his chin and tilts it back for a better angle, groaning when Yoongi’s hands come to cradle the back of his head, fingernails scraping through his hair just softly enough not to hurt. Jungkook won’t stop teasing, grinding down and easing back up the second Yoongi starts to like it too much and lets a noise slip out. His presence— his touch— is overwhelming, and maybe Yoongi should feel a little dumb for how desperate he’s being, but also at this particular moment he really does not have the presence of mind to care. He knows nothing but the crash and recede of Jungkook, firm in his lap and hard in his hands. Perhaps that is why neither of them hear the lock click open.

“YO— what the fuck?”

Yoongi is so dazed that at first he doesn’t process it, cannot mentally compute why Jimin is standing there in the doorway, looking like he’s just seen a ghost. Jungkook whips around so quickly he goes toppling to the floor, leaving Yoongi completely exposed laid out on the bed.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Jimin’s eyes flit between them like he can’t decide who is more at fault here. “Jungkook?”

The hurried,“This isn’t what is looks like.” seems to come flying instinctively out of Jungkook’s mouth. Yoongi clamps his lips shut and watches the situation deteriorate rapidly right before his eyes.

“Oh really.” Jimin looks unconvinced, crossing his arms and regarding Jungkook on the floor with a judgmental stare. “Then what is it? Because it looks like you and Yoongi were about to fucking smash melons right here and now.”

Jungkook forces a laugh that sounds two thirds pained and one third panicked. “Of course not. We were actually…” he sneaks a look over at Yoongi with wide eyes. Yoongi can only shrug minutely and hope Jimin doesn’t pick up on the exchange. “…fighting?” Jungkook says with great uncertainty. “He told me he didn’t like One Direction… so, um, yeah.” Zayn’s piercing high note in the background seems to evidence his point and he nods pointedly. Yoongi would commend him for his creativity it it weren’t so obvious that Jimin wasn’t buying a word of it.

“Wha—” Jimin looks positively baffled by the suggestion. “If you were fighting then why does he have a boner?” His eyes bore into Yoongi’s lap and Yoongi quickly covers his crotch with his hands.

“What boner?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin steps closer to point directly at it. “That one. Right there.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath to steel himself. “Well, you see. That’s just because I— um.” He swallows hard. “I get off on pain.”

Jimin looks terribly disgusted. “Alright.” He holds up a hand as if to say that’s enough. “I can appreciate both of your dedication, but cut the bullshit.” Jungkook’s face falls comically fast. “I mean I guess I can’t say this completely blind sighted me-” He chuckles disbelievingly, rakes a hand through his already disheveled hair. “-but still… wow.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jungkook says with a frown, finally pushing up from the floor to slink over and sit on Jimin’s bed. He discreetly tries to swipe Yoongi’s pants off of Jimin’s pillow.

“Please.” Jimin scoffs. “The energy between you guys was weird from the very beginning. Even before you guys started banging.” Then his expression morphs, from one of casual, acceptant shock to downright suspicion. “Unless… When exactly did you guys start this? It was that second night at Yoongi’s house, right? Not before…”

Yoongi remains very, very quiet, praying that Jungkook will do the same. Jungkook, bless his heart, presses his lips together until they turn white and says nothing. Jimin’s gaze is growing more accusatory by the second, and when he manages to catch Jungkook’s eyes, he looks down guilty into his lap. That seems to provide answer enough, and Jimin gapes. “Not… oh shit.”

Yoongi is more than prepared to commence the adamant denials, but before he can, Jungkook breaks— easily like a pringle in a can. “We didn’t even bang at the party, okay? We just—” and he cuts himself off so quickly that his teeth make an audible clack when they slam shut.

Jimin’s jaw drops. “Whoa, the party? The party at Hoseok’s place?”

Jungkook nods minutely. Yoongi is seconds away from kicking him in the knee— anything he can do to get him to shut up. Jimin would probably see it, but he finds he doesn’t particularly care. Really, truly, fuck Hoseok for this one.

Yoongi, although he is doing his absolute best to avoid eye contact, feels it when Jimin’s eyes begin to bore into the top of his skull. “Um.” he says looking up with great trepidation. “There’s actually sort of a funny story about that.”

Jimin blinks at him. “There’s a funny story about you cheating on your boyfriend?”

Yoongi resists the urge to just get up and walk out, leave all this behind for someone else to deal with, because he cannot. He clears his throat. “Well not… uh, yes?”

“Go ahead then, tell it.” Jimin waits with crossed arms and raised eyebrows. Yoongi feels like a child being scolded. He wonders if this is how Jungkook feels all the time, because if so, it’s very disconcerting.

“We—” Yoongi wracks his brain for the most probable lie, but all he’s coming up with is a mantra— tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth— it says. On the one hand, he doesn’t want to betray his friend, but on the other hand, well— his own ass is in immediate need of saving. “Hoseok and I weren’t really together.” He blurts. “It was all an elaborate lie to get you to warm up to him quicker.” Hoseok will have to get over it eventually.

Jimin scowls, perhaps at the suggestion that he is anything less than warm and hospitable. “How convenient. You realize that doesn’t make any sense, right?”

Yoongi grits his teeth. “I am aware.”

Jungkook finally cuts in, quick to reassure. “Look, I know it sounds weird, but it’s true,” he rushes. “Hobi told me the same thing. It was all fake.”

“Don’t try to help him,” Jimin snaps. “This is so messed up. How could you guys sit there and watch him fall apart like that at dinner and then come back here and do this. Did you think that was funny? I don’t get it.” The insinuation prickles at Yoongi uncomfortably. On the one hand, he understands how fishy this all looks, but in the other, slightly larger hand, he thinks Jimin is being unduly harsh when it’s really none of his business.

“Maybe that’s because, like I said, it was all fake,” he snaps right back. If he had his pants on, he would storm out in a rage right now. He still might, actually.

Jimin doesn’t seem to deem that worthy of a response, just shakes his head with a long sigh. Jungkook stands, reaching for his elbow to calm him, but Jimin jerks away before he can make contact. “Just stop. Both of you.”

“I—” Jungkook starts.

“Nope. Don’t want to hear it.” Jimin shrugs him off again. “Don’t act like you’re any better for sleeping with him when you knew he was in a relationship.”

Jungkook looks terribly annoyed at being cut off, and his expression only darkens at the accusation. “Well he’s not now.” he bites. “So why do you care?”

“But he was!” Jimin erupts, face turned an intense shade of scarlet. “Oh my God. And what, you’re gay now? What is that?”

“Bi,” Jungkook corrects quietly.

“What? Where are you going?” Jimin whirls.

Yoongi chokes on his own spit.

“Not bye, bi.” Jungkook flushes all the way down his torso— still bare by the way.

“Bye bye?”

“Jesus Christ,” Yoongi cuts in, leaping to his feet and scooping his pants up from the floor. “Him-” he motions to Jungkook, quivering off to the side, “-bi.” He yanks his pants on furiously, stomping to get his legs shoved through the holes. “Me— bye.” and then he storms up to the door and yanks it open. “Jungkook we will continue this later, but I think it’s best if I go now. “Bye,” he says once again, and then he slams the door shut and takes off down the hallway, with a newfound vigor. Fucking Hoseok.

Chapter Text

 

Come the next morning and Yoongi is pounding on the door to Hoseok’s apartment, loud enough to piss off the neighbors probably, but he doesn’t give a damn.

“Open up asshole!” He yells. “We are in some deep shit now, my friend.”

Yoongi shouldn’t be surprised when the door swings open and it’s Jeff standing there, looking as unpleasant as ever in a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms that come dangerously close to showing off all of the things that Yoongi does not need to see.

“What the fuck dude?”

“Sorry,” Yoongi says without a trace of apology and pushes past him to get inside. He can only assume that the look Jeff levels after him is bordering on murderous.

He stomps through the living room and up the stairs, mostly for effect, though he soon realizes that this is lost on Hoseok, who is conked the fuck out in a bundle of blankets and comforters, only the very top of his very red head poking out. Yoongi slams the door shut behind him and picks his way over to the window, yanks up the blinds so that sunlight floods the room, illuminating the disaster zone that is the floor.

Hoseok grumbles and rolls over, face popping out of the top of his burrito. “Who’sit?” he mumbles, sitting up slightly to squint around the room.

“Me, bitch.”

“Who’s bitch?”

Yoongi stalks over to the bed and yanks the sheets down so Hoseok is forced to look into his scowling face. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Hoseok slumps back against the pillows and stares up at the ceiling. “Oh. That bitch.” At this angle, Yoongi can see his bare neck, littered with hickies and purpling bite-marks. Great to know that Hoseok was having a good time last night while he was getting reamed in the worst sort of way.

“What the hell man?”

“Huh?” Hoseok has the nerve to play stupid, looking up at Yoongi with the most blank, stare.

“Don’t give me that look, pal , you really fucked us now.”

“Hmm?” Hoseok leans over for his glasses on his bedside table. He doesn’t look anywhere near as concerned as Yoongi needs him to be. “Wuh happened?”

“You have to come clean to Jimin. Now.”

Hoseok blinks slowly, too slowly, as he regards Yoongi dully behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “We talked about this. All in due time.”

“Yeah well. The situation may have… developed since then.”

“Developed how?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow in that suspicious way of his. “What did you do?” Yoongi balls his fists in the soft down of the comforter tangled around Hoseok’s legs. His fingers tug absently, nervously at the blankets, brushing over Hoseok’s shins through the fabric.

“Jimin may or may not have seen me and Jungkook… together — and jumped to some conclusions.”

“What kind of conclusions?” Hoseok leans forward, eyes bulging wider than normal magnified through his thick lenses. “What do you mean together?” Yoongi grits his teeth. Must he spell this out so graphically? Will he have any pride left by the end of this week? Will he ever find out why God seems to hate him? Find out on next week’s episode of Life is Shit and People are Dumb .

“Me and Jungkook were starting to get, ehm… freaky— as you might say.” He coughs uncomfortably “— and then Jimin saw us. And to simplify a really long, awkward story, he now thinks I was cheating on you, so yeah. Conclusions.”

“Ah.” Hoseok nods. “Yes. That certainly is a development.” He looks like he’s still blinking awake, which is perhaps the sole reason he isn’t currently shrieking in Yoongi’s ear. “I was not made aware of this— relationship— between you and Jungkook. Please do elaborate.”

“There’s nothing to elaborate on.” Yoongi says cooly, and it only feels a little like he’s lying. “We hooked up one and a half times and then we got busted. That’s it, that’s the story. Sordid, isn’t it.”

Hoseok seems to think so, suddenly looking much more awake. “Wait this wasn’t the first time? I mean I knew you guys had kind of a thing but you’re telling me you actually, physically went after him. Like actually hooked up with him of your own volition.” He is, in Yoongi’s opinion, offensively shocked by the idea.

Yoongi blinks. “Wh- you told me to! On multiple occasions! You knew it was a possibility, don’t act so surprised.” Hoseok finally manages to sit up all the way, if just to gape at Yoongi from a better angle. The covers fall down from around his shoulders and reveal an even deeper, darker bruise that sits directly above his left nipple. Yoongi grimaces a bit at the implication.

“No offense, but I was like ninety-five percent sure you’d never have the gall to do it. I think I have a right to be surprised. You’ve always been a glutton for punishment, Yoongi, when did that change?” Yoongi doesn’t have a good answer for that. He’s not even sure it has changed to be honest, Jungkook is just— different. “-I mean I’m super proud of you for finally losing your virginity, but please. Update me next time.”

Hoseok ,” he growls. Based on the barely disguised smirk that dusts the corners of his lips, Hoseok doesn’t seem very intimidated. “You better fucking fix this. I swear to god.”

Hoseok attempts to rub his eyes through the glasses, bumping himself in the face with a tiny jolt. “Well damn. If I knew all that I wouldn’t have laid it on so thick. Now we just look dumb.”

“WE?”

“Yeah we. You agreed to it too.”

“I—” Yoongi takes a deep, calming breath and reminds himself that Hoseok is his best friend. His best friend who would do literally anything in his power to see Yoongi succeed in life. Also his best friend with a borderline moral compass and often poor decision-making skills. “You make me physically ill. I really cannot do this anymore. When I die, I’m telling them to put Cheers, Hoseok on my headstone, because this current rate that you and I are at right now? You’re going to put me in an early grave.”

“Aww Yoongi,” Hoseok pats his head and sounds as unsympathetic as it is possible to whilst stroking someone's hair and cooing at them. “I’m so sorry sweetie, but how are you gonna tell them that if you’re dead.”

“I hate you. So much.”

“I know you do.” He gently pets over Yoongi’s still shower-damp hair. “And despite that fact, I promise that I am going to come to your rescue, because that’s just the kind of person I am.” He traces the lines of Yoongi’s forehead creases and then scratches behind his ear in that way he knows Yoongi cannot help but enjoy. He can feel himself calming down, despite his best efforts to at least keep up the pretense of anger.

“Shut up. You are the worst kind of person.” That doesn’t stop him from nuzzling into Hoseok’s hand, just a little bit, when his fingers stop moving. “Why the hell did you even leave in the first place?”

Hoseok scoffs right up next to his ear. “Are you kidding me? You should have heard the nasty shit Taehyung was saying. I genuinely didn’t think the little guy had it in him. Like Jesus Christ I actually got half a boner just listening to it.” He shakes his head slowly. Whether he's amazed or disgusted is unclear. “Plus I had booty call to tend to.”

“At eight pm on a Monday?”

Hoseok snorts lightly. “What can I say, Martha needed to get it in before the kids got back from Grandma’s.”

“Ew.” Yoongi leans back far enough to see the salacious twist to Hoseok’s smile. He shudders. “Okay, I did not need to hear that at all. I cannot believe you legitimately slept with her. This whole time I thought that was like a running joke you guys had.”

“Love isn’t a joke, Yoongi, it’s a beautiful thing.” Hoseok untwists his legs from the sheets to push out of bed, stands by the side and stretches. His joints crack sickeningly as he twists his spine with a groan. Yoongi does not know how he should feel knowing that he has not been wearing pants throughout the entirety of this encounter.

“You love her?”

Hoseok hums, bending down to touch his toes. “Nah, after three failed marriages she doesn’t believe in monogamy. I was talking about it in the more carnal sense.” When he stands up his face is flushed red from the blood rush. That doesn’t stop his smirk— like he knows exactly what Yoongi must be thinking and finds it terribly amusing.

“Oh. Yuck.” He can’t help but eye Hoseok’s neck again, the marks that trail down past the wide collar of his sleep shirt. It does make him a bit curious, though. “So what did you guys even do?”   Hoseok appears much less disturbed by the question than Yoongi would have anticipated, being himself a rather hopeless prude (though not in his own words). Hoseok opens his mouth, eyes dancing with a dangerous sort of mirth, and Yoongi immediately regrets everything. “You know what? Nope. No, that was a mistake. I do not want to know.”

Hoseok grins. “Yeah, you probably don’t.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here today.”

Yoongi stands to address their little table in the corner of the coffee shop, tucked away from the counter and the constant flow of people, in and out. It’s the short stretch before the first week of classes, and Jimin and Taehyung had agreed to meet only reluctantly, and on the terms that it be in a very public space. Yoongi doesn’t know if that stipulation should comfort or concern him.

Jimin and Taehyung are huddled together on one side of the table, and judging by the way Taehyung is sat, so stiffly formal and tense, Jimin has told him everything.

On the other side of the table, Jungkook is sitting there with his hood up, sunglasses obscuring a large portion of his face. Like Yoongi, he is probably also afraid of a scene. Hoseok sits beside him looking chipper as ever, as if he has somehow failed to pick up on the energy from the rest of the table. Yoongi can only presume that that air of careless cheerfulness will be soon be decimated.

Yoongi really isn’t one for speeches, but… “In light of a recent incident— one that I do not wish to get into— some false accusations have been leveled by certain parties without all the facts.” Jimin’s already sour expression turns darker. Yoongi turns away before Jimin’s eyes start to gouge into his soul. “I will now be presenting those facts. Any questions?” Taehyung raises his hand. “No one? Okay great. First to speak today will be Hoseok, who has some news that might surprise a few of us.”

“Yes, um. Thank you for that introduction. Hello.” Hoseok’s chair grates loudly on the tile as he moves to stand up. He gives an awkward little wave that betrays his nerves, even through that same, undimmed smile Yoongi knows well. “I am Hoseok, as you all know, and I would just like to start us out with a few wise words from a few great minds.” He clears his throat self-importantly. “It is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself to forgive. Forgive everybody — Maya Angelou.” He seems to hesitate for the barest of seconds before he plows on. “The weak can never forgive; forgiveness is an attribute of the strong — Mahatma Gandhi, everyone. And last but not least, a quote from the late and great doctor King— we must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive .” He scans the table for a reaction and finds none. “Now, whether or not you all agree with these quotes—”

“I do not.”

Hoseok glosses right over that. “I think the message is quite clear. People sometimes— in the throws of love, or passion, or quite possibly stupidity— make mistakes. Well I am coming to you here today to say that a grave mistake has been made.”

Jimin glares between Yoongi and Jungkook. “Yeah, no shit.”

“I’m sorry, but what exactly is the point here?” Taehyung asks. “Are you saying you want us all to forgive Yoongi and Jungkook for going behind your back and— ow .” he breaks off into a whine when Jimin elbows him.

“Ah.” Hoseok nods sagely. “Well you see, that’s the thing. Because uh…” his eyes search Yoongi’s for help, but there is only the cold, hard look of justice to be found there. He sighs delicately before going on. “Yoongi and I were never in a relationship. We lied. I lied.”

Yoongi can’t help his smug expression as he points accusingly across the table. “See. I fucking told you I was telling the truth. Who’s the liar now?”

“You realize you are still the liar here, correct?” Taehyung says. “Can you really blame us for not believing you?”

Yoongi thinks about it for a moment and the smug look slides right off of his face. “…No.”

Jimin, has finally shed his glare in favor of a more appropriate expression; utter shock. “Okay,”   he says, climbing slowly to his feet and examining each of their faces in turn. “I’m a little confused here. You were faking it this whole time? For two entire months you kept that up?”

“I… yeah” Hoseok mumbles after a long second of ashamed silence, perhaps realizing for the first time how it sounds out loud. As if Yoongi hasn’t been trying to drill that very same idea into his head for months.

“You realize that is absolutely insane, right? Why would you do that?”

Yoongi bristles at Jimin’s tone, a little too harsh, too aggressive when he’s really no reason to be. “He just wanted you to like him.”

Jimin looks fantastically confused and wildly upset, like a baby with no concept of object permanence who has seemingly watched their own parents vanish before their eyes. “Why would that make me like you?” And Hoseok, Hoseok, who Yoongi has found to be nearly incapable of self doubt— who is brash and brazen and holds enough confidence for the both of them combined— seems to shrink a little at that.

“Well, you know…” Hoseok mutters, thumbing at the condensation on his drink with apparent rapture. “Taehyung and I used to date, so—”

“One date. Singular.” Jimin crosses his arms.

“Right, and after that one date— which , by the way, was certainly nothing to write home about. Very little chemistry—”

Hey .”

“Sorry Tae but come on.” Hoseok motions vaguely between him and Jimin, who is proving very difficult to read with his stony expression. It’s very unlike him. “After that date, you were mildly…dickish towards me.” The corners of Jimin’s lips tug downwards very subtly, but Hoseok picks up on it anyway, rushes to reassure. “I mean I didn’t blame you— like, jealousy , I get it man— but when Tae finally invited me to meet you again, I wanted us to be chill. So yeah, I took the only opportunity I saw to make myself seem like less of a threat to your relationship.”

Jimin looks pinched, and it almost seems he won’t say anything at all with the way his lips press so tightly together, jaw clenching. His face flushes a deceptively light, pretty pink before he explodes. “Jesus Christ. You were never a threat to our relationship. I trust Taehyung not to cheat on me, so if he tells me you guys are friends then you’re friends. I’m not that insane.”

“Yuhh— huh.” Hoseok chokes on whatever he had been about to say and sits back, frowning. Jimin, placated, or at least somewhat vindicated, perches back on the edge of his seat too and sips his peppermint mocha. Several moments tick past in a sticky sort of silence. Jungkook rocks back in his chair and Hoseok catches the top of it before he can topple over onto the floor. Before   anyone else can take the opportunity to make shit worse, Yoongi speaks up.

“Well. I think we have all learned something from this.”

“Like what?”

He squints disapprovingly at Taehyung. “I don’t know but there’s definitely a lesson in there somewhere; extrapolate at your leisure. Anyway. I motion that we all just forget that any of this happened.”

“Seconded.” Hoseok motions. “Hear, hear.”

Slowly everyone around the table raises their hands. Not Jimin. His hand stays firmly gripping around the sides of his cup, tight enough that it might break it if he squeezes just a bit harder. “C’mon,” Taehyung nudges him softly. “It’s kinda funny if you think about it.”

“Funny? Excuse me for being upset that my friends would lie to me for this long because they all think I’m some jealous monster.”

“That’s not—” Hoseok starts at the same time as Taehyung does.

“—babe.”

Jimin scowl only deepens. “Don’t babe me, I’m mad.”

“Jimin. Come on. You’re overreacting.” Which Taehyung seems to realize is the wrong thing to say the very instant it slips out of his mouth. Jimin jumps back to his feet, sending his chair skidding back into the wall with a clatter. He shakes off Taehyung’s hand clinging to the hem of his jacket with a sneer.  

“You know, all of you really disappointed me.” He says, but glares at Jungkook specifically when he says it. “And I don’t appreciate the way you’re all trying to downplay it, because it’s a big deal to me, okay? Clearly none of you trust me and I can’t help but wonder why that is.”

“Jimin—” Taehyung tries again, but he’s not listening.

“Can anyone tell me that? Can anyone tell me why no one seems to think I’m worth telling the truth to?” He’s really being too loud at this point, has lost all that usual Jimin spark to make way for this biting sort of anger. The entire table blinks up at him in in stunned silence. Or at least Yoongi is stunned; Taehyung and Hoseok are looking rather guilty and Jungkook just looks—looks angry .

“Seems to me like you ignore most of us half the time anyway,” he mumbles, and Yoongi has to look twice, just to verify that the words are indeed coming from Jungkook’s mouth. “Like when exactly were we supposed to build this so-called trust when you were so far up his ass you couldn’t see shit else.” He jerks his chin in Taehyung’s direction, and he cringes in response, slides down in his seat and purses his lips and stops looking Jungkook in the eye. It occurs to Yoongi in this moment that he’s never seen Jungkook truly angry before. Annoyed, maybe, but this is different, this coldness he’s exuding now— it’s actually a little scary. It is also… slightly arousing.

“I didn’t know it was a crime to love my boyfriend.” The words are light enough but the challenging draw of Jimin’s face, tight and lined, tells a different story.

“It’s not, but it’d be damn nice if you could look at me sometimes when we hung out instead of having your tongue constantly down his throat.”

“I, um.” Taehyung clears his throat uncomfortably. “Sorry?” They both ignore him.

“Oh come on, that rarely happens.”

“Oh really. Because I don’t think there’s been single time in the past two months that I’ve been able to hang out with you guys without having to bear witness to some kind of foreplay.” Jimin’s eye twitches and Taehyung graciously looks down at his feet. And here Yoongi had thought they were incapable of shame.

“It’s—” Jimin flounders for a defense— apparently he finds none as his shoulders slump a second later. Point Jungkook. “… not foreplay?”

“See I think you meant to say there was ‘ wow, I’m sorry I made you feel that way.’ ” Jungkook says. He doesn’t look as angry now, but the words come out harsh all the same. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but like… it’s not like we really spend time together either. I barely get to sleep in my own room half the time, and I can’t help but wonder if you’ve ever thought to yourself like hey, that's a little fucked up or if you just don’t care.”

“I—” Jimin chokes, but after a second doesn’t say anything else. He takes a seat

“Yeah.” Jungkook nods to himself, like he’d just confirmed what he’d already known. “And honestly, I don’t really owe you any explanations on my life, especially when it doesn’t really seem like you’d care anyway. So.” He shrugs. “I’m really not sure what you expect from me at this point.”

Hoseok gapes openly when he finishes. He catches Yoongi’s eye and mouths something completely unintelligible to him, looks understandably shocked with his delicately flaring nostrils. Yoongi can relate though, on account of, like— who knew the kid the kid had it in him? It seems that Jungkook, Yoongi realizes, is far more astute than he’s given credit for.

Jimin looks floored as well, fish mouths over a long, terse moment of staring before he says, very cautiously: “I— I didn’t want you to feel like that.”

“Well I did.” Jungkook says dispassionately, tipping back in his chair again. This time Hoseok doesn’t stop him.

“Well…” Jimin considers momentarily. Yoongi can see the internal battle as it plays out on his face— that struggle between what he clearly believes is the right thing and his desire to cling to his own stubbornness. “I think… like.” He coughs quietly. “I’m sorry if you are?”

Jungkook frowns. The legs of his chair clack against the tile as he sits forward again. “Well… I don’t know if I’m sorry.”

“Well…” Jimin swallows hard. “I…” he grimaces, like he’s in physical pain. “I am. Sorry.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, and goes quiet. Jimin is obviously expecting something, leaning forward onto his elbows, balanced precariously on the edge of the table. Jungkook looks at him, sees this, and doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Oh I get it.” Jimin says. He still lingers for another second, like he’s waiting for an apology that doesn’t come. “Fine.” No one tries to stop him this time when he makes for the exit. Taehyung stands to follow him a second later, flashes a half apologetic smile back at them as he gathers both of their things.

“I’m sorry too.” He leans over to ruffle Jungkook’s hair and Jungkook swats at his hand, only mildly annoyed.

“Whatever. Go get your stupid, dumb boyfriend.”

Taehyung only grins. “I will.”

The door clangs shut behind them and then it’s just the three of them huddled at their little table, left in the wake of what could have honestly been a much larger disaster, all things considered. Jungkook looks a bit sickish now— like he could use a cold compress and some time lying down— but Yoongi doesn’t point that out. Hoseok can’t seem to decide where to look, whether after Jimin and Taehyung’s receding backs, at a stricken Jungkook, or at Yoongi, who knows he is probably doing very little to hide his shock. Eventually, Hoseok snorts.

“Well. That went well.”

☆ ☆ ☆

It’s only after one full week that Yoongi starts to think that maybe, just maybe, certain individuals won’t be so quick to get over this. He can tell already how awkward it’s making things for Jungkook. It’s only three days into the new semester, and Jungkook has now slept over at his place for five of the past seven nights. Which is fine — because most mornings he gets to see a sleepy, half-dressed Jungkook bundled up on his couch, all rumpled and disoriented when Yoongi opens the blinds and the sunlight that comes filtering in shines directly into his eyes. And who would complain about that adorable way he scrunches up his nose at the smell of Yoongi’s coffee or the scratchiness of his voice when he first wakes up? Certainly not Yoongi.

He suspects that by now Jungkook has figured out that Yoongi only pretends to be annoyed by his presence and he has since begun to milk that for all it’s worth. By the third night, Yoongi had stopped asking when Jungkook showed up at his door toting his backpack, a tweety bird pillow and a harried look. He’d offered little in the way of explanation, and yet Yoongi had invited him in each time, wordlessly. He hadn’t questioned it on those nights when Jungkook curled up on the couch, still in his gym clothes, and knocked out within minutes, and he certainly hadn’t questioned it those times Jungkook was feeling a little… friskier.

So basically? It’s a satisfactory arrangement.

 

Come Wednesday and Yoongi is at work, having one of the slowest days he can remember in his five meager months months of employment. He’s been shadowing with one of their senior producers on a recording session, and she insists on doing practically everything herself, rendering him virtually useless. By midday, Yoongi finds himself relegated to the corner to observe the masters at work. And boy do the masters drink a lot of fucking coffee. Which, he supposes, is how he finds himself on his second coffee run of the day, waiting on the barista to finish making half a dozen Toffee nut lattes. Two of them might be for him.

And it’s because he is having such a useless, unproductive day, that he doesn’t feel terrible at all when he passes out the coffees, plops down on the couch in the corner, and takes out his phone to wait while the artist takes yet another potty break. This is when he sees a vaguely concerning string of messages that probably, possibly require his attention.

 

Jungkook (11:03 am):

hey, so!!!

good news/bad news

which first?

Jungkook (12:37 pm):

Yoongi?

ok you didn’t answer so I’m picking bad…

SO… uhh

someone might have spilled fruit punch on your carpet this morning

hAH? (pls dnt kill me)

don’t worry im working on it though

Jungkook (2:08 pm):

do you perhaps own any bleach?

Ooop nevermind, found it

 

Fuuuccckkk. He taps furiously at his phone screen.

 

Yoongi (2:41 pm):

???????

!!!!!

do not touch the bleach

I will take care of it when I get home

ok?

OK??

Jungkook!!!!

 

He doesn’t get a response before he has to stuff his phone away as the artist comes clomping back in, bladder emptied and ready to lay down some fresh bars.

So Yoongi is pretty much expecting to come home to a giant stain on his carpet— maybe a bit of a mess too, because Jungkook is just a little bit of a natural disaster. But what he doesn’t expect to come home to is Jungkook, who is inexplicably still at his apartment, holding a fuzzy blue bath-mat and sputtering apologies a mile a minute.

“Okay before you say anything, I am really, really sorry! The bleach was fine on the carpet but then I made a mess in the living room too, and I thought I could fix it but— but I guess wood is porous, which I didn’t realize at first and now the finish is fucking ruined, and then I though this might cover it, but it was just too big and I don’t know what to do now but just please don’t kill me.”

“Um.” Yoongi says, looking down at the giant, blotchy patch of exposed wood marring the expanse of his living room floor. “How did you even—” he swallows back a curse. He’s having trouble controlling his expression, which probably reads somewhere between appalled and murderous.

“Fuck,” Jungkook says, taking a subtle step away. “I’m so sorry.” He clings to the arm of the couch like a lifeline and Yoongi can’t tell if he’s consciously trying to put an obstacle in between them, but the implication stings slightly. “I thought it would clean it, not— um.”

Yoongi really tries his best not to yell, but he can already tell that he’s failing by the way that Jungkook’s eyes go wide and worried when he asks, “What did you do!? Just fucking dump the bottle?” Judging by the look on Jungkook’s face, that is precisely what he had done. And Yoongi is angry, of course, because why wouldn’t he be? His landlord is going to be pissed if he sees this, and for once it’s not even Yoongi’s fault. He knows absolutely nothing about carpentry and he can already tell it’s going to be a bitch to cover— probably expensive too.

But then Jungkook’s lower lip is sticking out, quivering almost imperceptibly, and he looks so awfully guilty― so awfully afraid . Yoongi deflates. He can tell that Jungkook feels terrible— which, like, he should, but also it was an accident.

It was an accident and he feels bad, and now Yoongi feels guilty for yelling at him when this poor baby had only been trying to help. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and holds it for several seconds. When he’s done he offers a brittle smile.

“It’s okay,” he says, placing a gentle hand on Jungkook’s arm. He’s not sure why he’s the one doing the comforting when this mess is probably going to cost him at least two hundred bucks to cover up, but it feels like the right thing to do in the moment. Jungkook still looks a bit wary, but he sags with relief, and he lets Yoongi guide him to sit down at the counter where neither of them have to look at the ruined floor.

“I’m such a dumbass.” Jungkook groans into his palms. “I’m gonna make this up to you, I promise. You want food or anything? On me for like… the three months. Just don’t make me tell my parents, they would be so disappointed.” Cute. Jungkook is sickenly cute. Yoongi wants to simultaneously vomit and squee.

“Hush kid, I’m not gonna make you tell your parents.” Yoongi pats his head, fingertips carding through his messy, unwashed hair. “Just uh… be more careful next time, right?”

“Mmm, okay,” Jungkook says easily, tilting his head for more when Yoongi’s fingers stop moving. He hums approvingly when Yoongi resumes his petting. “I solemnly swear that I will never attempt to clean again.” He sighs when Yoongi’s nails scritch across his scalp. “Great hands,” he murmurs, more to himself than Yoongi, letting his eyes slip shut.

“Thanks,” Yoongi mutters and lets Jungkook continue to nuzzle into his hand. His eyes stray back to that glaring splotch on the floor― he swears it’s somehow gotten even bigger in the past five minutes. He sighs again. Jungkook himself is the only silver lining to this day: quiet and pliant now in a way he rarely is. At least he doesn’t seem scared anymore, the last thing Yoongi wants from him is to be feared. Though he knows he hasn’t done anything to deserve it, the idea settles unpleasantly heavy in his gut. Jungkook’s eyelids flutter at the sound. He peeks over at Yoongi and seems to follow his gaze to the stain.

“Want me to take your mind off of it?” he asks, sitting up to try and gauge Yoongi’s expression. Yoongi lets his hand drop down to his lap, refocuses on Jungkook, whose fingers are creeping lightly up his thigh.

“I’m―. Are you offering me an apology blow job right now?” He catches Jungkook’s hand as it comes to cup over his dick.

“I mean.” Jungkook shrugs. “If that’s how you want to interpret it, then yeah.” He squeezes a little too roughly and Yoongi hisses as the zipper digs into his skin, only half-pleasurable. He catches Jungkook by the wrist, returns his hand to his own lap.

“It’s really not.” Yoongi grimaces. “No thanks.”

“What, is this because of my ineptitude? I’m offended,” Jungkook says, but doesn’t look it.

“No, it’s because I’m tired and hungry and honestly I don’t think I could get a boner right now if I tried.” The last part’s a lie, he’s already at, like, thirty-five percent chub from just that little bit of teasing. But details.

“Oh.” Jungkook blinks a few times, unreadable. His eyes cast briefly down to Yoongi’s crotch before he grins. “Good, then I can buy you dinner.” He’s doing that thing again, that one where he looks far too sweet and earnest for his own good. It makes Yoongi want to die, but not before he boops him right on the nose.

“Ugh, Kook I really don’t want to go anywhere right now.” Though just a few more seconds of that look and he might be persuaded. “I really, really just wanna lay down.”

“I know.” Jungkook snorts, like that’s already a given. Brat. “Isn’t that the beauty of delivery.”

Yoongi bites his lip to repress a truly soppy grin― Jungkook’s impact. “Fair point. Go ahead, I guess.” Jungkook just laughs, like he knows what Yoongi is playing at even better than Yoongi himself. Maybe he does.

 

They end up eating in Yoongi’s bed, partly because they are both sloppy humans beings, but also because no one has to look at the eyesore of a rug that’s doing very little to conceal the bleach spot that way. Jungkook picks out of both of their dishes for a while before he settles down at the foot of the bed with one hand propping up his head and the other clutching at his stomach. He stares very blatantly at Yoongi as he eats, the TV buzzing uselessly at his back. Yoongi is pretty sure they’ve been watching the home and gardening network for some thirty minutes now, but neither of them have made a move to change it.

“You don’t seem very hungry,” he says when Jungkook’s gaze begins to prickle the hairs on his neck with it’s intensity.

“Yeah, I kinda ate at the dining hall right before I came over.” He looks embarrassed to admit it, though he hasn’t any discernible reason to be.

“What?” Yoongi nearly jostles the container of noodles off the bed in his effort to sit up from his pillow nest. “Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn’t have let you buy all this food if you didn’t want to eat.”

“I know, but I wanted to buy it for you. You seemed like you were having kind of a rough day. Which, I realize, was in large part due to me.” On a good day Jungkook’s pout is enough to induce heart palpitations, but today in particular, it feels near irresistible. Yoongi means to protest but instead he just nods mutely, freezes up for a moment while he tries to remind his limbs how to move naturally again.

Jungkook takes the opportunity to crawl over and bury his head in Yoongi’s lap. Yoongi makes a half-hearted attempt to shove him away, mutters something about spilling duck sauce in his hair, but Jungkook only nuzzles deeper into his knee. Yoongi is powerless to stop him.

“So about that apology,” Jungkook says after another minute, once Yoongi has finished wiping the residual stickiness off of his fingers with one of those flimsy little take-away napkins.

“Seriously?” Yoongi asks. There’s something about greasy take-out that is markedly un-sexy, but it doesn’t appear to bother Jungkook, who licks his lips rather salaciously.

“Dead serious.”

“I’m really just a piece of meat to you aren’t I?”

Jungkook grins up at him through his lashes. He hauls the rest of his body up the bed, gets his knees tucked up under himself before he burrows his face in Yoongi’s crotch and mouths hotly, wetly over his clothed dick.

“Mmm. Not at all.” It’s muffled into the fabric of Yoongi’s sweatpants. Yoongi’s dick maybe twitches then, just a little, and it’s quite possible that Jungkook can feel it kick against his chin.

“Ung.” Yoongi chokes and fists his less-sticky hand in Jungkook’s hair. He yanks his head up to see the heat blooming on Jungkook face, in his eyes. “Prove you don’t just want me for my body, then. When’s my birthday?” Jungkook whines.

“Unfair. You never said.”

“Dedication needs no teacher.”

Jungkook sits up on his knees. “I know you’re fucking with me but it’s not very nice.”

“I’m not very nice.” Yoongi resituates himself with an air of self importance. “Or maybe I just don’t like you.”

“Liar.” Jungkook lunges forward and tackles Yoongi into the pillows, fingers coming to dance up along the sides of his ribcage. Yoongi’s body is wracked by little shivers that pulse down his spine, make him want so desperately to squirm.

“Jokes on you, I’m not ticklish.” Yoongi grunts effortfully, trying very hard not to break. His face is hot and he’s clenching so hard he can’t breathe. Jungkook’s fingers find the crease of his hips and dig in deeper. Yoongi shrieks.

“Not ticklish, huh?” Jungkook tickles him harder. “Or too tough for tickles, is that it? Cause I think you like it.” Yoongi does not justify that with a reply. Partially because of he’s one proud son of a bitch, but also because he’s wheezing so hard he physically cannot speak.

“Oh Christ,” someone says then, and it’s certainly not Jungkook’s voice coming from the other side of the room.

Jungkook’s hands still abruptly and Yoongi’s head thuds against the headboard as he jerks back in surprise. “Goddamn it Seokjin. I told you that key was for emergencies.”

Seokjin peeks out from between his fingers, which are, in reality, doing very little to protect the sanctity of his eyes. “Well you should have been more specific about that. ‘Emergency’ is an awfully subjective term.”

“Literally how?”

Jungkook rolls from between Yoongi’s splayed legs until he reaches the edge of the bed and tumbles over. His knees hit the carpet with a thud that rattles the floor itself.

“Are you okay, dude?” Seokjin asks.

Jungkook pops his head up over the side of the bed, cheeks flaming aggressively, and peeps out a meek. “Yes.” He’s still panting a bit.

Seokjin looks momentarily confused, eyes flitting uncertainly between Jungkook’s cherry-red face and Yoongi’s, before he bursts into a raucous sort of laughter. “Ah. Nice to see you again, buddy.” Yoongi can already tell he will be getting an earful after this.

“Again?” Jungkook heaves himself bodily from the floor and dusts off his already spotless pants. He eyes Seokjin’s proffered hand for a long second before he clasps it. Seokjin tugs him in close and claps him on the back in a motion quite uncharacteristic of himself. Yoongi finds himself tugging Jungkook away from Seokjin’s greedy talons a second later, guiding him to sit back on the edge of the bed. He keeps a reassuring grip on the back of Jungkook’s neck, as he seems half-inclined to flee.

“Yeah, we met before at the club. You were pretty sloppy though, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

Jungkook squints for a long moment. “Ohhh ... ha,” he says in an unconvincing imitation of a laugh. “Sorry about that. Was kind of a rough night for me I guess.” He shifts incrementally closer to Yoongi’s side, like if he only got close enough, he’d be absorbed.

“Happens to the best of us.” Seokjin stares pointedly at Jungkook’s hand squeezing Yoongi’s thigh. Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it and Yoongi doesn’t want to remind him. The warmth is nice anyway; grounding.

“Why are you here?” Yoongi asks, and if it comes out a bit rude, well…  

“Dude. I haven’t seen you in weeks. I thought you were cooped up in here rotting away.” Seokjin crosses his arms over his body and manges to look both judgemental and impressed. “Though I see now that is not the case.”

“Yeah, well. Next time maybe text first.”

“I called you three times today.” Seokjin hates being ignored almost as much as he hates being forgotten. “You didn’t answer.” Yoongi is fairly certain his phone is still buried somewhere deep in his work bag, abandoned. He doesn’t respond. Seokjin squints, like he’s waiting for a response that Yoongi can’t give. The silence stretches to the the point of uncomfortability, palpable, almost. Jungkook clears his throat lightly.

“Okay. Well I can see when I’m not wanted. Let me leave leave you kids to it, I guess. Yoongi.” Seokjin nods. “Hope to see you sometime in the next year.” But before he can retreat, Jungkook stops him.

“No wait.” He leaps up, tripping over his own shoes in his haste and losing that composure he had forcibly donned with soldier-like discipline. “Stay, I was just about to leave anyway.” No he wasn’t.

“No you weren’t,” Seokjin says.

“Okay, no I wasn’t.” he admits nervously. “But I see Yoongi like every day. You two should uh… spend some time together. Really,” he says when Seokjin looks downright suspicious. “It’s cool, Ji― my roommate is probably wondering where I am anyway.”

“He is?” Yoongi blurts, and then immediately feels like an insensitive asshole.

Jungkook gives him an odd, indecipherable look. “I mean… yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Uh-huh.”

And Jungkook, not to be dissuaded, darts out of the room with one last fleeting, guilty look. Seokjin watches him leave and then frowns at Yoongi, as if to say what was that about. The front door slams loudly. Yoongi doesn’t have an answer for that question so he says the next best thing:

“Thanks for scaring him off.”

Seokjin doesn’t wait for an invitation to take Jungkook’s spot in the bed. He flops over onto his stomach so that he can stare up at Yoongi while stretched across the full length of his bed. “You are incredibly welcome,” he says. “Also: what the hell.” Yoongi glares up at the ceiling and wills his heartbeat to return to a more appropriate level.

“What.”

“Don’t what me Yoongi.” Seokjin jabs him in his over-sensitive ribs. “Don’t act like I didn’t just walk in on your little tickle fetish fest.”

“Ew shut up, that’s not even what that was.”

Seokjin blinks twice, unconvinced. “Know that I am choosing to believe you solely for the sake of my own piece of mind.”

“Please,” Yoongi huffs. “We were just… hanging.”

Ah yes. Hanging, right. That’s exactly how me and Hoseok hang too.”

“It… is?”

“No, don’t be disgusting. Hoseok and I aren’t involved like you and Jungkook clearly are.”

“What do you mean involved?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Romance, courting. Weird kink play.”

“Oh my―” Yoongi starts but gets cut off once again.

“By the way what the fuck happened to your floor. It looks like shit.”

“Ugh don’t remind me. Jungkook thought he knew how to do domestic shit. He really, truly does not.”

Seokjin searches his face appraisingly, doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for. “Dude and he’s still alive? You aren’t plotting his murder right now, are you?” Yoongi doesn’t respond and Seokjin gapes. “Oh my god. Oh my God, you aren’t . Wow, you’re actually whipped as fuck for him.”

“No I’m not,” Yoongi says, made less convincing when he looks a bashfully down at his lap. It would take observation skills to come to Seokjin’s next conclusion.

“Holy shit. You want him to be your boyfriend.”

Shut up, I don’t. I’m perfectly happy with the current state of our relationship.”

“Which is what? Two weirdos who date by day and roleplay Thorki incest by night?”

“Wha― ew . Dude stop spending so much time on tumblr. We’re friends with benefits.”

“I'm pretty sure friends with benefits don’t do whatever the fuck y’all were doing.”

Yoongi kicks him. “Yes they do! That’s one of the benefits!”

Seokjin looks quite disbelieving. “Dude. I see what you’re doing.”

“No you don’t because I’m not doing anything.”

“Fine. Keep denying your feelings. Pretend you don’t want to date the shit out of him. Pretend he doesn’t want to date the shit out of you.”

“You think he does?””

“Yoongi.”

He cringes. “I know. But seriously?”

“I swear I can’t talk to you any longer, my IQ is going down as we speak.” He makes no move to get up.

“Fine then. Go. We both know you don’t have the brain cells to spare.”

“You’re such a bitch with a crush. I thought you getting laid woulda mellowed you out.”

“I already am fucking mellow.” Seokjin raises his eyebrows. “Okay well that didn’t sound mellow but I’m serious. It’s chill, Everything is chill.”

“I’d find that easier to believe if you weren’t clenching so hard you’re giving me a cramp.”

Yoongi grunts as Seokjin squeezes his calf. “Dude. No offense but like… just date him.”

“I… can’t.” Yoongi buries his face into his fluffiest pillow. The crying pillow. Or it would be if he had ever shed a tear in his life. “Ugh. I suck.”

“Yoongi you do not suck. Shut up before you make me spend the rest of this night aggressively validating you.” A promising proposal if there ever was one. Yoongi just groans into his pillow. “Then cut out all the crippling self-doubt shit and get your mans.”

Yoongi uncovers his face partially to speak. “You’re probably right, but I really don’t want you to be.”

“Oh I’m definitely right.” Seokjin snatches the pillow away and tosses it out of reach, ignoring Yoongi’s affronted glare. “I’ve seen you guys together for a grand total of fifteen minutes and it’s pretty obvious you’re like… destined or some shit. Like the look on his face― before he noticed me watching I mean. That was some sappy shit. Plus I know things like this. I’m intuitive as fuck.”

“Well I mean as long as it’s ‘as fuck’.”

Seokjin slaps his thigh and sits up, shuffling his blankets down to the floor. He tugs on Yoongi’s wrist. “Come on you need an ice cream cone stat. Let’s go.”

“Urg. I don’t even like ice cream.”

“It’s not about what you want, but what you need.” Seokjin looks very much like Yoongi’s mother with his hands on his hips like that. “It’s the most whimsical food and you, my friend, need a pick-me-up.”

“I’m fine.” Yoongi pouts.

“And you’re doing a great job convincing us both of that,” Seokjin says flatly.  

Yoongi makes a show of heaving himself out of bed. He brushes the wrinkles out of his clothes to moderate effect. “Fine. You’re paying,” he grumbles. Seokjin snickers as he attempts to re-tame his bed-rumpled hair. He is perhaps very aware that this grumpy Yoongi is only a fraud.

He flicks a stray noodle from the back of Yoongi’s jeans. “Gladly.”

~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Text

Jungkook stops sleeping over after that night. Yoongi’s not sure what’s behind the change and he, perhaps very dumbly, doesn’t ask. Probably it’s because it’s more convenient for him to be in the dorms, closer to his classes and the library and the dining hall and all his cute little freshman buddies. It’s probably not because he has suddenly decided that Yoongi is a gross, horrible monster who is unfit for bedtime snuggles. Probably. Or who knows, maybe he was really weirded out by the tickling thing.

It’s fine , he tells himself every night Jungkook isn’t there to cuddle on the couch before bed. They still see each other― a lot, in fact. They aren’t dates exactly. More like a series of semi-platonic outings between a couple of casual, chill friends with nothing better to do in their spare time. Not dates.

Or maybe they are. It’s become progressively difficult for Yoongi to tell where the line lies these days between a casual, ‘friends-with-benefits’ sort of hang out and an Actual Date. Like when they go to the boardwalk, still mostly deserted for the winter, and toss bread scraps to the seagulls until the swarm draws too much attention and they get shooed off the beach. That doesn’t necessarily feel like a date, even if they do hold hands as they flee pier security. Or when they go to the dollar theatre and spend ten hours watching movies and eating popcorn and milk duds until Jungkook is almost sick in the cinema bathroom. That day they only make out a little bit when the films get boring, which makes it a ninety-five percent casual outing. And when they go to hike the fire trails one Sunday morning and Jungkook won’t stop teasing Yoongi for being complainitive and slow— that’s just a friendly ribbing. They do pick daisies along they way, so it’s admittedly a little gay, but when Jungkook darts up next to him to tuck one behind Yoongi's ear, flashing a manic grin as he dances away, he can’t bring himself to care. Something about it still feels very casual, though, even the way Jungkook offers him his sweatshirt when he can’t stop shivering, waving off  his protests of, “but won’t you be cold?” .

They have a lot of fun together, but that’s what friends do. Yoongi is almost positive.

 

Tonight though— tonight feels like a date. It certainly hasn’t been verbally labelled as such, but there’s something that feels distinctly un-platonic about this restaurant in particular. It’s legions nicer than the places they usually go together, has the bourgeois air of a place that people go when they want to impress. Yoongi isn’t sure which is more ostentatious— the people, dripping in Gucci and clouded with the clashing scents of a hundred different overpriced parfumes, or the decor, a gaudy reinterpretation of Venetian gothic architecture.

Jungkook looks remarkably un-phased by the change of scenery, though Yoongi has learned just how careful he is in constructing that cocksureness. Like how he had seemed that night at Hoseok’s party, almost arrogant in his assertion. On the best of days, Jungkook can be whatever sort of person a situation calls for. But Yoongi’s favorite version of Jungkook is Jungkook in private, when he’s growing tired and a little snippy after a long day but he still lets Yoongi coddle him, smooth down his hair and let his fingers linger. That Jungkook is the one that Yoongi finds the most honest— he’s still a bit of a brat but so much softer, more tentative, more willing to take Yoongi’s teasing with a barely concealed smile and tell him to fuck off when it’s clear he means the opposite.

Jungkook has taken the opportunity to dress up tonight, and he looks… good. Like mouthwatering, choke on your breadstick good. Yoongi is so distracted by the swooshy bangs that somehow manage to perfectly frame Jungkook’s face― his tiny lips and dark eyes and sharp cheekbones―  he forgets to read the menu.

“I’ll have the Bœuf bourguignon,” Jungkook tells the waiter with a sly little look at Yoongi across the table. Yoongi tears his eyes from Jungkook’s face (his terribly beautiful face) and tries to remember something, anything from his single semester of French class.

“Um. I’ll also have the buff berg- uhh… the same.”

The waiter wanders off with a perfunctory nod and Jungkook nudges Yoongi’s toe underneath the table. “Do you even know what you just ordered?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, takes a small, careful sip from his glass of water. “Do you?”

“Ha. I spent a full hour last night researching and memorizing the entire menu. I could probably make what I ordered.”

“You what?”

The apples of Jungkook’s cheeks color slightly but it’s the only indication he possesses any shame whatsoever. “Answer the question, amateur.”

“I mean-” Yoongi shrugs. “I’m not really here for the food.”

Jungkook’s eyes gleam. “You’re right, my company is better than any glorified pot roast.”

“Actually I’m here for the ambiance. Nothing whets my appetite like some good old fashioned mood lighting. You’re not special, I could get that anywhere with anyone.”

Jungkook has kind of a dorky laugh, but Yoongi has trouble finding it anything but adorable when it bubbles out over the sound of clinking cutlery and polite chatter. The waitress gliding past their table hesitates and peers over her shoulder curiously at the sound.

“Ah but you know what you can’t get anywhere with anyone?” His tone makes it very clear what he’s referring to, even without his obvious glance down into his own lap. He doesn’t notice the tiny gasp that comes right over his shoulder.

“Hm. That’s not very classy dinner conversation,” Yoongi sniffs.

“Shut up I’m as classy as it gets.”

“No, but you are as cute as it gets,” Yoongi says in an ill-advised moment of disgusting sappiness. Jungkook pretends not to hear him, but his water glass can’t mask his soft smile.

When their entr é es, arrive, Jungkook hooks their ankles under the table and Yoongi takes the opportunity to footsie the life out of him. It is shaping up to be a disgustingly shmoopy night of feelings , and Yoongi is both enjoying it supremely and dreading for tomorrow, when the inevitable embarrassment and sense of impending doom will set in. Good times.

 

Dessert is an ordeal.

Yoongi orders the crème brûlée― the only thing he definitively recognizes from the menu― and he Does Not Complain when Jungkook tries to feed it to him. No one really stares but it feels like they should be. Jungkook’s gaze is heavy on his lips the entire time and Yoongi doesn’t taste a single bite of it. Worth it― especially when he wipes at a bit of creme on Yoongi’s lip and sucks it off his own finger. He would have slapped literally any other human away under that very circumstance, but Jungkook looks too happy to turn down, even though people who can’t wipe their own mouths are high on Yoongi’s shit list. Jungkook’s lips glisten with spit and sugar, though, and Yoongi really, really wants to lick.

He excuses himself to the bathroom.

Yoongi washes his hands three times before he manages to get himself in check. He throws his makeshift paper-towel compress in the trash and checks one more time on the mirror to make sure his expression still reads calm and unbothered. It’s chill, everything is totally chill. Also he feels like he’s burning up from the inside, but that’s probably normal. He shoulders his way out of the bathroom and it seems just his luck when the door smacks directly into a waitress passing though towards the kitchen.

“Ow.”

“God, sorry.” He says to the girl cupping her nose behind the door. “You alright?”

“Fine,” she says and it comes out muffled through the palm of her hand. She makes no move to step out of the way, just stares level with him with a perplexed sort of look. Their eye contact is uncomfortably intense.

“Excuse me,” he says after a second too long passes. Only when he moves to step around her she steps with him, caging him very purposefully inside the little nook outside the door. The lowlights in her glossy hair catch the light as she sways.

“Sorry,” the girl says, still blocking his exit. She folds her arms over her chest and props her shoulder up against the wall beside them in what is probably supposed to be a casual way. Nothing about this encounter is casual. She clears her throat. “So what brings you here?”

“Um.” Yoongi blinks. He checks to see if there’s someone watching them at either end of the corridor, but is concerningly devoid of any friends holding camera phones waiting to tell him he’s been punked. “Dinner?”

“Oh yeah?” The waitress hardly bothers to feign interest. Her manicured nails look perfectly sharp where they dig into her own skin. “Hot date or what?”

Yoongi only hesitates for a split second. “Or what.”

“So that guy out there wasn’t your boyfriend?” She leans in closer and Yoongi is bathed in the scent of bergamot and lavender. Her lips quirk in distaste and he remembers now― there was that same face she’d made when she’d passed their table earlier.

“He’s not, actually. And even if he was, it wouldn’t be your business,” he adds, with a sudden sense for where this is going. “Pretty sure you can get fired for harassing your customers, just saying.”

She cringes at that, takes half a step back, still not far enough for him to escape without crashing into her. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She looks stupidly pretty with that pout on her face, thick lips and wide, bright eyes. She knows exactly what she’s doing, Yoongi thinks, and it almost works. Almost.

“Then what―”

“Look.” She silences him with a glare, fingers wrapping around his wrist, not too tight but there’s a sort of desperation there. Her hand engulfs his entire wrist easily. “You seem like a decent enough person but that other dude you’re with. He’s not a good guy.”

“Are you talking about Jungkook?”

The girl makes a face, as though the name alone offends her delicate sensibilities.

“Yeah. Him.”

“But. Jungkook is like… the sweetest kid ever. Have you even met him?”

“I’ve more than met him.” She glances up through her eyelashes and Yoongi feels an unbidden swooping in his gut. “We used to have a thing . Had a couple classes together too. He did seem really sweet at first― only then I guess he got what he wanted from me and he stopped being so nice.”

Yoongi blinks once, slowly, and still fails to wrap his head around this. “That…  really doesn’t sound like him.”

“Trust me.” She clasps Yoongi’s hand at his side and her palm is cool and slightly damp. She looks nothing but earnest as she peers down into his face. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. And you’ve seen his body, that’s not very far.”

Yoongi finds he has nothing else to say― there’s no guarantee that this girl is lying, for all that he knows she could be telling the truth. But. That’s not Jungkook; it can’t be. He wants to defend him, really, but he’s still struggling to justify exactly why the implication makes his heart feel like it’s being crushed inside a trash compactor.

The waitress seems to sense his hesitation. “Come on.” She squeezes his fingers in her clammy grip. “You gotta know at best he’s confused. I mean fucking around with me and then switching it up like it’s nothing. What, now he suddenly wants to have it both ways?”

“You― oh.” There it is. That perfect explanation he was looking for. So obvious he couldn’t miss it if he tried. The girl’s grip slackens on his hand and he jerks it stiffly back to his side. “Alright. I get it. I see what this is.” The girl blinks slowly, uncomprehendingly to his mounting indignation. “I don’t know why you think I care who Jungkook fucked around with in the past. But I can see why you feel like you need to sabotage him. Just know that you’re nowhere near as justified as you think you are.” He takes as much of a step back as he can, trapped in their cramped little corner.

“Dude, what are you talking about?”
“Oh come on. Just say you hate bi people and go.”

The way the girl rumples her brow makes her look like a very perplexed goldfish. “That’s not― hold on I didn’t mean it like that―” she backs off a bit in surprise. Yoongi is really very tired of all the people who never expect to be called out on their bigoted bullshit. At least he got to shield Jungkook from this one.

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“So it doesn’t bother you at all that he chose a guy when he could have had you?”

She doesn’t say anything then, but she doesn’t need to.

“That’s what I thought.”

He makes to get away and this time she doesn’t get in his way. He stalks past her towards the table with only a glance over his shoulder to make sure she isn’t following him. She’s not. Good. Jungkook doesn’t need a scene to ruin his nice night. Yoongi’s happy bubble has already been effectively burst but at least someone’s should remain intact. He wrestles the scowl off his face as he approaches, not actually all that difficult looking  at Jungkook’s nervous little fidgeting with his cuffs. Always the little things that offer a tiny window into that less confident side of Jungkook that he tries so hard not to show. That Jungkook who starts to cringe sometimes when people stare at them too long in public, or the one who’s afraid to wear his favorite dangly earrings in public because it draws the wrong kind of attention.

“You ready to go?” Jungkook says as he Yoongi approaches, offering a small smile and a subtle brush of their shoulders. Yoongi wants to take his hand instead as they step out onto the sidewalk outside. He doesn’t.

“Mmm. Where to?”

“Uhm,” Jungkook pauses with the cutest look of dumbfounded confusion. He pouts. “Wanna go for a walk?”

“Okay.”

So they go for a walk, a long, calming one. Jungkook himself has that peculiar soothing effect, like chamomile tea. Yoongi pushes him on the swings at the park and then they kiss at the top of the slide until Jungkook pushes him down head first and cackles when Yoongi almost eats wood chips. Yoongi pouts until Jungkook slides down after him and pretends to check his head for injuries. They end up making out at the bottom of the slide too, for ages until Yoongi’s face feels like it’s frozen. Each time their icy noses bump together he’s reminded of how cold it is. He doesn’t want the night to end, though. Endings mean losing that feeling he gets sometimes when it’s just the two of them― this clawing, desperate feeling, like he doesn’t ever want to let Jungkook go. It’s a little terrifying, a little thrilling. Never enough to make him stay away.

When they finally do leave, Jungkook takes his hand as their walking to the dorms. His fingers are freezing but so are Yoongi’s, so it fits. “We should do this again,” Jungkook says softly and leans in for one last, hungry kiss. Yoongi lets him take it, groans at the warmth it brings back to his lips.

“Yeah we should.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Dude. Please focus.”

“Hmm? Sorry.” Yoongi drops his phone into his lap and sighs, slouching back in his chair. It’s lumpy and uncomfortable and brings back all kinds of unwanted memories of late nights spent in this same library wanting to tear his hair out. Not exactly where he wants to be at one am on a Tuesday. “How long did you say this was gonna take again?”

“It’s been four minutes.” Hoseok does not look amused as he leafs through a thick stack of papers. He’s wearing his glasses again, which is how Yoongi can tell he’s stressed out. They’re slipping low down the bridge of his nose and he looks a bit like Yoongi’s old art history professor like this, terribly young and frazzled. “Pretty sure Jungkook will live if he doesn’t hear from you for an hour.” Hoseok flips his papers face down on the table between them and riffles through his rucksack for a pen. “You know how this works, right?”

“Sure.”

“Is that a ‘yes’ sure, or a ‘I don’t want to hear you talk any more’ sure.”

“Both.”

Hoseok sighs melodramatically. He almost sweeps his pack of goldfish onto the floor as he rocks forward in his chair. “Wouldn’t it be beautiful if I had a cooperative subject for once?”

“You literally asked me to do this for you.”

“Yes, but only because you’re the perfect specimen. I needed an abnormal mind to make this interesting.”

Yoongi snatches the closest piece of paper off the desk, balls it up and chucks it at his head. Hoseok dodges it easily. “Whatever, go. Uncover my deepest darkest secrets. Illuminate those dark corners of my mind even I don’t know about.”

Hoseok slides the whole stack out of Yoongi’s reach before he can strike again. “Don’t be ridiculous. The validity of the Rorschach test is scientifically questionable at best, this is just for a project. Now tell me if this picture looks more like a dog or a really misshapen penis.”

Yoongi cocks his head. “I don’t know, I think it’s just a really wonky, anatomically correct heart.”

Hoseok scribbles something down in his notepad. He holds up the next page. “And how about this?”

“That looks exactly the same as the last one.”

Hoseok stares him down.

“Okay. I guess it looks like a… flower? Maybe a peony.”

Hoseok’s brow creases as he continues scribbling. “And this one?” He shoves another piece of paper into Yoongi’s face.

“Mmm, kind of like… lips?” Hoseok says nothing as he whips out the next sheet. “Angel?” That one too gets slapped down on the desk in favor of a new one. “Two turtles kissing?”

Hoseok sucks a long breath through his teeth, sets down his pencil and paper one by one, and folds his hands primly over his lap. He regards Yoongi with open disbelief. “Alright, no offense dude but what is wrong with you?”

“What?”

“Kissing turtles? That was clearly an evil clown!”

“You told me there were no right answers. I thought the point of this was my interpretation.”

“Well your interpretations are shit.” Hoseok says, voice mounting to a near shout. Someone shushes them from a row over. “Sorry,” Hoseok yells. Several more, louder shushes. “Sorry,” he whispers again. “Yoongi you’re a blind bastard.”

Yoongi purses his lips and says nothing. Hoseok examines his face for a mere second before he comes to his next conclusion. He snatches his pencil back up and begins scrawling in his notes again. “Now I get it.” he mutters, more to himself than Yoongi. “Huh.” His hand moves frantically over the page.

“Get what? There’s nothing to get.” Yoongi leans over to try to get a look at what he’s writing. It’s useless, Hoseok’s handwriting is completely illegible. “What are you saying?”

Hoseok just shakes his head, mumbling to himself, “Jungkook that little shit.”

“What did Jungkook do?”

Hoseok halts his pen on the page to raise an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, you answer that.”

“I― how? What do you mean”

“You know this is like the third time today I’ve caught you making your Jungkook face.”

Yoongi blinks. “That’s not a thing.”

“Oh it’s most definitely a thing. Ask Jin, he’ll tell you.” Hoseok finishes whatever he was writing, flips his notebook shut, and slides it to the corner of the table. “So what happened?”

“Nothing.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Sure thing dude.”

“Your sarcasm is unwelcome and unappreciated.”

“Whatever.” Hoseok flips his pen around on the desk until it skitters off onto the floor and under some girl’s chair. He doesn’t bother to retrieve it. “Don’t tell me about your life, even though I share everything with you.”

“First of all I never asked for a play by play on how you helped your weird mom hookup mount a hammock in her sex dungeon. Second of all I would tell you if there was anything to tell. I’m still figuring things out.”

“What exactly is there to figure out?

Yoongi shrugs. “Well I mean like… first of all does he even like me?”

Hoseok looks stupefied. His mimes using his hand to physically shut his gaping mouth. “Is this a trick question?”

“No?”

Hoseok takes several seconds to ponder this and then sighs heavily. He seems to deflate a bit, until his shoulders are barely sticking out above the back of his chair. “I swear to God you’re such a fucking idiot, holy shit.” A couple from another table glares over at them. Hoseok does not appear to notice or care. “How are y’all not already dating? Seriously like if I didn’t know you guys― and consequently that you are an emotionally constipated fool― I would have thought you were his boyfriend, honestly. And you’re asking me if I think he likes you?” He laughs disbelievingly.

There’s a long, charged pause. Yoongi peers at Hoseok through narrowed eyes. “So… what you’re saying is yes?”
“Oh my God ,” Hoseok explodes. This time nearly half of the second floor turns to shush him. “Honestly Yoongi what did you think was happening this whole time, huh? You guys went on a lakeside picnic how is that not a date?”

“I mean is it? Where exactly do you draw the line between casual romance-congruent hanging out and a full on committed relationship. Like what do you personally see as the difference between a friendly half-fuck buddy and a boyfriend?”

Hoseok throws his hands in the air. “Don’t ask me . You know I’ve dated like one person ever. Plus it was high school so I don’t think it really applies here.”

“Ugh, you’re useless. Never mind I’ll just ask Seokjin.”

Hoseok snaps to attention like a dog catching sight of a squirrel. “Hold on just a minute, I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you.” Yoongi taps his fingers on the table while Hoseok wracks his brain. He adjusts his glasses over the bridge of his nose. “Hmm. I guess exclusivity? Like you’re not seeing other people right?”

“… No.”

“Okay.” Hoseok nods. “And you’ve discussed this?”

Another pause. “… No. it was sort of implied though.”

“Implied how.”

Yoongi deflates. “I don’t know.”

“So then you’re not exclusive?”

“I mean… we could be. Possibly.” Yoongi examines his nails carefully, casually. “Depends.”

Hoseok snorts. “Got it.” He’s smirking just slightly as he reaches to re-open his notebook, shaking his head.

“Hold on just a minute.” Yoongi slaps the thing back shut before Hoseok can finish, offended. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Hoseok has the smuggest look on his face— the face of a man who knows he’s desired and is more than pleased to be so. “You want to hear what I think?”

“I mean I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

Hoseok raises his eyebrows mildly. “I think you’re scared.”

“I am not scared,” Yoongi scoffs.

Hoseok just shakes his head. “You are scared. You’re scared that Jungkook is going to change his mind, or run away, or decide he doesn’t want you anymore. And it’s driving you crazy because you really like him.” He jabs a finger at Yoongi’s chest. “You like him so much you’re terrified by it. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You can not.” Yoongi squints just in case.

“I can. You know, I know you a lot better than you think I do.” He grins, laying a faux-comforting hand over Yoongi’s. He snatches his hand away and Hoseok snickers.

“Do not.”

“Do too. And that’s how I know exactly why you’re being so finicky about this thing with Jungkook. It’s dumb. You guys both have mouths, you should use them.” Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “Don’t give me that look— to talk.”

“But I hate talking.”

“You say that, yet here you are, preventing me from my work with this weird, sappy, sulky drama. Just tell him you wanna be facebook official, it’s pretty damn easy.”

You’re pretty damn easy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Hoseok bats his underwhelming eyelashes. “But seriously. At some point you’ve gotta decide what you want from him. Because it seems to me like he’s waiting on you to take your head out of your ass. So what are you gonna do?”

Yoongi truly does pick the worst times to blush. Why must he always be caught out like a little kid who flushes at the mere mention of his crush. He cups his cheeks between his cold palms to disguise it. “I don’t know dude, I just wanna like… hold his hand and shit.”

“Oh that’s sick.” Hoseok groans slamming his fist down on the table. Only one person even bothers to glare this time. Most of the people around them have picked up and left by now. “You’re sickenly cute, Jesus fuck. I can’t wait to text Seokjin about this later. You’re so adorable sometimes, why is no one else ever around to witness this?”

“I will literally end you if you spread any of that info around. I don’t need everyone knowing I’m soft, it’ll ruin the charisma― the air of mystery.”

Hoseok takes out his phone and points it right in Yoongi’s still slightly pink face. “Whatever dude.” He snaps a photo. “I’m sending this to Jungkook.”

Yoongi tackles him.

They scuffle as quietly as possible over their little table in the library. Hoseok tries to lick Yoongi’s nose and Yoongi pinches the inside of his thigh in retaliation. Hoseok yelps loudly, nearly knocking the lamp over the side of the table as he jerks away.

“You asshole, you know I have sensitive thighs!”

Someone clears their throat over Hoseok’s shoulder, and Yoongi is more than prepared to plead for his life with that one crabby librarian who’s always roaming the stacks when he spots Jimin.

“I should have it would be you two making a scene in the library in the middle of the night.” He snorts.

“This isn’t a scene, we were just having a debate.” Yoongi climbs off of Hoseok’s lap and smoothes the wrinkles out of his shirt. Hoseok discreetly adjusts his pants. Jimin looks like he doesn’t quite know what to make of them.

“Okay, fine you caught us. What are you gonna do, kick us out?”

“I don’t work here, so no.” Jimin crosses his arms. “I just thought I’d come say hi.” He waves awkwardly. “Hi. I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in forever.”

Hoseok nods along like he can’t feel the discomfort radiating from Jimin’s every pore. “It’s cool, the start of the semester is always pretty busy.”

“Yeah.” Jimin twists the string of his backpack anxiously between his fingers. He takes a deep breath that’s probably not meant to be as noticeable as it is. “Um. We’re still cool right?”

“What? Yeah of course,” Hoseok says immediately, and Jimin visibly relaxes. Yoongi is almost jealous of his ability to put everyone at ease so simply.

“Oh. Good.” Jimin drags a chair over to their table and plops down in it, leaning forward on his elbows. His eyes are drooping and he looks exhausted. “I feel like I might have overreacted before. Like minutely overreacted. Or according to Jungkook, heavily.”

“Nah dude, I get it. It’s all forgotten. It was kinda my bad in the first place.” Hoseok looks to Yoongi for confirmation.

“Yeah, it really was. Also I was never really upset with you about it, so…” Yoongi shrugs.

“Good.” Jimin nods. “Yeah good.” He keeps nodding, slowly, until his eyes grow a bit hazy and his chin begins to slip from his palm. He looks like he’s either about to fall asleep sitting up or sneeze really hard.

Hoseok doesn’t seem to notice, reassembling the stack of papers that had been scattered during their tussle and stuffing them indelicately into a folder in his backpack. Apparently they’re done for the evening. “So what brings you to the library at the devil’s hour?”

Jimin snores lightly.

Hoseok looks up and snorts. “Hello?” he waves in front of Jimin’s face. “Jimin?” Jimin jolts hard and sits up, blinking rapidly. “Sorry did you say something?”

“Dude, have you slept?”

“Hrrrg . Yeah kinda, I don’t know why I’m so tired.” Jimin dabs at the corners of his mouth, checking for drool. “Probably just this new workout regimine. Me and Jungkook have been doing this thirty day challenge thing― he seems fine though, that little asshole.”

“Oh yeah?” Hoseok asks him something about isometrics that Yoongi doesn’t understand.

“Uh huh. We actually originally started because he wanted to try out for the rec frisbee team.”

Hoseok laughs. “You have to try out for that?” Yoongi does recall Jungkook mentioning something about it a couple weeks ago. That had also been the same night as their beer pong tournament at Hoseok’s house though, so it’s a bit fuzzy.

“Oh God, don’t say that in front of any of them, those frisbee people are really intense.”

“He made it, then?” Yoongi is already formulating a plan on what to do with that information. It will definitely involve whipped cream.

“Yeah. Apparently his family is pretty hype about it. I guess his brother used to play in a competitive league before he tore his ACL, so he’s basically a legacy. I’m not too sure though, I couldn’t listen to the whole story when his dad was telling it cause I thought it would be rude to laugh.”

Hoseok nods. “There is something about watching a bunch of adult men chase around after a frisbee like their life depends on it that’s a little off-putting. Pretty hilarious though.”

“Yo there’s an exhibition game this weekend, I was gonna go watch alone just for solidarity’s sake, but you guys should come. It’ll be fun― we can laugh at all the dudes getting way too heated over frisbee.”

“We’re in,” Hoseok says before Yoongi can even pretend to contemplate it. Of course, he would have ultimately agreed, because he would be an idiot to turn down the rare opportunity to watch Jungkook get all sweaty. He doesn’t want to seem too eager though― even though he is. Extremely.

“Sweet,” Jimin says, then visibly sags. “You know, I came here to get a book I need to read, but now I’m blanking on what class it was even for. Man, I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.” He pushes up out of his chair and Yoongi notices for the first time how he has the bottom edge of his shirt tucked through the open fly of his jeans like a tiny, cloth pseudo-penis.

“Dude, you should probably just go to bed.” Hoseok fingers Jimin’s pants flap. Jimin looks down at it and sighs. He does not attempt to fix it.

“Yeah probably.” He pulls sadly on the end of his shirttail. “I’ll catch you guys later.” He wanders around a bookshelf and disappears into the depths of the stacks. This is shortly followed by a thud, a muffled curse, and the sound of several books tumbling to the ground.

Hoseok glances after him and then stands up too, backpack thrown over one shoulder. He muffles what might very well be a fake yawn into his palm.

Yoongi follows him out. “That’s all you wanted right? We don’t need to meet up again tomorrow?” Hoseok holds the door open before him and the air outside, damp and biting, mingles unpleasantly with his warm, sleepy body.

“Believe me,” Hoseok small, sly smile. “You’ve given me everything I needed and more.”

Yoongi is still uncertain what that means as he walks home in the dark, icy air whipping his skin through his windbreaker. Whatever it is, it’s probably not good.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The exhibition is about as exciting as Yoongi had expected. If there weren’t at least thirty semi-hot dudes running around the intramural fields shirtless, he likely would have turned around and left the minute he stepped onto the field and felt the full, unforgiving force of the wind whipping against his back. As it is, he’s huddled between Jimin and Hoseok on the bench with his hands jammed between his thighs, trying to convince himself that it’s all going to be worth it. He’s still probably got a solid half hour in him before his entire body goes numb, so that’s good.

The team’s warm-up seems to consist solely of intermediate jumping jacks and quad stretches, and while Yoongi seriously doubts the efficacy of that routine, it is nice to look at.

“You know on second thought, this really isn’t that bad,” Hoseok says, lowering the brim of his sunglasses to peer at some shirtless dude who has come to stretch out his quads right in front of their section of the bleachers. “These guys are surprisingly… toned.”

Yoongi nods mutely. He’s yet to spot Jungkook amongst the crowd of guys lined up against the back fence being briefed by their captains.

“Yeah but they all take themselves way too seriously.” Jimin motions to a couple of guys arguing heatedly over the snack table. One of them snatches a protein bar out from under the other’s nose and storms off.

“Eh. Not a dealbreaker.”

“Oh! Look, there’s Jungkook!” Jimin points, fist narrowly missing Yoongi’s nose. Whatever he says next is drowned out in the wind. Or maybe that’s just the whooshing in Yoongi’s ears.

Jungkook (sadly) hasn’t removed his shirt like the rest of his teammates, but he has on a very nice, very short pair of black running shorts that make his legs look excellent. He jogs over to the water cooler and the guy that Hoseok had been ogling slaps him on the back.

“Kook!” Jimin screams and waves from their spot in the bleachers. Rather unnecessary given that there are only a few dozen people there to watch. It’s a surprisingly old crowd. Weird. Yoongi would have figured even bored, retired people would have something better to do than watch other people play frisbee

Jungkook looks up and smiles blindingly when he sees them all sitting there. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!” He yells. The wind whips through his hair attractively as he beams over. Yes , Yoongi decides, this was definitely worth it. “I thought you’d be busy with midterms and work stuff.”

“Never too busy for you!” Hoseok yells back, yanking on Yoongi’s hand until he stands up too. Jungkook bites at his startlingly pink lips and grins.

The captain blows his whistle then, and he trots off with a little skip in his step. He trips a little over someone’s water bottle on the way and glances over his shoulder furtively to check if anybody had noticed. They all had.

“Oh my Goddd ,” Jimin moans into his hands. “He’s so darn cute I wanna die. I feel like a soccer mom at my baby’s first game.”

Hoseok reaches around Yoongi to pat Jimin on the back. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he already knows how proud you are of him.”

The game starts. It’s clear from the very beginning which is the superior team, and that team is most certainly not theirs.

“Jesus christ,” Hoseok murmurs as the captain from Jungkook’s team makes a long, leaping dive for the frisbee and eats grass. “That’s gotta hurt.” Jimin tries to respond but he’s laughing so hard Yoongi can’t understand a thing. Hoseok hands him a napkin to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

It’s a pretty pathetic game and yet, Jungkook may just make Yoongi reconsider his stance on ultimate frisbee. It’s still a dumb sport, but he’s being to see the merits in spectation. Jungkook is very persuasive― or more precisely, his thighs are. Yoongi kind of wants those to squeeze his head later.

“Holy shit, he’s fast,” Jimin says as Jungkook thunders down the side of the field after the frisbee. He doesn’t quite manage to catch it but his teeny, petulant little scowl afterwards really does something to Yoongi’s stomach.

“I think this might be my new favorite sport.” Hoseok says. Someone from the opposite team hurdles over a trash can after a toss that’s clearly out of bounds. Jungkook’s water cooler buddy helps him back to his feet from where he’s left laying in a pile of garbage.

Yoongi grimaces as he watches the dude brush little chunks of salad out of his hair. “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it.”

Jimin cackles. “Don’t tell Jungkook that. We got into a legitimate fight the other day because I told him I’d watched dogs that played better than your average Ultimate player.”

“Ooh, how pissed was he?” Hoseok leans across Yoongi to steal some of Jimin’s nachos. “Also you should really send me that video.”

Jimin slaps his wrist and Hoseok drops a large handful of chips back in the basket, he settles instead for just one. “Eh, not that mad. I apologized like right after, ‘cause I wasn’t trying to be a dick― clearly he hasn’t seen fucking Airbud, it really wasn’t an insult. Jungkook doesn’t really have the temper to hold a grudge anyway, he’s never stayed mad at me for more than like a day.”

“Really, cause he seemed pretty heated in the cafe that day,” Hoseok says. Yoongi wishes he had a better brain to mouth filter in situations like these, because he’s pretty certain no one wants to talk anymore about the fight that almost destroyed their friendship.

Jimin shakes his head. “Nah, that time he was only mad for like... 18 hours. Almost a record.”

“But.” Yoongi reflects on that information. Twice, just to be certain. Nope, something still does not quite add up. “Dude. I thought you guys fought for like a week after that.”

Jimin flinches as he watches a guy from Jungkook’s team get laid out on the field. He rolls around, kicking up grass and dirt and clutching his ankle. “Huh?” Jimin says distractedly. “Why would you think that?”

“Um. I don’t know. He kept sleeping at my place. Why else would he―” Oh. Yoongi might be an idiot.

Jimin tears his eyes away from the scrawny boy who is now being ushered, limping off the field. He looks bemused. “I personally was under the impression that was more… recreational.”

Yoongi scowls. “It’s not like that.”

“What is it like then?”

“I…”

“That’s what i thought.” Jimin smirks. Yoongi does not like this new side of him. He much preferred the old Jimin who was too far up Taehyung’s ass to mind anyone else’s business. He tells him so. Jimin laughs and tells him to shut up and watch the game.

Things are not looking good for their team; they now have four players on the bench injured and the rest of them are running around the field with an astounding lack of direction. Jimin had said those were some of their best people but Yoongi’s not convinced. How does their best person sprain his elbow after throwing the frisbee precisely one (1) time. The other team, in all fairness, is not especially good either, but they play awfully dirty and that seems to make up the difference. Yoongi groans along with the rest of the audience when one of their guys gets stiff-armed by another player and goes headfirst into the dirt.

Jimin jumps to his feet. “Oh come, on! That’s gotta a personal foul!” The referee sitting at centerfield peers over the top over his sunglasses and squints, then shrugs.

“Sit down guy, this ain’t the NFL!” yells a middle-aged man from the other team’s section of the bleachers.

Hoseok bodily yanks Jimin back into his seat before he can make his way over there. “Easy tiger.”

Jimin makes some rude hand gestures that Yoongi doesn’t entirely know how to interpret and sits back down.

Watching the game, Yoongi comes to realize two things. One― whatever it is that those people on the field down there call themselves doing is most certainly not a sport. Two― Jungkook in particular is not very coordinated when it comes to catching. Or throwing. Or seeing where he frisbee is at any given time. He’s a decent runner, but he’s not aggressive enough to put up much of a defense. He sure looks like he’s having fun though. Jungkook being so bad at frisbee is about seventy percent hilarious and thirty percent inexplicably sexy. Maybe it’s just the shorts.

Jungkook lifts up the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Yoongi amends that to forty percent― no more, no less. He suddenly feels a bit too hot in his tee shirt. Jungkook jogs down the side of the field towards the bench and one of the injured guys slaps him on the ass as he passes. Jungkook takes the paper cup of water the guy offers him and douses himself in it, plastering his jersey to the cut of his chest. Yoongi makes a half-aborted, strangled sound in his throat. He thinks it’s quiet enough to be washed away in the jeering of the crowd, but alas, it is not.

“You okay?” Hoseok eyes him.

He gulps. “Yup.” He is not.

Jungkook’s team wins. Yoongi’s not exactly sure how, but they do. Perhaps the referees had finally started to do their jobs. Or, much more likely, the kids on Jungkook’s team had started to use their own array of dirty tricks on the field. The medic tent is practically overflowing now, but no one looks particularly concerned about that.

The winning team tries to dump the cooler on the captain’s head to celebrate but someone fumbles and drops it and gallons of gatorade go sloshing out onto the field, soaking everyone’s shoes instead. Their team captain still whoops loudly, whipping his sweat damp towel through the air and nearly taking out an eye. They all hoist him up on their shoulders and chant; Chad, Chad Chad!

The few people in the stands start to filter off after another minute of celebration, and Hoseok, Yoongi and Jimin weave their way down to find Jungkook in the mass of sweaty young men.

They find Jungkook caged in just behind an old couple and a large group of preteens Yoongi hadn’t even noticed in the audience. Jungkook waves when he sees them. He’s damp with water and sweat, still kind of panting, and his hair is full of grass. He is… very hot.

“You looked so good out there.” Yoongi finds himself blurting once they get to him.

Jungkook looks surprised, mouth a round little O. “I did?” He takes a step closer, within arms reach now. He smells like he’s been rolling around on someone’s freshly cut lawn. It’s unexpectedly pleasant.

“Mmm hmm.” Yoongi doesn’t even think when he bridges the gap between them, swoops in for a kiss he didn’t realize he was crazing until their lips meet. Jungkook makes a surprised sound into his mouth but kisses back chastely, sweetly. His hand comes to cup Yoongi’s jaw and slide a gentle thumb along his cheek. It’s all very lovely and rather inappropriate for the circumstance. A second more and Jungkook pulls away with a jolt. Yoongi embarrassingly tries to chase him a little before he remembers himself. He stares aggressively at a point just over Jungkook’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to see Jimin and Hoseok’s smug faces. He can just feel that they’re making them.

Someone clears their throat.

“Excuse me but― who are you?” It’s an older woman that says it. Yoongi had barely noticed her standing there, just off Jungkook’s side. He blinks several times before opening his mouth.

“Me?”

Jungkook cuts in before he can make any more of a fool of himself. “Mom, these are my friends.” The tips of his ears are bright red but he’s doing a surprisingly good job at keeping his composure. Yoongi, on the other hand, is reeling.

“Is that how you normally greet your friends?” His mom raises a carefully pencilled eyebrow. It feels like she’s staring directly into Yoongi’s soul with that cold, hard gaze.

Jimin looks appropriately panicked, eyes darting between Jungkook, his mother, and Yoongi. He forces a pained-sounding laugh. “Yep,” he squeaks, unnaturally high. He hesitates for a split second, as though he’s steeling himself before he lunges forward lips first in Jungkook’s direction. Jungkook takes one large step back just as Hoseok catches Jimin by the arm and hauls him back and away.

“That’s― nope,” Hoseok shakes his head. “Nope, nope, nope.”

The Jeons look very puzzled. Yoongi isn’t sure where to look, but his heart is beating very fast. Well fuck. There he goes, basically outing Jungkook to his parents. “Sorry,” he chokes out, “I just get really excited… about frisbee.”

Jungkook’s mother looks like she doesn’t believe him for a second. “I’m sure you do, son.” She places her tiny hand on his shoulder, and it weighs down with the mass of a thousand suns.

The large, serious-looking man beside her seems to size him up. Probably Jungkook’s father― they have the same big nose. “You play?” he rumbles.

“No sir. Just a big fan.”

Jungkook’s father snorts derisively. “I get it. It’s a wild game, gets those endorphins rushing like nothing else.” Yoongi cannot for the life of him tell if he is being serious or not. “Heat of the moment gets to me too sometimes. Although,” he narrows his eyes. “Maybe not quite like that.” His face is terrifyingly unreadable. Both of his parents’ are actually. Yoongi feels the urge to run but he knows that isn’t what you’re supposed to do when their are predators watching you.

Jungkook chuckles but it sounds forced. “A good game though, right?”

Jungkook’s father turns his stony gaze upon him. “We have some talking to do young man.”

Jungkook shrinks slightly under his gaze. “Yes sir.” Jungkook trails off behind his parents after shooting a last, wide-eyed look back at them.

“Oh God,” Yoongi whimpers as soon as Jungkook and his family are out of sight. “That was bad, wasn’t it?”

Hoseok clears his throat. He always does that right before he lies through his teeth. “Maybe his family is cool with it?”

“Did you see the look on their faces, they were definitely not cool with it.” Yoongi looks to Jimin for confirmation. He’s met Jungkook’s parents before, he knows best of all of them.

Jimin flashes a small, sad smile and Yoongi feels his last shred of hope crack bitterly to pieces. “Sorry man.”

 

Yoongi is indeed very sorry.

Chapter Text

Hoseok walks Yoongi home and deposits him on the couch, squeezes his shoulder for a minute before he says anything, a small, tight smile on his lips. It’s all empty consolation, Yoongi knows just as well as Hoseok how this is going to go. He fucks up, he spirals into a desperate bout of self-loathing, mopes for a while― no more than a day or two― and then he gets the fuck over it and never speaks of it again. At least that much is predictable― a cycle of sorts. Doesn’t make him dread it any less. The tension he holds only coils tighter with every passing beat of silence.

“I hope you don’t spend the rest of the day beating yourself up about this,” Hoseok murmurs. His fingers dig into flesh, working away at the knots, still wound so tight, and those hands are the only thing tying Yoongi down.

“You know me.” It’s more of an admission than he’d like it to be.

“I do know you.” Hoseok sighs, long and sad. Yoongi can hear the cars rushing by outside, the wind buffeting the side of his apartment building, the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. All good things, he hates the quiet. “It’s not like you ruined his life.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yoongi. Please.” But he sounds defeated already. Hoseok has been here before, he knows how it goes. “No you didn’t. That’s not what happened, it was an honest mistake.”

“Does it really matter if it was on purpose if I hurt him?” Yoongi jams his fingers into the wefts of his blanket and pulls. Hoseok smacks his hand away before he can make a bigger hole.

“Yes. Things happen, people get hurt, shit sucks for a little while, and then we move on.”

“Are you saying I should move on from Jungkook?”

“No that’s not what I’m saying.” Hoseok makes Yoongi look at him, ducking down over the arm of the couch until Yoongi has no choice but to look into his face, just before Hoseok’s nose is brushing his cheek. “Do you hear me? That’s not what I’m saying at all. But hurting yourself too isn’t doing anyone any good.”

“I’m fine,” Yoongi says, and then twists away so Hoseok doesn’t see the bitter twist of his lips.

Hoseok rounds the front of the couch to squat in front of him. “I know you are, I just hate to see you beat yourself up like this.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up from the little hole he’s made in the blanket. “I’m not, really. I’m fine” Hoseok can probably tell he’s lying, but he doesn’t particularly care. Yoongi waits for him to take a deep breath and stand back up. He can still feel eyes on him, prickling the back of his neck.

“Okay.” Hoseok sighs. “If you say you’re fine then fine. I got a paper to work on but text me if you wanna… vent.”

Yoongi slurs some words under his breath, words that even he doesn’t care to understand.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said, sounds great. See you later.” The ghost of a grin is as much as he can manage.

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Sure. Promise not to self destruct too hard while I’m gone.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I feel excellent. You know maybe tomorrow I’ll suck Jungkook’s dick in front of the entire freshman class, I bet they’d all get a kick out of that.”

“Great to see your sarcasm is still intact.” Hoseok grumbles, but Yoongi can see some of the worry seep out from the corners of his downturned lips. “Now how about you hold off on the imminent freakout until you know you’ve got a good reason for it.”

“I think we know enough.”

Hoseok twists over his shoulder as he turns the deadbolt in the front door. “I just want to make it clear to you that I strongly disagree with that statement, but I really don’t have time to argue with you right now.” He steps out into the hall and pokes his head back through the door. “Lock the door behind me, okay?”

Yoongi waves him off. A second later the door slams behind him and Yoongi slumps back into the couch and lets his head fall back over the stiff upper ledge. He may not be fine now, but space will fix that eventually. Probably. Hoseok has at least been good about giving him that. Maybe he’ll take a nap before the truly soul-crushing, guilt sets in, sinks it’s claws deep in his chest and tears his throat to pieces. Sometimes sleep dulls the sting even better than cheap shots of tequila, and he hasn’t got any of those on hand.

He curls his knees up into his body and tugs the unraveling blanket tight around him. It’s too cold in his apartment, but the thermostat is far away and the lumpy cushion of his couch have never felt more comfortable. He’ll allow himself this small pleasure for a while, maybe then he’ll find the energy to work out his deep-seated personal issues. Or not.

Probably not.

 

He wakes up disoriented, some time later, to a siren blaring in his ear. His heart plummets through the soles of his feet and sinks through the floor when he picks up the phone and sees the caller ID.

Jungkook. Something in his hollowed-out chest still manages to throb hard enough, loud enough to blur the sounds of speech; he’s barely conscious of what Jungkook’s saying, even less so of his own words― and it’s miraculous but Jungkook doesn’t sound angry at all, quite the opposite even. Yoongi swallows down the lump of apprehension clogging up his airway and manages to say something nice and elegant in response― “Huh, yeah... okay.” And now he has to hurry― to shower and get dressed and look decent― because everyone is already there and Jungkook is waiting .

It only takes a single, frantic text to get Hoseok onboard and he drives them to the spot, some seedy place on the other end of town that looks somehow even more decrepit than their regular dive. Probably the only place they could find that wouldn’t boot half of the obviously underage kids on Jungkook’s ultimate team at the door. The bouncer is a stout, balding man with a bandana around his neck and thick shades filtering out what little light there is outside the club, and he only casts a cursory glance over their IDs as he holds open the door. Yoongi’s pretty sure Hoseok had flashed his library card, but the man only waves them in with a grunt.

Inside is hazy with chatter and thick, heady tobacco smoke. Yoongi immediately finds their party, easily the youngest people in the room by decades. The majority of the clientele are sun-beaten, weary-eyed, and worn down looking, leering at the obnoxious group of kids occupying the corner of the bar, talking too loud, taking too much space. Yoongi can’t help but want to cringe at the glares prickling their backs as they make their way over.

“Dude! What’s up!” Some guy Yoongi has never seen in his life yells as he sees them walking over. He pulls Yoongi into a big, sweaty bearhug and Yoongi goes rigid until the guy releases him, not before stomping all over Yoongi’s toes.

Hoseok is the first to spot Jungkook and he shouts over the trickle of country music from a couple of tinny old speakers and the chatter of the team. “Hey!” He waves until Jungkook whirls around, sloshing his overflowing beer all over the counter. “How’s it going?”

Jungkook makes eye contact with Yoongi and stares. He looks good now, cleaned up and dressed up in his nicest pair of ragged jeans. Only the faintest bit of puffiness around his eyes betrays him. “Huh?” he asks, a bit belatedly.

Hoseok leans in, chin resting on Yoongi’s shoulder to yell over the din. “I said how’s it going?”

“Oh.” Jungkook blinks a few times, still doesn’t look at Hoseok when he says, “Good. Really good.” Yoongi feels Hoseok’s knee in the back of his thigh prodding him. He doesn’t have to look to know it’s directed.

“That’s awesome,” Hoseok says, loud in Yoongi’s ear. “What are you drinking?” Before Jungkook can answer, Hoseok snakes his arm up over and lifts the smudged glass right form Jungkook’s fingers. He nearly sloshes it again, right over Yoongi’s shirt, as he raises it to his lips to take a sip. “Dude. Miller light?” Jungkook just shrugs.

“Cheap.”

Hoseok sighs and removes his chin from Yoongi’s shoulder, keeps sipping. “Kids these days have the worst taste.” He steps back, edging toward the crowd of dudes in the corner who’ve made a game out of attempting the pop and lock to some Johnny Cash song. If anyone could make that work it would be Hoseok.

Jungkook watches him slink off, stolen drink in hand, with the cutest little pout on his lips. “Buy you another one?” Yoongi offers automatically and then almost takes it back immediately when Jungkook’s eyes get all wide and kind of glassy on him.

“I want a screaming orgasm,” he declares, and folds himself easily into Yoongi’s space. He smells like spicy aftershave and lime and he clings a bit desperately to the collar of Yoongi’s shirt.

Yoongi’s stomach lurches heavily. “Um. Alright then.” He gets an eyeroll for his efforts when he relays that to the bartender. “Are you okay?” he can’t help but ask as Jungkook sways at his side, mostly on tempo, humming lightly under his breath.

Jungkook takes a swig of his new drink and grimaces. “That tastes nothing like I thought it would.” He wipes a bit of white froth off his upper lip. “Wanna try?” He offers his glass up and Yoongi only glowers until he lets his arm drop with a sigh. “I’m fine, dad.” But he won’t meet Yoongi’s eyes.

His next words seem to tumble unbidden out of his mouth, bubble up uncontrollably in his throat even though he knows, deep down knows, it’s not what Jungkook wants to hear right now. “I know I fucked up earlier, I’m sorry. Just tell me what I can do to fix it and I’ll―”

“Stop.” Jungkook cuts him off with a sticky sweet finger pressed to his lips. “Let’s not talk about that now. It’s fine.” He flashes a wide grin that’s almost convincing.

“But your par―”

“―Don’t,” Jungkook says, more sharply this time. “Forget about it. I wanna just forget about it.” He cocks his head, bites his bottom lip until it turns nice and slick and red, and narrows his eyes. “Make me forget about it?”

Yoongi swallows hard. The way Jungkook is looking at him― esurient , like he wants to eat him alive― it has to be a bad idea. But Yoongi is awfully good at pretending and Jungkook makes it so easy. “I― Okay.”

Jungkook sets down his half finished drink on the counter and slips an arm around Yoongi’s waist. Yoongi finds himself scanning the faces of the people around him, searching for any sort of reaction, any inclination that Jungkook’s friends had noticed or cared that Jungkook’s hands were on his body, sliding down his chest and squeezing at his ass. But one is looking, all wrapped up in the music and cheap booze and raucous laughter as a scrawny looking dude with a shock of orange hair downs a glass of beer mixed with ketchup and mustard. That has to be a red flag for the bartender― if anything screams I still belong at a middle school sleepover it’s that― but the man is looking pointedly in the other direction, polishing a stack of chipped glasses that look like they’ll never quite be clean, no matter how long he rubs. A couple of scruffy, grisled biker types glare straight over Yoongi’s shoulder at the group behind him. No one spares him and Jungkook a second glance.

“Did you do something different to your hair? You look really sexy.” Jungkook murmurs, massaging Yoongi’s ass cheek in a way that is really not appropriate for a public setting. Yoongi wishes he could help the way cock stirs at that. A hot blush begins to creep up the back of his neck.

“Uh. No.” Yoongi guides Jungkook’s hand back up to his waist before he can get too excited. Public boners: not very fun. He spots Hoseok making his way over; empty glass in hand, face flushed and sweaty from dancing. “I just… shampoo. conditioner. You know?”

Jungkook leans in to take a deep whiff of his hair. “Mmm that’s really nice, what brand do you use?” His fingers dig distractingly into the slight dip of Yoongi’s waist.

“I― Tresemmé . Why are you being so weird?”

“I’m not.” Jungkook cocks his head innocently, bats his big eyes and pouts― like he knows exactly what he’s doing― and Yoongi is… very weak in the knees suddenly.

“Yo,” Hoseok interrupts, slinging a heavy arm over Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi finds himself squished between him and Jungkook, feels the heat radiating off both their bodies, knows it’s going to have him overheated and sweaty in no time. And yet he makes no move to pull away. “What is up my beautiful, wonderful, frisbee-loving friends?”

“Nothin’ much,” Jungkook says with a cheeky little grin. “Yoongi just gave me a screaming orgasm.” Yoongi groans and buries his face in the side of Jungkook’s neck.

“Okay ew.” Hoseok lets his arm drop back to his side. Jungkook snickers into Yoongi’s hair. “I’ve been rooting for you since the beginning, but come on. Have some decency.”

Yoongi pokes his head back up to glare. “First of all: context. And you say that like you’re not the least decent person I’ve ever met. How many times was I forced to observe you mid-coitus before you learned the sock on the knob trick again? I’ve probably seen your bare ass more times than I’ve seen my own.”

“What?” Jungkook says in a tiny, amazed voice.

“Perks of being roommates,” Hoseok says, patting Jungkook on the shoulder consolingly. “Don’t worry, if it had actually been that many times I would have some serious questions about our relationship.”

“Oh…” Jungkook blinks slowly, eyes flitting between them with thinly veiled interest. “... just out of curiosity, could I get a ballpark number?”

“I dunno.” Hoseok waves down the bartender for a shirley temple. “Definitely less than twenty.”

“This is such a weird conversation,” Yoongi mutters. He takes a swig of Jungkook’s abandoned drink. It’s disgusting, too sweet and creamy, cloying on his tongue.

Hoseok shrugs and takes a seat next to the ketchup kid, who now has his head down and a hand clapped over his mouth as he dry-heaves. Yoongi feels Jungkook’s fingers start to dip low again, possessive over his hip. Hoseok looks pointedly where his fingers rest and arches an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Yoongi tells him preemptively. “Jungkook and I are going to dance.”

Jungkook giggles as Yoongi tugs him away from the bar and out towards the sparsely populated dancefloor. It doesn’t seem like much of a dancing club― there are few people there swaying lightly to some classic rock song that’s not nearly loud enough to drown out his thoughts the way he needs it to. Yoongi hadn’t really thought this through much. Usually it takes a good six shots before he’s ready to go anywhere near a dancefloor. But Jungkook grabs him by the waist and steers his hips until he’s gyrating in some approximation of a rhythm, and once he gets him moving how he likes, he turns himself around to press his back flush to Yoongi.

He gyrates his hips, impossibly fluid, and throws his head back against Yoongi’s shoulder. He’s absolutely shameless― reckless even― and it’s obvious what he’s trying to do, but Yoongi finds he doesn’t much mind.

“I didn’t know you were such a tease,” he hisses as Jungkook grinds up against him, fast and dirty. Jungkook is disgustingly cocky when he turns back. His growing smirk tells Yoongi everything he needs to know. He’s loving this, putting on a show for no one but Yoongi, playing at dominance, at insolence. He’s looking for a reaction, a way to spur Yoongi on and he’s getting it― easily even.  

Frustrating. It’s ridiculously frustrating when all Yoongi wants to do is take him home and shut him up— gently, of course— maybe with his dick. “I’m a lot of things.” Jungkook hums, brushing a hand through his freshly sweaty bangs. “I think that’s what you like about me.”

Yoongi doesn’t tell him he’s wrong, that he’s likes almost everything about Jungkook, and that on the list of his favorite Jungkook things, it’s not even in the top five. Instead he jerks Jungkook back around and fits himself up against his back, hands coming to frame the surprisingly delicate curve of his waist. His fingers press hot into the skin of his sides through the thin white fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, and Jungkook hums contentedly, laces his fingers in with Yoongi’s and lets them rock slowly, not anywhere near the beat of the music. It almost seems like a background track now that Yoongi’s got Jungkook in front of him, broad and warm and distracting, swaying almost like a slow dance.

But then Jungkook is shifting, guiding Yoongi’s hands down to his hips, and he’s grinding back against him, making these tiny, filthy circles with his hips that drive him crazy. Yoongi feels his dick throb as Jungkook changes up the pace, grinds himself perfectly slow and enticing into Yoongi’s body. Judging by the look he shoots back over his shoulder, Jungkook feels it too. “Shut up,” Yoongi says, and Jungkook barks a laugh, wiggles his ass back until there is no doubt in Yoongi’s mind that he is doing this on purpose.

So Yoongi lets his hands swoop lower, nuzzling into Jungkook’s neck, soft lips searching for a pulse. “Fuck,” Jungkook hisses as Yoongi feels him up through his jeans, palms over the bulge of his cock and squeezes. It’s not quite dark enough, even in the dimmest, most recessed corner of the dance floor to hide the way Jungkook arches desperately under Yoongi’s hands. The music only just covers up the throaty, choked up sound he makes when Yoongi scrapes his teeth down the column of his bared neck and bites down in the spot where his shoulder meets his collarbone. “Ung. Yoongi, please,” Jungkook groans, but he makes no move to stop Yoongi’s ministrations, letting his head tip back onto Yoongi’s shoulder and knotting fingers in his hair to tug him in, down, closer.

“You fucking love this, don’t you?” Yoongi accuses, taking half a step back, fruitless really when Jungkook whips around to follow him, pressing up against his front, seeking the familiar heat of  their chests pressed close.

“No I don’t,” Jungkook says, unconvincing with the way he’s taking Yoongi’s hands and guiding them to loop around his waist. It’s just as obvious in this position how much he wants , pressing urgently against Yoongi’s hip. Yoongi gives in a little bit, lets Jungkook rub up against him until he’s panting hard into his shoulder, overwhelmed.

Jungkook lets out a hiss when Yoongi loops his fingers sound his belt loops and tugs him back, looking so utterly betrayed that Yoongi wants to laugh. “We can’t do this here,” he says. People will start to notice, and no matter how alright Jungkook might be with that, Yoongi would very much like to be the only person to see him come tonight.

Jungkook doesn’t protest in the slightest when Yoongi drags him off of the dance floor and back over to the bar where Jungkook’s friends seem to have significantly mellowed out. Yoongi snatches his wallet and Hoseok’s keys from the edge of the table and ignores the knowing knowing stare he gets as he mutters out an excuse. “Left something in the car, be right back.”

“Sure you will,” Hoseok snorts. “At least try not to desecrate the seats. That’s real leather.”

Outside the air is frigid, but Yoongi barely feels it through the sheer heat radiating from his core. Jungkook presses up against his back and shuffles along behind him, mouthing at the nape of his neck and murmuring unintelligibly into his ear. In the parking lot, out of sight of the door and the hoard milling around it, Yoongi whips them around and pins Jungkook up against the passenger side door to kiss him deep, shoulders pinned to the frosted glass of the windows. Jungkook grips desperately onto his elbows, gasps and whimpers into his mouth, wanton as Yoongi nips and sucks at his lower lip. He only remembers to pull away when Jungkook starts grinding into him again, still hard, insistant through all those layers of fabric. Yoongi wants, needs those gone. His numb fingers fumble for the button on the key fob in his pocket. The locks click and Jungkook steps reluctantly to the side so he can yank open the back door.

“Are you really gonna fuck me for the first time in the backseat of a Honda Civic?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow as Yoongi swipes a stack of papers and shoes from the seat onto the floor. Yoongi twists over his shoulder to admire his red, spit-slick lips and heavy breaths, puffing out in a dense, white fog.

“Of course not, that wouldn’t be romantic at all,” Yoongi says ducking inside and motioning for Jungkook to do the same. He reaches into the seat back pocket and pulls something out, tosses it onto the middle seat for Jungkook to see. “Which is why you’re gonna fuck me in the back seat of this car.”

Jungkook seems to consider this for a moment, taking in the impressive pile of junk heaped into the passenger seat and the way Yoongi is waiting, head cocked and legs spread in invitation. And then his eyes meet Yoongi’s and he’s shuffling in after him, slamming the door shut behind him and flipping the lock.

“Okay?” Yoongi asks and Jungkook nods vigorously.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, and then he presses forward to kiss Yoongi softly. It’s really not dirty enough for the circumstance, but Yoongi lets himself enjoy it for a minute, the gentle press of lips and the slow, steady pressure of Jungkook against his. And then he parts his lips for Jungkook’s tongue to slip inside, and it’s instantly dirtier, urgent like outside. Jungkook pushes him back against the door and sucks on his tongue until Yoongi is whining into his mouth, yanking at the top buttons on his shirt.

Yoongi pulls back and their lips make a slick, obscene sound when they break apart. “Fuck, take this off.” He tugs again at Jungkook’s shirt and two of the buttons pop off and go rolling over the edge of the seat into the mess on the floor. “Shit sorry.” Yoongi’s hands jerk back.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No.” He finds Yoongi’s hands and drags them back up to grip at his collar. “No, that was hot. Do it again.”

Yoongi hesitates for a second before he reaches for Jungkook’s shirt once more and tears. More buttons pop off, until Jungkook is bare to the navel, and Yoongi runs his fingers across the span of his chest, dips in to feel the divots of his ribs and the heaving of his breaths. Jungkook tackles him in another kiss before he can finish with his shirt, mouth insistent, demanding as his hands start to fumble with Yoongi’s belt.

“Fuck, I can’t get it,” he grunts after a minute, pulling back again to try to get a better angle. Yoongi slaps his hands away.

“I got it. Do yours,” he says, fingers grasping with his own belt as Jungkook struggles to kick off his jeans in the cramped back seat. “Ow,” Yoongi hisses, when Jungkook’s knee collides with his shin.

“Sorry, it’s really tight back here,” he looks apologetic, one leg freed from his ridiculously tight pants and the other side still twisted around his ankle.

“That’s not the only thing that’s tight.”

Jungkook looks at him almost disbelievingly. “Shut up. This is not the time for crass jokes.”

Yoongi finally succeeds with his belt and yanks his jeans down around his thighs. “Whatever,” he says, grinning. He shuffles forward to flip over, presenting himself on his elbows and knees. “Please finger my asshole now.”

Jungkook is silent behind him and Yoongi has to check over his shoulder to verify that he is indeed still breathing. He finds Jungkook staring with wide, round eyes, seemingly frozen as one hand hovers uncertainly between them, just short of making contact.

“Um,” Yoongi says uncomfortably. “Is there a problem?”

“Sorry.” Jungkook blinks, sounding distracted as his hand finally comes down to grip his cheek. His touch is tentative, ghosting over the skin with an undue sort of caution that gives Yoongi goosebumps. “I’ve just never seen another guy’s asshole like this before. All up close and personal.” He sniffles.

“Oh.” Yoongi nods, shifting slightly, hoping Jungkook will take the hint and either get moving or look him in the eye. Jungkook does neither, but his grip does tighten a bit as he regards his asshole curiously. Yoongi clears his throat, overly loud in the confines of the car and Jungkook finally, blessedly tears his eyes away. “Just so you know, that’s not really good sex talk, but we’ll work on it.”

He shudders when Jungkook’s other hand comes to grip the other side and his thumbs dip towards the center, still too far from where he wants them. “Right.” Jungkook says faintly. Yoongi almost screams when he feels something warm and wet and very un-finger-like prodding at his hole.

Shit. What are you doing?” he gasps, rocking back involuntarily into Jungkook’s face. He pushes up onto his hands to see Jungkook, blinking perplexedly with his chin hovering just north of Yoongi’s tailbone.

“Oh. Is that not what I was supposed to do?”

“Um. No, not exactly.” Yoongi nudges the lube towards him until it bumps his knee and Jungkook looks down as though he’s noticing it for the first time. “I was thinking something more like this.”

“Oh.” Jungkook flushes a deep shade of red. “Sorry.” He places a tentative kiss to Yoongi’s ass cheek and Yoongi tries hard not to blush too.

“Don’t apologize.” He lets his head drop back between his arms. “We can definitely revisit that at a later time. Just— just go .”

“M’kay,” Jungkook mumbles into his skin, and then there’s the sound of the cap snapping open and Yoongi gasps again as Jungkook douses him with lube, dripping slickly down his crack and puddling on the seat.

“Whoa, way too much, buddy.” Yoongi does his best to swipe up the wet spot on the upholstery and wipe it off on his side. Hoseok is definitely going to kill him. “Just put it on your hands, okay?”

“Huh. Yeah, good idea.” Jungkook shuffles around behind him and then finally, finally , pushes a finger in. Yoongi sinks back against him, sighing.

“There you go,” Yoongi breathes as Jungkook wiggles it around. “That’s it. Kind of.” He forces himself to relax into Jungkook’s touch. The sensation isn’t exactly pleasant; Jungkook is obviously unskilled and the way his finger moves is oddly reminiscent of an inch worm. Inexplicably, Yoongi feels a laugh bubbling up, and he bites his tongue to keep it in as Jungkook clumsily prods around in his asshole.

“Can I add a second?” Jungkook wants to know, and Yoongi hums in agreement. It’s slightly better with two fingers, feels less awkward, more overwhelming. Jungkook’s other hand comes to massage the curve of his ass and Yoongi focuses on that, on how good it feels to relax like he hasn’t in so long, let Jungkook work out the tightness in his muscles as he stretches him out. He sighs when Jungkook’s lips ghost over the base of his spine, brushing the lightest of kisses against his skin. Too tender, Yoongi thinks, too sweet. His hands begin to tremble where they grip the door.

“Does this feel good?” Jungkook asks, scissoring his fingers, and by the tone of his voice, it’s clear that he thinks the answer is a resounding no.

“Feels okay,” Yoongi says honestly. “Try curling your fingers down a bit to the right— oh. ” Jungkook crooks his fingers viciously and Yoongi jolts at the sudden, throbbing pang of heat in his gut. “Again.”

“There?” Jungkook says sweetly, but it sounds like he already knows the answer.

There, ” Yoongi groans. “Shit Jungkook, yeah— there .” Jungkook’s fingers are more insistent than before, now that he’s figured out what makes Yoongi’s toes curl. He’s only spurred on by his muted gasps, the ones that slip out every time Jungkook twists his fingers in that very, specific way that sends an electric sort of chill zinging up his spine. Yoongi’s head falls forward onto the seat as Jungkook toys with him, teasing his rim before dipping back in deep and finding that spot again. “Add another,” he begs, and it’s probably too soon but Jungkook obliges anyway, slips his third finger in alongside the others.

It hurts a little but Yoongi is enjoying it immensely, lets his eyes fall closed so he can just feel the twist, the burn of it.

“Shit, the windows.” Jungkook gasps out a laugh and Yoongi opens his eyes to see how they’ve  managed to fog up the glass.

“Good,” he manages, “Maybe now no one will be able to see your ass while you’re fucking me.”

He’s surprised by the whine that tears out of Jungkook’s throat at that. “Can I?” he asks, and when Yoongi looks back, his eyes are wide blown and desperate. His cock is painfully hard, red and dripping where it’s pressed up against his stomach.

“Baby did that turn you on?” He teases, then winces when Jungkook’s fingers slip wetly out of his asshole and wrap around his own dick instead.

“Nope,” Jungkook says, but Yoongi has a hard time believing him with the way his eyelids flutter closed and his head tips back as he strokes himself, gasping lightly when Yoongi reaches back to trace fingertips up the front of his thigh.

“Guess you must not want to fuck me that bad then.” Yoongi moves as if to get up, but then Jungkook is shaking his head frantically.

“No— I do, I really do.” he seems to consider something for a moment, cocking his head slightly before he adds, “Want to feel all of you.”

It’s so cheesy that this time Yoongi can’t stifle his laughter. “Then do it, Kook.”

Jungkook bites back his matching grin and pinches the back of Yoongi’s thigh, shuffling over to get both knees back on the seat. “Condom?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Jungkook nods, looks expectant, but Yoongi can barely think straight as Jungkook traces up the underside of his dick and thumbs around the head. “Where?” he asks finally. Yoongi chokes back a moan and reluctantly bats Jungkook’s hand away.

“Um.” He digs around in the seat back pocket, coming up empty. “Shit, hold on.” He starts rifling through the pile on the floor, a tinge of desperation beginning to creep up on him. There’s no way Hoseok doesn’t keep condoms in his car, Yoongi knows him, knows he— “Aha!” he holds up a single, shiny packet. It’s bubblegum flavored and there’s a bit of dried ketchup caked to the outside but it’s not expired and that is all Yoongi cares about. “That was a close one. I almost asked you to do me raw.” He slaps the condom into Jungkook’s outstretched palm.

Jungkook groans. “Please don’t say that. I’m gonna come in like three seconds, don’t say that.”

“Sorry.” Yoongi smirks and reassembles himself on his knees, trying to work his pants the rest of the way down. They catch around his ankles and he struggles fruitlessly, “A little help maybe.” he tells Jungkook, kicking him in the knee.

What he’s not expecting is for Jungkook to yank his legs out from under him, and Yoongi yelps as his chest collides with the seat. Jungkook manages to wrestle off his jeans faster than Yoongi would have thought possible, and then his hands are gripping Yoongi’s hips, forcing him back onto his knees with his legs spread wide. “Ready?” he asks. Yoongi nods and that’s all the warning he gets before Jungkook is hauling his hips back and pushing in, deep and unrelenting.

“Oh, fuck .”

Jungkook comes to an abrupt halt, falling forward to breath shakily into Yoongi’s neck. “You okay?” he asks, just the hint of a quiver in his voice.

“Ngh. Never better,” Yoongi grunts, squeezing Jungkook’s hand where it rests on the seat next to him, caging him in. “You?”

“I’m great,” Jungkook says and jerks forward with an effortful grunt, until his hip bones are flush against Yoongi’s ass. Yoongi is struck suddenly by just how much Jungkook is stretching him, how deep he is, how he’s making Yoongi see spots with the sheer pressure. They stop like that, panting hard, until Yoongi can see beads of condensation forming on the glass of the window. “Um.” Jungkook murmurs in his ear after far too long. “Did you want me to move now?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook’s fingers squeeze his one last time before he pulls away, gripping Yoongi’s hips and hitching them back and up, forcing a curve into his spine. Yoongi clenches around him and he lets out a low hiss. He swears he can feel Jungkook’s dick pulse this time as he grinds in in slow, coordinated jerks. “Just. Tell me if I’m doing this right?” Jungkook says. And then he pulls out and shoves back in.

Hard .

The force of his thrusts brings Yoongi to his elbows, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from being jostled headfirst into the door. He chokes out a whine, digs his fingers into the upholstery and lets his eyes slip shut as the snap of Jungkook’s hips sends him skidding up the seat. It’s so overwhelming so quickly— the angle is almost perfect, has Jungkook brushing up right where he wants him. He’s guiding Yoongi’s hips, pushing him down, down until he collapses and   suddenly Jungkook is on top of him, chest to back, still fucking him into the seat.

Yoongi is not a noisy person. He is certain almost any one of his friends could attest to this. He doesn’t like noisiness and he does not like noisy people. So he thinks the ragged, desperate keening that comes tearing out of his throat probably surprises the both of them.

“Good?” Jungkook asks, like he’s genuinely concerned that he is not an actual sex god capable of blowing Yoongi’s back out with apparent ease.

“Hrg,” Yoongi says, muffled into his own arm. He nods as best he can with his teeth embedded in his skin, determined not to embarrass himself again.

Jungkook snorts and hitches him back again, until Yoongi is no longer in danger of putting his head through the door with every thrust. The zipper of Jungkook’s jeans, still caught up around one of his knees in their haste, pinches the flesh of his calf but he finds he doesn’t mind it, so long as Jungkook doesn’t stop his halting pace. The moment is as delicate as it is filthy— fronts of Yoongi’s thighs squelching against the leather seats as Jungkook goes faster, begins to falter in his rhythm.

“Yoongi.” Jungkook sounds breathless, keeps fucking in as he says it, driving any semblance of thought right out of Yoongi’s  head. “Yoongi, open your eyes.”

The first thing he sees is his own hands, still gripping the door handle for dear life, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s squeezing. The second thing he sees, when he looks a little higher, is their reflection in the glass— his own flushed face and sweaty forehead, Jungkook on top of him, pumping between his thighs. The third thing he sees— probably the reason Jungkook told him to look in the first place— is a face in the window, expression frozen somewhere between wonderment and horror.

He screams.

Fuck , Hoseok. Get the fuck out of here!”

The face vanishes, and with it Yoongi’s will to survive past this night.

And then comes the knocking, and Hoseok’s faint voice. “Sorry dude, but we gotta go. A bunch of your fuckin’ frisbee buddies got into a brawl and someone called the cops.”

Jungkook comes to a trembling stop and whines into his ear. Yoongi echoes the sentiment, so hard it’s borderline painful. He had been so ready to come shaking apart and now he feels lost, meaningless— stripped of his senses just to be roughly thrust back into the emptiness of reality. “Off.” He sighs, swatting Jungkook’s thigh. Jungkook sits up far too quickly and they both wince as his dick slides out with an unpleasant squelch. “Jesus fuck.” He twists onto his back to search for his pants. Jungkook passes him his boxers and he struggles into them, hating the way they cling to his sticky skin.

“Unlock the door, it’s freezing out here.”

Yoongi curses as he reaches over the seat to jab the button. Hoseok comes crashing in a moment later, still smelling of smoke and booze, letting in a rush of cold, damp air that pricks goosebumps up his exposed legs.

“Should have brought a jacket,” Yoongi grouses and Hoseok glances back at them for a split second, catches a nice eyeful of Jungkook’s dick, and jerks his head back, not before Yoongi catches the blush high on his cheeks. Good. If he is suffering through this embarrassment they all should.

“Should have waited to fuck at home like normal people. ” Hoseok snatches the keys from the mess in the passenger’s seat and starts the engine, steps too hard on the accelerator as they back out. Jungkook’s head thunks against the seat in front of him and he grunts, still trying to get his other leg back into his pants. “I hope you know that you two will be paying to have my car detailed.”

“You act like you didn’t have sex in my bed at least three times last year,” Yoongi says, trying to discreetly wipe a lube smear off of the seat with his shirt.

“What why? With who ?” Jungkook sounds appalled.

Hoseok eyes him in the rearview mirror. “Dude.”

Yoongi squeezes his thigh. “Not with me baby, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Jungkook crosses his arms and his eyes cut daggers into the seat in front of him. It’s nothing short of hilarious the way he looks with his clothes half-on and his lips pouted childishly.

Yoongi laughs. “You’re adorable,” he says, and then bites his tongue because that is not the sort of thing he says with an audience around.

“That’s not what you were screaming five minutes ago,” Jungkook bites and Yoongi pinches his nipple in retaliation. Jungkook lets out a sound that is halfway between frustration and a moan.

Please .” Hoseok grips the steering wheel tight and veers hard into the turn lane. “Please, please don’t do this to me. I’m gonna be sick, do you want that?”

“Well Christ, if you could’ve just waited a minute,” Yoongi grumbles. He still can’t see where his pants went in the dim light of passing streetlamps, whizzing by overhead.

“Waited for what. You to fucking bust all over my upholstery?”

“Oh my God,” Jungkook groans, burying his face in both hands. “Can we please just all agree this never happened?”

“Yes please.”

The rest of the ride is spent in strained silence. Hoseok drops them both off on the curb in front of Yoongi’s apartment building and speeds off before Yoongi has a chance to look for his still-missing pants.

“Well that was fucking awkward.” Jungkook says, watching the tail lights disappear at the end of the block.

Yoongi sighs bodily. “Is it bad that I’m still pretty hard.”

Jungkook’s responding look is unreadable. “Is it bad that I almost came when he took that corner a couple blocks back and you had to grab my thigh for balance?”

 

When they go crashing through the door to Yoongi’s bedroom a minute later, Jungkook is already grinding up into him, pressing biting kisses to the side of Yoongi’s neck as he fumbles with the knob.

Yoongi shoves him down onto the bed and climbs on top of him, caging him in so he can kiss him, long and slow and deep. Jungkook melts underneath him, tilts his chin up for more and  brings his fingers to trace down the sides of his jaw. “Didn’t want to stop,” Jungkook groans when they break apart. “You felt so good, I didn’t want to stop.”

“Kinky.” Yoongi sits up to yank his own shirt over his head and Jungkook follows suit, sending the last few straggling buttons scattering over the rug. His boxers go next and then he helps Jungkook out of his jeans, which cling to his legs like latex.

The moment Jungkook is back inside him, it’s as if he never left. Jungkook makes a space for himself between Yoongi’s thighs, which fall apart easily under his wide splayed hands. “Go, go ,” Yoongi urges with a heel in his back, and then Jungkook is snapping his hips and burying himself deep and for a second, Yoongi sees actual stars.

This time it’s different, Jungkook looking down at him, all wide, shocked eyes, slack mouth and stuttering hips. Yoongi can see the moment his gaze begins to trail from Yoongi’s face over his body, past stomach and down to where his dick disappears inside. His eyes grow impossibly round, and all at once he’s tumbling forward onto Yoongi’s chest with a pained sound, thrusts turning sloppy and uncoordinated.

“Oh my God, sorry I’m—” He quivers like a leaf, shudders and bites into Yoongi’s collar bone with a sob. His body goes rigid and he manages a last few jerking, stilted thrusts before the entirety of his dead weight slumps over Yoongi’s body, crushing him to the bed until he’s nearly wheezing for air.

“Did you just come?” Yoongi asks, rather unnecessarily as he can feel Jungkook twitching through the aftershocks right on top of him, breaths still shaky in his ear.

“Sorry— I’m so sorry,” Jungkook gasps out. “I didn’t think— but then it— fuck .” He makes to roll off finally, and it’s not as welcome as Yoongi had expected. It had felt kind of nice to be pinned down, grounded under a warm, solid weight. Now he’s cold, ridiculously hard, and has a bed-full of embarrassed, stuttering Jungkook.

“Um.” Is all he can think to say. If humans could melt through the floor, Jungkook looks as though he would have done so already, huddled and humiliated at Yoongi’s side. Yoongi can’t help the way he reaches out for him instinctively, scoots up to lay a reassuring hand over his knee as Jungkook looks moved halfway to tears. “It’s okay.” He squeezes lightly, lets his palms stoke upward soothingly. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

But Jungkook is shaking his head vigorously. “No, no it’s not, I— I promise I never come this quick, okay? I don’t know what happened, and now you’re all—” he gestures helplessly

Yoongi pinches at the skin of his elbow to get his attention, to get Jungkook’s darting, unfocused eyes to land back on him. “Hey. It’s not your fault.” He shrugs. “Premature ejaculation affects almost thirty-five percent of men.”

“Wh—” Jungkook halts in the midst of his stumbled over excuses to glare at him. “ Shut up .”

And something about the way he looks in that moment— hunched in on himself self-consciously, lips pouted, expression painfully earnest— it sets Yoongi off.

“Stop laughing, asshole.” Jungkook slaps his chest. He looks like he doesn’t really mean it though, is starting to smile himself even. It only makes Yoongi laugh harder, until he has to sit up all the way to breath and a single tear trails down his cheek. “This is your fault,” Jungkook tells him. Yoongi almost keels over, he’s laughing so hard.

Jungkook breaks a second later and starts laughing too, and then they’re both sitting there— like the massive fucking idiots they are— cackling. Jungkook clutches at a stitch in his side and pitches forward into Yoongi’s lap, gasping for air. “This is so not funny.” He muffles another peal of giggles into the crease of Yoongi’s knee. “Never speak of this again.”

“Ah, that I cannot promise. Fucking Usain Bolt over here.”

“Dude.” Jungkook’s mouth falls open in offense and he pinches the inside of Yoongi’s thigh. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Michael Phelps. Fuckin’ Mario Andretti.”

“These are making less and less sense.” Jungkook tilts his head up to look at him, eyes watery and skin flushed from laughter. He has literally never looked more beautiful; Yoongi really wants to tell him this. He opens his mouth to do just that, and that is precisely the moment when the back of Jungkook’s head brushes quite accidentally up against his crotch. He hisses at the contact and Jungkook freezes, hand flying up to grasp clumsily at Yoongi’s dick. “Wh— dude are you seriously still hard?” he sounds doubtful, looks it too despite the evidence that is pressing into the palm of his hand.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Yoongi sniffs, shifting subtly so that his boner is no longer poking Jungkook in the head.

“Dude.” Jungkook shakes his head, but a moment later he’s rolling over onto his side to take Yoongi’s cock in one hand and breathe lightly over the tip. It shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, but Jungkook makes it work somehow. “I figured that was like an instant turn-off.”

“What, you jizzing yourself after thirty seconds? Nah.” Yoongi shudders when Jungkook nips at the crease of his thigh meanly. He starts to plant tiny kisses across the line of his hips until his lips are hovering just short of where Yoongi wants them most. “Come on.” Yoongi twitches in his hand as his tongue dips into his slit. “What that mouth do?”

Jungkook stops short to glare at him. “Now that’s an instant turn off.”

What , it was a joke. Seemed exactly like your sense of humor.”

“Hilarious. See if I put your dick in my mouth now.”

Yoongi raises a single eyebrow in challenge. “Twenty bucks says you will.”

“Ha. Easiest money I ever made.” Jungkook pulls back, shuffles up onto his knees to level with him instead, thumbing over the head even as he narrows his eyes in challenge.

According to his calculations, Yoongi may have made a mistake. “Hold on,” he says. “I think you’re taking this a little too literally.”

In the end it doesn’t really matter. Jungkook jerks him off— slow and twisting, just how he likes it— and Yoongi muffles residual giggles into his shoulder all the while. When he comes it’s with a long, shuddering gasp and then he’s collapsing back onto the sheets, still chuckling a little even as Jungkook shifts him up the bed and curls into his side, still pouting.

“You’re literally the worst.” He groans when Yoongi tries to lick the come off his fingers.

“And yet here you still are.”

Jungkook accepts the pair of boxers Yoongi hands him to wipe them off. “Guess so.”

Jungkook grumbles when Yoongi forces him up and into the shower but his protests die in his throat the second Yoongi gets a hand in his hair to work in the conditioner. Afterwards he flops into Yoongi’s bed and rolls around, still damp hair making wet spots on the pillows, Yoongi shoves him to the far edge and crawls in after, thighs still a little weak and trembly, deeply satisfied.

Jungkook rolls himself back over, scoots as close as humanly possible and nuzzles into the side of Yoongi’s neck with his cold nose. “You know,” he says, lips brushing against Yoongi’s collarbone. “As far as first times go, I think this went pretty terribly.”

“Eh. Could have been worse.”

“Literally how?”

“I don’t know, I enjoyed myself.” Yoongi finds Jungkook’s wrist trapped between their bodies and strokes, light brushes of his fingers along the bone. “You clearly did too.”

“Shut up.”

Yoongi laughs, and the movement jostles Jungkook’s head on his shoulder. “It was cute. Kind of flattering even.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better it’s not working,” Jungkook grumbles.

“Aw baby. It’s not a big deal, I promise.”

Jungkook sighs softly. “Not very romantic though.”

“Not really. But it was a damn good distraction.” He knows it’s the wrong thing to say the very millisecond it leaves his lips, and he snaps them back closed audibly, presses them together until he’s sure they’re turning white. But the damage has already been dealt. Beside him Jungkook tenses up, just enough for Yoongi to feel his discomfort, the tension of things left unsaid. A long silence spans several breaths and Yoongi can almost hear how hard Jungkook is thinking beside him. Finally there’s a quiet sigh that tickles the skin of his neck, and Jungkook’s voice, thin and airy and timid in his ear.

“Yoongi?”

“Hmm?” he says, quiet and fragile into the dark.

“I― nevermind.” Jungkook shuffles in bed, rolls his body away so they aren’t pressed together, shoulder to knee anymore. Yoongi fights the urge to chase after him, wrap his limbs around Jungkook’s body and squeeze and squeeze and maybe never let go.

“No, what.” he breathes, quiet and patient and the tiniest bit anxious.

“It’s nothing.”

“Just tell me. Pretty sure if you can nut that quick without scaring me off, nothing else will.”

“I love you,” Jungkook says, quiet and so quick Yoongi almost misses it. Suddenly he’s never felt more awake.  

“What?”

“I uh… love you?” Jungkook breathes it out like a sigh onto the pillow.

“Is that a question?”

There’s a painful pause. “No.”

Yoongi knows he should say something else right about now, but the only solution that pops up in his tiny, animal brain is to run. Run before he pushes Jungkook away or worse, pulls him too close and ruins everything.

“I…” the words catch in his throat. Can he say it? Should he say it?

He can’t say it.

“Love―” he chokes out anyway, sounding stilted. The next moment stretches long, like bated breath and the ache of silence. He can hear the metaphorical crickets chirping as he struggles, almost says it, chickens out again. “I love―”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says and the moment deflates like a sad balloon. “You don’t have to love me back, I just wanted to say it.”

“I―” Yoongi stumbles. Last chance to spit it out. Deep down he knows it’s not going to happen. “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook sighs. It’s a sad sound, makes it feel like there’s a fissure cracking apart Yoongi’s skull and chest simultaneously because he did that, he’s the dick that did that. “That’s okay. It’s probably better if you don’t.”

Yoongi doesn’t ask what he means by that, doesn’t think he wants to know. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, and feels Jungkook edging even further away. He itches to reach out, knows it’s a bad idea though, so he balls up his fists and stuffs them under the pillow. They fall asleep like that, Jungkook curled up on his side as far away as he can get and Yoongi still facing him, watching the dim outline of his chest rise and fall. Those few feet between them feel like miles, and Yoongi knows if he were to try to bridge that rift, he would tumble in, plummet all the way to the bottom where he’d never be able to crawl back out.

Chapter Text

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi wakes up the next morning to an empty bed. Still stings a bit, but he’ll get over that― his own fault. He brews a pot of dark roast and drinks it black. It’s disgusting but he keeps on swallowing until it’s all gone and his head is buzzing a little bit like it does when he has too much caffeine. He thinks about texting his boss to see if he could come in to work today, then decides he’d rather just do nothing instead, so he sits on his couch and works at a shitty composition on his laptop until his eyes are burning. He doesn’t hear the front door open, but he does hear it hear it slam, and feels Seokjin a moment later when he sinks down on the couch next to him.

“I’m really starting to regret giving you that key,” he grumbles, but really he’s glad for the distraction. He’d been staring at the screen for the past ten minutes, stuck but not willing to admit it, to concede defeat to that tiny, evil little machine.

“Too bad, because you’re never getting it back,” Seokjin says, and reaches over to slam the lid of his laptop shut and move it to the table.

“Hey! I was doing work on that.” Yoongi makes a half-hearted effort to take it back but Seokjin bats his hands away easily and leans up into his space until Yoongi is forced to look at him.

Seokjin claps his hands. “Let’s do something fun!” he says, apropos of nothing, and that’s when Yoongi knows he knows.

“What did Hoseok tell you?” he asks suspiciously.

“Why do you automatically assume Hoseok and I have been talking about you? Do we need a reason to have fun?”

“I never took you for a hedonist.”

“That’s not even what that― you know what nevermind. Put on some nicer clothes and lets go, I’m buying you dinner and you’re not gonna wear sweats while I do it.”

“I’m not hungry,” Yoongi says, despite the growing pit in his stomach, gnawing on his insides.

“And I didn’t ask.” Seokjin pushes him again until he has no choice but to stand up or be shoved off the couch. “Put on some jeans and let’s go.”

Yoongi takes a much longer shower than necessary, puts on his loosest, oldest pair of jeans just to spite him― the ones made of more hole than denim― and trudges out to the curb where Seokjin had parked his bright yellow Volkswagon bug. Anywhere they go, It’s the ugliest car on the road. Yoongi suspects Seokjin gets some kind of perverse satisfaction out of that. He parks right in front of the restaurant, in perfect sight of the window despite Yoongi’s fingers that tap disapprovingly on the console, drumming up an increasingly agitated pace as Seokjin pulls into the space adjacent to the door. Seokjin blows right past the hostess and escorts him to a booth in the back corner of the restaurant, just out of sight of the door.

There’s a couple already sitting there, a girl with cropped black hair and a guy who’s perusing the menu like his life depends on it. Yoongi knows for a fact there aren’t more than four dishes worth ordering in that entire book. The girl glances up at them out of the corner of her eye, but politely says nothing, though she must be wondering, like Yoongi is, just what the fuck he’s doing, gaping down at her with the placid, dead gaze of a man who is really not in the mood to participate in any sort of civil socialization at the moment.

Yoongi is about to apologize for looming imposingly over their table like a couple of creeps when Seokjin slides into the seat beside the dude with his face buried in a menu and says, “Thanks for waiting. Someone took an hour to get ready.”

The menu snaps shut and falls to the table. This is when Yoongi recognizes he’s been duped.

“Oh. Namjoon, I didn’t know you’d be joining us.” Yoongi says, in what he hopes comes out as a pleasant tone. The woman sitting across from Namjoon cranes her neck around the side of the booth to look too, and her long black hair cascades over her shoulder. “And uh… you.” he smiles awkwardly at her.

“You don’t remember my name, do you?” Her lips twist into a smirk, cunning and familiar. Her long, crimson painted fingers twirl the straw in her drink.

“Sure I do.” He racks his brain, tries and fails to place her. He takes a stab in the dark. “... Melanie?”

Namjoon snorts. “I told you he wasn’t gonna remember. You didn’t see him afterwards, he was in rough shape.”

“Oh yeah?” The girl hums. She lets the straw slip delicately from between her fingers and motions down to her ample cleavage with a flourish. “These jog your memory at all?”

Yoongi finds his eyes drawn down to her tits for just a split second before he remembers himself and refocuses on her face, on the sultry pout of her lips and the mischief sparking in her eyes. God. If he were into women at all this would really be doing something for him right now. Hell, it still kind of is. “I gotta pee,” he blurts, interrupting Namjoon, who’d looked poised to comment on that little display. Probably for the best he didn’t. “Real bad, actually. Seokjin would you show me the way?”

“It’s right over there.” Seokjin points across the restaurant. “We’ve been here a million times, why would I need to walk you?”

“Jin, that’s just what people say when they want to have a private talk with you,” Namjoon informs him. “I learned that from this show on MTV. It’s called Girl Code, have you heard of it?”

Yoongi edges away from the table, trying to mask the sour expression he can feel threatening to take over his face. “It’s not a code I just have reverse pee-shyness,” he snaps. “I need someone there or it won’t come out.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, starts to open his mouth to protest and Yoongi hauls him away before anyone gets the opportunity to make this interaction any weirder. He marches them both into the single bathroom stall and stops in front of the grungy sink, watches as Seokjin checks himself out indiscreetly in the mirror over his shoulder. Yoongi whirls around and chucks a wadded up paper towel at him. “Dude. What is this?”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin plays dumb. He’s actually very good at it, but Yoongi can tell he’s bullshitting by the tiny, smug little upturn at the corner of his lips.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me they were gonna be here? I wouldn’t have come!”

“That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you,” Seokjin says. Yoongi balls up another paper towel and lobs it at him. Seokjin ducks easily.

“I’m really not in the mood to hang out with a bunch of strangers, thanks.”

“Namjoon’s not a stranger, he’s Taehyung’s roommate.” Yeah, that was fitting.

“I don’t care!”

Seokjin grabs both of his wrists before he can reach for another paper towel. “Stop wasting those,” he reprimands. “Just give them a chance. They’re nice people, I promise.”

Yoongi doesn’t want to be around nice people. Then he just feels even worse when he comes off like an asshole because he can’t just snap himself out of a depressive episode. God, why is he so fucked. He lets his arms go slack in Seokjin’s grip. Seokjin takes it as the admission of defeat it is and drops Yoongi’s hands, pulls him into a hug instead. Yoongi lets himself be held, squeezed tight and coddled near the point of suffocation. It’s disturbing how comforting that feels. He chokes back the lump that starts to form in his throat, buries his face in Seokjin’s shoulder and sighs long and defeated.

“Why, Seokjin. Why?”

Seokjin rocks them back and forth, quietly soothing. “Hoseok told me yesterday you were really down. I thought this would cheer you up. Namjoon is hilarious and you and Jihyo are pretty much made for each other, I’ve decided.”

Yoongi pulls back so Seokjin can see in his face precisely how off-base he is with that statement. “What the fuck? Literally in what way? I don’t even know her.”

Seokjin takes that as a cue that moment is over and he backs off, grinning to himself. “What? You seemed like you hit it off that night in the club. I like her, she brings out your wild side.”

Ah yes, the bold girl with the weaponized tits. How could he have forgotten?

“I’m gay. You know I’m gay, right?”

“Yoongi everyone’s at least a little bit straight.” He laughs even as Yoongi scowls at him. “Okay, fine. I’m kidding. But you got along really well then, so why not get to know each other better?”

“First of all, I was drunk off my ass.”

“That’s just semantics.” Seokjin slaps him on the back. “Now hurry up and pee so we can get back out there.”

Yoongi hurries up and pees.

 

“Are you guys alright?” Namjoon asks when they get back to the table. There’s a plate of tapas that hadn’t been there before and Jihyo is eying it hungrily with her napkin in her lap. Yoongi wants to tell them they shouldn’t have bothered waiting, he’s really not in the mood to choke down any of the tasteless, dry food this restaurant serves. “You guys were in there for an awfully long time.”

“I’m good,” Yoongi says, and feels numb.

He takes his seat next to Jihyo, fold his hands beneath his chin, and puts in minimal effort to keep up the conversation. Namjoon keeps looking over at him, concerned and Yoongi tacks on a half-convincing grin and redoubles his efforts to act like a regular human being. When the waiter comes he orders a bowl of soup and nothing else. It’s probably going to be too salty to eat. That’s fine, he’s not sure he could be pressed to swallow anything more effortful.

The food comes out. His soup tastes like chicken and seawater. Someone tells a joke. He doesn’t doesn’t bother laughing. Now Namjoon isn’t the only one who looks concerned.

He can feel it coming. He knows they mean well, but he really doesn’t want to hear it right now. Are you okay? all cautious and overly sympathetic. He’ll say he’s fine, no one will believe him, and this dinner will only be that much more awkward for their efforts.

He’s almost relieved to feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. A perfect excuse for a reprieve, and he didn’t even have to fake this one. He gestures at his phone and steps outside to take the call. It’s gotten dark already, the last traces of red just fading from the horizon, and his breath puffs out like little misty clouds as he accepts the call, mutters a barely audible, hello.

 

“Hey you fucking asshole.”

Yoongi recoils, pulls the phone a good distance away from his ear and takes a deep, startled breath. His empty stomach plummets to his toes like it’s been filled with rocks.

“Jimin. Hey.”

“Don’t hey me, dick! What the hell were you thinking?”

Yoongi sinks to the curb. The cement feels like ice through his flimsy jeans. He shudders, and it’s not just the cold that’s making his blood pump sluggishly. “About what?” he asks, but he already knows.

“You think you can just treat him however, is that it? You knew what happened with his parents and you still had to fuck with him?”

Yoongi can barely get a word out through the tightness in the back of his throat. “I didn’t mean to―”

“You knew he was upset and you did what? Had sex with him and then told him to fuck off? What the fuck dude.”

“That’s not how it was.” He swallows thickly, painfully. “I really like―really liked him. I’m sorry.”

“Do you really? Because I thought you of all people would know better than to treat him like that, but when he comes home from your place at the crack of dawn crying his eyes out, it’s a little hard to believe.”

Yoongi feels something cold drip onto his cheek. Tears. He wipes at them furiously. This is stupid. He’s not the one who should be allowed to cry over this, not when it was his own damn fault to begin with.

“I didn’t mean to make him feel like that.” It comes out garbled and weak. Shame. That’s shame making his tongue thick and his eyes burn. “We've only known each other for like four months. I didn’t think he actually― I mean that seems awfully fast, right? I’m probably the first guy he’s ever had an actual thing with. He doesn’t have any idea what else is out there. He shouldn’t just settle for me because of that.”

Jimin takes a long shaky breath, and he sounds a little less furious when he speaks again. “Yoongi. You gotta stop treating him like a child. Don’t you think he knows what he feels better than you do? You have to trust his judgement a little bit, and stop acting like you’re some monstrous dumpster dweller that preys on kittens for food. If he likes you then he likes you for a reason.”

“Yeah well. Probably not a good one,” Yoongi mumbles, feeling a bit stubborn, a bit lost, and incredibly, crushingly hopeless. “I am a dumpster dweller, I’m sure he’ll recognize that eventually.”

There’s a long pause― so long Yoongi almost thinks that Jimin has hung up. “Yoongi. You’re being a gigantic fucking idiot right now, and if you break his heart just for the hell of it I will kill you, do you understand?”

“I’m not trying to―”

“I don’t care what you think you’re doing. You pretty much only have two choices here. You can tell Jungkook exactly how you feel about him, make-up and date like you both fucking mean it― and I know you fucking want to so don’t even bother lying.” He pauses, like he’s waiting for Yoongi to agree.

“Or?”

Another beat passes. It’s almost tangible, the disappointment dripping down the phone line. “Or you can leave him the fuck alone and let him get over you in peace.”

“Not much to get over…” There’s no way for it to come across but petulant.

Yoongi is selfish, he knows this. He’s selfish because he wants what he doesn’t deserve, selfish because he tried to take it anyway without considering the consequences.

“SHUT UP.” Jimin’s voice tears through his thoughts like a razor to the gut. “Holy shit dude! Stop self-destructing! I can’t deal with this anymore, I have a paper to write and it’s really hard to type when I’m shaking with rage.” He takes a long, shuddering breath. “Yoongi you’re a much more valuable person than you give yourself credit for, and I hope you don’t throw this thing away because of some bizarre misconception you have that you’re tainting his life or some shit. I, for one, think you deserve each other but if you really think that lowly of yourself I don’t know what to tell you. I hope you can at least explain yourself to Kook. He deserves that much from you.”

On that, Yoongi one-hundred-percent agrees. But Jungkook deserves a lot of things that Yoongi can’t be able to give him. “I’ll think about it.”

There’s a deafening silence on the other end, a quiet that speaks so loudly it drowns out even the thud of his jackrabbiting pulse. “Good.” Jimin says finally, and hangs up.

Yoongi takes a deep breath, holds it for a count of five, swallows back the scream bubbling in his throat, and tucks his phone back into his pocket.

The interior of the restaurant is a welcome warmth. He peeks at his reflection on the window, makes sure his eyes are dry and the corners of his lips are drooping only minimally with the effort of holding himself together. The tip of his nose is flushed red, but that could just as easily be attributed to the cold. It’s fine. Nobody is going to know. Yoong sits back down to eat and says nothing; he feels lucky when no one says anything.

He forces himself to pick up his spoon. Maybe Jimin was right, maybe he is being too hard on himself. Or maybe he’s not being hard enough. He starts eating. At least his soup is still sort of warm. Even if it does taste like Poseidon’s taint.

Yoongi says that out loud, just to have something to say. That earns him the precise pity laugh he’d been expecting. Seokjin takes the opportunity to change the subject and tell a terrible joke about seahorses. Everyone groans. Yoongi looks at the bottom of his soup bowl and frowns hard at a big chunk of carrot plastered to the bottom.

This time it’s Jihyo who glances at over at him, squinting a little oddly, like how one might regard a particularly complicated math problem. Yoongi knows he’s been acting off, so he tries not to be too offended when she cocks her head to the side and tells him, quite matter of factly: “You know, you were a lot more fun when you were drunk.”

Probably because at the time, Yoongi hadn’t been so In His Feelings™.

“Yeah well,” he says, and the lump in his throat is back even stronger. He swallows hard, squeezes his eyes shut tight in an attempt to alleviate the pressure welling in his skull, just behind his eye sockets. “I guess I’m a little ti―red.” He hiccups over the last word. And then, before he can excuse himself to the restroom or offer some means of justification as to why he’s suddenly so goddamn sensitive, the dam bursts.

Yoongi had always imagined crying in public to be cathartic to a degree― like liberation from earthly constructs like shame and etiquette; just a profound, genuine outpour of emotions so powerful they made you just… bawl in a Denny’s or something.

Somehow it just feels miserable and pathetic, though, when Yoongi bursts into tears over his bowl of soup.

Jihyo grunts in surprise as his spoon slips and clatters off the side of the table to the floor, flinging unidentifiable little droplets of yellow goop. Her hand hovers shakily over his shoulder, as if to pat him, before she seems to think better of it and pulls her hand into her lap. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I was just trying to tell a joke. Fuck.”

Yoongi buries his face in his arms so he doesn’t have to see their faces. It’s easily the most humiliating thing he’s ever done , but hell if he can’t stop the tears.

“It’s cool, I’m fine,” he mumbles into the dampened sleeve of his jacket. It safe to say that at this point he probably isn’t fooling anyone. A hand comes down in the middle of his back, warm and solid and heavy.

“Oh Yoon.” Seokjin says softly, close to his ear and Yoongi buries his face even deeper, tries to fight off the embarrassment that makes him want to sob even harder. He bites into the fabric of his sleeve and grits his teeth, forces out long shuddering breaths but the tears don’t stop coming. Seokjin rubs wide circles into his back and says nothing.

Fuck he’s such an idiot. He should have never said yes that night Jungkook wanted to experiment. Now he’s gone and ruined all this for both of them and it’s way too late to just pretend like he and Jungkook can just be friends now that he’s gone and had sex with him. He just wants so bad but it feels so toxic and twisted somehow . And maybe that’s just what love is. The thought sends a sick lurch through his gut.

Sometimes he feels like being with Jungkook is like debasing some kind of art exhibit, or like conning innocent people out of their hard-earned money. It makes him feel all squeamish and guilty, like he’s doing something very wrong, terribly unfair. Maybe it’s not Jungkook’s lack of experience that’s the issue, but this pervading sense of inadequacy that’s been creeping up over him for what feels like forever. Maybe Jimin was right and he is self-destructive. Maybe he just wants Jungkook to see him in the light he sees himself sometimes. What a shitty realization to come to on a late-night Denny’s run.

Yoongi hears someone shoo the waiter away when he comes up with the check and then a hushed conversation about the bill. Namjoon pays. Yoongi tastes hot, salty tears dripping down his cheeks. It’s a long time before he calms down enough to stop.

“I’m okay,” he says, when his soaked jacket sleeve feels more stifling than comforting and he has no choice but to sit back up, feel the chilled air on his flushed, over-warm face. He wipes furiously beneath his eyes. “Sorry about that, I don’t know what happened.” He tries to force out a laugh but it comes out a sob, damp and miserable. He thinks about who he should really be apologizing to and wants to burst into tears all over again.

“Um.” Namjoon looks very uncomfortable. “No worries?”

Yoongi sucks up snot and grimaces. “Allergies, am I right.”

Seokjin blinks twice. Namjoon coughs into the crook of his elbow. It seems like no one is quite sure what to say. Yoongi scrubs at his eyes again and prays for the awkwardness to dispel.

Jihyo clears her throat. “Weird. I had a really similar allergic reaction when my cousin fucked my ex-boyfriend live on Periscope.”

“Oh, lovely,” Namjoon mutters into his glass.

Seokjin finally manages to catch Yoongi’s eyes, leaning over his shoulder to brush Yoongi’s bangs back down over his forehead. “Wanna go?” he asks, terribly gently.

“Please.”

Namjoon moves out of the way so that Seokjin can collect his things. “It’s been fun gays. Next time we should hit the theater.” Cute that he thinks he will ever see Yoongi’s face again after this.

“Sure thing,” Yoongi mutters. Seokjin slides him his wallet and keys across the table. “Can’t wait to do this again.”

When he stands up to leave, Jihyo’s small, surprisingly strong fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Wait,” she says and presses something into the palm of his hand. A sugar packet.

“Um. Thanks?”

“My number.” Her hand drops back. “In case you ever want to… talk.” She raises an eyebrow meaningfully.

Yoongi is completely, totally, entirely done with this evening. “I’m not going to have sex with you.”

Namjoon chokes on a mouthful of water.

“Well that’s great, because that is definitely not what I meant. I was thinking more like― we get drunk out of our minds and then hit up The Taco Bell for a Doritos locos taco 12 pack.”

“Oh.” Yoongi blinks. “I― Sorry. I’m just a little, you know―” he winces at himself. “That sounds…  nice.”

Jihyo snorts. “I get it, I have a horny vibe― people tell me that all the time actually. You’re not really my type though. Namjoon, on the other hand…” She waggles her eyebrows. Namjoon averts his gaze and pretends not to be listening. “I’m kidding. But you do get really hilarious when you think someone’s hitting on you. Your face gets all scrunched up and weird.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Seokjin looks between them with an odd, almost sinister twinkle in his eye. “You guys have a real weird rapport.”

Yoongi stuffs the sugar packet in his pocket with his phone. “We should probably hurry and go, I think I might have left my oven on.” Seokjin, for once in his life, refrains from commenting on what a blatant lie that is; Yoongi hasn’t cooked in days.

Seokjin’s car is sitting exactly where they parked it, looking as hideous as it ever has. God, Yoongi wishes someone would steal that thing.

“Well.” Seokjin pulls down the visor over the driver’s seat to check his teeth in the mirror. He pops it back shut with a satisfied hum. “That didn’t quite go how I expected.”

“Please just drive me home.”

Something in the way his voice goes all waver-y and thin must catch Seokjin’s attention. “You know none of us like to see you hurting right?” Yoongi nods. “Okay, good. I love you and I’m here for you and I think you deserve the world and I just really need to make sure you know that.”

Seokjin isn’t usually the type for sappy proclamations of love, not the way Hoseok is. Yoongi’s not quite sure how he feels knowing that Seokjin cares so much, that he’s willing to step out of his comfort zone just to show Yoongi he’s appreciated. That thought alone almost sets him off again.

“I know that,” he says, when he’s sure he’s not going to break down again. He pats the top of Seokjin’s hand, resting atop the steering wheel. “I just want to go home now.” Seokjin looks at him, awfully expectant as he puts the car in reverse. Yoongi takes a deep breath. “And I love you too,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

Seokjin gives him the biggest, warmest, gayest hug imaginable across the console and he drives Yoongi home with a smile on his face.



☆☆☆

Really, Yoongi isn’t planning on texting Jihyo. He appreciates the sentiment, but she’s one of the most careless, erratic people he’s ever known― not that he even knows her that well― and maybe that in itself is another reason he shouldn’t call.

But then Monday rolls around.

Work is a nightmare. He gets yelled at on three separate occasions and only one of them is actually his fault. He gets home almost an hour late, just in time to see his neighbor’s dog take a massive, runny dump right on the step into their building. He wrinkles his nose in disgust as he takes a long step over it and Mr. Asshole-next-door flips him off for good measure. Charming. His apartment is even more of a disaster than he remembers leaving it; he has to kick over a pile of empty takeout boxes just to reach the couch. God, when had he gotten to be such a slob.

Just thinking about the effort it’s going to require to clean up days worth of his hermit mess makes his skull throb. He doesn’t want to linger in his self-designed cavern of filth and he certainly doesn’t want to spend the next two hours sorting though a wardrobe’s worth of dirty clothes and digging out dirty napkins from between the couch cushions. He has never been more in the mood to ignore grown up tasks and get majorly slammered.

So he calls Jihyo.

“Well that didn’t take long.” She sounds rather smug on her end of the line.

“Yeah well.” Yoongi figures he lost all of his pride when he had to start using his kitchen sink like a garbage receptacle. “Like you said, I’m more fun drunk.”

“Then let’s get you very, very drunk.”

 

As Yoongi comes to learn, happy hour at Applebee’s is only slightly more bougie than drinking beers in a Taco Bell at five pm on a Monday. The appetizers are decent though, and the drinks are cheap, so he’s not really complaining. Jihyo seems content to sit and listen to his rant about his neighbor, and Yoongi is glad for the novel new distraction that Jihyo presents, taking a swig of her third long island iced tea in twenty minutes. It doesn’t come as much of a surprise that not long after that, they get cut off by the mousy, timid-looking girl manning the bar.

“Sorry, it’s just policy,” she says, but her voice trembles a bit and she keeps side-eying Jihyo like she’s waiting for her to grow a second, much larger head and chew her a new asshole. Must be a new hire.

“Dude this sucks,” Jihyo says, more like screams in his ear. Yoongi smells nothing but liquor and he leans back to a range at which her voice isn’t quite so ear-shattering.

“I know! I’m barely even buzzed. Those were some weak ass drinks. No offense,” he adds, eyes darting over to the bartender, wiping down a stack of glasses a few yards down the bar from them. She doesn’t appear to have heard.

“What’s even the point of drinking if you’re not going to black the fuck out and forget your own middle name?”

There are a wide array of things Yoongi would very much like to forget right now. “God, I can’t believe he told me he loved me after like one date. And my response was even worse than Eric Foreman’s pathetic I love cake line. Donna was way too good for him.”

Jihyo’s eyes look very round as she blinks at him. “I know this probably isn’t my place to say, but you should probably talk to that guy if you’re that hung up on him.”

“I resent that turn of phrase. I’m not hung up, I’m desastated― I mean devesterated. Devastated.”

“Dude. How are you drunker than me?”

“I’m not!”

Jihyo takes the last onion ring out of the basket, and sucks out the onion. She shoves away the discarded breading for Yoongi to pick at. “If you wanna get your boyfriend back you should just apologize and tell the truth.”

“Who said I was lying to him?”

Jihyo shrugs. “I dunno, that’s just my standard relationship advice. Were you?”

“No.” He hesitates. “Not exactly. I mean I maybe wasn’t incredibly forthright but I―” Jihyo has an eyebrow raised, tapping her pointed nails against the side of her glass. “― okay, point taken.”

“Thank you. You know I have had enough negative dating experience I could make an encyclopedia of what not to do. Like, for example, don’t send him a chain of passive aggressive emails with his boss and both sets of grandparents CC-ed.”

Yoongi contemplates that. “Probably the kind of thing better said in person.”

“Most things are.”

The ice in his almost melted. The condensation on the glass dampens his fingertips as he peers down into the depths. Of his glass and his heart (ba-dum tsss). “Huh. Do you think…” he tries to shape the words but they don’t come easily to his lips, escape him like smoke.

“Yeah, most of the time.”

It takes him a few too many second to process that. “What? No, I mean do you think I should like, reach out to him― to the guy I was sorta seeing.”

“Ooh. Surprise love confession, I like where this is going.”

“Well I don’t know what I’m going to say to him exactly.” Yoongi crumples up his napkin in his fist. “But it’s gotta be something really good, cause I was kind of, definitely an asshole. So like. Really good.”

“Really good.” Jihyo nods emphatically.

Yoongi mulls it over for a few seconds. And then a few more after that when he loses his train of thought looking at the TV mounted over the bar. He thinks he just might have an idea. “I know.”

“Know what?”

Yoongi is already pulling his coat back on and digging out his wallet from his jeans. “Fuck,” he hisses, waving a wad of bills at the bartender. “We gotta do this right now.”

Jihyo looks a bit puzzled, but she starts to put her coat on too. “Seriously?” her eyes scan over his face, pick up on what must be a manic gleam in his eye. She only hesitates for a second before she tips back the last dregs of melted ice in her glass and hops down from her stool.

“Dude, we gotta. Otherwise I’m gonna forget.” The right words are already starting to blur in his head. “Fuck, we need to hurry.” This is going to be perfect; he’s going to solve everything, he just needs to get to Jungkook’s dorm first.

 

“Want me to wait down here?” Jihyo offers when they make it to the elevator lobby in Jungkook’s building. Yoongi smashes the call button repeatedly, heart racing. There’s a bulletin board on the wall opposite them inexplicably decorated in green paper chains and cut out pictures of monkeys. Please no monkeying around in the study room it reads in big, tacky gold font. God, Yoongi does not miss this place.

“Sure.”

Jihyo leans up against a poster advertising STD testing at the student health center and shoots him finger guns. “Rightio, I’ll be waiting.” The elevator doors slide open with a ding. Stepping inside feels a bit like stepping into his own casket. “Good luck!” Jihyo calls after him. “Text me if you guys decide to fuck and I’ll just see myself out.” She gestures at the poster behind her. “Make sure you use pro―” The metal doors slide shut between them.

 

He manages to find Jungkook’s room by memory, pounds on the door which rattles dangerously in its battered frame. It’s dark inside when the door swings in, like maybe Jungkook had been taking a nap after class or watching a movie. Yoongi feels guilty for waking him, but this is important enough he’s sure Jungkook will forgive him.

Before Jungkook can yell or cry― or more likely, speak― Yoongi lunges inside and throws himself into his arms. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispers like a mantra, burying his face into the crook of Jungkook’s neck and squeezing him tight, so tight he’s losing him own breath. He’s wearing that soft hoodie that Yoongi loves, the one he got at the cheesy souvenir shop on the pier, and his cologne smells exactly the same, like bergamot and amber.

It hasn’t been all that long, but Jungkook feels different in his arms, a little smaller maybe, a little more fragile. Still, strong arms wrap around him and hold him tight, keep them both from tipping back onto the floor when Yoongi loses his balance trying to nuzzle into his neck.

“I miss you, I’m sorry,” he says again into the soft skin of Jungkook’s throat as they rock back and forth.

“This is really sweet and all but uh―” The light switch clicks on and Yoongi is nearly blinded by bright white luminescence. “Jungkook’s not here.”

Jimin politely waits for Yoongi to extricate all his limbs from his without comment.

“Um.” Yoongi can feel his face, arms, chest grow hot, knows distantly he must be beet red, but right now all he can focus on is― “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin looks caught halfway between a smile and a frown; confused a bit, like he’s trying to look disapproving while still suppressing a laugh. “He’s at dinner with his parents. They’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Oh fuckity.” Yoongi kicks at a pair of Jungkook’s shoes piled up next to the door. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jungkook wouldn’t be there. “This is terrible.”

The frown finally wins out. “Are you okay dude? You seem a little… weird.”

Yoongi stares at him for a stretch of seconds that seem to rush past with incredible, flooring speed. Judging by the look on Jimin’s face, though, his silence drags out far too long. Fuck, had he always been this drunk? He hadn’t felt it in the car at all, but now he feels like he might be swaying― just a little― to the rhythm of his own breathing. “Fime shine.”

Jimin squints and leans forward to peer closer into his face. “Are you drunk?”

This little rendezvous would have gone so much better if Jungkook had just been where he was supposed to be, God damn it. “Of course not. Where’s Jungkook?” He leans against the side of Jungkook’s desk for support. It’s littered with loose papers and crumbs and what looks to be about half a bottle of spilled gummy vitamins. Yoongi flicks one onto the floor and it skitters under the edge of Jungkook’s bed.

“Yeah you’re drunk.”

“Maybe a little, tiny bit.” Yoongi motions with his fingers close together. “I came to see him, my babyyyy . You can’t stop me from seeing him.”

“You’re right, I can’t. But he’s not here right now and he won’t be for a while, so you should probably just go home.” Jimin says very carefully, like he’s explaining to a three-year-old. “Do you need me to walk you?”

“I don’t need to go home, I need to find Jungkook.” Yoongi can hear the whine in his own voice and has just enough presence of mind to recognize that it does not behoove him.

“Come back when you’re not plastered Yoongi. This is a bad idea.”

“You don’t even know what the idea is.”

“Yoongi.” Jimin crosses his arms. “You cannot honestly expect to barge into Jungkook’s dorm room drunk off your ass and think that’s going to solve anything.”

“It’s called liquid courage for a reason,” Yoongi snarks with far more vitriol than he has any right to. “I gotta tell him he makes my heart nut.”

“Your heart what?”

“He makes my chest feel all fluttery and tight and vibrate-y. Like a heart organ― organism. Orgasm.”

Jimin makes an odd, choked off noise. Yoongi opens his eyes and can’t remember how long they’ve been shut. Weird.

“If you didn’t reek of tequila this might have been romantic.” Jimin takes Yoongi’s hand and guides it away from the collection of very expensive-looking electronics laid out on top of Jungkook’s shelf. “But it does, and now you’re just embarrassing us both. Just let me call you an Uber, okay?

Clearly Jimin is going to be of no help to him. “It’s fine. I’ll drive my own Uber. Thanks―” Jimin helps him to the door with a hand on his elbow, “― for nothing.”

“You’re welcome, Yoongi.”

Jimin walks him down to the lobby and hands him off to Jihyo, who plays sober much better than Yoongi does. That or her alcohol tolerance is even more formidable than he’d realized. “Plan B,” Yoongi declares when Jimin is out of earshot. “We have t’ find him.”

“Find him where?”

Yoongi pulls out his phone with a flourish (fumbles it out of his pocket) and taps the screen. “I got this.”

Yoongi (7:17 pm):

Hel  lo

:))0

Whaf i s Jungkooks gavorinr restaite?

Jihyo snatches the phone and types for him.

**Hiis faborite restaunt?

Taehyung (7:18 pm):

Idk but his parents just took him to the olive garden

 

Well, that makes things awfully easy.

 

The ride there is short, but not quite short enough. His confidence drains with every passing minute, like an inflatable pool at the end of summer. Jihyo gets out of the car first, and slams the passengers side door shut hard enough to make Yoongi cringe. Now that they’re here he can’t help but feel like this is maybe, possibly not the right course of action. The sinking in his stomach has his him glued to the seat. He arms are stiff, immobile. He’s not sure he could move if he wanted to.

Jihyo opens the back door. A rush of cool, damp air rushes in to meet him and he shivers, sinks deeper into the seat.

“Up.” Jihyo motions with her head. “Dude, let’s go. Before you chicken out.”

“Maybe we should give this a little more thought.” Yoongi tugs the collar of his sweatshirt up to his chin, wants to burrow away and hide for the rest of the day.

Jihyo reaches across him and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Nope.” She tugs insistently at his wrist. “You’ve done enough thinking. Let’s go.”

“I think you’re really undervaluing the merits of uhh―” he hiccups violently, “―of like. Thought.”

Jihyo frowns when Yoongi doesn’t move, just blinks slow and a little confused up into her face. “Dude, what are you talking about?”

The uber driver has his neck craned, is very obviously eavesdropping, but Yoongi can’t find it in himself to care. He’s no way he’s getting a good rating from this dude anyway after all the yelling on the way there. Yoongi shrugs.

“Come on. Are you gonna keep avoiding your problems for the rest of your life or are you gonna face them head on like a grown-ass fucking adult?”

The driver snorts.

“I am an adult. You don’t know anything about my life,” he grumbles, but this time he lets her pull him out of the car onto the pavement. It’s even colder without the car heater to counteract the chill on the flushed skin of his neck.

He drags his feet as Jihyo steers him towards the door. He knows it’s coming, but it’s still a surprise when he’s thrust over the threshold onto the dingy tile foyer of the Olive Garden. Jihyo is obviously handling those shots much better than he is. There is minimal tottering as she approaches the hostess and requests a table for two. “Now what are you gonna tell him?” Jihyo guides him to sit him down on the bench and sidles up next to him. A middle aged man waiting on the other side of the bench looks a little too long at the way Jihyo is bent slightly forward to see around him. The guy makes eye contact with Yoongi by accident, and quickly looks away. Yoongi inexplicably wants to snap at him.

“I don’t know?” he mutters, still glaring at the pervert. “I forgot now.”

“How do you not know? You had all that time to remember in the car!”

“You were distracting me!”

“I was hyping you up! You needed it!” Jihyo says, a little to loud.The hostess glances over at them with an eyebrow raised. Jihyo smiles brightly, like she’s certain she’s doing nothing wrong. The hostess manages an odd closed-lip smile in return and turns away. The air in the restaurant seems to take on a sort of translucent quality to it.

“Fuck.”

“That’s okay.” Jihyo pats his knee. She leans in extra close to whisper in his ear, and her breath smells like lime and tequila. “All you gotta do is unleash your emotions. Tell him what you really feel and he’s gotta understand.”

Yoongi has to think about that for a little too long. “But. I don’t feel anything right now. My body’s all numb.” He tries to wiggle his stiff fingers for emphasis.

Jihyo takes his hands and blows on them. It does absolutely nothing to warm them, but it does remind Yoongi of something excellent.

“Hng, I should tell him I love the way his hands feel when he’s touching me. Like fuckin’...” he struggles to find an adjective. “Fuckin’ great. Warm.” A woman standing next to the door with her daughter turns to stare openly. She shoves he daughter a little closer to the exit, out of Yoongi’s line of sight.

“Ooh that’s good!” Jihyo wiggles excitedly next to him. Yoongi laughs and almost tips off the side of the bench and Jihyo fumbles to grab his bicep and haul him back up. Fuck. Maybe those drinks hit him harder than he’d thought. Was Jihyo’s hair always this shiny?

Shit, his parents.”

Jihyo whips around, eyes darting. “Where?” Yoongi follows her gaze but sees nothing.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Jungkook’s parents.”

“They’re here?”

“They’re not here?” Jihyo squints. “You said they were here.”

“Oh yeah, they’re here.”

“Well where―”

“Park, party of two,” comes an odd, disjointed voice. No. Just the hostess. She motions for them to follow her to a table.

“Oh shit, I think I see them,” Jihyo whisper-yells as the waitress sets down their menus.

“How? You don’t even know what they look like.”

Jihyo points at a table across the restaurant right next to an elderly couple wearing watching blue parkas. It’s him. Yoongi would recognize the back of that head anywhere.

“Nevermind. That’s them.”

“Wait, who’s that girl?”

“What girl?”

“The blonde one holding hands with your boy over the table.”

Yoongi has to squint to see. And then blink a few times and try again, just to verify that what he’s seeing is what he thinks he’s seeing. It can’t be, he thinks, but then there’s Jungkook, linking fingers with some blonde cretin next to the breadstick basket, probably playing fucking footsies with her under the table while his parents watch on, looking absolutely enamoured with the bitch.

“What. The. Fuck.” He sees red. He can feel his heartbeat pick up a heavy, rapid cadence; not at all in the good way. Something is very wrong here, something is―

“… gi― Yoongi, where are you going?”

Oh.

He doesn’t remember standing up, but now his serviette is on the floor at his feet and the people at table beside theirs are giving him some odd looks as he looms too close, fists clenched and shaking. His nails bit crescents into his palms as he whirls and stalks in Jungkook’s direction, all else abandoned to the white hot betrayal that makes his vision tunnel and his lip quiver.

Jihyo follows him, tries to grab his wrist and misses. “Hold on Yoongi, I think―” she trips over the leg of a chair as she lunges after him. “I think we should wait and see what’s going on.”

Yoongi barely hears her. God he’s so fucking mad. He’s trembling with this bizarre energy he’s never felt before. Rage, maybe. Betrayal. Either way he can’t stop his hands from trembling or his knees from shaking as he stomps up to the head of the table.

Yoongi doesn’t know what he’s going to say until it’s already coming out, cold and harsh. “Hey you fucker.”

Chapter Text

 

Hey you fucker.

Is what he wants to say. Instead he pastes on the widest grin bearable and says, saccharinely sweet, “Hi Mister and Mrs. Jeon, so nice to see you again. ”

Jungkook jerks at the sound of his voice, almost knocks his water glass off the table with how quickly he snatches his hand back into his lap.

His parents and his date both smile confusedly up at Yoongi, polite but standoffish. His mother clears her throat. “Hello dear.”

“H-hi.” Jungkook swallows visibly, He’s squirming in his seat, trying to subtly put distance between himself and the girl next to him. “Yoongi, why are you― what are you doing here?”

Truthfully, Yoongi is barely holding himself together, but he’s sure to sound perfectly indifferent, when he raises an eyebrow and says, “Dinner.”

It’s not particularly maliceful but Jungkook still flinches. Good. Yoongi shouldn’t be the only one having an abruptly shitty night. Fuck he wants to yell at him, sitting there squirming in his seat, all silent and guilty and a little afraid. But he knows if he did he would make a lot of things a little too obvious, and as angry, as fucking floored as he is, he can’t do it. He may be the human equivalent of an emotional toilet, but he’s not that shitty.

Then the girl sitting next to Jungkook, across from his dad catches his eye. There’s something awfully familiar about her, like he’s met her before. She catches his eye and smiles awkwardly. “Uh. Hey.”

That voice; that hair. God. Oh God. Yoongi is going to be sick.

“What, seriously? After all that shit―” he side-eyes Jungkook’s parents. “― I mean stuff you said. Really?”

Jungkook looks confused and not happy about it. “You― you guys know each other?”

“No,” Yoongi says, at the same time the girl says, “Yes.”

“We met once, briefly,” Yoongi amends. He turns to the girl. “Tell me, do you spend a lot of time lurking outside the mens room?”

The girls turns red and forces out a high, pained laugh. “I mean. Where else am I supposed to go to get dates,” she jokes. None of the Jeons look particularly amused.

“Sweetie. The tinder app is free.”

Jihyo swoops gracefully in just over his shoulder. “Hello,” she tells Jungkook’s parents sweetly. “I’m Jihyo, Yoongi’s girlfriend.”

“What?”

Yoongi only feels a little smug at how betrayed Jungkook looks― mostly he just feels hollow and faintly nauseous.

“Well that’s not exactly um. What we…” Jihyo kicks him in the back of the ankle. “I mean, yup. We are dating.” Four faces wear varying expressions of disbelief. This is just getting painful― painful and pathetic. This sickening feeling creeps up on him, almost has him convinced that he’s the one on the wrong here even with Jungkook’s blonde transgression staring him right in the face.

Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover the atmosphere at the table. “Okay, well it was nice to see you.” A lie that tastes bitter on Yoongi’s tongue. “Have a great rest of your dinner.”

Jihyo holds him steady by the shoulders and leans in to whisper in his ear, almost too quiet to be overheard by the rest of the table. Almost. “Hey, if you want I can fight this bitch.” Jihyo sizes her up. “Pretty sure I could take her.”

“Nah, it wouldn’t make me feel better.”

Jihyo doesn’t look convinced.

He has to drag her away from the table; she looks only a few seconds away from wrestling Jungkook to the ground and then pouncing on his mom and demanding she apologize for ever giving birth to him.

As soon as they step outside, Yoongi sinks to a crouch in the mostly empty parking lot. The stars out here seem dimmer than they are near campus, not by much, but enough to feel like there’s a shroud over the top of them all, blotting out the light in the sky, pressing down on them, closer and closer. He knows he must be imagining all of it, but the thought of it still makes his head throb.

“That was fucked up,” he murmurs as Jihyo lays a soft hand on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have even said anything. Oh God, I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But he doesn’t, he just stays shivering in the parking lot under the street light, basking in the sickish, orange-y light and basking in his misery.

“Fuck him,” Jihyo spits finally. “Cheating piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve to get to you like this.”

“He’s not a piece of shit, he’s fucking scared.” Yoongi blinks up at the sky, his breath fogging up above him. “I am too.” he says very, very quietly.

Jihyo is silent for a long moment. “You’re a much nicer person than me, you know?” She comes to sit down next to him on the curb, rubbing circles into his shoulder. “If that had been my boyfriend in there I think I would have killed him.” Yoongi snorts. “Okay, not really, but I probably would have at least dumped a soda on his head and cussed him out in front if his parents.”

“That’s one way to do it.”

“Not a good way.” Jihyo shakes her head. “That’s what I mean. You’re like― really mature like that.” She clears her throat. “Kind of small too though, so that does detract from it a little.”

Yoongi shoves her. “Shut up.”

“No I’m serious. You think a lot about other people.” She looks thoughtful. “Maybe too much.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Oh that is most definitely a thing. I’m pretty damn certain it’s unhealthy to care more about everyone else’s feelings than your own. I mean I’m not trying to act like I know your entire life story and philosophy and all that shit, just… I don’t know you seem like the kind of person who overthinks all their relationships. Like, to a fault.” When Yoongi doesn’t respond to that― can’t, because he’d never thought of himself in that way, but it felt like it fit, so snuggly in fact that it was uncomfortable― Jihyo looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “No offense.” She rushes. “Sorry, I said too much, didn’t I. I don’t know what I’m saying, I’m still drunk.”

“No, no. It’s okay, I think. I just.” He takes a deep breath, in and out through his nostrils. He just wants the night to be over and forgotten and so far behind him it’s but a dormant synapse in his brain. “I don’t know. I’m not like this amazing person. I’m just kind of dumb, and a giant coward, and also apparently lacking the basic emotional intelligence to fucking―” He tears at his hair, fingers like claws, “―tell the people in my life what they mean, I―” He chokes a little. “Ugh, nevermind. I just want to go home.”

Jihyo looks like she has something else to say, but she doesn’t say it, just smiles sadly and helps him un-knot his fingers from his hair. His scalp throbs. “Then let’s go home.”

The car pulls up eventually, after ten minutes of sitting in quiet, pensive thought on the curb, a chill slowly seeping from the concrete up his spine. A family exits the restaurant, laughing, bringing with them a tiny gust of muted music faintly warm air. The driver rolls down the window to call Jihyo’s name. Jihyo helps haul him to his feet; he hardly feels drunk at all now but he still sways as he stands, gripping Jihyo's arm for support.  

At their backs, someone slips out through the front door of the olive garden, alone, the blue light of their phone screen a tiny beacon in the dark.

Jihyo gets in the back seat and scoots over, and Yoongi is about to climb in after her when someone stops him.

“Yoongi?” Comes a loud, somewhat shrill voice across the parking lot. “Hey man, what the hell?”

Yoongi, after startling so hard he whacks his head on the doorframe, turns back. “What do you want?” he asks, as coldly as he can muster. It sounds angry like he wants, but he doesn’t really feel anything as Jungkook hovers there, trembling on the curb in a thin tee shirt and jeans. Jungkook looks conflicted, a bit, like he can’t decide whether he wants to punch Yoongi right in the mouth or turn tail and run.

“Can you wait just a minute?”

“Why should I?”

“Well since you’re here― for some indiscernible reason―” Jungkook’s eyebrows arch towards his hairline, “We should probably talk.” He shifts anxiously from foot to foot, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh really? Should we?”

Jungkook frowns. “Okay. Not sure why you’re getting all snarky and sarcastic right now when you’re the one who crashed dinner with my parents, drunk out of your mind.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Oh please,” Jungkook spits, “You reek of Bacardi.”

Yoongi takes a few steps back, hopefully out of sniffing range. “So I had a few drinks. And you had a whole girlfriend I didn’t know about, so how about you tell me which is worse.”

“Oh come on! She’s not my girlfriend, she’s a classmate.”

“Oh yeah? You fuck around with all your classmates?”

What?” Jungkook looks offended. “Is that what she told you?”

“She told me not to trust you.” Yoongi snarls, fists clenched, refusing to budge refusing to relent. “Now I’m starting to wonder if she was right.”

Even as the words are coming out he knows they’re wrong. Even as he recognizes the impending regret ushered in by each syllable, he can’t stop them from spilling out― too bitter, too harsh. A heavy silence falls over them. Yoongi’s chest heaves as he huffs deep, frantic breaths.

Jungkook looks away from his eyes, down at his shoes. “That’s actually ridiculous, you know that?” He scuffs his toe against the concrete, muttering. “I can’t believe…” he trails off, gnawing on his bottom lip, crushed.

Yoongi’s voice has lost all it’s hostility as he reaches out, unconsciously for Jungkook’s hand. Jungkook yanks it back, out of reach. “I’m sorry, I―” Yoongi doesn’t know what to say though, only knows that he wants that squinty, hurt expression off Jungkook’s face. “I maybe overreacted. I’m a little drunk.”

“You think?” Jungkook grumbles, but there’s no malice behind them, just… disappointment. “You know what, this was a bad idea. Let’s not do this, okay? I don’t want to argue with you right now.” He turns to go back to the restaurant.

“No, wait! I―” Jungkook turns over his shoulder, almost hopeful despite it all and Yoongi almost says it then, says that thing that had started this whole mess. “I…” It’s scratching at the back of his throat, begging to come out it feels, and yet the the only thing that slips from between his lips is a long gust of air.

Jungkook doesn’t look quite so expectant now.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just sorry. For everything.”

Jungkook sighs. He moves as if to leave, dragging his feet on the pavement miserably, shoulders slumped in defeat. And then he hesitates.

“Are you really?” Jungkook turns around, and he looks pained and small, shoulders hunched and tense. Yoongi doesn’t know what to make of him, all closed off and radiating insecurity through every line in his body. “Because I know we never made it official, official but like…” he shrugs again. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to do what…” he shifts again, gnawing his bottom lip. “It’s just, I wouldn’t want to be like… I mean you made me feel so, um. I don’t know. Like I didn’t matter? And I’m sorry I guess, because maybe you didn’t think I felt like that and that’s not your fault but I…” he cuts himself off, frustrated, fingers clenching and unclenching at his side.

Yoongi’s head is spinning.

His head is spinning and nothing Jungkook is saying makes any sense at all. He genuinely fears he’s going to be sick all over his shoes, or maybe burst into tears again and cry until his throat is hoarse and Jungkook is long gone. He doesn’t know what Jungkook is saying, but he sounds so sad as he says it that Yoongi feels it too, like a swift and violent kick to the chest.

“What?” His hand drops from the car door as he sways towards Jungkook, drawn almost like a magnet. “I don’t… what?”

“Hey! Tell your friend to get in the car or get out. I’ve got other rides to get to,” the driver snaps.

Jungkook stares at him cagey like a deer― just a split second from fleeing the scene― and Yoongi hesitates. He considers, for a second, just slamming the door and staying behind. Maybe they would work it out. Maybe Jungkook would take him inside and properly introduce him to his family, drop kick Becky-with-the-blocky-highlights to the curb, and then they would have one of those dramatic, teen-romance-film kissing scenes. Maybe everyone would applaud, and his dad would cry because he was so touched, and his mom would offer to claim Yoongi as her own son. Maybe they would both move back into Jungkook’s childhood bedroom and Yoongi could abandon his cramped, overpriced flat with the giant stain not quite hidden under the rug and the asshole neighbor who refused to control his dog.

Of course that was all fantasy. Yoongi inches back towards the car and hesitates again. Of course none of those things would actually happen. Jihyo reaches across the back seat to tug his arm, urging him to get in the car; her rider rating is already dangerously low.

“It’s fine, go.” Jungkook shrinks away, defeated, back towards the doors. “I’m technically in the bathroom right now, so… yeah. It’s fine. Just go.”

Yoongi, brilliantly, can think of nothing at all to say. He's tired and probably not thinking straight, and he can feel himself shutting down as he gets inside, slams the door and doesn’t look back to see Jungkook’s face as they pull away.

“It’s okay.” Jihyo tells him on the way home, patting his knee somewhat consolingly. “You don’t need him honey, you’re gonna be better off without him.”

Yoongi isn’t so sure that’s true.

☆☆☆

 

Yoongi’s head is pounding when he wakes up, and he’s pretty certain it’s not just from the alcohol. He almost thinks, for a moment, that the whole fiasco had been a fever dream until he sees the note Jihyo left him, taped to the side of a full glass of water.

Hope you feel better :D  it reads. But Yoongi feels terrible, and the smiley face is practically mocking him.

He fights his way out of bed, takes as many ibuprofen as he dares, chugs a full glass of water, and drags himself to work for another tedious, mindless day of dealing with mediocre people who think far too highly of themselves to be taken seriously. He has plenty of time to regret his entire night while he’s there.

Showing up unannounced at family dinner: officially a dick move. And that charming performance with Jihyo and what’s-her-face? Classic. If Jungkook ever speaks to him again, he’ll consider himself lucky.

He thinks he should maybe apologize, but more than that he thinks he should just disappear for forty to fifty years and hope that by the time he returns, all has been forgotten. Or something equally drastic.

After work, he makes it halfway through boiling a pot of spaghetti before he realizes that he hates spaghetti, dumps out all the water, and orders delivery instead.

The courier must be busting their ass tonight, because the knock comes in record time, a little too forceful for the fragile, fussy old construction of the thing, but he’ll let it slide since they got him his meatball sub in under ten minutes.

He had been banking on the extra time to hunt down his wallet though.

The ensuing, frantic search through his apartment is made that much more stressful by the sound of the door rattling under the force of another, harder knock.

“God, asshole, wait a second.” Under his breath as he digs through his laundry mound for his most recently donned pair of crappy, ripped jeans.

“Yoongi!”

For a split second he thoughtlessly, stupidly wonders at how the delivery man’s voice sounds astonishingly like Jungkook’s. “Yoongi, open the door. I know you’re home.”

Yoongi freezes. Too much time passes as he hovers feet from the door, stock still and stony, as if Jungkook would be able to sense his movement through the wood and know he’s in there, panicking, debating on whether or not he would just speed things along if he jumped right out the bathroom window.

No.

He should just answer the door, he thinks wildly and doesn’t move. And fuck before that, he should change out of the dumpiest sweatpants he owns.

“Okay, I’m at least pretty sure you’re home. It’s seven pm on a Tuesday, where else would you be…” Yoongi digs out the cleanest looking pair of jeans from the pile, takes a deep whiff just to be sure. Doable; not great.

“… not that I think you don’t have a life. But. You do like to stay in.” A brief pause as Yoongi struggles frantically to get into his jeans. “Okay full disclosure, I also saw the light on through your living room window. So.”

There’s the sounds of nervous shuffling, the look of shadows, dancing just under the door-crack. Yoongi hesitates just on the other side, fingers hovering inches over the handle, caught up in a rush of fear, adrenaline, excitement, dread.

“Fine, ignore me. I don’t care. You’ll have to leave here sooner or later, I can wait.” The shadows in the hall get darker, closer and then, abruptly, disappear. “You know, as I say it out loud that seems incredibly stalkerish. I’m sorry. I’m just gonna go.” There’s something else, something muttered unintelligibly, and then a thump, like a head hitting the wall just outside Yoongi’s apartment. “Urg. I’m definitely talking to an empty room right now.” Jungkook mutters, somewhat muffled and rather forlorn.

Yoongi, before he can overthink it any longer, yanks open the door. He’s expecting Jungkook to be at least halfway down the hall to the stairs, so he’s surprised to come abruptly nose-to-nose with Jungkook, who looks even more surprised than Yoongi feels, with his heart jackrabbiting and his hands trembling on just this side of noticeable as he casually (very carefully and purposefully) props open the door.

“Oh you—” Jungkook reddens deeply and takes a half a step back. “You were home.”

“Uh huh.”

“That’s good, um.” The pause is as awkward as it has any right to be. “Can we talk?”

There are a lot of things Yoongi wants to say, with Jungkook standing there, looking just as pretty as ever; a bit more fragile, maybe, than he’d remembered him. “Okay.”

Jungkook steps inside cautiously, taking care not to brush past him in the entryway. He turns to face Yoongi in the living room, hovering by the coffee table, fidgeting with his sleeves. Yoongi is sure he makes just as sorry an image, trying not to shrink into himself as he closes the door.

“Want to sit?”

Jungkook manages a tight smile. “Um. Honestly, not really.”

“Okay.” Yoongi perches on the edge of the couch cushions. He tries very hard to keep it together, to exude nonchalance even with his suddenly dry throat and twitching fingers. The air between them is stiffer than it’s ever been. Yoongi finds himself without the slightest idea what to do with his hands.

“So.” Jungkook says after a moment, somewhat stilted. “I talked to Jimin last night.”

Yoongi’s heart rate doubles. The room gets just a little bit smaller, collapsing in on him, pressure making him start to sweat. You messed up , he thinks, you did, you did. Deal with the consequences.

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

Yoongi wants to speak. He really, really does, but it feels like there’s nothing he can say to encompass everything that needs to be said now, feels like there are no words that could ever express exactly what he means, even if he says he’s sorry or that he wishes none of it had ever happened . Jungkook is looking at him expectantly and there’s nothing for Yoongi to do but disappoint him again and damn if that doesn’t kill him. He takes a long, shuddering breath.

“Yoongi?” Jungkook, for some unascertainable reason, looks concerned when he doesn’t speak at first. Not irritated or frustrated or resentful, or anything that Yoongi deserves. Just― worried.

So Yoongi swallows his reservations― and what a hard swallow it is― and speaks through the hoarseness growing in his throat. “Look, I don’t. I really don’t know what to say. Last night was a mistake, I know. I shouldn’t have done any of that, I was just so… frustrated, I guess, at myself.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “Like sometimes it’s so hard for me to say… to say things, you know? And I feel so guilty all the time because it’s like, whatever I do I just screw you over.” His hands fist up in the fabric of the throw, desperate to hold on to something, to anchor himself. He isn’t even looking at Jungkook anymore, or if he is, he isn’t seeing him, and yet the words keep spilling.

“―Like. Not just last night, either. I mean kissed you in front of your parents! I made it seem like I was leading you for months just for sex. I basically forced you out to Jimin and Tae. And like, even at that party on Halloween. Why would I do that?”

Yoongi understands, distantly, that he must be rambling now. But he’s never felt a need like this, a rush like this. There’s a certain catharsis he comes to experience, expelling every bad thought, every guilty confession he’s packaged up and tucked away. The words feel like vomit as they up out of him, but once they’re out of his mouth, all he can feel is a sort of empty lightness.

“―I mean you clearly weren’t comfortable with liking dudes and I pressured you, and then when you denied it I pushed you when really it was none of my business. It was never my intention to take advantage of you, but I feel like I did this whole time and so I when you said you loved me it didn’t make any sense, and I’m really sorry for the way I made you feel after that, and I promise I can leave you alone now if you want, I probably deserve that, I―”  

“Yoongi.” Somehow, as chaotic and irrepressible as it all felt coming out, just that one word is enough to bring his outpour to a stuttering halt. “Stop.”

Jungkook is standing closer now, Yoongi notices. His knees bump against the edge coffee table as he wavers on his feet, face a shifting medley of indecipherable expressions.

“But I―”

Jungkook rounds the side of the table and stops him with a hand, so close to touching, but not quite there. He has a new sort of determination in his face. “No. Listen. I’m glad you’re finally communicating all this with me but like, shut up for a minute.” Yoongi’s blinks his surprise. “Do you actually think you forced me into any of those situations? Most of those were accidents. And it’s not like I was just some passive object in any of those situations. I asked for it at the party. I came to you for advice. I knew my parents were at that game that day.” Jungkook draws steadily nearer, until their feet are almost touching and Yoongi has to tilt his head back to see his stormy face. “I could have stopped you and I didn’t. You never forced me into anything, okay? I’m an adult too, and I make my own choices, so don’t feel like I’m being subjected to you or something every time one of us messes up.”

Maybe Yoongi wouldn’t be able to see Jungkook’s chest heaving if he wasn’t standing so close. But he is, and he can, and it makes Yoongi feel just a little out of his mind as he says, “It still feels like my fault.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes. Now their toes are definitely touching as he looms over Yoongi, strangely urgent. “Well you’re wrong. You didn’t make me do anything. I didn’t come out for you, Yoongi, I did it for me. You were just very welcome collateral.” Jungkook seems to realize then, for the first time, how close he’s drifted and takes a half a step back. Yoongi is irrationally sorry to see him go. “You know why I came here? Because I decided that if I was ever going to have a chance with you then I was going to have to come and take it, since you clearly couldn’t be trusted with that task. So. Here I am, taking it.”

Jungkook takes a deep, calming breath, long enough for a bewildered sort of hope to begin to sprout. Yoongi feels his whole body tense as Jungkook leans down a little, as if to better meet his eyes. “Yoongi, even though you kind of suck at expressing anything other than, like, a fake, chill indifference, I’m like ninety-five percent sure you actually do love me, and as such, I think we should date.”

The words sound just rehearsed enough to be endearing. Jungkook hovers uncertainly over him now, all pink and nervous. It’s his turn now, and Yoongi doesn’t quite know where to look.

“Oh.” Is all he can force out, voice cracking.

“Yeah. Oh.”

And of course Yoongi would be damned if he didn’t use up this one, last opportunity to be a coward. “So just to clarify you don’t like―I don’t know―” He clears his throat. “Hate me?”

Jungkook looks incredulous. “Obviously not.”

“Yup. Okay good.” Yoongi’s stomach churns, painfully. “I don’t… hate you either.”

“I know that was probably supposed to be like one of those moments where you try to heavily imply what you really mean without actually saying it, and, like, I can appreciate that dramatic convention and all―” Jungkook crosses his arms, “― but if this is gonna work, you gotta be a little more explicit about these things sometimes.”

Easy for him to say when Yoongi is the one who feels like he’s burning from the inside out. “Fine. I really um.” He swallows. “Respect your initiative. You’ve grown a lot since I met you.”

Jungkook makes a face, but at least he doesn’t look so serious anymore. It finally makes Yoongi feel like he can unclench a little. “Okay, good but maybe try not to also sound like my coach while you do it.”

Why is this so hard? This shouldn’t be so hard.

“I really never gave you enough credit for being as mature as you are.” A quick breath in. “And you were right, I guess, about everything. Especially that last part.” He finds Jungkook’s eyes, intense on his face. His reservations don’t completely disappear, but somehow they don’t feel as oppressive anymore. “I do um. I do love you. Sorry it’s so hard for me to say, but I―”

The rest of his sentence is swept away as Jungkook lunges to close the distance between them and kisses him furiously. Yoongi makes a little hum of surprise, but that’s swallowed up too by Jungkook’s mouth, his body pressing closer. His hands cup Yoongi’s face as he settles over his thighs and tilts Yoongi’s head back to kiss him deeper. Yoongi wraps his arms delicately around his shoulders and Jungkook goes taut all over before he sighs and melts over him. The kiss gets less frantic, goes soft and languid as Jungkook’s thumb begins to trail his jawline gently and Yoongi finds a perfect hold in the small of his back. When Jungkook finally, reluctantly pulls away, it’s with a pleased grin.

“Sorry, you can continue.” He leans back, but he’s still staring at Yoongi’s lips.

 

“Uh. I forgot.”

Jungkook giggles. “Good. I don’t want to do any more deep talking, it’s fucking exhausting.”

Yoongi lets out a relieved sigh. “Okay. So we’re all okay?”

“Dude.” Jungkook pinches his cheek once, just to be annoying. “I think we’re more than okay.”

“Is it weird that you call me dude now that we’re officially together?”

“Definitely not. What is going to be weird though is the next time you meet my parents. I’d maybe like to introduce them to my boyfriend one day but you just went and made that significantly harder.”

Yoongi grimaces. “Sorry.” He starts to take his hands back but Jungkook catches his wrists and guides them back over his hips.

“It’s fine. I mean you did make a terrible impression on them but they’ll get over it. Probably.” He rests his head on Yoongi’s shoulder and readjusts in his lap. His lips find the dip of Yoongi’s collarbone through his shirt and press tiny, damp kisses through the fabric.

“Oh God.”

Jungkook lifts his chin up to laugh. “Nah, it’s really fine. I mean my dad was kind of horrified but my mom thought it was pretty hilarious. You should have heard them on the car ride to the hotel after we dropped off Beth. I mean they pretty much haven’t agreed on anything since the divorce, so nothing new there, but still…” He checks Yoongi’s face for a reaction, grinning, but when he notices the frown there he backtracks a little. “I’m sure my dad will come around though.” He pecks the side of Yoongi’s neck in consolation.

“Dude, no offence but Beth is an asshole.”

Jungkook only looks surprised for a moment before he snorts. “Yeah, she kind of is. If it makes you feel better, neither of my parents liked her.”

“It does, a little.” Yoongi sniffs. “Why would you even invite her if you knew she sucked that bad?”

“My dad wouldn’t stop bothering me all last semester about meeting my girlfriend. I tried to tell him I didn’t have or want one but he insisted. I needed to make him regret it somehow."

“That’s seriously it?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I mean she propositioned me once at the beginning of the school year but we never actually did anything, I promise.” He goes back to pepping kisses on Yoongi’s shoulder soft, yet scorching. Yoongi tilts his head to give him more room and lets himself float.

“Mmm, I believe you.”

“Good.”

Jungkook shifts around in his lap again. Yoongi is almost fooled into believing he’s just trying to get comfortable before it devolves into a much more obvious grinding. “Oh, you really are done talking, huh?”

“We can multitask.” Jungkook slides the collar of Yoongi’s shirt to the side and kisses softly down the side of his neck. His hips roll subtly, but with clear intention. “Is it weird that when you finally admitted you loved me it kind of turned me on?” His lips brush teasingly light over the junction of his neck and shoulder. Yoongi shivers.

“Yeah dude, a little.” Jungkook bites him, mean but not quite hard enough to leave a real mark. “Ow, I was kidding.”

“Good.”

Yoongi feels a million times lighter with every lost ounce of his shrinking doubt. Jungkook finds his lips to kiss him again, and it’s transcendent, the way they can just move together now, radiating on the same wavelength. It’s not the knowledge that he and Jungkook are perfect now that lends this contentment― because they aren’t and they probably never will be― but Yoongi’s not sure that’s not a bad thing anymore. Rather, it’s the relief of being absolved of the guilt that’s been there, subtly gnawing away at the inside of his brain for months that makes him feel like giggling, even as Jungkook’s thighs squeeze around his and he kisses him for all that he’s worth.

Yoongi holds onto that bliss as Jungkook strips off their clothes and rides him into the couch, fingers grasping, clawing― digging deep into Yoongi’s shoulders. He watches with a desperate sort of attention as Jungkook bounces in his lap, flushed, trying so hard not to whine. He’s failing a little, but Yoongi can’t very well keep quiet either with Jungkook wrapped around him, cute little lips caught open on a noise and his hips working a perfect rhythm, heavy and slow. Yoongi has never been more in awe of a person than when Jungkook comes up both of their chests with his head thrown back and throat exposed, gloriously spent.

Yoongi says it again then, whispered low into Jungkook’s ear as he grinds down, teasing onto Yoongi’s cock.

“Love you.”

 

Afterwards Jungkook steals all the blankets on his bed and rolls right into the middle, squirming until Yoongi shoves him over a foot to squeeze in.

“You know I love your bed.” Jungkook tells him, cold nose pressed into the back of Yoongi’s neck. “Much better than your couch.”

Yoongi curls in on himself under the covers and Jungkook contracts around him, knees tucking into the backs of Yoongi’s thighs. His big puppy boyfriend. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Jungkook makes a noise that’s not quite acknowledgement. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mmm. You sure did sleep there for a week. I know it wasn’t just ‘cause you fought with Jimin.”

“Oh you know that, do you?” Jungkook pulls him closer, close enough to snake his arm around Yoongi’s waist and lean in close, until his chin is bumping against Yoongi’s shoulder. He smells good, like showel gel and cinnamon.

“I do.” Yoongi allows himself a deep, luxurious inhale. “Why would you do that to me hmm? When you had a perfectly lumpy twin bed waiting for you back in prison― I mean the dorms.”

“It sure wasn’t for the company.”

“So you were just using me for my living room.”

“And sex.” Jungkook laughs and twists away as Yoongi attempts to pinch him. “Okay, okay. Maybe I just liked you. And your lovely shower that doesn’t make me feel like I’m teeming in bacteria just being in proximity Don’t pretend that you didn’t like me there.”

Yoongi makes a vague noise of protest, possibly contradicted by the way he burrows deeper under Jungkook’s arm. Jungkook hugs him closer, the only warm spot in his chilly sheets; his chest fits to Yoongi’s back like it was molded there.

“I always knew you couldn’t resist me Min Yoongi.”

 

There’s stretch of silence, one so homey and comfortable with Jungkook pressed up close beside him that minutes become indistinguishable from hours. Yoongi thinks he’s never been more content in his life. He lets his eyes slip closed and his breaths even out to match Jungkook’s soft, even exhales. He almost falls asleep, but there’s something still bothering him, something he can’t quite place that keeps him from bridging the gap into dreamworld.

Jungkook must feel him stiffen slightly in his arms and grumbles into the shoulder of his soft t-shirt. “Wha’s wrong?”

And Yoongi remembers now, remembers exactly what’s causing this growing, aching pit in his stomach.

“My meatball sub!”

He wriggles out of bed to run to the front door. There it is, laying sadly on the mat, receipt taped to the drooping paper bag. He hadn’t even heard the doorbell ring. He picks it up from the ground and carries it into the bedroom where Jungkook is sitting up in bed with the lamp on, looking adorably rumpled and confused.

Yoongi brandishes the bag over his head. “Look, I got us dinner.”

Yoongi had probably known for a long time, in some deep, repressed place in his mind, that he loved Jungkook. He’s never been more certain than in this moment, though, when Jungkook doesn’t even bother asking about the questionable source of the sandwich, just makes room for Yoongi to sit on the bed next to him and share his cold, soggy sub. It’s not a very good sandwich, but Yoongi is hardly bothered by the thick, disturbingly homogenous mushy texture with Jungkook there to share it with him, leaning heavily on his shoulder, this boy he wants to keep forever.





It’s hard to say which is more full afterwards, his stomach or his heart.