Okay, so, the apartment building that he and Hoseok live in is like—a problem, technically.
(Just…stick with him for a sec, there’s a point.)
For starters, the building is old.
Which isn’t really a problem in and of itself. They’re not exactly rich so they’ve only lived in old buildings, but they try to keep things at least earthquake code safe, you know? This building is— very much not that.
This building is old.
Like, old as shit. Like so old. Like very very very old. And also decrepit.
Seriously, the night they move in a piece of the roof literally falls the fuck off and lands on their glorified fire escape billed as a balcony—
“Holy fucking shit,” Yoongi says, staring out the window, “this place is so old it’s literally falling the fuck apart.”
“Sorta like you.” Hoseok responds, peers over Yoongi’s shoulder to see.
“I could get a different roommate.” Yoongi closes the curtains on the offending piece of roofing. “Also, we’re basically the same age so suck my dick.”
“Okay, hyung.” Hoseok says sweetly as he throws his arms around Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi sinks into Hoseok’s touch. Hoseok is warm and solid and smells like soap and cedar and home. Yoongi always sinks into his touch. “If you want me to.” Hoseok’s voice sing-song, his breath warm on the shell of Yoongi’s ear.
A little choice screen pops up in Yoongi’s head when shit like this happens, like he’s playing old school Pokémon only the options are all messed up,
c) fight him
d) kiss him (?)
Option A always wins out.
“Go away.” Yoongi grumbles, “Holly and I are discussing shit. It’s a private conversation. You’re not invited.”
Hoseok laughs as he retreats to the kitchen and Yoongi’s whole damn world lights up like a fireworks display. Yoongi hates Hoseok’s laugh because it’s a cackle and awful and terrible and a horrible sound.
(It’s beautiful and lovely and if it wouldn’t be weird Yoongi would hide a sample of the lilt of it in all his music.)
(That would be weird, right?)
“That would be weird, right?” He asks Holly.
Holly rolls his eyes. Metaphorically. Actually he just gets up and pads after Hoseok.
“You’re horrible.” Yoongi hisses after him. “Hate you. Ask Seok-ah to buy you food then if you love him so much.”
Anyway, the second half of that story aside, forget the second half of that story because it’s not the point— the point is that their apartment building is shit.
It’s not even an apartment building, if Yoongi’s being honest. It’s just a building. Sort of.
It’s three stories tall and a bit tilted, like it thought about collapsing one day and couldn’t go through with it. The bottom floor is an abandoned storefront, plastic over the broken windows, the desperate dead smell of the American Dream wafting through it—
This is Korea, Yoongi-hyung.
Does it or does it not smell like that, Hoseok-ah.
The second floor has two units which may or may not be empty—
Ghosts says Taehyung.
Witches says Jimin.
Drug dealers says Jeongguk.
Honestly Jeongguk is probably right.
And the third floor has Yoongi and Hoseok’s “one-bedroom apartment” and another unit, now empty, that briefly housed a couple who seemed completely confused as to why they lived where they lived. They always looked vaguely dazed when Yoongi saw them in the hallway.
(Under a spell, Jimin had hissed, because of the witches.)
It’s sort of an adventure, living here?
Like, the second time they get trapped in the old school elevator, the kind with the gate you have to close by yourself, Hoseok doesn’t even bother sobbing. Just slides down the wall and says, I don’t know why we take the elevator, this thing can’t pass code which, yeah, true. They’ve avoided the elevator as much as possible since then.
When they go downstairs one day and the front steps have either been stolen or collapsed in on themselves overnight, genuinely difficult to tell, Hoseok whips out his phone without missing a beat.
Yoongi hops down carefully, holds his arms out for Holly.
Hoseok passes him down—
“Ma’am, yes, I understand this sounds ridiculo—ma’am, ma’am, can I speak? Ma’am, the front steps are gon— they’re gone, ma’am. No, I’m being very serious, this is a hazar— ma’am, ma’am, please let me speak,”
—and then jumps down, doesn’t ignore Yoongi’s outstretched hand but sees it too late.
It stings a little, Yoongi holding his hand up and Hoseok not taking it.
A couple passing by gives Yoongi one of those bless your heart you poor thing sort of smiles when they see his outstretched hand and Hoseok seemingly ignoring it.
Yoongi snatches his hand back quick but, before he can shove it into his hoodie pocket, Hoseok grimaces apologetically, grabs Yoongi’s hand, and walks them toward the bus stop. Even when they’re out of sight of the couple, even when he’s done with his phone conversation, even when they get to the bus stop— Hoseok doesn’t let go.
The breeze kicks up while they’re waiting and Yoongi shivers, frowns at Hoseok. Hoseok smiles, huddles closer. The aftershave Hoseok uses is comforting. He smells like clean and pine forests and late fall. Yoongi shifts a tiny bit closer. (It’s cold, shut up.) Hoseok tugs his hand out of Yoongi’s only so that he can pull Yoongi’s hood back up for him when a particularly strong gust of wind blows it off. He throws his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders afterwards. Yoongi presses into Hoseok’s warm side, looks down at Holly, and tries not to think about how nice Hoseok makes him feel.
Hoseok’s not the point.
(Hoseok’s always the point.)
This story is not the point.
The point is that their building is shit. Like, they would not live here if they had more options. And by options Yoongi means money. They would not live here if they had more money.
At night the entire building creaks and settles and wind whistles through the halls and the cracks and the empty storefront downstairs and it all sounds like a thousand angry ghosts.
The second night at the place Hoseok had crawled to Yoongi’s side of the bed—
“Fucking listen, I know it’s nothing but—” immediately squirming around and putting bare icy feet directly on Yoongi’s back when Yoongi teased him.
They don’t sleep in the same bed on purpose, okay. They used to have separate futons, but the futons were old and shitty and distressingly uncomfortable. When they went to look for replacements— Hoseok, in Yoongi’s memory, with bright red hair and his heart shaped smile, bouncing on the mattress, hands reaching for Yoongi while he laughed come try this one, holy shit— the king size mattresses had been on sale. Like, massively. Like some sort of get these out of stock situation, one big mattress with a frame had cost less than it would cost to buy separate beds and, the fact of the matter is, they’re broke. Particularly broke at that juncture of their lives. But it’s whatever. They’re friends.
Friends with little to no money and an opportunity to loudly play California King Bed (it’s not a California king, said Seokjin, also you’re both terrible singers) and power belt the lyrics to each other when drunk. Not to the amusement of their neighbors, but then their neighbors had moved out. Because the building is shit but, more importantly, because their neighbors were assholes who couldn’t appreciate a roof over their heads.
(Hoseok and Yoongi had celebrated with cheap red wine and sang to each other from opposite ends of the bed, bottles as mics, friends trailing in and out at will.
“Hoseokie-hyung can literally make Yoongi-hyung do anything,” Jeongguk had said in awe, “that’s so cool, Hoseok-hyung is so cool.”)
But yeah, the place is something adjacent to haunted. Haunted sounding at the very least, and it freaked Hoseok out at first.
Yoongi had teased Hoseok the first time and then never again because he knows Hoseok doesn’t like shit like that. Also, to be fair, he likes Hoseok close, finds it comforting. They’ve slept in the same room since they were fresh out of high school, kids playing at being adults, and they’ve been in each other’s space for so long that Yoongi actually gets fucking weirded out when Hoseok’s not home, when there’s not the comforting sound of Hoseok’s steady breathing to help him drift to sleep.
Hoseok ended up on Yoongi’s side of the bed more nights than not, or Yoongi ended up on Hoseok’s side, wriggled his way across to sink into Hoseok’s warmth, half asleep and thinking of sunlight filtering through pine trees. At some point they started to wake up every morning in the dead center of the mattress, Yoongi curled into a ball, Hoseok wrapped around him, strong chest against Yoongi’s back, and they just sort of— gave up. Like, stopped making excuses to fall asleep pressed into each other’s empty spaces, Yoongi means.
But that’s not the point.
None of this is the point.
Forget all of this.
The point is—
Hoseok half-waking up yesterday morning, voice rough with sleep, are you getting up, it’s so early, come back, I swear I’m allergic to something hyung, I keep waking up with a stuffy nose burrowing under the covers and into Yoongi’s side, sniffling a little,
No, the point is—
Hoseok crash landing on Yoongi and tumbling them both to the bed, I got an audition, hyung, I got an audition, them laughing and speaking their joy, Yoongi pressing his fingers into Hoseok’s dimples like he can keep the smile on Hoseok’s face always if he touches with just enough pressure,
The point is—
Hoseok curling into Yoongi, crying these weird angry tears, I’ll be better, I’ll do better next time, it’s fine, it doesn’t fucking matter, it matters so much, fuck fuck fuck,
The point is—
Hoseok asleep in the mornings, lips slightly parted, sunbeams playing on his hair, his hand curled loosely near Yoongi’s,
The point is—
(The point is always Hoseok.)
The point is that all things considered, their unit is not that that bad.
Okay, it’s bad. That was a lie, it’s bad.
The kitchen was remodeled maybe in the 80s, so the laminate and backdrop are a fun and exciting addition to anyone’s kitchen. It has very nearly almost modern appliances and it transitions seamlessly into the “living space” which is tiger lily and avocado green with the exception of their bedroom, which is a lovely sort of elementary school cinderblock off-white.
The bedroom is also not a bedroom, in the strictest sense of the word. It’s a portion of the living room, separated by half a wall, a seemingly permanent beaded curtain, and suspension of disbelief, mainly from a very bored and tired building manager who doesn’t even stay onsite because why would he.
(“It’s nice because there’s a door for the bedroom so it’s not a studio.”
“There is no door.” Yoongi had told him.
“There is a door.” The man had said gesturing vaguely. “Is that a dog? Because technically you can’t have a dog here.”
“I like the door.” Yoongi had said, holding Holly protectively to his chest.
“It’s a good door.” The man had said, turning away.
Hoseok, standing in a cascade of beads with his hands upturned, smile on his face—
“Hyung, this is ridiculous. We have to live here.”
What was Yoongi supposed to do?)
Although, plus side for their apartment: it’s really fucking cheap. Sure, possibly because the building might be lowkey condemned, but savings are savings, right?
Namjoon says you can’t “lowkey” condemn something, it’s just condemned or not but Yoongi doesn’t really like that attitude.
Character, this building has character, Namjoon.
And housing code violations, Jimin added cheerfully.
And free pet mice, Taehyung said, pointing.
Surprisingly few ‘free pet mice’ though, something both Hoseok and Yoongi still feel suspicious of. They name the two they see most often George and Andrew and Holly strikes up a tentative friendship with them.
But yeah, the unit is absurdly cheap, which is awesome and part of why they moved in.
(But that’s because you’re literally gonna die here, Seokjin said.
Jeongguk, standing behind him, nodding with wide serious eyes as he mouthed the words die here.)
They had for real almost extra money last month. Money they put in a jar and then, after consideration, put in their joint account because this house is Not Safe and they’re pretty sure George the Mouse is a thief.
Okay, fine, Yoongi is pretty sure George is a thief.
Okay, fine, Yoongi is pretty sure the kids borrowed twenty bucks and Hoseok just hasn’t told him, but he’s blaming George because the kids can’t seem to work out if he’s serious and Hoseok is lying to him.
(It works, just by the way, later that week Hoseok sneaks up behind Yoongi and whispers that it’s not George’s fault.
“You’re an adult,” Yoongi says exasperated, “do you really think I think a mouse stole our money?”
“He’s just a mouse,” Hoseok says, “don’t be mad at him.”
“Stop.” Yoongi says.
“Hyung,” Hoseok laughs that loud laugh that’s reserved for Yoongi, drapes himself all over Yoongi and wrestles him to the ground, “Yoongi-hyung, he’s just a mouse don’t be mad at him.”
The way Hoseok smiles as he speaks. The way his cheeks turn into little round apples, his dimples appear as though summoned— it’s always been too much for Yoongi. Yoongi can’t help the way he smiles back.)
Anyway, Yoongi likes their place for the most part.
So, despite the sometimes allergies and the potential ghosts and the Death Elevator™, does Hoseok. He finds it hysterical.
“If we had more money,” Hoseok points out, when the lights go out for the fourth time in a week, “we could move to a place with, like, consistent electricity.”
“We don’t have more money.” Yoongi says, scooping Holly to his chest, “Because of fucking capitalism, stupid fuckin—,” he kicks one of the cabinets as he passes and it crashes to the tiles behind him. The one next to it falls off as well, knocks into Holly’s bowl, and splashes water across the floor.
“That’s on you.” Hoseok says, as Yoongi stares numbly.
“Wanna go look at what we can’t have?” Hoseok asks that night in bed, yawning and stretching under the covers, his toes brushing Yoongi’s calf.
Yoongi watches the shape of him move in the dark, traces the lines of Hoseok’s body under the sheets, and then all the lights come at once and Hoseok is looking at Yoongi look at Hoseok.
“I spend my whole life looking at what I can’t have.” Yoongi tells him, averting his eyes. “Sounds on brand for me.”
“Mmm,” Hoseok agrees, throwing a shoe at the light switch. The room cascades into darkness, “I know what you mean.”
So they do.
(Although they probably would have anyway, it’s always been the way they do things.)
They go on luxury condo tours and discuss granite countertops like they know what they’re saying. Yoongi carries Holly in a little purse, they wear sunglasses and clothing that Hoseok’s sister gets them through her contacts, brand names they can’t afford to even breath by but, if they take pictures and look nice for her Instagram, they can keep some of them, sometimes make a few bucks.
They go to open houses for fancy downtown two-story townhouses and eat the cookies, hide out in the bathroom and smoke hanging out the windows. They go to penthouse showings and drink champagne, discuss the ceiling to floor windows in loud voices and describe all sorts of things they could do up against them until the real estate lady comes over and smiles tight lipped, says sirs, if you could keep those thoughts a little quieter?
(So sorry, Hoseok, sliding an arm around Yoongi and into his back pocket, squeezing slightly, Yoongi biting down on his lower lip, (just a joke, he’s just pretending, shut up, Yoongi just shut up), Hoseok tilting their heads together, I just really love my husband.)
They go to networking events, pillage the free bars, share tiny little appetizers served on spoons. They participate in charity auctions haphazardly, a delicate balance, driving the price up but making sure they never win. They go to wedding cake and catering samplings, propose to each other for free desserts at fancy restaurants, though they do that less often because it’s harder to get away with it without kissing. (Regardless of who proposes, usually Hoseok just peppers Yoongi’s face with kisses while Yoongi sobs and then they share one chaste kiss that always tastes of salt.)
“How do you get away with this?” Namjoon asks. “Seriously, I’ve always wondered, how do you two get away with— how do you even get into half these things?”
“Dedication, commitment, ingenuity, fake wedding rings.” Hoseok says around a bite of noodles.
“They’re not fake in my heart.” Yoongi tells Hoseok in his most deadpan voice. “Love you.”
Hoseok screeches and kisses his cheek.
“Babe,” he says, “love you too.”
Namjoon gives Yoongi a look when Hoseok runs to the bathroom.
Yoongi gives him a look back.
They eat in silence for a moment.
“Do you hurt yourself on purpose like that, Yoongi?” Namjoon asks.
“Yep.” Yoongi says, fishing one of the bigger prawns out of the shared bowl to pop into Hoseok’s for him. “It’s fine.” He tells Namjoon around a bite of egg.
“What is?” Hoseok asks, returning.
“You.” Yoongi says without skipping a beat.
Namjoon chokes on some noodles.
But it is fine.
It’s better than fine.
Hoseok comes home with extra vegetables because he befriends everyone he meets and the grandpa who runs the tiny market up the block now saves them the really funny looking produce that he’ll have trouble selling at regular prices. Hoseok stands in the door, beaming at Yoongi over an armful of cabbage and oddly shaped eggplants, look what I got us.
(Hoseok watches Yoongi cook at night, humming to himself and painting bright pictures in the air with his words, all the things they are going to do and be, stories that always involve the two of them, Hoseok and Yoongi, Yoongi and Hoseok.)
Yoongi rolls a joint cross-legged in the tub, bathroom window cracked, Hoseok closes the door behind him carefully to keep Holly out, carrying blankets to make him and Yoongi a little nest, a bowl full of cherries for them to eat. Yoongi clicks on music, Hoseok flips off the lights, they smoke and talk. Hoseok bites cherries in half, pulls the pit out with his teeth, and feeds Yoongi the other half, fingers pressing insistently against Yoongi’s lower lip.
(Yoongi gets shaky sometimes when they smoke, that’s all, that’s why Hoseok does it, he’s trying to help—his fingertips stained red with juice, warm against Yoongi’s mouth.)
Hoseok speaks soft when he needs to, can coax Yoongi out of wherever he’s hiding, can drag Yoongi into sunlight even when Yoongi feels like he’s kicking and screaming. Hoseok knows when Yoongi needs to be alone too and sometimes retreats, disappears from the apartment so Yoongi and Holly can breathe it out however they need to, waits until they text,
seok-ah come home
(Hoseok coming in the door and getting to Yoongi in three quick steps, even though it should take more like seven, his arms around Yoongi, holding him in the lines.)
Yoongi and Holly make friends with the auntie who runs the flower stand just down the street, she loves Holly, dog sits for them sometimes, and Yoongi really likes her. She gives him flowers, the ones she doesn’t sell. Yoongi brings them home to Hoseok. (Brings them home he means, Hoseok just likes them.) Hoseok says you got me flowers, taps Yoongi on the nose with one like it’s a kiss, drunk off exhaustion and the bright colors. Hoseok trails the flower up and down Yoongi’s arm that night while they’re cuddled and watching Netflix, like he’s tracing the shape of Yoongi into the air.
(The petals leave strange echoes of touch on Yoongi’s skin and he has dreams that it’s Hoseok, Hoseok’s fingertips, his mouth, the brush of his eyelashes against Yoongi’s skin.)
The point of all this is that Yoongi and Hoseok share a barely one-bedroom tiny shithole of a place and Yoongi sort of loves it because it’s, you know, theirs.
So few things have gotten to be either of theirs but this— this is theirs. Just theirs. Only for them. Just like their friendship. It belongs only to them, to do what they want with it.
Yoongi’s not going to fuck it up because Hoseok has a pretty smile.
(He’s not going to fuck it up because he’s in love with Hoseok.)
((He’s so afraid he’s going to fuck it up.))
Which is not the point, it’s just that there’s not a lot that Yoongi thinks is, like, sacred. Hallowed. There’s not a lot in the world that doesn’t get fucked up. Even the things that other people call sacred they’re all just— things. Things you can touch, if you try. But Hoseok is different somehow. To Yoongi, Hoseok might be as close to sacred as things in the world get. He loves Hoseok. Loves him all sorts of ways. Ones that make his lower belly pulse with want, ones that make him think he can feel a little bird in his chest, fluttering its wings and learning how to fly, ones that make him feel sweet sweet sweet like a summer-sun warmed peach, ripe and glistening and soft enough that he might melt off his bones.
And the point is that it’s all fine because it goes like this—
Hoseok and Yoongi are a fucking team.
Hoseok and Yoongi have always been a fucking team.
Hoseok and Yoongi are always going to be a fucking team.
Hoseok and Yoongi have been best friends since Yoongi was seven and Hoseok moved in next door with his mom and his sister, peered at Yoongi through a crack in the fence and asked,
They made friends the way kids do— by the end of the first day they were inseparable. And they just kept being inseparable. Even when they fought with each other, you broke my bike, you pushed me too hard, you’re wrong about Robin, their fights devolved into hiding under Yoongi’s bed and whispering while Hoseok’s mom called from downstairs, kiddo let’s go, come on, the Mins need to eat too, okay?
Running away from bullies, learning how to skateboard, riding bikes too fast, bruised knees, scraped elbows, fingers tangled together as they jumped out of treehouses, crash-landing on sidewalks, breaking bones in weird inverted mirror images, Yoongi’s ankle, Hoseok’s wrist, at least you can still play piano mostly, at least you can still dance if you’re careful. Their whole childhood tasted of bloody lips and melting popsicles and the weight of each other’s names on their tongues.
There was soccer and basketball, dance practice and piano practice, school-wide fieldtrips where they got in trouble for leaving their groups to find each other, family beach trips that Hoseok’s family got invited to by the second year round and then always, his mom an honorary aunt, easy friends with Yoongi’s mom and Taehyung’s mom too. (Taehyung and Yoongi aren’t actually related, their moms had been best friends growing up, are still best friends. It meant something, that they liked Hoseok’s mom, that Hoseok’s family got invited.) Hoseok’s sister and Yoongi’s brother gave each other the distrustful eyes of adolescence while the adults teased; Yoongi and Hoseok and Taehyung cartwheeled down the beach and then Taehyung ran off to chase down a new friend and Hoseok and Yoongi crashed each other into waves, hid out under piers, chased seagulls away from crabs, fell down, got back up.
Him and Hoseok, Hoseok and him.
Hoseok was the one who helped Yoongi pierce his ears, sicker to his stomach than Yoongi was over it, the little beads of blood, Hoseok’s not even thirteen-year-old self wrapped into a ball on the tiles of the bathroom, face pale and drawn, hyung doesn’t it hurt, does it hurt? Hurt more in a weird way, a way thirteen-year-old Yoongi didn’t get, to see Hoseok feel sick to his stomach about seeing Yoongi’s pain.
When Hoseok ran away from home at the end of middle school, went to go try to find his dad, it was Yoongi who went along with him. Yoongi, who walked the city with him. Yoongi, who waited until Hoseok finally admitted defeat. Yoongi, who called their parents from a payphone while Hoseok sat on a park bench his mouth tilted and frozen in a strange smile, looking at nothing. Yoongi, who didn’t let go of Hoseok’s hand the whole bus ride back. Yoongi, who knew when it was okay to start talking, telling the worst jokes he knew, pouting and whining about anything he could think of, just to get Hoseok to smile.
When Yoongi got in trouble in high school for fighting with the administration because they wouldn’t let him start a LGBT club and he didn’t get what the fucking point of being student council president was if he had no actual ability to make things better for students, it was Hoseok who ended up actually suspended. Suspended for fighting with an upper classman about why Yoongi had in-school suspension, Hoseok’s mouth that tight tight line when he snuck in Yoongi’s window that night, beat up and bruised and in so much fucking trouble, burying his face in Yoongi’s neck, breath and tears hot, he called you something fucked up, I didn’t fucking—
When Yoongi’s father backhanded him hard enough Yoongi saw stars and said words to Yoongi that were so mean Yoongi’s mother came over and smacked him, told him not to talk to their son that way, their whole family a mess while they tried to work out what to do now that Yoongi wasn’t what they expected, Hoseok was the one who cleaned Yoongi’s face off careful, curled into bed with him. Hoseok’s mother on the phone downstairs, her voice filtering in under the crack of Hoseok’s door, yes, he’s here now, no I understand. It’s okay, he can spend the night, he can stay, don’t worry. Yoongi tried so hard not to cry and then couldn’t not cry, holding onto Hoseok’s t-shirt, ruining it with his tears and his blood when his lip split back open as he gasped Seok what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck do I do, I don’t know what to do, what the fuck, Seok, help me. And Hoseok did. Held him close, held a tissue to his lip, whispered Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi instead of hyung hyung hyung until Yoongi felt real again.
(And it was Hoseok, who took longer to forgive Yoongi’s dad than Yoongi did. Not that it was easy for Yoongi, but Yoongi worked at it, his dad worked at not being a piece of shit, it was a process.)
Yoongi and Hoseok. Hoseok and Yoongi.
Yoongi and Hoseok pilfering soju and spitting it out, coughing and choking; Yoongi and Hoseok trying cigarettes for the first time, blowing smoke in each other’s faces, dizzy and sick with the nicotine; Yoongi and Hoseok learning how to grow up and act like kids and pretend to be adults and scream loud and talk quiet and kiss and fight and fuck and fall down and get back up and fall asleep next to each other with words unsaid or said.
Him and Hoseok, Hoseok and him.
That hasn’t changed. None of it has changed, not really.
Yoongi and Hoseok hide in the backroom when they work late night caterings for fancy events and steal each other bits of salmon and sips of wine. Yoongi and Hoseok smoke in a blanket nest in the tub, the window open and the city screaming in. Yoongi and Hoseok eat ramen in convenience stores at 2AM while they argue about music. Yoongi and Hoseok—
Yoongi and Hoseok are doing okay, actually.
Hoseok got a position to be associate choreographer at the studio where he’s been interning. Like, a real job. Came with an offer letter and everything. He started two weeks ago. Better money for Hoseok. More importantly, a better job for Hoseok. Hoseok’s eyes fucking bright as stars when he talks about it. Yoongi loves it, asks him about it constantly just to see the way Hoseok’s face lights up.
Yoongi’s income is a little more scattered, sometimes Yoongi sells tracks and sometimes he does not, little windfalls, little dry patches. Right now it’s going okay. Not great, but okay. Good enough, some decent name recognition starting. He’s working at a radio station, interning, and really likes it. They seem to like him too, possibility of the possibility of more consistent work with them. Yoongi can almost almost taste the good things in the air but is trying to keep himself in check.
So, for now, he and Hoseok live in a shitty apartment that they probably shouldn’t be living in and Hoseok—
Hoseok could move out, you know?
He makes enough now to not have to live here. He shouldn’t have to live here. Yoongi’s not upset about that because, again, if Yoongi had a choice they wouldn’t live in this building. But Yoongi maybe doesn’t have enough money to live somewhere else right now and that’s sort of the point.
Well, part of the point.
Part of what is going through Yoongi’s head right now, sitting on their shitty second-hand couch, in their shitty condemned apartment, in their shitty condemned building, the fact that Hoseok—
“Hey,” Hoseok says, throwing himself on the couch, “what the hell are you staring at?” He wriggles one leg behind Yoongi so that he can pull Yoongi between his thighs, rest Yoongi up against his chest, “did you figure out Joon’s Netflix password?
“Mmm.” Yoongi sighs, cuddles in, pretends it means nothing even though it means everything.
Yoongi has no real reason to think Hoseok is going to leave. Hoseok hasn’t said anything about it. And, even if Hoseok was planning to move out, Yoongi can’t begrudge him it. It’s just this thought that’s sort of needled its way into Yoongi’s brain—maybe Hoseok should leave. Like, what the fuck did Yoongi think was going to happen? That they would always share a place together? That this was— what? Their forever? Him and Hoseok, Hoseok and him?
(Yeah, maybe a little. Maybe he lied to himself just a little.)
“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok sing-songs, “where did you go?”
“Sorry. Was gonna say let’s watch weird shit and fuck up Joon’s recommendations—”
“Oh absolutely.” Hoseok says, pulling the laptop closer. “Wait, did he make us a profile on his account?”
“He gave up.” Yoongi says smugly.
“Nice, we’ll bake him cookies,” Hoseok flicks through a few things, pauses, scrolls, pauses.
“Does that say steamy foreign dramas from the 1980s?” Yoongi yawns.
“There’s only one movie.” Hoseok says. “We’re absolutely watching that.” Hoseok taps Yoongi’s head. “Go, go.”
Yoongi groans, rolls himself off the couch, rummages on top of their dresser, and then settles into packing the pipe, listens to the little sounds Hoseok is making as he shoos Holly into the room, onto their bed, the way he shakes out the beaded curtain like he’s closing a door.
“Waste of weed.” Hoseok tells him with a yawn, as he flops back on the couch. “One hitters are the future.”
“We’re two people, Seok. For the last time.”
“I’m weak.” Hoseok informs him as though Yoongi isn’t overly aware of everything about Hoseok, “don’t pack it too full.” He tips over on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Besides,” he grouses, “you always wear chapstick and the pipe tastes like berries.”
“We’re on some nivea shit today.” Yoongi tells him. “I taste like pomegranates.”
“I bet you do.” Hoseok says, pitching his tone low. A shiver courses through Yoongi’s body, like Hoseok is tracing a fingertip down Yoongi’s spine. “Can’t wait to taste you.”
Just as an aside, just as a fucking aside—
Sometimes, like for instance right the fuck now, sometimes Yoongi thinks Hoseok sort of wants to sleep together. Like, that Hoseok thinks Yoongi’s pretty (Hoseok tells Yoongi that he’s pretty all the time) and wants to touch him. And that’s fine. That would be— Yoongi would be so into it? Except that Yoongi has a lot of feelings. Like, all of the feelings.
Yoongi has been in love with Hoseok for so long he doesn’t remember before he loved Hoseok.
When he was thirteen he thinks he knew and it was an immature kid’s love and he didn’t really know what it meant, but still. Maybe Yoongi realized exactly what kind of love he was in when he was closer to sixteen, or maybe he only realized somewhere after that, maybe when he slept with someone else the first time, or maybe he knew he was in love after a party when Hoseok trusted Yoongi enough to crawl into Yoongi’s bed and say, I lost my virginity, I feel kinda weird, I feel kinda weird about it, I don’t love the person I touched, hyung, was that okay? I wanted to, we wanted to, but was that okay, to not be in love? And Yoongi had said, yeah, I don’t know, I think so, I wasn’t either Seok, it’s okay. They held on to each other and talked about what they were supposed to do, how they were supposed to be grown now but they didn’t know what the fuck that actually meant, what the fuck it was supposed to mean. Maybe it was after that when he realized it for real.
It doesn’t matter really, when or how Yoongi fell in love. What matters is that it’s been there for what feels like forever and it’s not going away anytime soon. What matters is that Yoongi has made his peace with it. What matters is that all Yoongi wants is for Hoseok to keep looking at Yoongi the way he does— like he thinks Yoongi’s made of bright light too and not whatever it is that Yoongi’s made of. It’s not shadow or clouds or something so depressing like that, Yoongi doesn’t think he’s like bad or dark or some shit, it’s just that Hoseok— Hoseok smiles and the world smiles back. Hoseok deserves to have the world smile back.
So, yeah, Yoongi has a whole goddamn dictionary and then some worth of words about how he feels about Jung Hoseok and Yoongi’s not looking to fuck him and Hoseok up because, as far as he can tell, leaning over and kissing Hoseok for real pans out one of a few ways:
- he’s misreading the signs and Hoseok will be like ‘bro what the hell’ and they’ll be fucked up
- he’s not misreading the signs and he’ll have to tell Hoseok ‘we can’t sleep together because I’m tip-top of my head deep in love with you’ and they’ll be fucked up
- he won’t be able to say anything but touch me, please touch me seok and then he’ll sleep with Hoseok, be touched by Hoseok, and he’ll be ruined (more than he’s already let himself be ruined) and they’ll be fucked up
- yoongi, you’re a fucking idiot*
* [ADDEMNUM OPTION ACCORDING TO KSJ, KNJ, PJM, KTH, JJK with the approval of MYG who said yeah fair]
Hoseok is one of the most honest people Yoongi knows. He keeps things close to his chest with other people sure, but not with Yoongi. Yoongi knows everything about Hoseok. They’ve seen each other in all sorts of situations and despite getting drunk and high and ill and doped up on cold medicine and pressing close in bed and all sorts of other things around each other, they’ve never crossed the line between friends and more than friends.
(((You know what? Fuck off.)))
Hoseok’s been Yoongi’s best friend for, like, eighteen years. Yoongi’s been in love with him for, what, more than half of that? It would be stupid, to ruin it all now because Hoseok looks pretty backlit by the streetlamps, his smile glinting, his hair messed up, lips chapped, sniffling a little from the dust that’s particularly bad today, polka-dot sock clad feet pulled up onto the couch.
Hoseok respects Yoongi and loves him but doesn’t want the big thing Yoongi wants from him. Yoongi knows that. (Trust him, he knows.) So Yoongi respects Hoseok and doesn’t ask for what he knows he can’t have. Doesn’t ruin the fact that it’s him and Hoseok, Hoseok and him. And this would ruin it, because Yoongi can’t separate that in himself, can’t separate himself enough to have feelings for Hoseok that don’t get all tangled with what it feels like to have Hoseok’s tan skin pressed against his. Yoongi doesn’t work like that.
(Yoongi knows he doesn’t work like that. He’s already fucked it up a little, he kissed Hoseok, let himself be kissed by Hoseok, and it’s fucking him up. He’s fucking them up. Shit, shit, he’s fucking them up, if he could just stop thinking about it.)
((He can’t fucking stop thinking about it.))
Yoongi licks his lower lip, watches Hoseok shift, and then,
Elbows Hoseok, makes a face.
“I taste delicious. Pass me the lighter and start my steamy foreign drama from the 80s."
Hoseok smiles, tears his eyes away quick like a paper cut, and does.
So yeah, all of this is to say that their apartment is sort of shit, but Yoongi really likes it because Hoseok is there and Yoongi’s just processing for real that, like, oh yeah, what the fuck, we don’t get to be like this forever, I don’t get to have him like this forever. And that makes sense and he knew that, he always knew that, but—
Maybe the point is that Yoongi doesn’t want Hoseok to leave. Maybe that he should just ask Hoseok if he’s going to leave. Maybe that he should stop being such a dick and just tell Hoseok, hey, I’m fucking stupid in love with you. Maybe that Hoseok loves him already so many good ways and Yoongi feels guilty, feels like that by telling Hoseok I’m in love with you¸ he’s saying that what they have isn’t enough and that’s so far from fucking true. Maybe the point is that Yoongi can’t get the feel of Hoseok’s mouth off of his. Maybe the point is that Yoongi really fucking loves Hoseok, that he doesn’t feel any jealousy or bitterness that things are going well for Hoseok, that Hoseok is making money, that Hoseok has new opportunities, Yoongi just feels— happy. Happy that Hoseok is happy. Proud that Hoseok is doing so well. Inspired by the glint in Hoseok’s eyes. So maybe the point is— is that— that Yoongi— that Hoseok—
“Hey, hyung, you good?” Hoseok asks, brow furrowed.
Hoseok looks at him for a second then settles back against the couch, holds out his arms. Yoongi stops thinking, just tips into them. Into Hoseok.
(He’s so fucked.)
Anyway, the point is that their building is pretty shit.
The first time they kissed went like this—
Hoseok and him are young and confused, barely barely high school kids but already thinking they’re grown, running wild on the beach late one night, sparklers in their hands, out of reach of adult eyes.
Hey, hyung, have you ever kissed anyone before? Hoseok asks and Yoongi answers easily,
But Hoseok already knows that.
Hoseok waits, knows Yoongi’s not finished. Yoongi looks at him, watches Hoseok’s sparkler crackle out. The moon reflects off the water, reflects off Hoseok’s eyes, reflects into Yoongi. Hoseok makes Yoongi feel safe. He whispers a secret that Hoseok maybe already sort of knows, but Yoongi hasn’t said out loud yet,
Hoseok-ah, I wanna kiss boys.
He doesn’t have to wait, because Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat, never misses a beat, is always there where Yoongi needs him to be. Hoseok nods, then nods again like he’s confirming what he heard and acknowledging it, understanding it. Understanding Yoongi. It makes Yoongi feel seen. Hoseok makes Yoongi feel seen.
Hyung, I think I want to kiss boys too or— both, I don’t know exactly, it’s sort of hard to— figure out but— but me too, I’ve never kissed anyone, I’ve never, I— can we try?
A rush of words, but it’s Hoseok, so Yoongi knows they’re all honest ones. And it’s Hoseok, and Yoongi’s wondered what it would be like to kiss someone. And it’s Hoseok, and Yoongi sort of wants to kiss Hoseok’s pretty heart-shaped mouth, even though Yoongi doesn’t let himself think about that too much, doesn’t really know how to think about that too much. And it’s Hoseok, and Yoongi thinks it would be good to have his first kiss with Hoseok because, even if Yoongi’s bad at it, it’s Hoseok. It’s him and Hoseok. It won’t be bad.
Yoongi’s sparkler flares close to his fingers; he drops it into the sand.
Both of them speak at the same time, their words all tangled, whispering like someone is going to hear them over the rushing sound of the surf.
let’s try, let me kiss you, it’s okay right?, it’s okay it’s okay, it’s just us, just us, how do we—let’s—, if it’s us then it’s okay, come here, I want to try too, this is okay, you’re okay, right? im okay im okay, you’re okay too, yeah? yeah, yes, I am
—the ocean’s so loud and the spray of it is so cold, but Hoseok is so warm and something feels so quiet really deep inside of Yoongi, underneath the part of him that’s nervous and worried that he’ll mess it up somehow, mess Hoseok up somehow, mess himself up somehow. The part of him that’s scared and shouting you’re still a kid, you don’t know what you’re doing
I don’t know what I’m doing, Yoongi whispers.
S’okay, Hoseok whispers back, me neither.
Hoseok’s mouth touches his and everything goes still. Yoongi’s whole body pulses in one sickeningly pretty thud. It’s a terribly perfect first kiss.
(“Your brother stopped us.” Hoseok muses, maybe four years later. The two of them are drunk and hanging off the side of the couch, Hoseok’s fingers digging tight into Yoongi’s jeans because this is before he finally admits how low his tolerance is, when he still drinks too much and gets the spins, unsure which way is up and which is down, and clings to Yoongi like Yoongi is keeping track for him. He’d twisted himself around on the couch a second ago and said hyung, do you remember when we kissed? out of the blue. Yoongi had to bite back a burst of laughter. Does he remember when they kissed? Of course he does. His mouth is still bruised with it.
“Stopped us?” Yoongi traces the lines of Hoseok’s face with his eyes.
“Shout’d for us.” Hoseok slurs. “Only got to kiss you once.”
More than once, in Yoongi’s memory.
“We got— I mean we kissed more than once.” Traces the line of Hoseok’s face with a fingertip.
“Mmm,” Hoseok’s eyes flutter closed, “don’t stop doing that. And I mean, I only got t’ kiss you once properly ‘fore I made you bleed, I guess. Sorry.”)
On the beach, their lips touch and it’s warm and dry and Hoseok’s eyes are closed but Yoongi’s are open. They pull back after a heartbeat, both of them wide-eyed now, as though startled by what they’ve done.
are you okay, was that okay, are you okay, can we—, can we—,
They move forward at the same time and there’s a clash of their mouths, frantic, confused, as they try to figure out what to do, how to tilt heads, not bash noses, not knock teeth.
Hoseok’s hands are tight on Yoongi’s shoulders and Yoongi’s hands are tight cupping Hoseok’s face, Hoseok's all nervous loud excited energy under Yoongi’s fingertips. Yoongi too though, he's surprised by how good this feels, a little scared maybe by how good Hoseok’s mouth feels against his. He's trembling; he thinks Hoseok is holding him steady. Hoseok makes a tiny sound into Yoongi’s mouth, one Yoongi almost imagines he can taste, and presses forward, but Yoongi’s unprepared for Hoseok’s sudden body weight.
They stumble, trip, there’s sand in Yoongi’s mouth and the sharp prick of Hoseok’s teeth and a tang of blood but, before they can recalibrate, before they can sort themselves out and ask are you okay, before they can even break the kiss properly, there’s shouting in the distance.
They spring apart, a strange almost guilty scramble for space, Hoseok jerking to his feet as Yoongi’s brother runs toward them, jumps over a piece of driftwood. He skids to a stop, flashlight beam bouncing between their faces,
What’s up ki—what the fuck? Shit, Yoongi-yah, are you bleeding?
Yoongi is still on his back on the ground, a hand raised to try and block his eyes from the sudden bright light. The taste of iron is sharp on his tongue. He can’t find words yet. He needs to see Hoseok, needs to know what face Hoseok is making.
Did you guys get into a fight? Hey, did he fucking hit you? Did you hit my brother?
Hoseok’s wide eyes reflect the moon back at Yoongi. He looks terrified.
Yoongi finds his voice quick, to protect Hoseok.
No, shit, I tripped and fucked up my mouth, dude. Seok was helping me, don’t be an asshole, asshole.
As they follow Yoongi’s brother back to their parents at the bonfire, Yoongi can’t stop worrying the cut on his lip from Hoseok’s teeth. He’s sort of shaking, his body has all this extra go run fight hide that it doesn’t know what to do with. Something big just happened. He wants to kiss Hoseok again and he wants to be eight years old and not really understand what kissing is so that they can hold hands and run down the beach like they used to. He’s confused, he feels outside the lines.
He wants to reach out to Hoseok, to touch him and make sure Hoseok’s still there. Yoongi wants to make sure he’s still there himself, find the lines of his body through the press of Hoseok’s hand. He wants to hold Hoseok’s hand and say, it’s okay, seok-ah, it’s okay, and he wants to hear Hoseok say it’s okay, hyung, promise, it’s okay.
But he can’t.
Yoongi’s brother keeps turning around every few steps, eyes on them distrustful, like he thinks Hoseok hurt Yoongi on purpose, like he knows something happened but can’t figure out what.
(Yoongi’s mind on repeat don’t figure it out, don’t figure it out, please don’t figure it out.)
There’s a brief second when they’re almost almost alone— Yoongi’s brother runs ahead shouting for their mom—and Yoongi uses it to reach out for Hoseok, tangle their fingers for a second. Hoseok inhales, quick and sharp, and then squeezes Yoongi’s hand back so tight Yoongi’s knuckles press together uncomfortably.
There’s a chorus of adult voices, a rush of noise when they get back to the campfire, ice for Yoongi’s lip as he endlessly repeats, I fell down, I tripped, I fell down, it wasn’t Seok’s fault, it was my fault. Hoseok curls up by his mother, curls into her side like he used to do when he was a kid, like he still is a kid, Yoongi feels like a kid, mom I’m fine, stop it, get off of me.
That night, late, when they’re huddled in their twin beds— Yoongi’s brother asleep and sprawled across the third, Taehyung sighing softly in his sleep under the covers of his— it’s the closest thing to just the two of them since they kissed. Yoongi knows Hoseok isn’t asleep yet. The windows and curtains are open and the room is bathed in pale silvery light. It’s a little hard to see Hoseok, but the lines of his face are clear, the downward curve of his mouth is clear.
Yoongi waits until Hoseok’s eyes met his and then mouths,
Hyung, Yoongi-hyung, Hoseok’s face crumples like he’s going to cry, sorry
Yoongi gets up and crawls into bed with Hoseok, curls up next to him so that they can lie with their knees touching, their hands close enough to feel the heat of each other, two little semi-circles on Hoseok’s sheets. There’s salt in the air, salt in Yoongi’s mouth, salt in Hoseok’s eyes. Hoseok’s pinkie rests tentatively against Yoongi’s.
They speak quiet quiet quiet so they don’t wake anyone up,
Hyung, sorry I made you bleed, sorry I hurt you.
You didn’t. Thanks for being my first kiss, Seok-ah.
Yoongi gets home and Hoseok is leaning against the kitchen counter, stretching one ankle in a strange way, like something about it hurts but he hasn’t decided what yet.
His eyes are shut tight.
“Hi.” Yoongi says, putting down his bag and bending over to scratch Holly’s ears. “Need to go out, bud?” He coos as Holly licks his face.
“Hey.” Hoseok says. He blinks until he focuses in on Yoongi and Holly. “Took Holly out a few ago, he’s good for now. How are you?”
“Okay.” Yoongi smiles, gives a quick rundown of his day, the work he got done, the fact that the radio station really likes what he’s been doing with the late-night hour he’s been covering. There’s even some actual talk, nothing super serious yet, but actual actual talk, of Yoongi working for them proper once the internship is over. Not just the possibility anymore. Yoongi wants it. He doesn’t have to say that though, Hoseok already knows. Yoongi moves around Hoseok as Hoseok listens, still moving his foot like he’s working a kink out of his ankle.
“That’s awesome, hyung.” Hoseok says and smiles for the first time since Yoongi got home. “Fuck, I told you. You’ve got a voice for radio, you—”
“Yeah, and a face for it.” Yoongi says, reaching behind Hoseok for a glass.
“Fuck you, you have a face for TV, for looking at, for medium to large sized posters.” Hoseok sighs. “But seriously, hyung, you play good music, people find the way you talk interesting and pleasant to listen to, your insight into music is intriguing, you got that Daegu drawl the girls think is hot, you—”
“What about the boys?” Yoongi says as he gets some water.
“Eh,” Hoseok shrugs and then breaks into one of those open-mouthed laughs that take over his whole face as Yoongi pouts, kicks at him lightly, careful to avoid the ankle Hoseok seems uncertain of. “Seriously, hyung,” Hoseok says, still grinning, “that’s awesome.”
“Whatever.” Yoongi frowns, which means this means a lot and I can’t talk about it right now because what if I don’t get it? what if I don’t get it shit shit shit. Hoseok nods, understands, lets Yoongi drop the subject. “How are you?” Yoongi asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows.
“Good.” Hoseok shrugs. “You know."
Pretty shit then.
The thing is that Hoseok doesn’t take well to being coddled. Hoseok is a really strong person, and he’s very conscientious of how he treats people, what worries he lays at the feet of others, what burdens he shares with them and how— even with Yoongi, who he loves and trusts. It’s just part of how Hoseok works. He talks in his own time in his own way. Sort of like how Yoongi does, they get each other like that. So, even though all Yoongi wants to do is cuddle Hoseok into a pile of mush on the couch and demand that Hoseok say all the bad things in his head so Yoongi can take them away, that won’t work. It would also make Hoseok mad.
“Cool.” Yoongi says. “You want fried rice for dinner?”
“Sure.” Hoseok says and pushes himself up and away. “Gonna go shower.”
Yoongi fiddles around, unpacks his stuff, makes sure they’ll have everything to actually make dinner, plays with Holly until the water stops and Hoseok comes out all clean and damp-haired and perfect. He settles himself on the couch in a giant t-shirt and sweats, looking so soft and tired that Yoongi’s whole heart aches.
Hoseok's still sort of holding his ankle funny. Yoongi’s pretty sure it’s not hurt hurt, because Hoseok wasn’t limping or anything like that, but he must have tweaked it during class or something, one of those nagging worries in the back of his head, what if I really fucked it up? Yoongi watches him tilt against the arm of the couch, close his eyes, mouth in that little half-pout, half-tight-tight line that means he’s upset.
The fact that he’s out on the couch and that he didn’t choose to find space in the ways they can— take a longer shower, curl up on the bed, say he’s going for a walk— the fact that he was even home when Yoongi got home and not up on the roof or out in the park or just generally trying to find space, that means he doesn’t want to be alone.
Holly paws at Yoongi. Yoongi waves hands toward Hoseok.
Go, Yoongi mouths, go
Holly tilts his head.
He needs you, Yoongi mouths urgently, it’s not dinner time yet, go to Hose—
“Are you whispering at your dog?” Hoseok asks, looking at Yoongi. “Are you fighting with your dog?”
“What if I am?” Yoongi asks, scooping Holly up and depositing him in Hoseok’s arms. “He’s being annoying, he’s yours now.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes but cuddles Holly to his chest.
“As if you would give up Holly.” He says. “Inn’t that right, Hols? Your daddy loves you too much.”
“Please.” Yoongi says and drags his eyes away from them. He busies himself in the kitchen while Hoseok whispers and hums to Holly, watches as Holly and Hoseok’s hands sometimes appear over the back of the couch, Hoseok lifting the dog up and then cuddling him back tight.
Yoongi turns the rice cooker on, balances two mugs, and crawls over the arm of the couch, scoots the less chipped one towards Hoseok.
“Huh?” Hoseok says.
“It’s peppermint tea.” Yoongi says. “Drink it.”
“I didn’t ask for tea.” Hoseok frowns. “Why did you make me tea?”
“Don’t get cocky, buddy,” Yoongi pouts. “I don’t even like you. I was making tea for Holly and overfilled the kettle.”
“A lot of things about that feel like a lie.” Hoseok says, but he pushes himself to sitting and takes a sip. “Thanks.” His voice is somewhere between groggy and strained, like he’s maybe getting a cold or maybe just wants to scream at the top of his lungs for a few hours.
Yoongi waits until there’s a little bit of silence, a little bit of their tea has been drunk, and Hoseok has sort of relaxed next to him. The tension isn’t gone from his body, but his edges have softened a bit.
Yoongi tips over so his head is on Hoseok’s shoulder and hums, runs his fingers over the lettering on Hoseok’s sweats.
“Something I can help you with, hyung?” Hoseok asks, his breath warm on the top of Yoongi’s head, ruffling his hair.
“Yep.” Yoongi says.
“Need a hug?” Hoseok asks quietly.
“Yep.” Yoongi says.
Hoseok wraps his arms around Yoongi careful, lets Yoongi shuffle a little on the couch to make the angle less weird, but it’s still a bit awkward.
“This is a shitty hug,” Yoongi tells him, “you suck, Hoseok-ah.”
Hoseok exhales in one quick huff and wraps his arms around Yoongi’s waist, pulls Yoongi half onto his lap, burrows into Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi wraps his arms around Hoseok tight and presses his face into Hoseok’s hair. Hoseok gets a little touch-starved when he’s upset, finds the press of people comforting, like the body heat helps him, and this is how Yoongi reminds Hoseok that he’s there for him, when Hoseok is ready to share.
“Better?” Hoseok says but muffled, speaking into Yoongi’s skin.
“Yes.” Yoongi says, tucks himself a little closer into Hoseok, tucks Hoseok a little closer into him. “Yeah, this is good, Seok.”
Hoseok’s arms wrap a little tighter around Yoongi’s waist somehow and then he stops moving and just breathes. They sit. They hold on. They stay like that long enough that Holly gets bored of them, jumps down from the couch and wanders over to his bed, brings back a toy, jumps up to nudge them with it.
Hoseok makes a little wet sound.
“My dog needs me.” He tells Yoongi, pinches Yoongi’s side.
“I’ll go start dinner.” Yoongi says and clambers off of Hoseok and the couch, careful not to jostle Hoseok’s ankle just in case. He ignores that Hoseok’s eyes are a little red.
Hoseok reaches out and catches Yoongi’s hand. He doesn’t say anything, just sort of strokes his thumb over the bones of Yoongi’s wrist for a few seconds, eyes downcast, and then scoffs lightly to himself, smiles up at Yoongi.
“Nothing.” He says, like Yoongi asked him a question.
“Okay.” Yoongi tells him. “That’s okay too.”
In bed that night Hoseok curls up around Yoongi and whispers into the nape of his neck,
hyung, I never should have gotten hired, I’m not ready for this, I’m not ready for what they need me to do, I fucked up the 16 counts I was supposed to prepare as part of my example choreography, I could tell they didn’t like it, I can tell they don’t like me—
And Yoongi wants to tell him that he’s wrong, that’s he’s brilliant, that he’s going to be okay, that it’s expected to feel out of his depth, that he is so so so good and so so so hard-working and, even if he is underprepared for certain parts of his job, he is Hoseok and he will be okay. But Hoseok doesn’t want him to do that, Hoseok won’t feel comforted by a rush of words, even if he knows Yoongi means every single one.
Yoongi holds tight to Hoseok’s wrist, Hoseok’s arm around his waist, and listens instead.
—I’m not good at the style of dance they need right now. They probably regret hiring me. I have a review coming up soon and I fucked this up and it’s too close— it’s all they’re going to be thinking about and I just— I just feel— not. Not enough. I just—. Associate choreographer, who was I kidding, I feel like I’m not good enough, I’m probably not good enough, hyung.
When Hoseok is done, when he has talked himself out in a measured voice, and the back of Yoongi’s head is damp with his frustrated tears, Yoongi taps Hoseok’s wrist so that Hoseok loosens his arms. Yoongi rolls himself over and pulls Hoseok’s face down to his collarbones.
“Okay.” He tells Hoseok. “Okay, Seok-ah, it’s okay to feel like that too.”
Hoseok makes a strange sad sound and pulls Yoongi close close close. They breath together for a little while and then Hoseok whispers—
“Tell me I can do it, hyung.”
“You can.” Yoongi tells him.
“You don’t know anything about dance.” Hoseok responds almost instantly, “You have no idea if I can.”
“I know you.” Yoongi says. “Hoseok-ah, I know you.”
Hoseok tightens his hands in Yoongi’s sleep shirt, nuzzles in a little closer.
“Is your ankle okay?” Yoongi asks Hoseok quietly.
Hoseok makes another soft sound. “Noticed that, huh?” Yoongi feels Hoseok’s eyelashes brush against his skin as he shifts. “Yeah, tweaked it getting off the bus coming home. It’s okay, scared myself, thought I really hurt it for a second. Thank you for asking.”
Yoongi lifts a hand up, rubs the back of Hoseok’s neck slow and careful. The angle’s not quite right, but Hoseok goes a little limp against him.
“Feels good.” Hoseok mumbles after a moment.
“Here, roll over.” Yoongi whispers.
Hoseok squirms around on the bed, kicks his legs out until he’s lying on his stomach, blinks over his shoulder at Yoongi in the dark of the room. Yoongi sits cross-legged beside him, tilts Hoseok’s face back down with gentle hands.
Hoseok whimpers when Yoongi first touches him but then tries to control himself, biting his lower lip hard, eyes closed tight. It takes a minute until his face starts to relax, his lips part gently, his breathing slows, and some of the tension in the line of his body seems to leave.
Yoongi touches Hoseok, rubs his neck and his shoulders, until Hoseok is half asleep and making these really little sounds under Yoongi’s hands, unconscious ones. Yoongi curls up next to him, scratches his nails lightly on the nape of Hoseok’s neck, rubs the lobe of Hoseok’s ear, touches the inside of Hoseok’s wrist, his forearm, with soft drifting fingers.
Hoseok sighs again, a sweet little sound.
“Yoongi-hyung,” he says almost dreamily.
“Yeah, Seokseok?” Yoongi asks, brushing Hoseok’s hair back from his face, running his fingers through it as lightly as he can. The streetlamps are casting strange light into the room and the dark circles under Hoseok’s eyes are patterned with the shadows of his eyelashes. Yoongi rubs Hoseok’s earlobe again, doesn’t let his fingers drift and trace the line of Hoseok’s jaw.
Hoseok mumbles something but sleep drags most of the words away from Yoongi and all Yoongi hears is his name like an exhale and then Hoseok is quiet.
The second time they kissed went like this –
Yoongi’s twentieth birthday, a haphazard affair at a club that is lax with ID checks. The night leaves everyone who attends good dizzy and exhausted, even though half of them don’t drink that much at all. Yoongi and Hoseok make it home to the shit flat they share, stumbling and holding on to each other, laughing hard enough that Yoongi’s stomach hurts.
Yoongi tears off his jacket, kicks off his shoes, pulls off his jeans, pulls on a big t-shirt that is probably Hoseok’s but half their stuff is each other’s stuff anyway, and tumbles onto his futon.
“Sleep.” He groans.
“Wait,” Hoseok says, still kicking off his shoes, “no, wait—” Hoseok stumbles to the kitchen, “got you—wait, got you—”
Flowers. Pale blue morning glories, Hoseok blushing a bright pink as he thrust them at Yoongi.
“We don’t have vases.” He mutters, fingers tight on the red solo cup holding the flowers. “And you don’t like roses.”
Yoongi smiles at Hoseok, smiles at the flowers, bites his lips hard to stop the smiles. He sits in the dead center of his futon and puts the flowers next to it, draws his knees to his chest while he looks at them.
“They’re pretty.” He tells Hoseok and Hoseok beams.
“And this,” Hoseok says, rummaging in his bag, and shoving a little bottle at Yoongi. Not quite perfume. “It smells nice.” Hoseok says defensively, as he plops down in front of Yoongi on the hardwood floor. It does, sandalwood and tangerines, a sort of spice underneath that, something almost bitter.
“Smells good.” Yoongi says honestly, grins at how pleased Hoseok looks. “Thank you.” And a kiss too, right? He almost jokes, but bites the words back.
Hoseok scoots toward him a little.
“Happy birthday.” Hoseok says, and then is the sort of still he gets when he’s thinking something over very carefully, making sure he knows what he wants to say before he says it. Yoongi lets him think, trails his eyes over Hoseok in the dim light of their room, the curve of his neck as he tilts his head, the line of his jaw, the bow of his lips.
Yoongi’s a little dreamy, soft around the edges, not that much of anything left in his system but just enough that he sort of feels like smiling, sort of feels like humming, and Hoseok looks so good, sat with crossed-legs, close enough that Yoongi can see a drop of sweat on his temple.
Yoongi thinks, very much not for the first time,
Hoseok’s really pretty.
Yoongi wants to touch.
“We’re home now.” Yoongi says. Hoseok starts, looks at him. “Why are you still wearing your jacket?” Yoongi asks, lifting his hands so he can trace the collar.
“Oh.” Hoseok whispers. “Yeah, okay, good point.”
Yoongi lets his knees fall open so that he’s sitting cross-legged in front of Hoseok, smooths the lapels of Hoseok’s denim jacket, slides fingers underneath so that he can slip it off Hoseok’s body. He has to lean up to do it, gets a little bit of height on Hoseok, and watches Hoseok’s eyes flick to Yoongi’s mouth, flick back up to Yoongi’s eyes.
When Yoongi sits back down their knees knock.
“What?” Yoongi asks, because Hoseok is looking at him all serious, dark eyes, pursed lips. Hoseok doesn't answer so Yoongi hums, tugs on a lock of Hoseok's freshly dyed back to black hair. “What, Seokseok?”
“Part of the present,” Hoseok says very seriously, “because you’re twenty now, part of the present is—I mean, if you want—”
“A kiss,” Yoongi says because he’s dreaming, he’s fallen asleep and he’s dreaming, and it doesn’t matter. Dream Hoseok will kiss Yoongi soft and sweet probably, taste like those minty drinks Hoseok likes, lime and fresh green.
“If you want.” Hoseok repeats, like there is a very specific reason Yoongi will not want a kiss.
“If I want?” Yoongi responds in the same tone. Yoongi can’t think of what reason there is that he wouldn’t want a kiss.
“Well, last time I made you bleed.” Hoseok whispers, guilt flitting across his features, a little wince. “I’ve learned how to kiss since we were kids though, probably wouldn’t make you bleed this time.”
“You didn’t mean to make me bleed.” Yoongi says. “Stop it, stop that. It was a good first kiss, Seok.” He bites his tongue almost hard enough that he makes himself bleed to stop the words that want to come out next, kiss me kiss me, please kiss me
“Right.” Hoseok says.
“You won’t make me bleed.” Yoongi says because that seems safer, because he thinks it will get the point across.
“Won’t?” Hoseok repeats the verb change, eyes alert.
“Won’t.” Yoongi repeat and waits.
Yoongi’s not sure what sort of kiss Hoseok is offering and he doesn’t want to make Hoseok uncomfortable by initiating. Yoongi doesn’t mind waiting. Yoongi doesn’t even mind if Hoseok doesn’t end up kissing him. Hoseok looks so nice, sitting in front of Yoongi, long fingers playing with each other, twisting and twining, resting over Yoongi’s ankles, sometimes brushing skin. Yoongi just wants to stay in this moment a little longer, kiss or no kiss.
“It’s okay?” Hoseok asks, looking at him intently, “I mean, if your twentieth birthday kiss is me.”
“Hoseok-ah.” Yoongi says, pressing his hands against Hoseok’s chest so that he can feel Hoseok’s heart beat under his palm. He doesn’t know what else he wants to say, so he says it again. “Hoseok-ah.”
Hoseok rocks forward and lifts up, presses a soft kiss to Yoongi’s forehead, one to his cheek, one to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. As he sits back, he raises his hands so that he can cup Yoongi’s face.
“Yeah?” He asks again, face still close, giving Yoongi another chance to back out.
Yoongi nods, lets his eyes flutter closed.
Hoseok exhales, a little huff of warmth on Yoongi’s lips, and then leans forward and kisses Yoongi. Warm. Hoseok is so warm. Yoongi feels so warm. The kiss is simple, a gentle press of lips. Actually, it’s probably the most chaste kiss Yoongi has ever received, somehow more innocent than the one he and Hoseok had shared when they were younger. And that’s it, really, that’s why, because they’re not kids anymore, so the deliberate choice to press innocently—
It feels like something very important.
It makes Yoongi feel very important.
Hoseok pulls back but not away, eyes flicking over Yoongi’s face, gauging his reaction. His thumbs soothe the sides of Yoongi’s face.
“Not bleeding?” He asks, after a moment, speaking very quietly.
Yoongi can’t find his voice for some reason, shakes his head.
“Good.” Hoseok leans in again and stops a hair-breath away, like he just realized birthday kisses are one kiss.
“One more?” Yoongi breathes. “Just to make sure.”
“Yeah,” Hoseok whispers and kisses him again. It’s so tender, the way Hoseok is kissing him, almost calming, a hint of his tongue on the seam of Yoongi’s mouth but that’s all, just soft soft soft. Yoongi slides his hands up to the neckline of Hoseok’s t-shirt and holds on.
Hoseok lets the kiss linger, then pulls back. Yoongi flutters his eyes open after a moment, when Hoseok doesn’t move away but also doesn’t kiss him again.
Hoseok’s resting delicately above Yoongi, so close Yoongi can feel the warmth of Hoseok’s mouth. He’s looking at Yoongi. Looking at Yoongi like he wants to see what Yoongi looks like right at this exact second. Like it’s important he knows. Yoongi sighs without meaning to, a little dreamy sound.
“One more?” Hoseok asks. His voice sounds slightly ragged.
“Yeah.” Yoongi whispers, falls back and sideways against his pillow, hands tight in Hoseok’s shirt.
Hoseok follows the movement, presses Yoongi back into the futon and hovers above him for a second, face intent, the way it is when he’s memorizing something.
“Yeah?” Hoseok asks quietly, “it’s okay, right?”
Yoongi nods, even though he means for the motion to be smooth it comes out slightly jerkily.
“Yeah, Seok. Birthday kiss.”
Hoseok makes this weird almost impatient sound, but it flits from Yoongi’s mind too fast because Hoseok sinks down on his forearms, chest pressed warm against Yoongi’s.
He kisses Yoongi, kisses him for real, scrapes his teeth along Yoongi’s lower lip, glances his tongue like he’s asking for permission.
Yoongi gives it. Tilts his head, opens his mouth, lets Hoseok take something, Yoongi doesn’t know what but something, that he thinks has belonged to Hoseok for a long time anyway.
Hoseok tastes a little bit like fresh mint. Hoseok tastes a little bit like rum. Hoseok tastes a little bit like something sweet. Hoseok tastes a little bit like the way he murmurs Yoongi when their lips part for a moment, and then Hoseok is kissing Yoongi again and it’s not so chaste, but it’s not dirty and messy either it’s— thorough. Deliberate. Like Hoseok was waiting, like Hoseok knew how he wanted to kiss Yoongi, had been thinking about it.
(Yoongi’s pretty sure he’s projecting, but he lets himself sink into the feeling, just a little.)
They kiss until they can’t breathe; until Hoseok’s pulse is thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings against Yoongi’s hand where he’s slid it up to hold Hoseok steady; until Yoongi is trembling and floating and everything all at once, only held down by Hoseok on top of him.
When they part the silence in the room not unbearable, but a different sort of heavy. Weighted. Hoseok is still so close and his mouth is red and wet with Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi is almost dizzy with want for it to be back against his again.
Hoseok looks at him like he’s waiting for Yoongi to speak first.
Yoongi’s not sure what to say.
He feels good. Tingly all over. He wants to kiss Hoseok again, but that’s too much, that’s asking for too much, that’s going too far. He doesn’t know how to put it into words what he feels. He doesn’t know what the right thing to say is. He doesn’t want Hoseok to feel awkward or upset. Yoongi doesn’t feel awkward or upset. He just feels warm.
“I’m not bleeding.” Yoongi whispers because, for Hoseok, he figures out how to speak when he doesn’t think he can. “Well done.”
Hoseok tucks his head into Yoongi’s neck and huffs, a weird little burst of near silent laughter, but the warm wet of it sends a shiver down Yoongi’s spine.
“Good.” Hoseok mumbles. “Ten out of ten kiss?”
“Well, let’s not get crazy.” Yoongi tells him. “But I’ll give you a solid nine out of ten.”
Hoseok smiles against Yoongi neck and it feels like a kiss, like the memory of a kiss Yoongi has never received, the knock of teeth and wet lips against Yoongi’s skin. Yoongi shivers, hopes Hoseok doesn’t notice.
(Hoseok must notice, the way he’s pressed all up against Yoongi like this.)
Hoseok lifts his head and kisses Yoongi once, very soft and sweet, like a goodnight kiss, like the sort you share with someone when you know you’ll have a chance to kiss that person again. The intimacy of it hurts, but in a good way.
Yoongi keeps the kiss pressed between his lips, holds it there like a piece of candy, lets the sweetness of it spread.
“Happy birthday, hyung.” Hoseok says.
Yoongi lets the kiss fall into his mouth, keeps it safe under his tongue.
“Thanks,” he breathes, soothing hands up and down Hoseok’s back, committing the warm weight of him to memory. Hoseok slides off Yoongi’s body, yawns, pulls Yoongi to his chest. “It was a good birthday.” Yoongi tells Hoseok when he finds more words. “Thank you for the kiss. And the flower. And the perfume.”
“You’re welcome.” Hoseok mumbles into Yoongi’s hair. “Okay,” Hoseok says with another yawn, wrapping himself around Yoongi. “Sleep now, you can sleep now. Sorry, I just wanted to give you your present before proper-tomorrow.”
Hoseok’s heart beats steady into Yoongi’s ear and, even though Yoongi thinks it will take a long time to fall asleep tonight, even though usually it takes Yoongi a long time to fall asleep, Yoongi feels himself relax. Usually sleep feels like being dragged down, like fighting something, but tonight it feels like a warm bath, a gentle way to sink. The warmth of Hoseok makes Yoongi feels safe.
Yoongi’s last conscious thought is that Hoseok is speaking, whispering something very softly. Yoongi drags himself back from the precipice to listen, to try to hear, even though he’s not sure if Hoseok is speaking to him at all.
Love you too, Yoongi mumbles into Hoseok’s chest, but he’s too close to sleep and he’s not sure if he says it out loud or not.
im beggign u
….i mean okay
how u doing there, buddy
u seem well
joon and weardrinkin
no he’s not here
do uwant me to order
a jesus from the internte
there’s a toasteer
i saw a jesus toaster do u want ia
don’t buy a jesus toaster
okay maybe buy a jesus toaster
are you okay?
where are you?
he went home bt seok
he left & i locedk the door
but ineed take holly out again
ill walk holly again when i get home
like 30 min okay?
seok that;s the
u cant get in
we cant leave
were locked in
holly looks so sad
im gonna cry
you cant get locked IN an apartment
ur on the side with the locks
i don’t understand
seok were trapped
u undid the deadbolt, right?
im drunk not STUPDI
seok the lockis BROKEN
im turning the deadblt it doesn’t
should i call police
do not call the fucking police
wait for me
ill wait forever seok
ur so ridiculous
please come home
dnt call me darlin
seok please hollys crying
just pet holly
and wait for me
maybe drink some water
love you seok thank you
love you too
“He loves me.” Yoongi whispers to Holly, shows him the phone message. He stares at the little blinking letters and bites back a slightly drunken sob. He and Holly lean against the door. “I should tell him sometime when I’m not, like,” Yoongi squints, “three bottles of soju and three existential crises with Namjoon in, huh?” Holly squirms under his hand and nuzzles his head into Yoongi’s hip. “Hey, do you think he would still say it back?” Yoongi lets his head thud back against the door. “If I said it serious-like, I mean, like told him how I really feel.” Holly huffs a bit against his hip. “Yeah,” Yoongi says, “yeah, I know he loves me already. I’m such a piece of shit. Can’t be happy with anything.”
He pushes himself to his feet and he and Holly go and get some water and then he and Holly cuddle on the couch and Yoongi closes his eyes, pets Holly, waits.
Sure, enough the door doesn’t open.
“Hyung, you have to unlock it.” Hoseok says patiently from the other side.
“Trapped.” Yoongi tells him, fiddling with the deadbolt. It thunks when it locks and makes a backwards sort of thunk sound when it opens. He rattles the knob again. “Locked.” He tries not to wail. “Seok, please.”
“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok says, he sounds like he might be laughing, “hyung, good work. You still with me?”
“Seok,” Yoongi slurs, “Seok-ah, Holly and I don’t want to die without you."
“Not gonna.” Hoseok says. “Hey, do you maybe remember how we got another deadbolt put on? Like one you gotta unlock from the inside?”
Yoongi frowns at the door and then lifts his eyes to the security door guard just out of eye’s reach.
“Ah.” He says. He lifts up and fiddles with it for a few, gets it open. The door remains defiantly closed. “Seok.” Yoongi whines. “Seok, we’re—”
“Now can you unlock the knob?” Hoseok asks.
“I did.” Yoongi sighs, slides down the wall beside the door. Holly curls into his lap. “I did that first. Just leave us here. The Cask of Amonti— Amontiallal,…Amontiallado? This is how we go.” He hears Hoseok’s key in the knob and sighs— “Seok, already—” The door swings open and Hoseok looks down at him, amused. Yoongi squints. “You’re magic.” He says decisively. That seems reasonable. He’s always found Hoseok to be quite magical.
“No, Yoongi-hyung.” Hoseok laughs, soft and fond. He crouches beside Yoongi, reaches out and scratches Holly’s ears. “You locked yourself inside the apartment. That’s impressive. You’re drunk.”
“You’re drunk.” Yoongi mumbles.
“Nah.” Hoseok says, holding out a hand, scooping Holly gently to the floor. “Come on, hyung. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Saved me.” Yoongi says as he stands. Hoseok is so nice and solid looking that Yoongi just tucks himself into all the little empty spaces of Hoseok without a thought. “Thank you, my knight in shining sneakers.” Hoseok holds on to him for a little bit so Yoongi lets himself be held, limbs loose. “Okay,” Yoongi says after a few moments, when sleep is threatening to win over and he feels too warm and safe, “okay, I got— to walk Holly again. Because. Bedtime walk.”
Hoseok laughs really soft, smooths Yoongi’s hair back from his face, tugs on one curl.
“Cute.” He says. “You’ve got pre-emptive bedhead.”
“M’not cute.” Yoongi sways a little bit, leans in and presses his nose into the side of Hoseok’s neck, which is maybe not the thing to do, but it feels right and he’s tired and in a shitty mood and drank a little more than he needed to with Namjoon and he wants— Hoseok. He doesn’t want to have to let go of Hoseok. “Walk Holly with me?” His lips catch on Hoseok’s skin. Hoseok shivers. Yoongi nuzzles in closer.
“Or how about this?” Hoseok says after a moment, rubs a soothing hand up Yoongi’s back. “I’ll put you to bed and then I’m going to take Holly for his bedtime walk?”
Yoongi pulls back and frowns at him, but Hoseok just smiles and waits.
“Okay.” Yoongi gives in with a sigh, decides to let Hoseok take care of him. He loops his arms around Hoseok’s neck, and lets his body go a tiny bit limp. Hoseok catches him with a laugh, walks them toward their dresser.
Yoongi has taken care of Hoseok more than once too, is the thing. Recently even, a mandatory ‘company’ dinner last week, Hoseok calling Yoongi from outside the third restaurant at like 2 in the morning, hyung please please please there are no more buses im so drunk im gonna be sick hyung, please, need you, so Yoongi doesn’t feel embarrassed, doesn’t feel uncomfortable depending on Hoseok. They’ve seen each other sick from other things, flu and norovirus and allergies and wisdom teeth removals, not just from alcohol. He and Hoseok have taken care of each other in their absolutely grossest moments so, all in all, Yoongi knows when to relent and let himself be cared for.
Yoongi untangles himself from his jeans, throwing them at the hamper and pulls on a t-shirt that is definitely Hoseok’s, but is comfy and oversized and soft on Yoongi’s skin and Hoseok lets Yoongi wear it whenever Yoongi wants.
Hoseok appears with water that Yoongi doesn’t want to drink.
“Gotta.” Hoseok says, putting the cup in his hands. “Your pout does not affect me. Drink it.”
Yoongi grumbles, drinks the water, drapes himself back over Hoseok’s warmth.
“Touchy, touchy.” Hoseok murmurs, pulls Yoongi to the bathroom, hands him his toothbrush and the toothpaste. “How did Joon get home?”
“Had…..lyft credits.” Yoongi says, chokes on his toothpaste. “For lyft.” He adds, coughing into the sink, rinsing the toothbrush off and squinting as he tries to get it back in the holder. “Credits.” He repeats, fairly certain he said that bit.
He sways toward Hoseok.
Hoseok laughs, gently wipes Yoongi’s mouth off with a thumb where there must still be toothpaste left, runs his hand under the tap. Yoongi licks his lips and tastes mint, imagines he can taste Hoseok too.
“Bed?” Hoseok offers with a smile, taking Yoongi by the wrist.
“How was practice?” Yoongi asks as he follows Hoseok, focusing on not stumbling. “Was practice good? Gonna—get promoted? Head choreographer. Creative director.”
“It was good.” Hoseok says, “not quite creative director yet, but it was good.”
“No but, Jung Hoseok, associate choreographer, my Jung Hoseok, proud of you.”
Hoseok laughs, a strange little sad sound.
“Did it go good?” Yoongi asks. “First full month, you have—review. Review next week, right?”
“Talk about it tomorrow?”
Yoongi nods, falls into bed, curls up realizing too late it’s Hoseok’s side. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind that Yoongi’s burrowing into his pillow though.
“How was mixtape work with Joon?” Hoseok asks, kneeling by the bed, combing through Yoongi’s hair with a gentle hand.
“Shit.” Yoongi tells him, closes his eyes. “I’m shit. Stupid, can’t— I’m shit.”
Hoseok crawls into bed next to him, kisses his temple. “You’re not shit.”
“I’m shit.” Yoongi tells him, so tired, suddenly so exhausted. “S’okay, doesn’t matter, thank you f’r walkin Holly.” He tries to push Hoseok away, but he’s curling his hands into Hoseok’s shirt and shifting into him instead, all the wires in his brain crossed.
“When did you walk Holly last?” Hoseok asks, words soft.
“Like. 8.” Yoongi has no idea what time it is now. Midnight maybe?
“It’s not that late yet, I’ll take Holly out in a minute, okay?”
Yoongi makes a little sound of agreement.
He’s not really paying attention.
He really is shit.
Drinking away his troubles for a night with Namjoon because there was no music in his or Namjoon’s head anymore.
And lately it sort of feels like there’s no music in Yoongi’s head at all, like there was never any music in Yoongi’s head.
Fucking fucking useless.
Can’t even do his job, can’t do what he’s supposed to do, make music. What the fuck, what the fuck, he’s so bad at what he’s trying to do. He’s supposed to be an adult. Supposed to have this all figured out already.
He’s quite talented that child, they used to say that back in Daegu after his recitals, parents speaking quietly to each other, he could make it, could maybe really make it with music.
Yoongi tried not to listen, has tried so hard to keep himself in check, and he still let it go to his fucking head. Still let everything go to his fucking head. Actually thought he could do something. Make music, share music with people, talk to people late at night through the radio waves when they were scared and make them feel less alone.
Fucking fucking bullshit.
“Yoongi.” Hoseok’s voice like he’s said hyung and yoongi hyung and next is min yoongi if Yoongi doesn’t respond.
Yoongi wriggles down lower in the bed, head spinning, clinging to Hoseok.
“I’m shit.” He says firmly. “I am shit.”
“Nope.” Hoseok says.
They are quiet for a moment.
Yoongi sighs. His mouth feels dry. He lifts his head and blinks up at Hoseok, lips pursed, trying to find the words. Hoseok lets go of him, fiddles around off the side of the bed, comes up with a bottle of water.
“Mostly shit.” Yoongi tells Hoseok.
“No.” Hoseok says, as he sits them up and hands Yoongi the bottle.
Yoongi pins it between the palms of his hands while Hoseok opens it.
“Kind of shit.”
“Nope.” Hoseok says, while Yoongi drinks, grimaces at the lukewarm, hands back the bottle.
“A little shit.” Yoongi falls back against the pillows.
“Nah.” Hoseok says.
Yoongi tugs at Hoseok’s shirt and Hoseok wraps himself around Yoongi again, lets Yoongi press his face into Hoseok’s chest. Yoongi breathes, tries to parse through the words in his head.
“It was a bad night.” He tries.
“Those happen.” Hoseok agrees.
The words are thick and heavy in Yoongi’s mouth and don’t feel true, not yet, but he keeps going,
“I’m not bad.”
“No.” Hoseok says firmly, his arms suddenly tight around Yoongi. “No, you are not.”
“But tonight was a bad night.” Yoongi repeats. “Bad week, Seok, bad week. No music.” He worms a hand between them and up so he can touch his temple.
“Okay.” Hoseok agrees. “Okay, that’s okay. It’ll come back, hyung. It’s okay if it’s a little quiet right now.”
“Yeah.” Yoongi says. “Yeah, probably. Will you wait until I fall ‘sleep walk Holly?”
“Yeah.” Hoseok whispers.
And he does.
The third time they kissed went like this—
Hoseok is sick.
It’s his twentieth birthday and he has a cold, one of those really bad ones that knocks you down for the count. He’s maybe the third day in, so he’s probably starting to head toward mending, but right now he’s sick.
Hoseok groans from his futon where he’s lying spread-eagled, stripped down to his boxers and a ratty old t-shirt because Hoseok runs warm all the time and any sort of illness means he feels hot hot hot, sweat damp and feverish.
He’s staring at the ceiling morosely.
“It’s Tuesday.” Yoongi points out. “You already said you want to celebrate this weekend instead, Seok-ah.”
“I know.” Hoseok shivers as he curls back into himself. “But that’s not the point, hyung.”
Hoseok is one of those people who always seems strong to Yoongi and it’s a bit weird, whenever he gets ill, to see him curl up so small and look so fragile.
Yoongi doesn’t like it.
“I made you seaweed soup.” Yoongi tells Hoseok, and Hoseok looks at him with tired eyes, smiles a little, one of his sleepy smiles, one of the ones that bends his mouth into the tiniest of hearts.
“Did you get me flowers?” He asks hoarsely. “I’m twenty, hyung.”
“I got you a dead rose.” Yoongi tells him.
“That’s beautiful. Thank you.” Hoseok curls into himself a little tighter, his smile sort of drifting, a little amused huff as he closes his eyes.
“No,” Yoongi relents immediately, “I got you a live rose.” He did too, one of those ones they sell for too much money, wrapped up in soft tissue paper to protect you from the thorns. “You need to eat, Seok, don’t sleep yet. Hold on, okay?”
Hoseok makes a sort of general noise of agreement. Yoongi brings the flower over along with bowl of seaweed soup and some rice, arranges things by Hoseok’s futon. Hoseok watches his movements with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Come on, sit up.” Yoongi says, taps on Hoseok’s knee. “I brought you food, Seok-ah.”
“You really did.” Hoseok blinks as though confused, looking at the rose. “I mean, I knew you really did, but this is so nice. You’re so nice to me. You love me. You hold me close to your heart.”
“Did you take cold medicine without telling me?” Yoongi asks.
Hoseok makes a face at him, somewhere between exhausted and a pout, and pushes himself to sitting. He leans forward, opens his mouth.
“I am not feeding you.” Yoongi settles next to Hoseok on his futon, knocks their knees together. “You’re an adult now, Seok.”
Hoseok shifts a little closer, rests his head on Yoongi’s shoulder for a second.
“You’re cold.” He murmurs, turning his head so his cheek and then his nose press against Yoongi’s skin. He burrows his face into the side of Yoongi’s neck, fingers playing gently with a tear in Yoongi’s jeans. “Feels good.”
“Come on, Hoseok-ah.” Yoongi reaches over to right Hoseok. “I just feel cool because you’re sick. You gotta eat and then sleep, okay? Come on.”
Hoseok nods, takes the spoon Yoongi holds out, leans forward and eats some of the soup, fiddling with his rose with his other hand, gently touching the petals.
“Did you get me perfume?” He asks Yoongi after a moment, voice raspy.
“I got you a bottle of Axe body spray.” Yoongi tells him.
Hoseok snorts, chokes on his soup, and sputters unpleasantly beside Yoongi, giving him a pout that makes his dimples appear.
“Cute.” Yoongi tells him gravely, and pokes one. “I got you perfume, I’ll give it to you later, now finish your soup.”
Hoseok offers Yoongi a bite and then goes no wait, I’m ill and rescinds the offer. Yoongi goes and gets his own bowl, his own rice, so that Hoseok doesn’t have to eat alone. Yoongi talks quietly until Hoseok has mostly finished his food, careful bites, each one seemingly a struggle. He looks at Yoongi as though in apology for not being able to eat more but Yoongi’s not really fussed. Hoseok will eat more tomorrow— Yoongi just wants to make sure Hoseok has something in his stomach before he takes the cold medicine, before he falls asleep, before he lets his body rest.
He takes Hoseok’s food away, gets him some water, presses two pills into Hoseok’s hand and the glass into the other.
“Take ‘em.” He says as he gathers the rest of the dishes to take to the sink.
Hoseok murmurs assent.
But the time Yoongi gets back, Hoseok has curled into a ball on his side, rose resting beside him on his pillow. It makes Yoongi’s heart feel bruised, how teeny-tiny Hoseok is making himself. It's so unlike how Hoseok usually sleeps. It’s so unlike how Hoseok usually is. He looks like he hurts.
“My kiss.” Hoseok whispers, when Yoongi returns. “Birthday kiss.”
Yoongi leans over and lets his lips brush Hoseok’s ear.
“You’re sick,” He tells him, “and I don’t love you that much.”
“Yeah, you do.” Hoseok mumbles and if that isn’t the truest fucking thing Yoongi really doesn’t know what is.
Yoongi situates himself next to Hoseok and runs soothing fingers up and down his forearm, light and pleasant. It always helps Hoseok sleep, gentle little touches like that. He watches Hoseok’s eyes fall shut, the wrinkle between his eyes smoothing out. Yoongi slides his hand up so he can rub Hoseok’s earlobe.
“Mmm.” Hoseok murmurs drowsily.
“You’re right, I do love you that much.” Yoongi whispers, lifts up and presses a dry kiss to Hoseok’s temple, his feverish skin. Hoseok sighs a little, tilts his face up toward the touch. “Ask me again when you’re not sick.” Yoongi says, not sure if Hoseok is already asleep, half of him hoping Hoseok is, half of him hoping Hoseok isn’t. “Happy birthday, Hoseok-ah.”
After they get back from celebrating properly on Saturday, Hoseok mostly mended and thrumming with energy, Hoseok catches Yoongi by the wrist.
“Hey,” he says, “hey, for my birthday—” and then stops himself halfway through the sentence. His hair is all mussy and he’s wearing a big grey sweater that falls off of his collar bones and ripped skinny jeans and he looks so pretty and perfect that Yoongi’s whole heart thuds uncomfortably loud in his ears.
“What’s up?” Yoongi asks.
“Never mind—” Hoseok says, fingers loosening on Yoongi’s wrist, “or I mean, my— if you wanted I mean, for my birthday,”
“Your kiss?” Yoongi asks, trailing eyes over Hoseok.
Hoseok’s not drunk, Yoongi doesn’t think. He hadn’t seen Hoseok drink that much at all. There’s the lightest flush to Hoseok’s cheeks, but that’s more likely from the cold outside than anything.
“Yeah.” Hoseok responds, fingers tight on Yoongi’s wrist again. “Yeah, for my birthday.”
“Okay.” Yoongi says, surprising himself with how easily the word comes out.
Yoongi’s not drunk either, a little tiny bit tipsy maybe, but it almost feels like he’s tipsier off the proximity of Hoseok’s gentle face while he speaks, the slightly hesitant look to it, the little flashes of want in his eyes.
“Okay.” Hoseok repeats. “If you want to, I mean. You don’t have—"
“Close your eyes.” Yoongi takes a step forward, puts himself in Hoseok’s space. Hoseok rocks back on his heels and then centers himself. Closes his eyes, face tilted toward Yoongi’s. His lips part just slightly as he waits and Yoongi feels a little bit rocked, a little bit shot out of orbit.
There’s a tiny pause.
“You don’t have to,” Hoseok repeats, eyes starting to flutter open.
“Want to.” Yoongi says before he can think. Hoseok’s eyes jerk open, but Yoongi’s already lifting up and pressing a kiss to Hoseok’s mouth, soft and pink and falling open under his.
Hoseok inhales sharply, his hands come up and fit on Yoongi’s waist. Yoongi’s helpless to it, to Hoseok’s touch, the feel of Hoseok’s fingers on his skin even through clothing, and he leans into Hoseok more than he means to. Hoseok stumbles back and hits the door, his arms tight around Yoongi now, tilting his face under Yoongi’s hands so that the angle is better, and this is—
not a birthday kiss but Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind.
He kisses Yoongi eagerly, one hand staying on Yoongi’s waist and the other sliding up Yoongi’s chest, onto his shoulder, up to his jaw, into his hair. At some point Hoseok pushes up from the door, flips them, presses Yoongi back against it. Yoongi only dimly registers the change in position, lifting up into Hoseok, feeling all warm and contained by Hoseok’s body. He winds his arms around Hoseok’s neck, is kissed by Hoseok, kisses Hoseok, while he lets himself fall.
(He fell a long time ago.)
Yoongi’s shivering, he’s actually shivering a little, he realizes pressed back against the hard wood of the door, warm Hoseok all pressed against his front, everything on overload from the feel of Hoseok against him, Hoseok’s mouth against his. Yoongi doesn’t know how long they've been kissing but he doesn’t ever want it to stop.
He lifts up into the next kiss, scrapes his teeth over Hoseok’s tongue. Hoseok’s fingers tighten in his hair. Yoongi glances fingers over Hoseok’s skin where Hoseok's t-shirt has rucked up and Hoseok groans. A shiver goes down Yoongi’s spine at the sound, his whole lower belly is lit up and pulsing and he's hard in his jeans, he realizes.
The angle of them is off— their heights, the way Hoseok is pressed against him and not pressed against him at the same time— so Yoongi doesn’t know if Hoseok is hard too. He doesn’t know if he wants to know. Yoongi thinks that if Hoseok is hard too, if he feels that Hoseok is too, then his last shred of self-restraint will disappear and he’ll melt, just sink to the ground and melt, pull Hoseok with him, whisper all sorts of dirty things in Hoseok’s ear, find out what kind of secret things Hoseok will whisper back.
Hoseok tugs Yoongi’s lower lip with his teeth, shifts against him and, oh fuck, Hoseok is definitely hard in his jeans too.
Yoongi somewhere between moans and whimpers.
Hoseok breaks the kiss with a gasp, pulling back a little, arms still on either side of Yoongi’s head but body jerking away.
“Shit,” Hoseok pants out, as though just realizing what they’re doing, “shit,” his voice is ragged, “sorry, sorry, I— you’re a really good kisser. I got— caught up. Shit, hyung, sorry—”
“No.” Yoongi gasps, moves his hands up from Hoseok’s t-shirt to Hoseok’s face, “no, it’s okay, Seok—” He pulls their foreheads together, tries to breathe, to will his body to calm down. “You too.” Yoongi says because that’s easier than saying I want you to keep kissing me, please Hoseok-ah, I want you to touch me like that, “sorry, I got way to— into it.”
“Yeah.” Hoseok mumbles, “yeah, I—shit.” He looks like he feels guilty and that makes Yoongi feel guilty. “Sorry, I—"
Yoongi pulls Hoseok’s face to his and kisses him once twice three times, little tiny darting kisses, and then more, all over his face. Hoseok sort of laughs and goes to pull away, so Yoongi peppers more and more, wet kisses, gross ones, the kind your great aunts and uncles give you and Hoseok squirms in his grip while Yoongi kisses him—
“Hyung, oh my god,”
—until they’re both laughing. Hoseok tickles Yoongi to get him to stop, cups his face, gives him a bunch of the same kisses back. Yoongi shrieks, loud enough that their neighbor bangs on the wall.
Hoseok gives him three more kisses and then one more while Yoongi tries to stop giggling.
“Disgusting.” Yoongi says when Hoseok is finished. He steps away, wipes off his face with an excessive pout.
Yoongi’s whole body still feels tingly and he’s probably never going to forget Hoseok’s body all warm and wanting and pressed up against his, but Hoseok clearly didn’t mean to take it that far and Yoongi would rather anything than Hoseok make that upset face again.
“You too.” Hoseok says fondly.
And really, when Yoongi thinks about it, it should have been awkward. But the problem is that they’ve known each other too long for it to be awkward, or they’re too willing to accept that awkward things between them don’t have to be awkward.
Instead of being awkward they just laughed and shoved and pushed at each other, drank water while they watched terrible anime, and then curled into their beds, Yoongi closing his eyes tight and telling himself don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it.
When night was changing to early morning, their studio bathed in pale orange light, Hoseok had crawled into Yoongi’s bed, under Yoongi’s covers, mumbled nightmare let me sleep with you, and fallen back asleep with his nose pressed to the nape of Yoongi’s neck, one arm warm and comforting over Yoongi’s waist.
Yoongi was too half-asleep to really process, just stroked fingers over Hoseok’s forearm, whispered, you’re safe, seok-ah, s’okay, hyung’s here and then let himself drift back into sleep, comforted by Hoseok's warmth.
Yoongi’s supposed to be picking Hoseok up. He is picking Hoseok up.
Right now, in the process of picking Hoseok up, he’s acting like a complete fucking weirdo—standing across the street with Holly, back a little so Hoseok can’t see them, watching Hoseok stand outside his pretty dance studio in this pretty neighborhood looking all pretty.
(It’s been a long day, let Yoongi have his repetitive adjectives, thanks.)
Besides for real. Hoseok always looks good after dance, the flush of the exercise and his clear joy for it painted across his skin, and today particularly so. His body is long and lean, and he runs hot anyway, so he’s not wearing quite enough layers for how cold it is out. He runs his hand through his hair to push it back from his face as he speaks and he looks— good. Like, objectively, very very good.
“I know.” Yoongi says. “I know, right?”
So, here’s the thing, here’s why Yoongi and Holly are being so creepy.
Hoseok is talking to one of the other instructors, maybe someone from the choreography team too, a girl who looks about his age. She has short black hair that sways with her movements, a dancer’s body and, even from here, Yoongi can tell that she laughs easily and genuinely. She’s a really pretty person, just like Hoseok is a really pretty person. She’s the kind of person who seems like they have a gentle heart, the kind of person where you can hear it in the way they laugh— they know how to find joy.
And she’s a really pretty person who’s really interested in pretty Hoseok, if the way she’s tilting her head is anything to go by, the way she laughs, pushes at his shoulder gently, bites her lip when Hoseok smiles back.
They would be a good couple, Yoongi thinks. A cute couple. Cute dancer couple. Hoseok’s dated girls like that before, boys too, pretty athletic people with quick eyes and quicker laughter.
Yoongi can’t tell if Hoseok’s interested. Yoongi is too far away to tell if Hoseok’s interested in her like that, but Hoseok’s not not interested. Hoseok’s talking, enjoying himself, maybe flirting just a little? He’s being flirted with at the very least, and Yoongi doesn’t want to—stop that? Ruin it for him?
He knows that Hoseok has been busy, both of them have to be honest, so it’s not like Hoseok’s had a chance to flirt lately. But it's more than that, a little. When Yoongi thinks about it Hoseok hasn’t dated for a bit. Possibly since before they moved into their current place. Definitely since they moved in.
Yoongi shifts on the sidewalk uncomfortably.
It makes sense.
Like, not just that their place is a shithole but— because of Yoongi, maybe. Yoongi’s probably holding Hoseok back a little, in some ways, when Yoongi thinks on it.
Like this morning even, Yoongi had woken up cuddled into Hoseok’s collarbones, Hoseok tracing Yoongi’s spine through his sleep shirt, humming softly while he waited for Yoongi to wake. When Yoongi grumbled at him, Hoseok slid his hands up, and tilted Yoongi’s face toward him.
(In the mornings, Hoseok is all horrible bedhead, puffy eyes, chapped pretty lips, and groggy voice. Yoongi sort of loves waking up to sleepy Hoseok. Not sort of. Yoongi loves waking up to sleepy Hoseok.)
Hoseok had brushed Yoongi’s hair back from his forehead and whispered,
“Good morning, sleepy cat,” with a little grin
“Cold.” Yoongi had muttered, burrowing back into Hoseok’s chest before Hoseok could see the want written across Yoongi’s face. “Cold.”
“Okay.” Hoseok had said simply and wrapped his whole damn body around Yoongi, pulled him close close close.
Like, that’s a problem, right? A roadblock for Hoseok having a real-life fulfilling adult relationship with another human. Even if their apartment wasn’t in a condemned building.
Not that either of them ever dated around that that much, it’s not that Hoseok used to bring people home every weekend and now he doesn’t or something just—
Yoongi suddenly feels almost guilty about how much of Hoseok’s time and space he takes up.
He knows it’s Hoseok’s choice how to spend his time but, even if Hoseok likes spending time with Yoongi, how is Hoseok supposed to find someone when Yoongi is the way that he is around Hoseok? How is Hoseok supposed to date and find people to smile with and bring them home so that they can touch and make each other feel good? What’s he supposed to say when they get home— this is the bed I share with my best friend? Just ignore him the mattress is big?
It’s like Yoongi’s brain trip-stumbles onto a fact he knew but sort of ignored— from an outsider’s perspective things about him and Hoseok must not make sense. Even if Hoseok found someone who understood, the kind of person Hoseok probably would find—someone who gets the way he and Yoongi work, the way their friendship has been built— it’s still not really fair to that person or to Hoseok.
Because Yoongi loves Hoseok. Is in love with Hoseok.
Like, pretty obviously, he thinks.
Hoseok doesn’t notice, hasn’t noticed, pretends not to notice for Yoongi’s sake. Yoongi doesn’t know which one, sometimes he thinks one, sometimes he thinks another but— someone else would.
Other people have.
A past boyfriend did once, made Yoongi feel sick to his stomach guilty. Yoongi really did like him— wasn’t dating him to try to replace Hoseok or something. Yoongi got the good squirmy belly feeling, all butterflies and fireflies, when he saw Kihyun. They got along well, laughed loud and long, and when Kihyun had asked him out Yoongi said yes happily. He liked making Kihyun laugh, liked that Kihyun made him laugh. They’re still friends despite breaking up, pretty close friends actually. But Kihyun had touched Yoongi’s temple once, tapped it like he was trying to get Yoongi to think, and said,
you love Hoseok a lot, huh?
Yoongi hasn’t dated anyone seriously since then.
Holly whines from besides his feet and Yoongi crouches down, scratches his ears, tries to take a deep breath.
How is Hoseok supposed to fall in love when Yoongi treats him like they’re in love?
Yoongi suddenly feels like he’s constricting Hoseok, stopping him from having a full life. A sick low in his belly type feeling. If you love him, this isn’t the right way to treat him. Yoongi is suddenly sure of it and he can’t shake it. He can’t shake it and he can’t make himself move to cross the street, like that will be stepping in between Hoseok’s smile and who he’s aiming it at. Like he’d be taking something away from Hoseok.
Yoongi can’t stop thinking that he’s fucking them both up by trying so hard to not fuck them up.
He can’t shake it enough that when he straightens again and Hoseok sees him, waves, jogs across the street to get to Yoongi and Holly, Hoseok’s brow furrows.
“You okay?” he asks, reaching for Yoongi’s elbow.
Yoongi flinches, just a little, doesn’t mean to but he does. Hoseok notices. Of course, Hoseok notices. He drops his hand quick, quirks his mouth into half a smile, squats down to scratch Holly’s ears.
“Migraine.” Yoongi murmurs, “sorry, it’s not bad enough to keep me at home yet and I was hoping the air would help. Just don’t feel like being touched, you know.”
“Oh,” Hoseok says, looking up at him, face tight with concern, “hyung, let’s get you home. Don’t push yourself. We can go to the grocery store a different day? I can go alone even.”
“No,” Yoongi says, tries to smile, “no, it’s cool, like I really think the air will help. It’s helping. Let’s go now?”
Hoseok looks at him for a second then nods, pushes himself to standing.
“Okay,” he says, “if you’re sure.”
While they’re walking home from the grocery store Hoseok stops outside a real estate agency, Holly twining around his feet, points at one of the ads.
“Hyung, look at that one—”
A one bedroom, downtown,
“— the building was built in 1992. What luxury.”
He’s grinning while he says it.
Yoongi’s whole heart sinks quick as a stone. It’s stupid, because Hoseok hasn’t said he’s moving out yet. This is probably idle talk. Or not idle idle, but also not that serious. And if it bothers Yoongi that much, he should just fucking ask Hoseok if he’s going to move out.
(Yoongi’s terrified to ask him if he’s going to move out. He also doesn’t want to suggest, one way or the other, wants Hoseok to make a decision about what is right for him without the added burden of Yoongi’s feelings.)
“I think Soojin lives in a building in this neighborhood,” Hoseok squints at the addresses, “yeah, she does, this is like a block away from her.”
Soojin, the pretty girl from the studio, on the same choreography team as Hoseok. Hoseok had talked about her as he half-danced and half-walked up and down the grocery store aisles, humming along with the idol pop on the radio, making Yoongi laugh with very contained versions of the choreography.
“It would be cool, if you lived near Soojin.” Yoongi offers.
“Yeah, she’s nice.” Hoseok says with a gentle smile, taps another one. “Look at this one. One day I want to live in a place like that.” Hoseok’s voice is sort of dreamy.
It’s a one bedroom.
A nice one bedroom. It’s exactly the sort of place Hoseok should live. The front door is big and the building looks homey, sort of quaint. There’s security and proper mailboxes. There’s green plants and trailing ivy. It’s expensive though, a newer building, close to a station, corner apartment.
It’s a one bedroom.
It makes sense they would move into an apartment with separate spaces, or into separate apartments, when they leave their current place. Obviously. They’re, like, adults. And they can actually afford that now, probably. Yoongi’s making better money too. His internship with the local radio station is going well. Like, the talk of a proper timeslot with pay after the internship is over has become concrete. He’s sold a few tracks recently too, found a little bit more inspiration, feels a little bit more comfortable with what he is making.
They won’t have to stay at their current place too much longer.
Hoseok must be waiting, until Yoongi is a little more financially stable to talk about moving out. Waiting until Yoongi gets the radio job. Testing the waters right now.
“Yeah.” Yoongi says. “Yeah, it looks nice. I like this one though.” He taps half at random at another studio, one in a bigger building. A place he would hate actually, when he looks at it properly. It’s all sleek chrome and modern modern modern, hard angles. Pretentious. Yoongi would feel uncomfortable there.
“Huh.” Hoseok says, looking at the ad with a tilted head, a little frown. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t think I would like living there.”
“Right, but I mean, for me.” Yoongi says, even though he doesn’t want to live there either. He wants to go home. His head really does hurt, the lie from before becoming real just to spite him, the skin around his skull feels too tight.
“Oh.” Hoseok looks at the ad strangely, looks at Yoongi strangely. He seems to be momentarily stopped for words. “Right. Yeah. I meant— it doesn’t seem like you.”
Yoongi shrugs, blinks hard, looks at Hoseok looking at him in their reflections in the window.
“Oh shit, your headache,” Hoseok says, reaching out with his free hand, shifting the groceries on his hip, “oh shit, hyung, let’s get you home.”
The fourth time they kissed went like this—
They go out to celebrate with some of the money they have saved up from rent being cheap.
(Yoongi did mention the last time they kissed was like three months ago, right? Yeah, it was like maybe a month before Hoseok got his new job, so it’s a little bit still happening to Yoongi, like still in full on-present tense, his mouth still warm with the weight of Hoseok’s on it.)
They go out to grab dinner and end up complaining the place is too loud, wander back home and smoke a joint, fight and talk about albums, then bundle up and take Holly on a late-night walk, a little good light-headed. They swing on the park swings near their house, chase each other down like they’re kids, Holly yipping excitedly and running around their feet. Yoongi is unable to control his grin because Hoseok is all big smile bright eyed laughter beside him, pushing him into a snow drift, grinning at Yoongi’s pout. They stop at a convenience store on the way home for snacks and then trek back toward their building, Yoongi cuddling Holly to his chest to keep him warm and so that he doesn’t have to walk anymore. Hoseok feeds Yoongi peanuts and tells him about some TV show he’s been watching.
By the time they get home the high is totally gone, but Yoongi still almost feels it because of all the good good good of Hoseok’s laughter ringing in his ears. He takes off Holly’s booties and jacket, Hoseok cleans off Holly’s paws from any snow that snuck in, and then they set him free to run around in the warmth. Hoseok yawns, chases after him, throws a ball for Holly while Yoongi pulls off his clothes and bundles into his favorite t-shirt of Hoseok’s, a pair of sweats. He loudly complains that his mouth is dry, lays spread eagle on their mattress, sticks out his tongue and closes his eyes, listens to Hoseok move around, get changed.
Hoseok flops down next to him after a minute, so close he’s almost on Yoongi.
There’s the rustling of a wrapper. Yoongi opens his eyes to see Hoseok unwrapping a lollipop. He lifts up, arm across Yoongi’s chest, and presses the candy against Yoongi’s tongue. Yoongi knows he should close his eyes, take the candy, roll away from how close they are— but he feels momentarily stunned.
“For fucks sake, you have to suck on it, hyung, put it in your mouth, you freak.”
Yoongi curls his tongue around the lollipop, watching the way Hoseok watches him, and then pulls the candy into his mouth, moving it around, trying to get his mouth wet enough to taste. He lets his eyes flutter closed and hums when the way Hoseok is looking at him gets to be too much, even though he wanted Hoseok to look at him all dark-eyed and pretty.
He sort of expects Hoseok to smack him on the chest and make a cheeky comment. To let go of the lollipop and roll over. To go get his own candy. To yawn and curl up by Yoongi’s side.
But Hoseok doesn’t.
He doesn’t let go either.
He rests his arm on Yoongi’s chest and doesn’t let go, taps the candy against the roof of Yoongi’s mouth, presses it down on his tongue, fiddles with the lollipop stick like he’s listening to the candy click against Yoongi’s teeth, like he can see Yoongi’s tongue wrap around it.
Yoongi opens his eyes and Hoseok is just—
looking at him.
Something inside Yoongi sort of tilts close to the edge, not a big thing, a little thing. A little fragile thing. There’s been too many nights pressed close close close with Hoseok, too many half kisses from Hoseok, too many gentle touches, glances of Hoseok’s fingers on his skin. Too many fleeting memories of Hoseok’s mouth on his. There have been too many years spent so close and Yoongi is so in love.
(Yoongi is so in love.)
Hoseok shifts a little closer on the bed, a little more warm weight on Yoongi’s side.
Whatever it is inside Yoongi tilts dangerously close to the edge.
He lets his lips part and pushes at the lollipop with his tongue, sucks it back between his lips. He lifts up a little, so that his mouth grazes Hoseok’s fingers, and then falls back on the bed and waits, astonished with himself.
The candy is heavy on his tongue.
Hoseok’s shaky exhale rings in the quiet of the room. He drags his eyes up to meet Yoongi’s.
“Taste good?” He asks, and his voice is so so low and his eyes are so so dark.
Yoongi feels that little piece of him— whatever it is, whatever defense he’s built up, whatever self-protection mechanism he’s created— he feels it fall off the edge, hit the ground, shatter.
He nods, tangles a hand in the hem of Hoseok’s shirt, and lets his mouth fall open a little more.
Hoseok uses the lollipop to drag Yoongi’s lip down, pushes the candy back into Yoongi’s mouth, and then pulls it out again, rolls it across Yoongi’s lower lip slow. He slips it back inside Yoongi’s mouth after Yoongi’s lower lip is sticky with it, rolls it over Yoongi’s tongue. He does this again, again, lips slightly parted as he watches. His leg slides over Yoongi’s upper thigh. Yoongi's shivery, his lower belly warm and sugary with want. He trails his hand down, rests it on Hoseok’s knee, then his thigh, the soft material of his sweats under Yoongi’s hand. Yoongi lets go of Hoseok’s leg so that he can trails his fingers slow up Hoseok’s forearm, runs them over the back of Hoseok’s hand, tighten them on Hoseok’s wrist.
“Hyung.” Hoseok says. His voice makes Yoongi shiver.
Hoseok rests the lollipop right on the swell of Yoongi’s lower lip, a passing car illuminating their room in bright bright bright. Yoongi can see Hoseok’s pretty face all lit up.
“Yoongi.” Hoseok whispers.
“What flavor it is?” Yoongi asks ridiculously, the candy clacking against his teeth.
“I don’t know.” Hoseok’s voice is so quiet, his eyes trailing down to Yoongi’s mouth, to the lollipop that he’s using to drag Yoongi’s lower lip down, and then Hoseok takes the candy out of Yoongi’s mouth and it’s just them. “You’re the one eating it, hyung.”
“I can’t tell, Seok.” Yoongi whispers. It’s been so long since Hoseok kissed him and so short all at once and he wants it so bad and this doesn’t— it doesn’t seem like a bad idea. Not if Hoseok wants it too. “Taste it?”
“Taste it?” Hoseok leans forward, the movement almost imperceptible.
“Taste, Seok.” Yoongi repeats, feeling the sort of courageous being drunk makes you only he’s not drunk. He trails his hand down and rests just his fingertips under the hem of Hoseok’s shirt, the curve of his hip, his warm warm skin, lets his other hand drift to Hoseok’s face. He brushes Hoseok’s hair back from his forehead gently.
“Taste.” Hoseok muses leaning forward, this time the movement not so small. “Like this, you mean?” Hoseok whispers, his breath warm where it ghosts across Yoongi’s mouth.
(Smart things to say: no, try the lollipop, you’re literally still holding the candy)
“Yeah.” More of a gasp than anything.
Hoseok kisses just Yoongi’s lower lip, pulling it between his teeth, sucking gently, his tongue warm and smooth. Yoongi whimpers. Hoseok releases Yoongi’s lip with a muttered fuck, the word heated against Yoongi’s skin and lifts up to kiss Yoongi for real, slow and deep, so good it hurts, mouth against Yoongi’s firm and soft all at once.
There’s a pause when they part. Hoseok doesn’t pull away. His knuckles graze Yoongi’s cheek, the lollipop still ridiculously in his hand, shaking in the corners of Yoongi’s vision.
“I can’t tell either,” sounds more like do you want me to stop?
A chance, a chance to take it back, to pretend it away, if Yoongi wants to.
Yoongi doesn’t want to.
“Figure it out, Seok-ah. I’m asking you.”
Hoseok lifts up, reaches over Yoongi, there’s the tacky sound of the lollipop hitting Yoongi’s nightstand, and then Hoseok sinks back down.
“Okay.” He murmurs, brushing Yoongi’s lips with his own before he kisses him, kisses him for real.
It feels good.
Hoseok body weight on Yoongi is the same and different as so many years ago. The way Hoseok kisses him is exactly the same and completely different to so many years ago. Hoseok shifts, so he covers more of Yoongi, sliding a hand to the back of Yoongi’s neck.
Yoongi opens his mouth to Hoseok easily.
Hoseok’s kissing him with more confidence than last time, like now he has ideas of what Yoongi might like and he’s testing. Like he’s figuring out all the ways to make Yoongi whimper, cataloguing them, like he wants to know how to kiss Yoongi so good it wounds him.
It feels so good.
Yoongi’s hands are rougher than he means them to be when he slides them into Hoseok’s hair, but Hoseok doesn’t seem bothered, makes a low little noise. The sound bounces around Yoongi’s mouth. It tastes sweet. Yoongi wants to see what other sorts of sounds he can make Hoseok make. He lifts up into the next kiss, holds Hoseok steady between his hands. Hoseok groans, a small noise, like he tried to control the sound but couldn’t, presses Yoongi back back back against the soft of their blankets, licking into Yoongi’s mouth, like he wants to know what Yoongi tastes like under the candy.
Yoongi slides his hands down to Hoseok’s hips, then up to trace his ribs, Yoongi scrapes with nails, arches into Hoseok’s touch. Hoseok dots kisses across Yoongi’s jawbone and Yoongi threads his hands back into Hoseok’s hair and pulls him close, kisses him hungry, wanting. Hoseok kisses back the same way. Hoseok traces down the side of Yoongi’s body with his hand, tripping over his shoulder, his ribcage, his hipbone, up Yoongi’s thigh where it’s locked around Hoseok’s waist, rubbing Yoongi’s thigh before he slides his hand all the way back up, his fingers moving like they’re dancing.
Hoseok tilts Yoongi’s head up with a firm finger under his chin so that he can take Yoongi’s mouth, kisses growing more insistent, like he’s searching for an answer Yoongi doesn’t know if he has. He lets Hoseok try to find it though, lets Hoseok try to understand whatever it is he’s trying to understand.
Yoongi never wants it to end.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok mumbles like he’s asking a question. He ducks his head and kisses the side of Yoongi’s neck, the corner of Yoongi’s jaw, trails wet and warm back to Yoongi’s mouth. “Yoongi.” His whispers, voice soft and sweet and spreading through all of Yoongi’s body like honey in tea, like sugar in coffee, until all Yoongi feels is sweet.
Yoongi’s gone. He’s been ruined forever but now he’s really gone. He doesn’t think he can come back from this.
He doesn’t know how to.
He doesn’t want to stop kissing Hoseok.
Hoseok presses a soft chaste kiss to Yoongi’s mouth, one to his cheek, one to the tip of his nose.
“Are you okay?” He asks. He sounds wrecked and his mouth is kiss-swollen and Yoongi can see the mark of his mouth on Hoseok’s lips, the wet shine of it. Yoongi’s something like okay. Something like adjacent to okay. Very okay with what they are doing. Very ruined. Very in love. He doesn’t know what to do, really, with the word okay. “Is this okay?” Hoseok asks quietly.
“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers. “Yeah, it’s—” he doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say, doesn’t know how to mean what he wants it to mean, “are you okay?”
“If you are.” Hoseok says softly.
“Feels good.” Yoongi says because that’s true and the easiest way to explain. “Seok—” He lifts up and catches Hoseok’s mouth with his, drags Hoseok back into another kiss. “Kissing feels good.” He whispers into Hoseok’s mouth.
Hoseok’s breath hitches just a little, the slightest sound but, before Yoongi can process what it means,
“Yeah,” Hoseok says, lips trembling against Yoongi’s, “yeah, hyung. It does.”
And then they’re kissing again.
But despite that, despite how this all started, despite the desperate tinge to both of their kisses, despite Yoongi locking his leg around Hoseok’s waist, arching up into him, despite both of their bodies responding, despite the fact that both of their bodies have been responding, despite the hint of pressure from Hoseok, a gentle grind of his hips—
despite all that, they just kiss.
Hoseok kisses him and kisses him, like kissing Yoongi is the only thing that matters to him right now. Like kissing in the only thing that matters right now.
It sort of feels like it is.
Yoongi’s not even sure he wants any more for real, not right now, not with all of Hoseok’s attention on kissing him like this, not with all the ways he’s discovering to make Hoseok’s breath stutter, to make Hoseok kiss back with a little more urgency.
Hoseok rolls over on his side so their bodies aren’t quite touching the same way, not pressed all up and down, but still so close and warm. He rubs Yoongi’s leg, his hipbone, nips at Yoongi’s lips, and then traces his mouth down to Yoongi’s neck, works the sensitive spot by Yoongi’s pulse point until Yoongi’s making a little ah ah ah sound, lifting up into Hoseok’s mouth. Hoseok soothes with his tongue, lets Yoongi tug their mouths back together, pulling Yoongi toward him so that Yoongi is half-nestled under him.
They kiss so long that Yoongi’s dizzy with Hoseok, like Hoseok is some sort of heady port, Yoongi’s whole mouth filled with the taste of Hoseok, his lungs filled with the scent of Hoseok.
He’s dizzy with exhaustion too, thinks actual hours have passed with only the soft press of Hoseok’s mouth against his. He makes a little sound as Hoseok kisses the side of his neck, and Hoseok makes the same sound back, dragging his mouth back up to Yoongi’s, kissing him sort of sweet and soft and sleepily, like he doesn’t want to stop but can’t stay awake.
Yoongi feels the same.
Hoseok kisses him closemouthed and Yoongi kisses him back, once, forceful, half-asleep. He feels the flick of Hoseok’s smile against his mouth.
“Sleepy.” Yoongi whispers, lifts a hand and threads it through Hoseok’s hair, rests the other on his shoulder blades, rubs gently. “Seok-ah, m’sleepy.”
“Mmm,” Hoseok hums, touches soft lips to Yoongi’s, half a kiss, “me too, s’late.” He tucks his face into Yoongi’s neck, kisses his collarbones. The last thing Yoongi remembers before he falls asleep is the feel of Hoseok’s hand under his hair and Hoseok’s breath warm on Yoongi’s collarbones as he whispers, “let’s sleep now, hyung.”
Yoongi wakes after maybe a few hours of sleep, jerks into wakefulness really. His mind doesn’t even have to play catch up. Hoseok’s still draped on top of him, face pressed into Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi’s mouth still feels warm and swollen with the touch of Hoseok.
Holly jangles his leash by the bed again, barks quietly.
Hoseok groans as he lifts his head and then freezes when he meets Yoongi’s eyes, freezes just for a second. It’s barely perceptible, except that it’s Hoseok and Yoongi knows Hoseok. Yoongi can see Hoseok try to work it out, try to figure out what to say. But it’s Hoseok so, within a half second, he’s smiling at Yoongi. He reaches up and thumbs at Yoongi’s lips.
“Such a pretty pouty mouth.” Like the words aren’t sexual, like he hadn’t spent hours kissing Yoongi last night.
“Jesus Christ.” Yoongi mumbles, shoving at him.
Hoseok laughs, rolls off Yoongi, hums as he stares at the ceiling, voice rough with the disuse of sleep.
“Gotta walk Holly.” Yoongi mumbles, pushes himself to sitting as he rubs at his eyes, clicks for Holly to hand over his leash. “Come on, pup, c’mere.” He gets Holly’s leash on and groans, shuffles himself into sneakers, ruffles out his hair, blinks over at Hoseok.
“Go walk Holly, I’ll get his food, and then can we go back to sleep?” Hoseok asks, stretching big as he sits up. “We didn’t really sleep, m’tired.”
“Sure.” Yoongi says. “Yeah, me too.”
While Yoongi walks Holly he licks at his lips, bites at them, wonders if they still taste like Hoseok or if he’s imaging it.
When they get back to the apartment, Hoseok is yawning in the kitchen, putting out Holly’s dish, sweatpants low his hips, sleep shirt thin and clinging to his body. He comes over with a sleepy grin, cleans off Holly’s paws while Yoongi holds him, and then deposits Holly on the floor, ruffles his fur, tells him to go eat.
“Hyung.” Hoseok says with a laugh when he turns back to Yoongi. He reaches out, takes Yoongi’s jacket off of him. “Come on.” Yoongi toes off his shoes, lets Hoseok tugs him back toward bed with a warm hand around his wrist. “Sleep now.” Hoseok says, as he tucks them under the covers, collapses back against his pillows.
Yoongi can’t sleep. He’s so tired. He can’t sleep. Holly comes over and scratches at the side of the mattress, asking for permission to come up. Yoongi leans down and scoops the dog into his arms.
When he rolls back over, Hoseok’s looking at him.
“Hey,” Hoseok whispers, hand tight on the edge of his pillowcase, voice nervous, “hey, you okay?”
He’s asking are we okay?
Yoongi nods, cuddles Holly close to his chest.
He is. They are. Yoongi’s not broken, he’s not inconsolable, he’s not going to be a shattered mess around Hoseok. He’s got something really pretty that he’ll keep tucked away in the lowest most secret part of his belly, hidden behind all the viscera. Him and Hoseok, Hoseok and him. The soft press of Hoseok’s lips around his. The taste of his little gasps. The sweetness of his fingers against Yoongi’s skin.
Hoseok’s still looking at him.
Yoongi shuffles him and Holly over so they’re closer to Hoseok.
“We’re good, Seok.” He presses his forehead to Hoseok’s shoulder, lets Holly crawl up to curl on Hoseok’s stomach. It’s not a lie. He doesn’t feel quite okay, but he doesn’t feel bad either, doesn’t feel regret. He wanted to kiss Hoseok. Asked Hoseok to kiss him, in half that many words. Yoongi won’t fuck them up over this.
Hoseok shifts like he’s not sure.
Yoongi pulls back, rests his head against the pillow next to Hoseok’s and glances soothing fingers down Hoseok’s forearm.
“S’okay,” he whispers, “Seok-ah, it’s good.”
“Okay,” Hoseok mumbles, “okay, good.”
Yoongi hums, slides his hand up up up and rubs Hoseok’s earlobe. Hoseok’s breathing slows and his face relaxes and, in a few minutes, Yoongi thinks he’s asleep. Hoseok always slides into sleep so easy easy.
Yoongi lets his eyes grow heavy, tries to calm his brain enough that sleep can take him down. For Yoongi it always feels sort of like fighting, even when he wants to rest.
And that’s sort of it.
When they wake again they go to get half-priced waffles down the block like they normally would. It could have been awkward, maybe should have been, but somehow it wasn’t.
They’ve kissed before, Yoongi tells himself. No big deal.
(It feels like a big deal.)
((It is a big deal.))
When Yoongi lets himself think about it, he thinks that maybe this started something inside him that he didn’t realize it would, something he can’t really stop. Like maybe this was too close to what he wants with Hoseok, what he hasn’t even allowed himself to daydream about.
He’s touched himself thinking about Hoseok before, he’s had dreams about Hoseok before— hell, he’s even told Hoseok about dreams he’s had about him, some sort of weird repentance, some sort of twisting the knife to make it hurt more, Hoseok always laughing and then asking dude, was I any good? — but this was different. Different than that, and different than any other kiss they’ve shared.
Yoongi doesn’t regret it, but it was more devastating than Yoongi thought it would be. Thought it could be.
Lately, Yoongi feels like he can’t get the touch of Hoseok off his skin, the taste of Hoseok out of his mouth, the want out of his marrow. Like the memory is becoming more and more physical with every day that passes. Hoseok in his head presses him into the softness of their sheets, kisses him like he means it. Hoseok in real life drifts a little farther away, off just a little, only centimeters from how they normally are, but it feels like there’s space there shouldn’t be.
It makes Yoongi feels like he’s fucking them up.
He is fucking them up.
(Fucking them up, Yoongi, you’re fucking them up.)
So yeah, that was the last time they kissed.
Yoongi doesn’t really understand dance, but he understands how Hoseok looks when he moves, like feelings written into his body, a song that Yoongi can’t sing. He watches from the couch that’s pushed back against the wall of their apartment to give Hoseok space.
As Hoseok dances Yoongi’s eyes follow the direction Hoseok’s hand points him insistently, like there’s something Yoongi needs to see. His gaze drifts to the corner of the ceiling.
There’s nothing there.
He returns his eyes to Hoseok.
Hoseok’s not looking at him.
(They haven’t seen each other that much lately.)
Tonight might be the first night in a while they’ve been home together for this long.
(Tonight is the first night in a while they’ve been home together this long.)
Hoseok has a real schedule now, has to go to bed at real adult hours and be at the studio for early classes. He works long hours too.
Yoongi has two late night shifts at the radio, which works for him, for his schedule. He’s more creative at night and in the early early mornings, but he and Hoseok have been sort of sneaking around each other because of it.
More than that though, there’s a quiet something in the air, something a little strange, more than a centimeter or two off kilter. They need to talk. Yoongi knows they need to talk, Hoseok knows it too.
Yoongi thinks they’re both still deciding how and when.
“Hey,” Hoseok says, blinking over at Yoongi.
“Yeah, Seok?” Yoongi flicks his eyes to Hoseok’s gentle ones.
“Do you want to go get real dinner tomorrow?” Hoseok asks dropping Yoongi’s gaze, spinning away, stepping nimbly over one of Holly’s toys.
“Real dinner?” Yoongi asks, stretching on the couch before he curls up small. Holly lifts his head up, settles it closer to Yoongi’s chin.
“I have, like, money.” Hoseok says. “I would like to be inappropriate with it. May I purchase you a lobster?”
Which is a thing they do, whenever one of them has a windfall, spoil the other with birthday gifts or Christmas gifts they couldn’t afford at the time. It’s kind of nice, now that it’s not just windfalls, to watch Hoseok spoil himself too, buy fancy sneakers he likes, take his sister out to pretty cafes, little wine bars.
“This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever said.” Yoongi tells him, drags his eyes away from Hoseok’s body. He curls tighter into a ball. Hoseok dances in the corners of his vision.
“Hyung.” Hoseok sing-songs.
“Stop that.” Yoongi says.
“Let me spoil you, I didn’t get you anything for your birthday last year but cake.” Hoseok tosses himself down on Yoongi, careful not to startle Holly. He smells like pine trees. His teeth clack against Yoongi’s ear because he’s smiling. He’s so warm. Yoongi always feels so warm when Hoseok touches him.
Do you hurt yourself like this on purpose, Yoongi?
Yoongi shifts under Hoseok, knocks Hoseok’s arms so that Hoseok softens to him more, presses against him with a little sigh.
“Make it steak and you’ve got a deal.” Yoongi says. “I’m playing at the Ace Lounge tomorrow though, so we gotta do the day after, but I always make bank there so drinks on me for our dinner date.”
Hoseok smiles bright.
“What’s the most expensive wine?” He asks Yoongi.
“Franzia.” Yoongi says.
“Mm.” Hoseok says. “That feels wrong.” Yoongi smiles, curls closer to Holly and waits, but Hoseok sits himself up instead of pressing down on Yoongi, blowing warm air in Yoongi’s ear to annoy him, curling up and suggesting they watch a movie, smoke a joint, eat ice cream.
Hoseok cracks his neck and then freezes.
“Oh, shit wait.” Hoseok says, jerking his head toward Yoongi, face already apologetic, “wait, I got a late class day after tomorrow. Shit, sorry, my days are all mess—”
“It’s fine.” Yoongi smiles, nudges him with a toe. “Seok, dude, it’s fine what about— what day is it, Tuesday?” Yoongi considers. “Okay, maybe Friday? No wait, not Friday or—gotta cancel studio ti—”
“No, don’t do that.” Hoseok mumbles. “Besides, I have that retreat with the studio but I get back, like, Wednesday, for sure? Don’t know if they’ll need me to spend all the nights out there or whatever. I think I’ll be back Monday night for a bit but not sure. I’m getting dinner with Soojin on Wednesday when we get back, but we could do next Thursday?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi tells Hoseok, “or whenever. We’ll figure it out.”
Hoseok looks like he wants to say something but then he nods, pushes himself to standing.
“Sure,” he tells Yoongi, “yeah, we’ll figure it out.”
He waits, like he thinks Yoongi might say something more, but Yoongi doesn’t know what to say.
Hoseok takes a step back into the middle of the room, turns away, starts to dance.
Yoongi closes his eyes.
where r u?
is holly with u?
bc….holly’s not here
and i gotta go soon but like
missed call from hoseok [2:02PM]
or at least be like
“I have holly thanks”
missed call from hoseok [5:02PM]
missed call from yoongi [8:12PM]
oh thank fuck
where are you
uhhhhh i thought u were like lowkey missing?
holly wasn’t at home????
u weren't with joon at the studio????
oh shit yeahim at a diff studio than usual one
radio stuff sry, shit
wait why were u even home
why were u looking for me?
aren’t u on that
dance weekend retreat bullshit
i got home like really late last night
and like u and holls weren’t there
woke up still not home
like texted, did things,
came back home before i had to leave again
but still no you
also the retreat is not bullshit it’s important
i was there this morning
must have missed each other
i left my phone at the studio, sorry
holls is with me
since i figured i would be like stuck here
and flower auntie cant dogsit
and i meant bullshit just like
i cant remember the full name of the thing seok
i mean i thought u were dead
and holly had escaped and was living a life on the streets but okay
thanks for the note and or text
what kind of passive aggressive bullshit
u could have texted me
i just saw it
its only been a few hours shit
okay it’s been like ten so fuck off
what the fuck
im an adult
i didn’t realize i had to like notify u
of my everywhere
especially considering i thought the retreat ewnt until like
and u said u weren’t coming home until late that night anyway
that’s not what i mean
i meant like
yyou know what
just forget it
why are you acting like this
im not acting like anything
just like thought u would be home
don’t be a jackass
oh fuck you
fuck you too
im an asshole
i was too
Yoongi looks at the messages, pulls his hoodie over his eyes, slides off his chair and holds out his arms. Holly crawls into them and whines, licks his face.
“Hey, pup.” Yoongi whispers. “I’m fucking us up.”
Taehyung and Jimin’s art frat is throwing a party and it’s a fucking mess. It’s actually going better than the last one Yoongi attended, where someone had tried to hang-glide from the front porch roof, but it’s still a mess.
Pretending to be fine.
He can’t find Hoseok and Hoseok is supposed to be here and they really need to talk. They’ve barely seen each other since their texts. It’s not like they haven’t had fights like that before, they’ve been friends way too long to have never fought, but the combination of it with everything else is making Yoongi feel a bit nauseous.
It’s really loud at the party and a lot of people and it’s not his scene and he can’t find Hoseok and it feels like too much. He wanders up and out a window, curls up in a little crouch on the porch roof, looks at the moon for a bit.
“Hey!” Someone shouts from the yard and Yoongi peers down to see a guy he knows; a guy he is pretty sure he knows. He rummages through names in his head.
“Donghyuk?” He shouts. “Hey man, what’s up?”
“Oh you know,” Donghyuk shrugs, “me and Jess broke up, work is shit, the usual. Hey, I heard Hoseok was moving,” Donghyuk continues and Yoongi’s whole world goes very very very quiet, “like downtown or something, right? That’s sick man, living the dream. You’re not moving with him though, right?”
It’s really cold out, Yoongi notices. His fingers feel icy.
“Nah,” he calls back, “I don’t make money like that, think we’re breaking up, you know?”
“Bummer,” Donghyuk calls, “well, if you need, Jae is moving out at the end of the month, moving in with his girl— so we’ll have an extra room? Rent’s pretty cheap and shit and we keep a decently clean house. I can text you, you wanna look at it or whatever.”
“Yeah, sounds good, man.” Yoongi says. “That might be good, dunno if I can float the place I’m at now without Seok.”
“Awesome.” There’s a little pause. “Okay, it’s really fucking cold, I’m going inside but hit me up later, yeah?”
“Will do.” Yoongi says. “Yep.” Yoongi says. “Sounds good.” Yoongi says. He’s pretty sure Donghyuk is long gone. “Nice.” He tells the moon. “Fucking sick.” He says. “That’s really great.”
“Are you talking to yourself?” Taehyung asks, poking his head out the window.
Yoongi jerks his chin toward the moon.
“Oh,” Taehyung says, “that makes more sense. Want to tell me too or you good?” Taehyung’s already half out the window as he speaks. He pauses. “Actually, can you tell me inside, hyung? It’s cold.” He reaches a hand out to Yoongi.
Yoongi grabs it and Taehyung’s fingers are really warm and Yoongi is really tired.
“How much longer do I have to stay here, Tae?” He asks, as he crawls in the window. Taehyung closes it gently behind them. They sit cross-legged under the sill, their heads brushing the bottom of it.
“You can leave.” Taehyung says, eyes serious, “hyung, you can always leave whenever.”
“Hoseok can too.” Yoongi responds, a little tired and headachy, a gentle but very insistent tiredness trying to pull him under.
“Hm.” Taehyung says, like he doesn’t understand.
“I mean, like, if Hoseok wanted to move out and live not—”
“In a condemned building.” Taehyung supplies.
“—with me,” Yoongi says forcefully.
Taehyung stills, turns big eyes to him, the ones he gets when something has troubled him but he hasn’t decided how or why yet.
“Yoongi-hyung,” he says.
“Wait.” Yoongi says.
Taehyung nods. Scoots a little closer. Holds out a hand.
When they were little they had this special handshake. Daegu bros handshake. Just for them. They still do it sometimes when things are important, like a code with each other, hey, I need you, I need you for real right now, please. Like when Taehyung came out to Yoongi. Like when Yoongi told Taehyung he was in love with Hoseok. Like when Taehyung and Jimin slept together for the first time. Like when—
They link fingers at the end, hold on.
“It’s fine.” Yoongi tells Taehyung. Taehyung scoots a little closer. “I’m not upset because Hoseok wants to move out or because Hoseok doesn’t love me the way I love him. That’s— those are fine. I know he does love me and there’s no reason we would keep living together forever. I mean, what would I even say if I asked him to stay— live with me forever, stay with me because your smile makes me feel safe? What kind of bullshit. But he also didn’t say. Tae, he never said—”
Yoongi’s voice cracks a little and Taehyung shuffles even closer, his crossed legs half in Yoongi’s lap.
“Fucking Donghyuk, Seok barely knows that guy, Tae, but he fucking knew before me and I just— I thought that Hoseok would at least tell me—I just thought— like it’s fine, it is fine, I just—”
Yoongi can’t continue, can’t get the words to come out right, feels like he sounds petty and bitter and horrible. He bites his lower lip hard.
Taehyung presses their foreheads together.
“Oh hyung.” He says. “I get it. Like folding origami.”
“All creased. Your heart’s all creased and you can’t make the right shape out of it. Corners are all messed up.”
Yoongi laughs and it’s a little wet and tired but—
“Yeah, something like that, Tae.”
They sit for a minute. Yoongi tries not to cry because, really, he’s being melodramatic. Hoseok was probably just figuring out the best way to tell Yoongi. Hoseok was probably just waiting until he had a better idea of when or where he was going to move. Hoseok was waiting for Yoongi to get his job properly. Besides, Hoseok is not beholden to Yoongi. Yoongi has no right to be acting like this.
“Hey,” someone says in the doorway and Yoongi and Taehyung jerk a little, surprised by the sudden noise.
Hoseok’s backlit and Yoongi can’t see his face. His hands are twisting in the side of his jeans.
“Hey.” Hoseok says again, taking a step into the room. “Everyone’s looking for you two— apparently we’re playing a drinking game? Seokjin has, like, rules and a bottle and some sort of endless exuberance despite being designated driver and not actually drinking.”
“Sounds about right.” Taehyung says cheerfully and stands up, pulls Yoongi with him, their hands still locked.
Hoseok’s eyes flick to their hands, their faces, and then he smiles a really fucking weird smile, his mouth a cracked heart.
“What are you guys up to all alone in here?” He asks.
“Making out.” Taehyung says. “Don’t tell Jimin. Or tell Jimin, he keeps telling me as long as I film it.”
“Don’t say that.” Yoongi tells Taehyung. “I don’t know what to do with that information. What does that mean, Jimin wants to see me make out with you or Jimin wants to see you make out with me?”
Taehyung frowns. “Explain the difference.”
“Were you really making out?” Hoseok asks. “Did Jimin really say that?”
“I was kidding,” Taehyung says, sounding vaguely surprised, “that was a joke, Hoseokie-hyung,” at the same time Yoongi says,
“What, no. Why would I kiss Tae?”
“Hey.” Taehyung says mildly, “hey, now. I’m beautiful. What game does Seokjin want to play?”
“Aren’t we too old to play drinking games?” says Yoongi.
“Seven minutes in heaven?” Hoseok says, as Taehyung drops Yoongi’s hand, slides toward the staircase with a delighted little shriek, shouts Jiminie, are you playing?
“That’s not really a drinking game.” Yoongi tells Hoseok.
“Well,” Hosoek doesn’t drop Yoongi’s eyes, “do you want to play though?”
“Yeah, sure.” Yoongi says.
“How are you?” Hoseok asks, as they walk down the stairs.
“Good.” Yoongi lies. “Hah, no, I’m really shitty. You?"
“Same.” Hoseok says.
“Well fuck.” Yoongi says.
The seven of them sit on the floor of the living room with five girls Yoongi was introduced to and still does not know the names of and two boys who Yoongi was not introduced to and is therefore pretty sure he has made up.
There are a blissful few rounds where people land on other people, come out of the closet red-faced or giggling or looking bored or engaged in deep conversations. Yoongi only half pays attention, mostly tries to follow what Namjoon is saying to him and lock eyes with Hoseok across the circle. Hoseok’s not really looking at him though.
Yoongi wants to go home. He wants to talk to Hoseok. He wants to curl into bed and sleep. He wants to go to the studio and make loud music, get all this rippling anxiety out of his veins.
The bottle starts landing on Yoongi.
With Namjoon in the closet, they discuss a track Namjoon is working on and Namjoon kisses Yoongi’s forehead and says, wow you turn me on so much hyung thanks
With one of the girls Yoongi does not know in the closet, he’s pretty sure her name is Joohyun, she says thumb wars? Which is dumb because Yoongi clearly has bigger hands and is so going to win all the rounds. Joohyun wins exactly 17 of the 22 rounds and Yoongi is suspicious that she’s a witch but, like, in a cool way.
With one of the boys Yoongi has made up they sit in comfortable silence for six minutes and then the guy says wait, what was your name? and Yoongi says min yoongi and the guys says cool, im choi minho and then they are quiet for a bit longer. Yoongi likes him.
With Jimin, in the closet, they whisper discuss best options for Jimin’s present to Taehyung for their upcoming six month ‘anniversary’.
When Jeongguk spins the bottle and it lands on Yoongi, Yoongi says,
Can you guys stop running a train on me, please.
And Jeongguk says,
What does that mean. Do you hate me?
In the closet with Jeongguk, Jeongguk says isn’t Jin-hyung, like, really pretty, puts his head on Yoongi’s lap and falls asleep for six minutes and forty-five seconds, jerking awake when Seokjin bangs on the door.
Taehyung spins and gets Jimin. People call shenanigans.
Hoseok is spinning the bottle.
Yoongi really fucking wants the bottle to land on him because he wants, needs, to be alone with Hoseok for just a fucking second and he doesn’t want the bottle to land on him because he doesn’t know what he wants to say, hasn’t worked it out at all. He’s pressed in between Seokjin and Namjoon, who dive out of the way as the bottle spins, and lands—
Pointing at Yoongi.
“I think it’s pointing at Seokjinie-hyung.” Yoongi says critically.
Taehyung and Jimin hunker down on their bellies.
“It’s not.” Seokjin says.
“You’re sat in Jeongguk’s lap to avoid it being pointed at you.” Yoongi points out.
“Genuinely, I’m offended.” Hoseok says.
“It’s like right between you and Seokjin-hyung,” Jimin says, “I personally think more toward you.”
“Spin it again.” One of the girls says.
“Get out of Jeongguk’s lap.” Namjoon tells Seokjin, “you’re making him uncomfortable.”
“No, it’s cool, I’m—it’s cool. You—”
“Nobody move.” Jimin admonishes.
Taehyung locks eyes with Yoongi, tilts his head in a silent question.
Hoseok doesn’t look at Yoongi. He spins the bottle again, harder this time, a little snapping motion with his wrist and it lands—
very very much pointing at Yoongi.
“God has chosen you.” Seokjin tells Yoongi.
“God.” Jeongguk repeats with wide eyes, staring down at Seokjin’s hand on his thigh.
“Chance, maybe?” Namjoon offers.
“Should we give Yoongi a break?” Taehyung asks, twisting the sleeve of Jimin’s sweater.
“Huh?” Jimin says, glancing at him and then when he sees the look on Taehyung’s face he says, “oh, maybe.”
Hoseok looks at Yoongi like it’s a challenge.
“Come on, Seok,” Yoongi says, pushing himself to his feet, “let’s go have sex in the closet.”
In the closet, lit up by the one swinging bulb, Hoseok says,
“Let’s get you looking fucked out, hyung.” And then his hands are in Yoongi’s hair messing it up. He trails fingers, twisting Yoongi’s choker so the charm hangs askew, pulling Yoongi’s sweater off one shoulder, his movements strangely measured, his eyes intent like they are when he’s working out some problem in his head. His mouth is pinched tight.
He slides his hands back into Yoongi’s hair and tilts Yoongi’s face toward his.
“You look nice tonight.” Hoseok says which is thoroughly ludicrous because, even if Yoongi looked okay before, he looks messed up now. He feels messed up now. Hoseok is messing him up. No, that’s not true. Yoongi is messing himself up, he’s just using Hoseok to do it.
“Shut up.” Yoongi tells him. “Thank you. Let’s get you looking fucked out too.”
Hoseok’s hair is soft threaded through his fingers and Yoongi’s means to be silly but he moves his hands too slow, slides them down Hoseok’s jaw to collar of his shirt, undoes one button then the next, slides his fingertips over the skin as it appears.
“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok says, and Yoongi glances up. Hoseok’s lips are slightly parted and his tongue is resting right on his inner lip line and Yoongi can see it, can see the sweet soft pink of Hoseok’s mouth. “I—"
“You should move out.” Yoongi blurts out.
Hoseok jerks and he tugs Yoongi’s hair hard by accident, fingers caught in the stands. Yoongi hisses.
“Sorry.” Hoseok says. “What.”
“I’m just saying.” Yoongi repeats. Like maybe he can convince himself that Hoseok moving out is his own idea and then it won’t hurt so bad. “I know you’ve been, like, thinking about it. You could get a real place and shit, nice studio. I just need to know when, okay? Like, I would just appreciate a heads—”
“What.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet when he cuts Yoongi off, but the word is clean and sharp. “Hyung, I don’t get it.” Hoseok says, like he really is trying to parse it out, “what are you talking about? Are you saying you want me to move out?”
Yoongi laughs, tries to laugh, a strange little wet sound comes out of him instead.
“I— I just wanted to make sure you knew that, you know, I don’t care, move out whenever, just let me know.” It’s having the opposite effect, the more he talks the more it hurts so Yoongi stops, tries to move on. “I look way more fucked out than you,” Yoongi says, “let me pinch your cheeks or something, get ‘em all flushed.”
“Hey,” Hoseok says loudly, hooks his arms around Yoongi’s waist, pulls him close. Yoongi’s hands go flat against Hoseok’s chest and Hoseok’s heart thuds under one of them. “Wait, just answer me. Do you want me to move out?”
Yoongi thinks that he should tell Hoseok no, that he should tell Hoseok I never want you to move out ever, Hoseok-ah, I never want anything but you and me, that he should tell Hoseok I have been in love with you for so long.
Then he thinks about Hoseok’s new job and Hoseok’s new chances and all the good kind things Hoseok deserves. He thinks about how Hoseok sleeps kind of funny because their schedules are so opposite. He thinks how shit their apartment is, like really truly shit, and how Hoseok has nowhere to bring someone home if he wanted to, and how Hoseok deserves so much more, like a nice house and someone to come home to and someone to pull him into a shared bed where he gets touched with love, gets to touch with love, gets to feel good, make someone else feel good. He thinks about all the ways he feels like he’s holding Hoseok back from that and so, what Yoongi says is,—
“I think you should move out.”
—and he says it very very seriously.
Hoseok doesn’t react at first, like he’s waiting for the punchline. When Yoongi doesn’t say anything else Hoseok’s eyes dart across Yoongi’s face as though he’s trying to figure out what the joke was that he missed.
“Hyung—" Hoseok whispers. “Yoongi—" He makes a sound of displeasure.
“I get it, Seok.” Yoongi whispers, figures if he’s going to get hurt he might as well do it himself, might as well do it properly. “You don’t, like, owe me something. You don’t have to just keep living with me because we’ve always lived together. Go live your life, you know? I get it— we should probably both like— well, you know. It’s okay.”
Hoseok’s breath is shaky on Yoongi’s lips.
“No,” Hoseok says, “no, it doesn’t feel okay, I don’t feel okay—”
“Are you sick, you feel sick?” Yoongi asks, brain sort of misfiring. He soothes Hoseok’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “You’re okay.” He soothes. “Just don’t worry about me, don’t overthink it, don’t worry about me, just— do what you want, you know?”
“What I want.” Hoseok repeats. “Hyung, Yoongi, what—” He blinks hard once, forceful, and then says very quietly, “hyung, what do you think I want?”
They’re so close. Hoseok’s mouth is so close to his and Hoseok’s eyes are so dark and his arm is so firm around Yoongi. They’re touching all up and down and Hoseok is looking at Yoongi sort of like he wants to cry and sort of like he wants to shove Yoongi to the ground and kiss him so hard neither of them can breathe.
“Yoongi.” Hoseok repeats. “What do you think I want?”
Every single part of Yoongi is whispering,
one time, one time and then let him go, you’re going to lose him anyway, let yourself have this
“Seok,” Yoongi whispers, “Hoseok-ah,” never mind, never mind, I don’t think that you should move out, I love you, I don’t want you to go, “you should kiss me again.”
Hoseok stills. His gaze drops to Yoongi’s mouth then lifts back up.
“I should kiss you again?” Hoseok repeats, voice low, tone even.
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, “don’t you want to, Hoseok? Isn’t that what you want? Don’t you want me?”
Hoseok looks at him for a long moment with an expression that Yoongi doesn’t understand. It’s terrifying, looking at Hoseok and not understanding. Yoongi’s going to be sick. Hoseok doesn’t want that, Yoongi’s fucking projecting, Yoongi’s an idiot, Yoongi’s fucked it up properly now, for real now, fucking ruin—
“Of course I fucking do,” Hoseok says but doesn’t move. “Hyung, I—” He stops.
oh god, take what you want, Yoongi wants to tell Hoseok, just do it, please Seok, just take what you want, it’s yours anyway, I gave it to you ages ago anyway, please
“Do you want me?” Hoseok whispers,
Yoongi doesn’t know how to say everything that is in his head so he lifts up and takes what he wants instead, kisses Hoseok open mouthed, warm and wet.
Hoseok responds instantly, like he was always just waiting for Yoongi to kiss him again, kisses Yoongi deep, one hand sliding up Yoongi’s back, pulling Yoongi closer to him somehow, new places that Yoongi didn’t realize weren’t touching suddenly close.
Hoseok tastes like warm candied lemons, he makes Yoongi feel warm, he makes Yoongi feel sweet, the way he kisses Yoongi, touches Yoongi, makes Yoongi’s whole self fall apart.
“What I want,” Hoseok mumbles when their lips part. His thumb, pressed up under Yoongi’s sweater, rubs a soothing circle on the bare skin of Yoongi’s hip. He noses at Yoongi’s chin, whispers something too soft for Yoongi to hear, and kisses a line down Yoongi’s jaw, holds Yoongi to him close but gently, like he doesn’t want to hold on too tight or too loosely. Like he can’t decide the right amount of pressure.
Hoseok’s mouth is on the side of Yoongi’s neck, slow, wet dragging kisses, sucking the skin between his teeth like he wants to leave a mark, finding sensitive spots Yoongi didn’t know he had or maybe every spot feels good because it’s Hoseok, because it’s Hoseok’s mouth on him.
“Seok, I—” Yoongi gasps, when Hoseok nips by his pulse point, “fuck.”
“Feels good?” Hoseok breathes, the exhale cool against Yoongi’s skin, heated and wet with the touch of Hoseok’s mouth. “Tell me it feels good.” Hoseok whispers. “Yoongi, tell me I make you feel good—"
Hoseok is holding their bodies close together, warm warm warm. Hoseok’s hands are spread wide on the small of Yoongi’s back, the side of his ribs. Hoseok’s mouth is wet and hot against Yoongi’s skin. Hoseok—Hoseok— is touching Yoongi.
Does it feel good?
“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers, broken and honest, “yeah, Seok, it feels good, please—”
“Good.” Hoseok say like he’s trying to get Yoongi to understand something important, “I want to make you feel good.” Hoseok says. “I’ve always— I just want—"
Hoseok lifts Yoongi up as their mouths find each other again and has him back against the wall in a half second. The air comes out of Yoongi’s lungs in a rush as Hoseok scrapes a hand over Yoongi’s jean-covered thigh and presses in, all good warm weight. Yoongi likes it, he likes it so much, gets an angle, gets better height, wraps his legs around Hoseok’s waist tight for it, drags Hoseok’s mouth to his with rough hands in Hoseok’s hair.
Hoseok tugs at Yoongi’s lips with his teeth, this strange frustrated half growl—
“Why do you taste so fucking good?” He asks, like Yoongi should have an answer. He lets Yoongi halfway down to the ground, pinning him hard against the wall, his thigh between Yoongi’s legs, Yoongi’s thigh between his. “Why the fuck do I think you still taste like lollipops, what the fuck, Yoongi.”
Yoongi whimpers, nips at Hoseok’s collarbones, sucks the soft skin of Hoseok’s neck into his mouth, lets Hoseok pull their mouths back together this time.
It’s like Hoseok remembered what Yoongi liked last time they kissed, like he made a list and now he’s trying to add to it, his hand scraping down Yoongi’s chest to right above the button of his jeans, his mouth hot against Yoongi’s ear, sucking the spot right above Yoongi’s collarbone that makes Yoongi squirm, wet open mouthed kisses up the column of Yoongi’s neck, his teeth worrying Yoongi’s lip, hand that’s been skimming Yoongi’s body suddenly tight in Yoongi’s hair.
“God, shit,” Yoongi whispers into Hoseok’s mouth, “feels good, so good, Seok-ah,” and feels the smile, the little Hoseok grin he knows so well. It feels good, to kiss Hoseok while he’s smiling like that.
Hoseok kisses him so deep Yoongi loses track, rubs his hands up and down Hoseok’s chest, tightens his hands in Hoseok’s hair because of the little sound Hoseok makes when he does. He knows he’s kissing Hoseok too desperate but Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind, is kissing back the same way, grinding against him. Yoongi’s fingers scramble at Hoseok’s shirt, pushing under to touch the soft hot of his skin. The whole room’s spinning and everything feels good, it feels so good Yoongi’s barely in his body anymore, all he can think is right here and right now and touch me more and let me touch you.
Yoongi tilts his head back and pushes Hoseok down toward his neck, wants Hoseok to leave more marks, physical proof of Hoseok’s mouth on him. He gets out a choked out little shit when Hoseok gets the idea and pulls the neck of Yoongi’s sweater down, finds a spot he seems to like,
“Got you, baby, I got you,”
Hoseok slides a hand to Yoongi’s jaw, holds him steady, thumb at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth, pressing in. Yoongi lets his lips part, the pad of Hoseok’s thumb rough on his tongue, until his mouth falls open in a little stuttered moan, overwhelmed by too much and not enough all at once.
“Seok, please,” Yoongi whispers, trying to drag Hoseok’s face back to his, “please, Hoseok-ah, c’mon,” not entirely sure what he’s asking for, how he wants Hoseok to touch him in this nasty closet in this nasty frat house, only sure that he wants Hoseok, “take what you want, Seok, just—it’s okay, it’s okay, please, I want you to,”
Yoongi’s head knocks back against the wall and his whole vision is just—
And there’s this moment where Hoseok is just looking at him. Where they’re stopped. Where the frantic pace pauses and Yoongi has Hoseok’s face in his hands, their noses brushing, but they’re not kissing not moving just— them.
Yoongi leans forward and presses tiny little kisses all over Hoseok’s mouth, memorizing the shape of it by feel, by the touch of it against his mouth, this corner then this one the curve of your lip here the slant of your mouth here, let me have it once.
And there’s this moment, after he pulls back, where Hoseok’s eyes are soft and fond and maybe a little sad, a little strangely sad, and then Hoseok kisses him so soft that Yoongi whimpers.
And there’s this moment where Yoongi thinks that the two of them are totally fucked, that Hoseok might now be realizing what it is that Yoongi wants, what it is that Yoongi feels for him. Might have finally really gotten how different what they feel is.
Hoseok looks at Yoongi with those strangely sad eyes, and whispers—
“Hyung, let me make you feel good.”
— somewhere between a plea and a question, but it sounds like an apology to Yoongi.
Hoseok noses Yoongi’s jaw, presses glancing kisses, whispers like he’s trying to explain something,
“—let me make you feel good, just once, please. I know— I know but— let me do that at least, let me—”
Yoongi’s fingers are trembling against Hoseok’s cheeks as he tilts Hoseok’s face toward his. He kisses Hoseok as gently as he can, wants Hoseok to understand that Yoongi knows he wants something too big, that he doesn’t blame Hoseok for not being able to give it.
“Seok-ah, Hoseok-ah, always. You always make me feel good,” Yoongi tries to explain, “you always make me feel good.”
Hoseok groans against Yoongi’s mouth and Yoongi slides his hands back a little so he can rub Hoseok’s earlobes soothingly, the way Hoseok likes. Hoseok groans again, practically a sob, licking into Yoongi’s mouth while he works a hand between them, scrapes at Yoongi’s lower belly softly, but doesn’t touch, waits,
“Seok-ah, touch me,” Yoongi gasps into Hoseok’s mouth, “please want you so bad,” and he should have said want you to, not just want you, but the words come out too honest and now that he’s said them he wants to say them again, “want you so bad, Seok, please, oh god, please.”
“Do you?” Hoseok whispers, “Yoongi, baby, do you? I want you, do you want me—”
“Yes,” Yoongi whispers, “Hoseok-ah, yes.”
Hoseok palms Yoongi through his jeans and Yoongi makes the most fucking embarrassing sound he’s ever made in his whole life.
Somehow the sound he makes when Hoseok touches him, the lingering I want you from Hoseok still in the air, Hoseok’s low moan into Yoongi’s mouth as he touches Yoongi— somehow all of it snaps Yoongi back into himself in a bad way.
His whole body pulses uncertainly and Hoseok is still touching him and it feels so good and Hoseok’s mouth is warm and it feels so good and the words he’s whispering into Yoongi’s skin are warm too, want you, want you want you and they feel good and Hoseok is hard against Yoongi’s thigh and it feels good and Hoseok— Hoseok—
It’s too much. It’s actually too much. Yoongi is overstimulated in a bad way, a terrifying way, like drinking ice water too fast, a cold spreading out from the very pit of him.
What the fuck is Yoongi doing, what is he making Hoseok do right now, what does he think the outcome of this is?
This will fuck them up. This will fuck them up beyond how they’re already fucked up. This is wrong, this feels wrong, like he’s using Hoseok. He has to tell Hoseok how he feels before he does this, tell him properly. He can’t do this like this. He can’t make Hoseok do this.
Yoongi pants out,
“Oh, f-fuck, Seok, wait—” fingers scrambling at Hoseok’s shoulders.
Hoseok stills his hand instantly, jerks his head up to look at Yoongi. Whatever the look on Yoongi’s face is, it makes Hoseok pull back so quick that Yoongi falls the half inch Hoseok was holding him up, knocks back against the wall hard, slides down it,
shit shit shit
Yoongi draws his knees up to his chest.
Hoseok reaches out for Yoongi, stops like he thinks he won’t be allowed to touch, takes rapid steps away but there’s nowhere to go, the closet is so small. He stops, a pained expression on his face. His hand flutters by his side.
“Seok.” Yoongi gasps.
Hoseok’s mouth opens but no words come out, a relatively new experience for Yoongi, an actually stricken Hoseok, actually speechless. There are bruises from Yoongi’s mouth on his neck, his lips are kiss bitten and bright red, his hair’s a disaster from Yoongi’s hands, he’s a mess, he looks a fucked out mess.
He looks a little broken.
His eyes are horrible.
Yoongi digs his nails into his knees.
“Hoseok-ah,” He says, “Hoseok—"
“Shit,” Hoseok says, “shit, fuck, shit,” he looks like he might be sick. He licks his lips and winces like he tasted Yoongi on them.
“Hoseok,” Yoongi says, “Hoseok, no, sorry, it’s just that I can’t—"
“Okay time’s been up and a crowd has gathered and now they’re getting antsy and they say I have to open the door without letting you guys know so we all see what you’re doing but I’m shouting to warn you both—” Taehyung’s voice in quick rapid fire staccato before the door cracks open.
Yoongi tears his eyes away from the horrible look on Hoseok’s face and locks eyes with Taehyung who is peering into the low-lit closet.
Taehyung’s eyes flit between them. He takes a step back and very carefully closes the door again.
His voice is muffled.
“I think they were talking about something important. Let’s just—”
Yoongi can’t look at Hoseok again. He stares at the door, the thin stream of bright light from outside, draws air into his lungs in short little inhales.
“Hyung—" Hoseok says, his voice cracks.
Yoongi jerks his eyes to Hoseok, one quick move to make it easier, like setting a broken nose. Snap, all better.
(Nope, still broken.)
Hoseok’s hand works the side of his jeans, his face flickers.
“Sorry.” Hoseok gasps. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry that I touched you like that.”
Yoongi’s going to be sick.
“Seok,” He starts but Hoseok cuts him off,
“No.” Yoongi tries to say. “No, Seok, it wasn’t that, it was just that I can’t— do that with you. I’m sorry, I thought I could but I—"
“It’s okay.” Hoseok says. “You don’t need to explain that, I get it, I knew that. Sorry, I just got the lines all messed up, that’s the fuck on me. I fucking— that was wrong of me. I’m really sorry. It doesn’t make it better, but I’m really fucking sorry. Shit.”
“Hoseok.” Yoongi says, “Hoseok, no, you don’t have to be sorry. I’m sorry. I told you to, okay. It’s okay. It’s just— I think we— different things, I think different things are—”
“Don’t apologize,” Hoseok breathes, “really really. I get it. About moving out too. I get it, hyung.”
“Hoseok.” Yoongi says, pleading. He’s not explaining himself right.
Namjoon’s voice says hey wait but then the door bangs open, someone Yoongi doesn’t know jumps in and shouts what are you doing? Namjoon is standing outside, hands up like he tried to stop the guy, Seokjin and Jeongguk cautious behind him and not just the people who were playing the game but other people peer into the closet. Everyone’s screaming and cackling and someone’s going oooooh, what are you two up to? and then they’re tripping over each other and laughing, tugging Hoseok out of the door and into the space of the common room.
There is a lot of noise.
Yoongi lets Seokjin pull him to his feet and out of the closet. Seokjin’s fingers giving his wrist a comforting squeeze.
There is so much noise.
“Are you guys okay?” Namjoon asks, his voice loud, cutting through everything else, people sort of glancing at him and then backing away, like they’re suddenly realizing something is happening that they’re not part of.
Yoongi tries to smile at their friends.
He darts eyes to Hoseok and if Yoongi’s smile looks anything like Hoseok’s smile then they’re fucked, the both of them, because Hoseok’s smile looks like he learnt how do it from books.
“Seriously, are you guys okay?” Namjoon asks when neither of them speaks.
Yoongi’s not even trying to protect himself when he says it, he’s just trying to protect Hoseok because Hoseok looks pale and slightly sick and guilty, really fucking guilty and it’s no one’s business, it’s just their business, they need to talk it out just the two of them, and Hoseok looks so sick and guilty and he shouldn’t be, he doesn’t need to be, and—
Yoongi’s head is spinning.
“Yeah.” He tells Namjoon, “yeah, we’re fine, just fucking around, that’s the point of the game, right, Seok?”
A mistake, he knows it halfway through the sentence but can’t stop the words.
They’re not fine. They weren’t fucking around. He’s scared to look at Hoseok.
Yoongi looks at Hoseok.
Hoseok looks like he’s been slapped.
“You are?” Namjoon whispers uncertainly, a skitter stop beat. Seokjin’s fingers are tight around Yoongi’s wrist. He can feel the others looking at them, but he can’t look away from Hoseok.
“Sure,” Hoseok says, before Yoongi can fix it, “yeah, just— whatever,” and then he pushes past Namjoon.
“Hoseok.” Yoongi says, his wrist twisting out of Seokjin’s hand as he makes to follow.
“Don’t.” Hoseok says, pulling away from him, eyes so hurt, his mouth a shattered heart, “hyung, please leave me alone for a minute.”
Yoongi curls back, finds himself against Taehyung’s side.
Seokjin reaches for him, but Yoongi jerks his head for Seokjin to follow Hoseok. Seokjin chews on his lip, glances at Taehyung’s hand on Yoongi’s arm and then nods, does. Namjoon says hyung, gives Yoongi's hand a squeeze, and Yoongi nods, so Namjoon goes too.
Jimin and Jeongguk and Taehyung press close to Yoongi, none of them even bothering to whisper-ask if he’s okay because Yoongi figures it’s pretty obvious he’s not.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk says, “hyung, breathe for a second.”
Yoongi’s— gonna be sick.
Maybe legitimately sick for real.
“Don’t feel good.” He mumbles.
“Yeah, let’s get you some air.” Jimin says.
“I’ll go get you some water or something, hold on a second, hyung.” Jeongguk adds.
Taehyung and Jimin crowd Yoongi into a corner on the back porch where there are fewer people. This night sky is dark and cold and Yoongi shivers, presses against their warmth, tries to organize everything in his head, but it’s too much and he still feels sick.
He wants to talk to Hoseok, wants to follow Hoseok, but he thinks he’s caused enough damage, thinks he should wait until Hoseok wants to talk to him. If Hoseok wants to talk to him. He drinks the water that Jeongguk brings him, but it doesn’t really help.
Yoongi doesn’t want to be here.
He wants to be home. He wants to be home before he came here, wants to not come here, wants to have stayed at home until Hoseok came home too.
His stomach twists unpleasantly, like he’s drank too much but he’s barely drank anything at all.
“I really don’t feel good.” He tells them, the three of them so gentle in how they touch, their worried eyes mirror images of each other. “Sorry, hyung doesn’t feel good, I think I should—"
“I’m gonna go get Seokjinie-hyung,” Jimin says, “he can take you home, okay hyung?”
Time skips and Seokjin is rubbing Yoongi’s back soothingly, crouched next to him on the porch, soft warm brown eyes finding Yoongi’s.
“Yoongi-yah, are you okay?”
“Where’s Hoseok?” Yoongi asks. “Where did Hoseok go?”
“He and Joon are talking.” Seokjin says. “Joon just texted me they were gonna go to his place. I don’t— look, text him later, okay? He seemed really upset, but I don’t know what happened, he wouldn’t say. He wouldn’t tell us. Just kept saying he fucked it up but— Yoongi-yah, shit, Yoongi-yah, are you okay?”
“I need to go home.” Yoongi says, shaky like he’s just thrown up even though he hasn’t. “Hyung, I have to go now.”
“Yeah.” Seokjin says. “Yeah, okay, Yoongi. Let’s get you home, okay?"
The point is—
Hoseok doesn’t come home that night.
The point is—
Yoongi can’t really blame him.
The point is—
Yoongi picks Holly up from the flower shop the next morning and their flower auntie laughs softly when she sees him, eyes gentle. She must think he’s hungover, Yoongi knows he looks hungover. She hands him Holly who curls up in his arms and licks at Yoongi’s face while whimpering, like he’s trying to figure out why Yoongi is so sad.
“You boys,” she says, “you boys take so long to grow up.”
Yoongi smiles at her, “Guess we do.”
She hands him Holly’s leash, shushes him when he tries to ask her how much they owe her, old ladies get lonely, sweetheart, I really don’t mind.
“Boyfriend still sleeping?” she asks.
Yoongi makes a sound that surprises both of them,
“Oh sweetheart,” she says, guiding him to a chair, puttering around to get him some tea, “oh sweetheart, there there. Did you two fight?”
“I think we broke up actually.” Yoongi says, because that’s sort of what it feels like.
“Oh sweetie,” she says, sitting down next to him, gently patting his knee, “sweetie, I am so sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, “yeah, I— I think it was my fault.” He tells her and then buries his face in Holly’s fur and cries.
(If you were wondering the line for when it gets totally fucked is not when things get awkward because you’re both not saying something big. Almost shockingly, it’s also not touching each other’s dicks in a closet in a party, right after telling your best friend of eighteen years to move out of your shared apartment. Good guess, but that’s not it.
Yoongi’s got it figured it out though. The exact second when he fucked up for real and it won’t stop on fucking repeat in his head as he stares at the ceiling, laying on Hoseok’s side of the bed, Holly curled up on his belly.
Are you guys okay?
Yoongi thinks if he had fucking acknowledged that something big had just happened. That they needed to stop pretending they didn’t keep doing shit like this. That they needed to acknowledge that, like, they have a fucking joint bank account and clearly want to touch each other and Yoongi is blatantly obviously fucked out in love with Hoseok.
That would have been a really good time to say Seok-ah, can we talk?
Instead he lied, and he lied for Hoseok when Hoseok didn’t ask him too and he lied to Hoseok and Hoseok knew it was a lie and still Yoongi looked him dead in the eyes and lied to him and—
That’s the thing— that’s what they don’t do.
Lie to each other so.
So, apparently, that’s when things get totally fucked.
Just if you were wondering.)
When Yoongi and Holly get back home from their afternoon walk the apartment is still empty.
(The point is—
The point is—
The point is Hoseok.
The point’s always fucking been Hoseok.
What the fuck, Yoongi.)
i know i really upset you
but can we please talk
i think that would be good
was gonna say the same actually
im about to head home, you there?
Yoongi puts on the kettle while he waits for Hoseok to get home, some sort of peace offering or semblance of normality or maybe just something to do with his hands. He’s not sure. Hoseok comes in, curls up on the couch with Holly just like always, whispering into Holly’s fur like it’s a secret for the two of them.
When Yoongi brings them tea they sort of smile at each other, but it’s odd and awkward and horrible and Yoongi really hates it.
“So.” Yoongi says, sitting on the other end of the couch, careful to keep his distance.
Holly whines, paces, settles between the two of them like he can’t figure out where to go.
“So.” Hoseok says. “I had some things I wanted to say.”
“Yeah, me too, you can go first if you want but— can I apologize first?” Yoongi figures he owes Hoseok this, the chance to speak first, the chance to say whatever he wants to say, to explain why and how Yoongi hurt him so much and why and how he loves Yoongi, even if it’s not the why and how Yoongi wants, but Yoongi also feels the apology stuck tight in his throat, needs to say it before he thinks he’ll be able to listen clearly. “Please, Hoseok-ah."
Hoseok nods, glances up at Yoongi but quick, his eyes skidding away like they can’t stick. He looks very tired.
“I’m sorry.” Yoongi says and then again because his voice was quiet and Hoseok deserves more than a whispered apology. “Hoseok-ah, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have—look, what happened, it wasn’t just fucking around and I shouldn’t have said it like that. I knew we needed to talk, I just didn’t want— it wasn’t really anyone else’s business, what happened. I was trying to, like, keep us safe, I guess? I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry. That was fucked up of me.”
Hoseok nods, makes a face like yeah it was but also tilts his head after, thinks for a second, and then nods like yeah, I get it.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I knew you meant it like that, but it really hurt.”
“It hurt me too.” Yoongi whispers, can’t make his voice loud. Yoongi feels gross sick, right before throwing up sick, like don’t move or it will all be so much worse sick. “But I deserved it because I’m a complete giant jackass.”
“No.” Hoseok says, “no, you’re not.” He doesn’t lift his eyes to meet Yoongi’s. He’s staring sort of at Holly on the couch, sort of unfocused and at nothing.
Yoongi wants to lean over and touch Hoseok but he knows for sure that won’t be allowed. Won’t be appreciated. He curls tighter into a ball, digs his nails into the seam of his jeans.
Hoseok doesn’t speak.
Holly noses at Yoongi’s feet.
“You want to go first?” Yoongi whispers, trying to find his voice. “Hoseok-ah, you want to or do you want me to?”
“No, I do. I do, look, I want to apologize again for the closet thing.” Hoseok says, and the words are fast, coming out of him quickly, as though there’s a lot of words he wants to say, and he’s worried they’re going to come out in the wrong order if he doesn’t start talking. “And also state for the record I wish we hadn’t made out in a closet purely from a semantics standpoint because it sounds like a horrible metaphor.”
“Agreed. And stop apologizing.” Yoongi says and Hoseok nods, once, tight, but still doesn’t look at Yoongi. His face is the kind of frozen it gets when he’s seconds away from crying. “I’m sorry too, yeah?”
“No.” Hoseok says, very clearly. “It wasn’t your fault at all, I was wrong.” The side of Hoseok's face looks tired and hurt and guilty and Yoongi really doesn’t like it. “Hyung, I—"
“Seok,” Yoongi whispers, voice breaking, “I told you to touch me and when I asked you to stop you did. You stopped the second I asked. You didn’t do anything wrong. Please, you need to hear me on that.”
Hoseok nods, after a second and his face is still tight, but then he sort of softens, nods again.
“Okay.” He whispers.
“You really weren’t wrong, really didn’t do anything wrong, ok—” Yoongi tries to assure Hoseok but Hoseok cuts him off with an impatient jerk of his head, a little sound.
“Okay," Hoseok says quietly, "okay, but please let me talk.”
“Sorry.” Yoongi says, curls in on himself. “Sorry, Seok-ah.”
“It’s okay.” Hoseok takes a little breath. “Look, I shouldn’t have done that without being clearer about what I wanted. Want. I know you don’t want what I want,” Hoseok says, his whole face tight, “you’re always careful not to cross that line and make me think you’re offering something you’re not, not to give me weird hopes, you know? But I thought you— I thought you wanted me to leave and you were, you know, just once,”
It’s weird, Yoongi thinks somewhat dimly, because this almost sounds like what he wants to tell Hoseok, but that doesn’t—
“I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s like if I could give back a tiny bit of what I get from you, if I could at least do that then— I don’t know. I just wanted to make you feel good. I know you don’t love me, but I kept thinking let me at least be able to do that, let me at least be able to make him feel good. You make me feel so good, all sorts of ways, I just— I know it doesn’t really make sense, but it’s how I felt. Feel. Although, I think that wasn’t the right way to express that for either of us, so I’m glad that we stopped, that you stopped us.”
“Seok,” Yoongi whispers, feeling a bit lightheaded. His heart is doing a weird thing where it’s beating in his throat and it’s painful, he can feel the blood moving in his neck even though he shouldn’t be able to. “I love you, you know that I love you.”
“Yeah,” Hoseok looks tired and like something in him just hurts, “yeah, I know you do, but it’s not the way I love you and—”
Yoongi tries to say something, tries to get his mouth to form words, but all that comes out is a little whispered sound.
Not the way I love you?
“—so, I guess I felt like I was losing you? Like, it’s been so fucking weird between us lately, and I know that’s partially my fault, but I feel like I’m losing the thing I’ve been trying so hard to protect— us, our friendsh—"
“Seok.” Yoongi whispers, voice cracking. “Seok, go—go back a second.” His voice cracks again. He feels a little dizzy, sucks in a long breath. “What do you mean?” Yoongi rasps. “Not the way I love you, what do you mean, what does that mean?”
Hoseok laughs, but it’s tired and damp and like he’s given up.
He takes a really deep breath. Yoongi watches his chest expand, his shoulders sink as he exhales. His face is set determinedly.
“Hyung,” Hoseok says firmly, “hyung, I’m in love with you.”
There is a pause. Yoongi’s brain just feels pure blank white.
“Could you repeat that?” Yoongi croaks, because he’s misheard Hoseok, who must have meant to say hyung, I know you’re in love with me.
Hoseok jerks on the couch, stares for a second.
“Could I—” He blinks, seems completely thrown.
“Repeat that.” Yoongi tries to say, unable to get his voice to function at a normal volume.
“Shit, hyung,” Hoseok whispers, falling back against the couch. There’s a tiny smile on the corners of his lips but it looks sad. “Yeah, why not. Fuck it. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since I was, like, a kid.”
“What the fuck.” Yoongi gets out, so softly he barely hears it himself. He’s pretty sure he’s having an out of body experience, “What the fuck.”
“I thought you knew,” Hoseok says quietly, “I thought you knew and were trying to be nice about the fact you don’t want me like that. I know you love me, we’ve been friends for a million years and I know you love me and you don’t want to fuck that up, that’s why I thought you—”
“Hoseok.” Yoongi feels frantic, his initial rush of disbelief just turning into slow burning what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, holy fuck, “Hoseok, are you fucking kidding me?”
“Excuse me.” Hoseok says, “Hyung, seriously, this is like messing me up, I’ve been messed up about this for years. This is a really horrible way to respond. Like, I know I always talk about making you bleed but I feel like—do you remember when we kissed, when— with the lollipop?”
“Yeah.” Yoongi gets out, a little hysterical, “yeah, I— Seok, yes. I remember that.”
“I feel like it made me bleed, kissing you like that. Like, I managed to staunch the flow from the other times, but that tore out all the stitches. It made me feel so good, I got to make you feel good, you didn’t want anything else, you told me you didn’t, you said kissing specifically, and that was better than fine, but I’m fucking ruined now and—"
“Oh my god.” Yoongi’s dizzy. “Oh my god, what the fuck.”
“Could you be nicer about this?” Hoseok snaps, looking a bit ill. “Fuck man, I—"
“Jung Hoseok,” Yoongi says patiently, “okay, wait, I’m gonna pass out.” Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, presses a hand to his heart like he can keep it there. When he opens his eyes again, Hoseok is wide-eyed and scared, half off the couch like he moved to catch Yoongi if he fell. “Okay, okay.” Yoongi says. “I’m good. Sorry. It’s just— Jung Hoseok. I am fucking head over my goddamn heels in love with you.”
Holly sighs heavily, hops off the couch and pads away.
“I respect that,” Yoongi calls after him and then turns back to Hoseok’s wide eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says very quietly, sinking back down on the couch, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“Yes.” Yoongi says because now that he’s said it everything makes sense. He’s dreaming. This is a stress dream. He’ll let this dream happen, like practice, and then be prepared to say it all for real whenever Hoseok does come home. “Yes. Hoseok-ah, I love you. Like, a lot. You aren’t in love with me, which is fine and I get it because I’m— I just argued with a dog. I’m weird. But Hoseok-ah, I love you so much. I’m in love, capital L kind of love, with you.”
Hoseok looks at Yoongi for a long moment.
“No,” Hoseok says, “no, I’m in love with you.”
“Even with arguing with the dog thing?” Yoongi queries. “Also, no, I’m the one in love with you and you’re the one who loves me a lot but not like that.”
“No, that’s backwards.” Hoseok says. “Yes, to arguing with the dog thing, mostly because you lose. Like consistently.”
“Yeah, Holly’s clever.” Yoongi says. “Hoseok—"
“Are you fucking with me?” Hoseok asks calmly. “Because this joke is really fucking messed up. I might genuinely fight you.”
“It’s really not a joke. I am so far from joking right now.”
It’s occurring to Yoongi as he speaks that he’s not dreaming. Like he knew that, he knew that but—
He’s not dreaming.
“I’m so in love with you it’s legitimately disgusting.” Yoongi tells Hoseok, just to be clear. “Like, very gross.”
“Oh same.” Hoseok says. “It’s very gross how much I love you.”
“Huh.” Yoongi says.
There’s a long pause.
“You love me.” Hoseok say dully.
“You love me.” Yoongi whispers.
There is so much space between them on the couch and Yoongi wants to close it and also can’t move at all, maybe never again.
“For, like, a while?” Hoseok checks.
“Like a minute, yeah.” Yoongi whispers. “You too?”
Yoongi’s whole body feels like it lost circulation and the blood is just starting to flow again, everything’s tingling only it doesn’t hurt, not pins and needles but the light touch of Hoseok’s hand on his skin, Hoseok’s laugh in the air, Hoseok’s sleepy smile in the morning. Everything feels good, lit up, fairy lights strung up.
“Oh my god.” Hoseok says after a moment. “What the fuck. I think I just disassociated, is this what disassociating feels like? How do I know? You’re being serious, you genuinely— oh fuck, what, we fucking suck, what the fuck.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says fervently, “Hoseok, I hate us. I hate us.”
“Yeah, fair.” Hoseok whispers, scooting down the couch closer to Yoongi, not touching him, not touching him yet, but the promise of touch, the potential for it. “Hyung, you thought I didn’t love you?”
“No,” Yoongi flounders, “no I mean, I know you love me, but I thought it was that you loved me and we’ve been friends forever type love. That night we kissed I figured you wanted someone to kiss. I didn’t even think— when you asked me if it was okay, if I was okay, I was just— it was. I was. Kissing felt good, kissing you felt good, I wasn’t trying to say do more or do less, I just— it felt good.” He tugs on the sleeve of Hoseok’s shirt, rubs the material between his fingers.
“Felt good to me too.” Hoseok murmurs, voice low, eyes dark. “You felt good, Yoongi. Kissing you felt good.”
“See,” Yoongi says, tries to stop the shiver, “see, and you say shit like that to me and I didn’t— I just thought— I don’t know. I figured you just wanted to bang maybe and I couldn’t do that because I’m— I’m so in love with you. I think it would break me, Seok, but felt like kissing you did the same thing and—"
“Wanted to bang.” Hoseok repeats.
“You heard me.” Yoongi mumbles.
“Well, want to bang too,” Hoseok says, crowding into Yoongi’s space a little more, a good gentle press, “if that’s any help.”
“Oh god,” Yoongi says falling back on the arm of the couch, reaching out for Hoseok, “oh god, yeah, that would be— nice.”
“Really fucking—can you touch me, right now please, I’m—"
Hoseok straddles him, settles on Yoongi’s hips, and leans forward a little, fingers gently stroking Yoongi’s cheek.
“Thank you.” Yoongi breathes. “Also, what the fuck.”
“Why did you tell me to move out, why did you tell me to leave?” Hoseok asks quietly. “Why did you—”
“No,” Yoongi gasps, nuzzles into the touch of Hoseok’s hand. “No, Seok, someone at the party told me you were moving out. I thought you might be thinking about it, and then someone said you were. I was all in my head, I know it’s your choice, but I was all in my head with how you deserve somewhere better and how are you supposed to find someone to love you right and touch you right and hold you close if you’re with me and—”
“Moving out who said that?”
“Some—” Yoongi gasps as Hoseok leans forward and trails soft lips over his cheekbones, “some guy—Donghyuk, he said he heard it from—”
“No. Shit,” Hoseok breathes, pulls back to lock eyes with Yoongi, “I was at apartments downtown with Lisa, from the studio. She wanted an extra set of eyes so we were looking at places and we ran into Donghyuk and told him we were apartment hunting and I—”
“You kept pointing out places.” Yoongi slides his hands up Hoseok’s chest to his neck, thumbs at Hoseok’s cheeks. “Like ads—”
“For us.” Hoseok says. “You big loser, places for us.”
“They were one bedrooms.” Yoongi whines.
“I’m an idiot.” Hoseok says, as though it’s just occurring to him. “Oh fuck, I just—we’ve always shared a studio, I was pointing out places for— you thought I was trying to subtly tell you I was gonna move out. Yeah, I could see how it would seem like th— fuck.”
“Oh my god.” Yoongi says. “That’s so— you’re so—”
“Yoongi, if I didn’t want to live with you, I would have told you. I thought you wanted to live alone.” Hoseok sounds so sad.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I know, I know. I knew it was wrong to, like, try to protect you or whatever I was doing I just— you mean so much, Hoseok. I want you to be happy so bad. You have all these new opportunities and I wanted to make sure you weren’t holding yourself back because of me. Felt like if I loved you I should be treating you better. Like I was treating you bad.”
“I wasn’t.” Hoseok says firmly. “I’m not. You weren’t. You aren’t. What the fuck.”
“I know.” Yoongi blinks quick so he won’t cry, “I know, I get that. I know it was not my smartest moment. A misguided attempt to love you right.”
“You always love me right.” Hoseok says quietly.
“Seok, Seok-ah,” Yoongi feels a little desperate because he needs Hoseok to understand this too, this part too. “Hoseok-ah, I was scared it would fuck us up, that my feelings would fuck us up. I don’t want to fuck us up. I can’t lose what I have with you. It means too much. You’re so important, Seok. You’re so important.”
Hoseok nods. “You are for me too.” He whispers.
“I might fuck it up.” Yoongi whispers.
Hoseok hums, leans forward a little, brushes his lips over Yoongi’s cheekbone.
"Name one thing you’ve fucked up beyond repair.”
“Holly’s a terror.” Yoongi gasps. “He sits on the kitchen counter, he’s friends with thieves, he probably runs illegal poker games out the back room.”
“We don’t have a backroom.” Hoseok murmurs, kisses the tip of Yoongi’s nose.
“Not the point.” Yoongi pants, lifts his hands to, slides them up to touch Hoseok’s jaw, his cheeks, his ears, his hair. “Fuck, Seok, I don’t think you get it, how much you mean to me.”
“No.” Hoseok says. “No, I get it. Trust me.”
“I think I’m a little scared.” Yoongi says, very quietly, because Hoseok won’t make fun.
“S’okay,” Hoseok whispers, “me too.”
Hoseok sinks down a little lower, lays down on Yoongi, all good warm weight.
“This okay?” He asks, their faces close, propped up above Yoongi, forearms resting by Yoongi’s head on the arm of the couch.
“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes, “yeah, very. Christ, yes.” He lifts up, kisses Hoseok’s cheek, falls back against the cushions.
Hoseok brushes his lips over Yoongi’s, kisses him gentle, then pulls back a little and looks at him. Yoongi keeps Hoseok’s face close, the tips of their noses touching.
“Do you want me?” Hoseoks asks. “Do you want this even though it’s scary?”
Yoongi doesn’t even need to think, not really.
It is a little scary, so much will change and be different and maybe fall apart and get put back together sort of different and new. But that’s okay too, that’s okay because it’s Hoseok.
Even if it’s scary, even if they fuck it up a little and have to patch it up a new way, that’s— okay. They’ll be able to. He thinks they’ll be able too. And he knows it will be worth it. It’s always worth it, when it’s Hoseok. When it’s them.
Him and Hoseok, Hoseok and him.
Sounds good. Makes Yoongi feel good, low in his belly, deep in his chest, all the little spaces inside him where he didn’t know he could feel things—they all just feel good, when it’s him and Hoseok, Hoseok and him.
It makes sense.
They make sense.
“It’s us,” he tells Hoseok, strokes under Hoseok’s eyes, the bridge of his nose, slides his fingers to Hoseok’s earlobes and rubs them gently. “Hoseok-ah, it’s me and you. I think we make a pretty goddamn good team. It is scary, it does change a lot, but I want this. I want you.”
Hoseok sinks down on top of Yoongi fully like the last little bit he was holding himself up melts away.
“Good,” he says softly, “I want you too, hyung.” Hoseok’s smiling so big, his mouth is so close, his eyes are so bright, Yoongi’s so in love.
“Hey, hyung,” Hoseok says grinning back, like his happiness is bubbling right out of him, his words dance in the air between them, “hey, Yoongi-hyung, how do you feel about me?”
“Jesus.” Yoongi says. “Come on, I’ve been sappy enough, surely. Kiss me now.” He squirms underneath Hoseok but it just makes their bodies touch in a way that sends electricity shooting down Yoongi’s spine, so he stops, squeezes his eyes shut tight.
“Come on, tell me.” Hoseok says.
Yoongi breathes for a second, opens his eyes to Hoseok smiling down at him, fond and gentle, and Yoongi feels something inside him shatter and it’s good. It’s so good. All his love for Hoseok was inside it, kept all contained and small, and when it tips and falls and hits and shatters all the love just spreads out out out.
He gives in to Hoseok’s smile, Hoseok’s gentle fingers in his hair, Hoseok’s soft warm weight, Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok.
“I fucking love the goddamn shit out of you. I love you an annoying and unnecessary amount. How many more ways are you gonna make me say it?”
Hoseok threads fingers into Yoongi’s hair, tilts Yoongi’s head back, kisses his Adam’s apple. Yoongi doesn’t mean to make the sound he makes at the touch of Hoseok’s mouth on his skin but it slips out anyway, breathy and high. Hoseok smiles and trails his lips up to Yoongi’s, hovers.
“One more way.” He tells Yoongi. “I’m listening now."
“You always listened.” Yoongi whispers. Hoseok’s lips brush against his. “Seok-ah, you always listen to me.”
“Okay,” Hoseok says, “but I’m listening properly now. How many more ways do you think I can tell you that I love you before you listen to me too?”
“One more.” Yoongi says and lifts up, catches Hoseok’s mouth with his, kisses him soft soft soft. A little more than barely there. He pauses, hovering right next to Hoseok’s lips, listens to the little shaky breath Hoseok draws in. “Kiss me.” Yoongi says. “Hey, kiss me back, come on.”
“Hmm,” Hoseok says, brushes their noses, brushes their lips. “Dunno.”
“I’ll beat you up.” Yoongi says.
Hoseok tilts his head back and laughs, that bright clear laugh he has that Yoongi wants to hide in all his music, maybe is already hidden in half his music, Hoseok’s pure joy all in Yoongi’s blood and brain and heart beats, and then Hoseok tilts back and down and kisses Yoongi. Kisses him for real, like he’s done so many times before, but this time is different as well. He kisses Yoongi like they’ve never kissed before and this is a new precious thing. Like this is the first time he’s been able to have this. Maybe it is. Yoongi sort of feels like it is, kissing Hoseok and knowing that Hoseok is kissing back with love, the same kind of love.
It feels like something new.
Hoseok breaks the kiss with a stuttered inhale, nips Yoongi’s lower lip, soothes it with his tongue, pulls back the tiniest bit like he’s trying to collect himself, like he’s trying to gauge Yoongi’s reaction.
Yoongi’s reaction is all internal, slow slow melting of his bones, everything in him turning to sweet sticky warmed honey, his heart thudding bright red into his veins. He licks his lower lip, tastes Hoseok, smiles.
“Seok.” He whispers, “hey, Hoseok-ah, my Hoseok-ah.” Yoongi tightens his hand in Hoseok’s shirt, lifts up a little and catches Hoseok’s mouth again, kisses Hoseok gently and then less gently, falling back against the arm of the couch, hand firm against the back of Hoseok’s neck to keep their mouths close. “I love you,” he breathes because he wants to say it again.
Hoseok smiles. Kisses the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. He scrapes a hand down Yoongi’s side lightly and then back up with pressure, traces the lines of Yoongi into the air, cups his jaw, tilts Yoongi’s face under his with soft fingers.
“I love you too,” Hoseok murmurs against Yoongi’s lips.
They kiss and kiss and Hoseok remembers everything Yoongi likes, somehow seems to know other things instinctively. It makes sense that Hoseok has already figured out that Yoongi likes it when he kisses warm and wet and open-mouthed, that Hoseok already knows kissing the curve of Yoongi’s jaw and then down his neck will make Yoongi gasp, that scraping his teeth over Yoongi’s pulse point lightly will make his breath stutter, that when Hoseok teases a hint of more teeth, more bruising kisses around his collarbones, Yoongi will gasp and squirm and arch into him. That Yoongi likes the light teasing touches as much as he likes the stronger ones. Hoseok doesn’t know everything yet, but he’s Hoseok, so it makes sense to Yoongi that he already knows a lot.
But Yoongi’s got Hoseok a little figured out too, slides his hands down to Hoseok’s waist and under his shirt, soothes fingers over the warm skin of the small of his back, around to thumb at his hipbones, the line of his stomach. He slides hands up to scratch the nape of Hoseok’s neck lightly, he makes little sounds when it feels so good the world spins. Yoongi arches up into the touch of Hoseok’s mouth and Hoseok’s body, rocks their hips together and feels Hoseok groan against his neck, feels the hot damp of it. Hoseok grinds down a little harder and Yoongi lifts a leg, locks it around Hoseok’s hips. Hoseok’s breathing stutters a bit again, one hand tight where it’s slid down to Yoongi’s waist, holding on as they move against each other.
Yoongi’s still trying to stop some of the sounds falling from his mouth because they’re definitely too much, they’re just making out on the couch, but Hoseok kissing him is too much, Hoseok all against him like this is too much in the best way possible, and Yoongi’s whole everything is short-circuiting sparks.
“You sound good,” Hoseok murmurs, skimming his mouth back up to Yoongi’s, cupping Yoongi's face while he kisses him deep, “fuck, you sound so good,”
“Oh good,” Yoongi pants, “thank god, I fucking suck at—oh, do that again—being quiet with you, Seok, you make me—”
Hoseok grinds down again, catching Yoongi’s mouth for a messy kiss.
“I like that,” he sounds more than a little affected, more than a little gone, and it makes Yoongi warm all under his skin that Hoseok is so gone and it’s because of him, “you sound pretty, want to know I make you feel good, like that you— shit,”
Yoongi slides his hands up under Hoseok’s shirt all the way, slides them up the smooth of Hoseok’s back, scrapes his nails lightly on the way back down, slides his hands just barely under the waistband of Hoseok’s sweats, cants his hips up again.
Hoseok shudders against him.
“You make me feel good,” Yoongi breathes, “feels so good, Seok, you make me feel so good, Hoseok-ah, want you,” he lets the words tumble out easily, heated and quiet in Hoseok’s ear, feels the groan in Hoseok’s chest as Yoongi speaks.
Hoseok’s everywhere all at once, worrying Yoongi’s lower lip with his teeth, kissing the corners of Yoongi’s mouth, running his tongue over the roof of Yoongi’s mouth, his hand trailing up and down Yoongi’s side, their kisses barely kisses anymore, everything overwhelming and good, sweet sweet sweet all up and down Yoongi’s body.
“Christ,” Hoseok whispers under his breath, “Christ, shit, fuck,” like Yoongi’s supposed to know exactly what that means and Yoongi kind of agrees because, god, he is really hard in his sweats.
“Seok, bed.” Yoongi says, tugging at Hoseok’s lip with his teeth, as Hoseok grinds against him again. Yoongi can’t deal anymore, too many layers, too much between them, not enough space to touch, “need you to touch me, need to touch you, want— want so bad, want you so bad,”
“Oh fuck,” Hoseok says, “fuck, yeah, come on— shit,” his mouth everywhere, hands tight on Yoongi’s hips, his thighs, his shirt, scraping at his belly, and then he lifts up, knocking into their coffee table that serves as a dinner table serves as a tv stand, tripping them both toward their bedroom, his hands up and down Yoongi’s body.
Yoongi bats the beaded curtains out of the way, scrapes his teeth over Hoseok’s tongue and Hoseok groans, pushes him back on the bed.
“Off.” Yoongi says, propping himself up on one elbow, reaching out with his other hand, “shirt off, Seok-ah, shirt off and come here.”
Hoseok peels his shirt off and Yoongi barely has a second to look at him before Hoseok is pressing him back into the bed, Yoongi under him arching up with a little stuttered gasp.
“Seok, fuck, feels good,” he gets out as Hoseok works a line of kisses down his neck, tugs at Yoongi’s t-shirt. Yoongi lifts up enough that Hoseok can get it off of him and falls back on the bed, holds his hands spread out on Hoseok’s bare stomach to hold him up a little.
They pause for a second.
Hoseok looks at him slow, his eyes dragging, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Yoongi can’t stop the smile on his face, can’t stop the fact he wants to laugh, just a little, feels so good, so warm and good and Hoseok loves him too, Hoseok wants him too, Hoseok loves him.
It feels so good.
He tugs at the string of Hoseok’s sweatpants, lifts up as Hoseok bends down and kisses him. Yoongi kisses Hoseok gently, the tenderness of it maybe a little at odd with the state they’re in, but it’s how he wants to kiss Hoseok. He feels softly bruised, like sinking your fingers into a fresh plum, everything in him is juice and sweet and he needs a second, a second to kiss slow. Hoseok doesn’t seem to find it strange, kisses Yoongi back the same way.
“Yoongi,” he mumbles, pushing Yoongi back down on the bed, sitting back on his heels to look at him. His hands trail down Yoongi’s chest, catch on Yoongi’s nipple. “Shit,” he says at the sound Yoongi makes, does it again, “shit, baby,"
“Come here,” Yoongi demands, hands out, “come on, Seok, please, I want you so bad, I’ve wanted you to for so long, I need— I need you,” Hoseok against him, warm and strong, the sudden skin on skin almost too much, Yoongi arches into him, Hoseok’s hips stuttering against his, “it’s real, this is real, this is real, right?” Yoongi asks, overcome, senseless questions spilling from his mouth.
“Yeah,” Hoseok says, and kisses him deep, rocks his hips against Yoongi’s, his hand threaded tight in Yoongi’s hair. Yoongi lets Hoseok lick into his mouth, lets Hoseok set the pace, and just feels, lets himself feel what it feels like in a way he didn’t allow himself to before because he was always so afraid of when it ended.
Hoseok rolls half off of Yoongi, trails his hands down Yoongi’s back, pulls Yoongi on top of him, and lets Yoongi take control, like he needs it too, needs a moment just to feel. Yoongi climbs on top of him, kiss Hoseok how he wants to and Hoseok just— kisses back. Kisses back like it matters, threading his hands into Yoongi’s hair, lifting up and nipping at the beauty mark on Yoongi’s cheek, trailing warm wet kisses down Yoongi’s neck. When it’s too much, when Yoongi feels too exposed and cold, he rolls back over, tugs Hoseok with him, likes the warm soft of Hoseok’s body pressed over his like a blanket.
He doesn’t mean to moan as loud as he does when Hoseok gets the angle just right but it feels so good and the friction is so good even though his sweats and he’s so caught up and he’s wanted this for so long. The sound comes out almost a sob, Hoseok’s name tangled with it.
“Fuck,” Hoseok says and does it again, “fuck,” not enough through their sweatpants but Yoongi’s so overwhelmed that it almost feels like enough, it almost feels like too much, “you’re so gorgeous, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” Hoseok whispers as they touch.
Yoongi gets out something like a laugh, something like a pant, sliding his hands up and down Hoseok’s ribcage, his shoulder blades, up into Hoseok’s hair to hold Hoseok’s face close and tilt it the way Yoongi wants so he can kiss Hoseok how he wants, how he’s figuring out Hoseok likes, lick into Hoseok’s mouth and make Hoseok shiver under his fingertips.
“Me, what the hell— look at you, Seok. You’re gorgeous, Hoseok-ah, fucking look at you, Jesus Christ.”
Hoseok grinds down again and Yoongi locks legs around his hips, lifts up into him, and they both gasp, get lost in it for a minute, the good friction, good pressure, Yoongi licking at Hoseok’s lips whenever he gets a chance because he wants to taste Hoseok but can’t pull it together enough to kiss him properly.
It feels so fucking good and Yoongi’s submerged, one more thing and he's going to be swept away.
“Fuck,” Hoseok chokes out, “shit, fuck, Yoongi, I’m like—” he laughs, presses a wet and messy kiss to Yoongi’s mouth, “I’m a mess, fuck, I’m like fucking close—"
“Me too,” Yoongi gasps out, “me too, I think I could come from just this Seok, I think I might, what the fuck,”
“Oh god, good, same, I’m—” Hoseok groans, ducks his head and scrapes his teeth over one of the bruises blossoming on Yoongi’s neck. “I guess,” he mumbles, “guess it’s not surprising,” tilting Yoongi’s head back with his nose so that he can pepper warm and wet kisses over Yoongi’s throat and then work back up to his mouth. “I’ve been keyed up around you for, like, ever so it shouldn’t surprise me that—fuck, oh fuck,”
Yoongi feels a strange surge of pride every time Hoseok’s breathing stutters like that, every time he loses control over his sentences because of something Yoongi does.
“Can I touch you, Seok? S’okay?” Yoongi slides a hand between them and tugs at the band of Hoseok’s sweatpants as he speaks. Hoseok nods into Yoongi’s neck, this desperate heated sound falling out of his mouth, as Yoongi palms Hoseok through his sweats.
“Oh Christ,” Hoseok mumbles, “oh Christ.”
Yoongi slides his hand under Hoseok’s waistband and Hoseok jerks against him, hips canting into Yoongi’s hand, a groan falling from his mouth. Hoseok presses Yoongi into the bed as Yoongi touches him, presses wet kisses all over Yoongi’s face, works his hips against Yoongi’s hand.
“Fuck, you’re hot.” Yoongi tells him, nips at Hoseok’s neck. Hoseok sorta whines and it sends Yoongi’s lower belly tingling. “So hot,” he tells Hoseok to see if Hoseok makes the same sound again. Hoseok does and Yoongi’s lower belly pulses. Hoseok’s thigh is between Yoongi’s legs, sort of a strange angle and not quite enough pressure where Yoongi needs it, but it feels good and Yoongi’s kicking his hips up into it anyway. “You’re so hot, always so hot, always wanna touch, make me feel so good, fuck,” he mumbles into Hoseok’s ear, trying to explain how good Hoseok is, how good Hoseok makes him feel. “Let me make you feel good, Seok-ah, c’mon baby.” Yoongi works his hand inside Hoseok’s boxers just barely.
Hoseok jerks on top of him.
“Oh god, shit— Yoongi,” Hoseok catches Yoongi’s mouth and kisses him hard, “Yoongi, you seriously don’t get it, you don’t get what you do to me,” panting into Yoongi’s mouth as he speaks, “let me touch you, let me touch you, let me touch you too—”
Yoongi nods into the next kiss and Hoseok groans, slides halfway off Yoongi’s body to the side. Yoongi can’t do much but half touch Hoseok now, hand sliding out of his sweats, arm sort of pinned as Hoseok rests on his side, half on Yoongi, fingers tangled in Yoongi’s hair.
“Yoongi, you really have no fucking clue. I like had my first wet dream about you, I fucking—” he slides fingers into Yoongi’s mouth and Yoongi takes them easily, locks eyes with Hoseok while he does, “fuck, so pretty,” Hoseok mumbles, “you’re so pretty, looks so good, baby.” Hoseok trails his fingers back down Yoongi’s chest and into Yoongi’s sweats. He wraps his hand around Yoongi, quick rapid stokes, “God, Yoongi, you look so fucking good,”
“Fuck,” Yoongi mumbles, “Jesus fuck,” Hoseok’s long fingers on him just right, tight and warm, and Yoongi’s oversensitive and so hard it hurts.
It doesn’t take long at all, like something like an embarrassingly short time, but Yoongi doesn’t even notice because Hoseok is touching him so good and working his hips against Yoongi’s side, breathing hot and heavy in Yoongi’s ear, against the skin of his neck, sucking little bruises, whispering fuck you look so good, you sound so good, Yoongi fuck,
Hoseok kisses him once soft and sweet, says—
—and Yoongi’s pretty much gone.
“Shit, Seok, gonna, m’gonna—”
“I got you, I got you. Please, I want you to. Want to see you come, baby.”
Yoongi comes so hard that he tries to curl in and around himself but can’t, all stretched up under Hoseok’s body, Hoseok’s tan skin everywhere he touches. He can’t make any sound at all really when he comes, a little gasp as he half curls into Hoseok, half arches into the feeling, hips lifting into Hoseok’s hand.
“Fuck,” Hoseok says from somewhere far away sounding, “fuck.”
Hoseok kisses Yoongi through it soft, all these little places, the apple of Yoongi’s cheek, the corner of his eye, the tip of his nose, his hairline, Hoseok’s tongue darting out and touching the skin.
Yoongi doesn’t know how long it takes before he forms what sounds like a coherent word again, but he’s pretty sure if it was anyone else he would be embarrassed about how far gone he was, how hard he just came from barely a hand job, but it’s Hoseok and it just makes sense Hoseok could touch him so good.
Hoseok’s eyes are dark and hooded when Yoongi meets them.
“Fuck.” Hoseok repeats and kisses Yoongi so deep and hard that Yoongi whimpers with how good it feels, like Hoseok’s touching him again, his whole-body tingling with aftershocks.
“Shit, Jesus Christ, shit, fuck,” Yoongi mumbles, trying to stop trembling, “Seok,” He tugs his hand free from under Hoseok’s body, slides it up to the back of Hoseok’s neck and pulls him into another kiss. He lifts his other hand and slides it into Hoseok’s sweats, into his boxers, wraps his fingers around Hoseok, a little twist on the upstroke as he touches.
“Oh fuck,” Hoseok says and goes entirely tense, his breath like it’s been punched out of him, eyelids fluttering shut. He shudders hard, head falling forward into Yoongi’s neck. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Yoongi.”
“Seok,” Yoongi whispers, more than a little wrecked, “Seok, my pretty Seok,” he presses kisses to the parts of Hoseok that he can reach, his sweat-damp hair, his temple, his forehead, “so hot, fuck, you’re so hot.”
“Christ, shit. You just— you sounded so good, looked so good.” Hoseok mumbles into Yoongi’s skin after a minute, breathing still unsteady. Yoongi works his hand out of Hoseok’s sweats as carefully as he can, nudges at Hoseok with his nose until Hoseok lifts his face.
“So hot.” He tells Hoseok. “Feel so good, made me feel so good.” Yoongi kisses him slow and sweet.
“Fuck, I’m a mess,” Hoseok breathes when they part, he’s smiling, their lips are still touching. He sounds so happy, “you make me a mess.”
“Same.” Yoongi whispers, smiling, pressing tiny kisses to Hoseok’s lips, “same. Christ, I came in like—holy shit, I’m a mess, you barely touched me.”
“I mean, not that it’s a competition but I just came in my pants basically from watching you.” Hoseok says laughing, catching Yoongi’s mouth with his.
They kiss for a minute, letting their heartbeats calm.
“Fuck, that’s—so hot.” Yoongi manages when they part, wrapping himself around Hoseok careful. “I’m seriously trying to think of something else to say but, Jesus, you’re so hot.”
Hoseok rolls onto his back, pulls Yoongi mostly on top of him, falls back against the pillows, reaching for tissues. They clean each other off as best they can and then Hoseok tilts Yoongi’s face up with a finger, wraps his arms around Yoongi and pulls him close as they kiss.
“I didn’t even get to touch you, not the way I wanted.” Yoongi pouts when their lips part. “I got distracted but I’m gonna make it up.”
“Hey.” Hoseok says. “You’ve touched me so many ways, Yoongi. I’ve been touched by you so many ways.”
“Oh god.” Yoongi whines. “Oh shut up, that’s horrible. Are you going to do that all the time now?” He can’t stop smiling, he’s still sticky and gross, they both are, and he just came half in his sweats and so did Hoseok, and Hoseok—Hoseok who loves him back— is pressing little kisses all over his face, telling him how good he looked and how good he sounded, like nothing could have been better than that. It feels sort of perfect.
“Oh absolutely gonna say stuff like that all the time,” Hoseok teases, “you get so flustered and cute, baby.”
Yoongi snorts, kisses Hoseok like he means it. He does mean it. He’s so glad to mean it, to not try to filter it, to be able to whisper I love you in between kisses just to feel the little shiver down his spine when Hoseok says it back.
“Clean me up and then get me messy again?” Yoongi offers after a moment, wriggling down and resting his cheek against Hoseok’s chest, pressing his ear to where Hoseok’s heart beats loud and sure.
“Needy.” Hoseok laughs from above him, hand soothing Yoongi’s shoulder. He wriggles down too, slides Yoongi up, smiles that smile Yoongi loves because it rides across Hoseok’s face like it’s on the crest of a wave, but it doesn’t break, just grows. “I would fucking love to do that. Can I kiss you first?”
“Please.” Yoongi whispers, “please, Seok-ah.”
Hoseok smiles and does.
Each time he touches Yoongi, a little bit of the disbelief leaves Yoongi, a little bit of the part of him that is saying there’s no way, there’s no way, there’s really no way, this has to be a joke, a dream, made up, you’re making it up
Hoseok kisses him while they talk curled up on bed, Holly eventually wandering in to lay by their feet, dreaming and pawing at the air. He kisses Yoongi while they frown at how sticky and gross they still are, kisses him in the shower while they clean off properly, kisses him while he dries off Yoongi’s hair and Yoongi dries off his, both of them laughing, a giggling mess.
He kisses Yoongi while Yoongi’s getting dressed again, it’s so fucking hot how you look in my clothes, hyung, shit, that messes with me, that’s always messed with me. He kisses Yoongi when Yoongi says why don’t you take them off me then, I was promised I would be made messy again. He kisses Yoongi while he pushes him back into their bed. He kisses Yoongi while they catch their breath, he kisses Yoongi while Yoongi whispers dirty things, tries to convince Hoseok to stay in bed for a little longer, to touch more now and let dinner wait.
He kisses Yoongi while they fight about what kind of takeaway and then order food and eat curled together on the couch like always, exchanging vegetables they don’t want for ones the other has that they do. He kisses Yoongi while they do the dishes. Kisses Yoongi while they take Holly out on his bedtime walk, kisses Yoongi every few steps like now that he knows he can he doesn’t want to stop.
He kisses Yoongi and tells him he tastes like pomegranates. He kisses Yoongi and tells him he tastes sweet. He kisses Yoongi and tells him he tastes like home. He kisses Yoongi when Yoongi says you liar, I taste like Chinese food and toothpaste. He kisses Yoongi messy and chaste and soft and all sorts of ways, little nips and little presses of lips, some almost in disbelief, some with such confidence that Yoongi has to catch his breath.
Hoseok threads their fingers together and kisses Yoongi’s knuckles, he watches with soft eyes while Yoongi kisses his back. He kisses the back of Yoongi’s neck while Yoongi roots around in the freezer, kisses Yoongi’s lower lip and then his upper one and then the center of his mouth while they eat water ice on the couch and Yoongi complains I’m cold, why are we eating water ice.
He kisses across Yoongi’s face while he tugs Yoongi back to their bed, kisses Yoongi slow while he takes his clothes off of Yoongi’s body. He kisses Yoongi’s skin as it shows, as he tells Yoongi how good Yoongi looks in Hoseok’s clothes, how good he looks out of them. He kisses Yoongi’s shoulders while Yoongi tells him how pretty he is, he kisses Yoongi’s fingers when they’re near his mouth, kisses every bit of skin he can as they touch slower, a little less frantic. He kisses Yoongi while they touch, touch new ways, touch ways they haven’t touched before. He kisses Yoongi while Yoongi comes, is kissed by Yoongi when he does, and then pulls Yoongi close, when they’re spent and sweaty so that he can whisper,
I love you
Which feels like being touched, feels like being kissed, the way Hoseok says it.
Yoongi whispers it back, once then twice into Hoseok’s mouth, then with a kiss to each of his cheeks, the shells of his ears, his eyelids, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his shoulder, the divot between his collarbones.
Love you love you love you.
Hoseok sighs sleepily, a content and happy sound, and pulls Yoongi a little closer, presses something like a kiss to his hair, trails fingers down his spine. Yoongi sinks into the touch, the taste of Hoseok still on his tongue, the feel of Hoseok all up and down his body. Yoongi presses a line of kisses across Hoseok’s skin, rests his lips against the place where Hoseok’s pulse thuds.
“Feels good?” Yoongi mumbles, half asleep and still sort of floating, pulling back a little so that he can see Hoseok’s sleepy face, his little sleepy smile.
“Always,” Hoseok replies, his arms tightening around Yoongi, pulling him close again, “always feel good when I’m with you.”
“Me too, Seok-ah.” Yoongi presses one last kiss to Hoseok’s skin, sinks into the knowledge that he can wake up tomorrow and do it again, and then lets his eyes flutter closed. “Me too.”
“Wasted so much time.” Yoongi tells Hoseok the next morning, when Hoseok comes back from walking Holly all cool summer morning and pulls him into another kiss, slow and deep, like he doesn’t even mind that they both taste like sleep. “I wasted so much time, didn’t I?” He asks, as he skims his mouth down Hoseok’s chest, wet open-mouthed kisses, little nips, pausing at spots where Hoseok’s breath stutters. Hoseok blinks down at him, lips red from Yoongi biting at them or Hoseok biting at them or the hours spent kissing yesterday. “Didn’t I?” Yoongi tilts his head in question and Hoseok’s face sort of breaks, this really pretty smile like sunrise sweeping across his features.
“Nope.” He says, smoothing Yoongi’s hair back from his forehead. “No. Come here for a second.” He pulls Yoongi up toward him, fits their mouths together, lets Yoongi roll them over and pull Hoseok on top of him.
“Huh?” Yoongi asks, as Hoseok settles, presses him into the mattress. “But I mean, you’ve wanted to kiss me for, like, a minute?”
“Plus like five to ten years, yeah,” Hoseok says, “it’s been something like a minute. Hey, want to hear something horrible? I bet you’ll think it’s true too. True and horrible.”
“Something true and horrible,” murmurs Yoongi, a little distracted when Hoseok’s mouth finds the sensitive spot on the side of his neck. He lets his eyes close, tilts his head, thinks about him and Hoseok, Hoseok and him and something horrible and— gets it. “No,” Yoongi whispers desperately. Hoseok grins, lifts up so he can press their foreheads together, shifts so he’s more firmly on top of Yoongi, “Seok-ah, do not—” Yoongi pleads.
“Every second spent loving you was worth it.” Hoseok says very seriously. “Yoongi, not a second I’ve spent with you has ever been wasted time to me.”
“Holly,” Yoongi shouts desperately, “Holly, Holly, please come here.”
Holly barks, his nails scratch in the living room and he runs, jumps, lands on their bed beside them, tail wagging.
“Bite him.” Yoongi says, pointing at Hoseok, wriggling to try and get free. “Holly, you gotta. You gotta do it. Bite him.”
Holly looks at them for a moment, tilts his head again like he’s expecting a treat for coming when Yoongi called him, and then stiffens, stares at the corner of the room, turns and runs, barking excitedly.
“A ghost?” Yoongi asks, looking toward the empty corner, “Is there a ghost?”
“Hey,” Hoseok says. “Hey, nope, come back, don’t try to get out of this.” Hoseok grins at Yoongi’s pout, kisses him soft. “And you bite me,” Hoseok whispers, “from now on, don’t try to get Holly to do your dirty work.”
“I guess,” Yoongi sighs, tugs on Hoseok’s lip with his teeth, “I guess. Now let me up and roll back over, come on.”
“Hmm?” Hoseok asks, nosing at Yoongi’s neck, pressing warm wet little kisses, “why should I?”
“Cause I’m gonna make you feel good, Seok.” Yoongi gasps, arches into the touch. “Gonna, gonna— god,”
“Gonna what?” Hoseok asks, scraping teeth lightly over bruises he left last night, “that doesn’t make sense, Yoongi. What are you gonna do?”
“Put your dick in my mouth.” Yoongi says patiently. “I want to put your dick in my mouth, Hoseok-ah.”
“Christ.” Hoseok says stilling a little, breath hot and wet on Yoongi’s neck. “That was so unromantic. I hate how much that turned me on. Shit, I would like that so much. You have such a pretty little mouth.” The last part almost to himself it’s so quiet.
“Oh?” Yoongi hums, pleased. “Pretty little mouth, hmm? Have you touched yourself thinking about my pretty mouth, Seok?” Yoongi pouts as he lifts Hoseok’s face up toward his, watching Hoseok’s eyes flick to his mouth, flash dark, the palest blush across his cheeks. “Oh, I see, you have, huh?” He lifts up, brushes their mouths together, flicks his tongue out to touch Hoseok’s lower lip. Hoseok’s fingers tighten on his hips. “That’s hot, baby.” Yoongi breathes. “What did you think about, me on my knees for you?”
Hoseok makes a low little sound of agreement, nips at Yoongi’s lips.
“Tell me,” Yoongi whispers, “come on, Hoseok-ah, tell me.”
“Shit.” Hoseok breathes, “shit, yeah, or—or on the couch, the way you curl up with your head on my lap while we watch TV, always biting at your lips and shit, eating shaved ice at night, lips all cold and swollen and red and— shit, tried not to, tried not to think about it but fuck,”
“Did you touch yourself in the shower thinking about me, trying to stay quiet knowing I was right outside?” Yoongi licks at Hoseok’s mouth again. “That’s dirty, Hoseok-ah.”
“Fuck, shut up, don’t tease, stop smiling—”
“No,” Yoongi whines, “no, I won’t shut up. I’m not teasing. I don’t want to be sappy anymore, I want to touch you and say dirty things, I want you to tell me dirty things. Come on, let me suck you off, come on, wanna wanna.” He rolls them back over and makes his way back down Hoseok’s body. “I’ve thought about it too, Hoseok-ah, I think about it too, about how pretty I’d bet you look, all hot and sweaty looking down at me, hands in my hair. I’ve thought about how you’d taste. Want to taste you, pretty. Want to see what you look like. Will you let me find out?”
Hoseok makes an unidentifiable strangled sound, threads his fingers into Yoongi’s hair.
“Please.” He says.
“Shit, I wanted to say that I was serious,” Hoseok gasps later, hands still tight in Yoongi’s hair as he comes down. Yoongi teases, sucks a bruising kiss right above Hoseok’s hipbone, just to hear him groan. “I mean—I guess we could be mad we waited so long or something but—” He blinks down at Yoongi, licks at his lips, clearly trying to find the words, “I would go back to it in a heartbeat too, if you told me what you needed with me didn’t include this. I would.” He smooths Yoongi’s hair back from his forehead. “I know you would too. It’s just— we’re—” He flounders, looks at Yoongi expectantly, like he thinks Yoongi should understand.
“Me and you.” Yoongi whispers, lifting up and crawling up Hoseok’s body so that he can press their mouths together, tender and sweet.
“Yeah.” Hoseok breathes, pulling Yoongi to his chest, his heart hammering in Yoongi’s ear. “Yeah, that’s all I ever really wanted, hyung. Me and you.”
“Me too.” Yoongi says quietly as he shifts. He presses a kiss to his fingers, presses his fingers to Hoseok’s chest, right over his heart. “Seok-ah, me too.”
(Their apartment is still pretty shit though.)
Hoseok and he get a one bedroom downtown. It’s not exactly a nice building, but it’s a pretty goddamn tolerable building.
“Oh my god,” Hoseok says when they move in, “oh my god, hyung, look, an elevator.”
It’s true. An elevator. Like, a real one. The kind with doors that close on their own and everything.
It’s amazing and breaks the second day Hoseok and Yoongi use it and then three times within the month.
(We’re literally cursed, they explain to their friends. Literally.
The witches, Jimin hisses.
The ghosts, Taehyung nods.
Or the drug dealers, Jeongguk adds.
In this case, Jeongguk is probably not right.)
“Yoongi-hyung.” Hoseok says, very seriously the third time the elevator breaks. “We’re going to die.”
“Again,” Yoongi says, “the elevator just stopped, Hoseok. They’ve literally said they’re goi—”
“Yes, but,” Hoseok says rather patiently, “we’re going to die.”
They stare at each other for a beat.
“Have you been reading one of Joon-ah’s books again?” Yoongi asks. “That sounded very existential crisis-y I’m not really sure—” The lights flicker and Hoseok squeaks. “Hoseok.” Yoongi says, holding out his arms. “Again, we’re not going to die.”
“Everyone dies,” Hoseok snaps, “and I have my own books.”
“Okay, fair.” Yoongi acquiesces, gesturing for Hoseok to shift over. “Look, sorry, just Guk-ah went off on some weird tangent crisis last week because of Joon’s books and ever since Tae read that entire Murakami collection he keeps wandering to McDonald's with Jiminie late at night so they can meet the girl with short hair who has a cat and will show them their magic realism future and I just now associate—”
The lights go out.
Hoseok squeaks again and, honestly, Yoongi kind of wants to as well. They’re on the bottom floor, there’s nothing to be afraid of, there are emergency lights so it’s not even that dark— but would he rather not be trapped in an elevator on this fine Tuesday morning? Yeah, not being trapped in an elevator would be awesome as well.
“Hyung.” Hoseok says, in a very quiet voice. Yoongi smacks his hands around until they collide with Hoseok in the dim. “Ow.” Hoseok says, a bit muffled as he curls into Yoongi’s side.
“So, the lights are out.” Yoongi says.
“Yeah, I can tell.” Hoseok sighs. “Thanks for the update.”
“Cameras probably too.” Yoongi murmurs pointedly.
Hoseok smacks his chest. “We’re dying and you want to make out.”
“Literally no better time to make out.” Yoongi points out. “But also, I’m terrified, Seok-ah, kiss me, kiss away my fears please. Help.”
“God, you’re the worst.” Hoseok sighs, but he’s kissing a line up Yoongi’s neck soft and slow and his mouth is curved into a grin against Yoongi’s skin. “Needy and sappy,” he mumbles, “why are we even dating?”
“You love me.” Yoongi says as their lips meet, Hoseok licking into Yoongi’s mouth like he does late at night when he pulls Yoongi into the bathtub with him. The shape of Hoseok’s mouth, the taste of him, is so familiar, Yoongi leans into the touch, always does.
“Yeah.” Hoseok sighs happily, tugs at Yoongi’s lower lip with his teeth the way Yoongi likes. “Yeah, I do love you.”
“That works out well.” Yoongi says and pushes Hoseok back, lifts up so that he can settle himself in Hoseok’s lap, slides fingers into Hoseok’s hair, tilts him up so Yoongi can kiss him good, kiss him a little needy, kiss him the way Hoseok likes to be kissed, the way Yoongi likes to kiss him. “I love you too.” He tells Hoseok. “Now kiss away my fears, baby. Need you to.”
Hoseok smiles, tugs on Yoongi’s hair, and lifts up. Their mouths meet easily.
“Wait, so you think they gave these to everyone in the building because of you?” Seokjin asks, looking at the notice that was slid under Hoseok and Yoongi’s door. “It’s about appropriate elevator behav—oh my god, did you have sex in the elevator?”
“There was no penetration.” Yoongi says.
“I hate this.” Namjoon says. “I hate today.”
“Did you give Hoseok a blowjob in the elevator?” Jimin asks. “Did he give you one?”
“Why are you asking specifics?” Seokjin says.
“I need mental images, I’m a visual learner.” Jimin responds.
“I really hate today.” Namjoon says.
“Bro-job.” Taehyung mumbles. “They’re bros, you know.”
“They’re dating.” Seokjin says. “They’re clearly dating.”
“They said they aren’t.” Jeongguk points out. “Hyung, not to be rude but don’t force a relationship status on them.”
“Okay, a, Tae is correct, we are bros,” Yoongi says, pointing at Taehyung, “so good point from him. Also, thank you Jeongguk, appreciate that. Second of all, to be fair to Seokjinie-hyung, Hoseok and I are together, just not dating.”
“Use a and b or one and two,” Namjoon puts his face in his hands, “you’re confusing.”
Hoseok yawns, stretches, flops on the couch on the other side of Namjoon.
“We’re married,” he tells Seokjin, “me and Yoongi.”
“You got married!” Jimin sounds delighted.
“They’re not married.” Seokjin says. “Don’t listen to them.”
“We have rings.” Hoseok waves his hand.
“Those are fake.” Seokjin points out. “You always hav— wait, what. Are those real. Holy shit, those are new ones, lemme see.”
Hoseok holds out his hand encouragingly toward Seokjin and Jeongguk, and Yoongi lets Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon peer at his.
“Aw,” Seokjin says, “you guys got real couple rings. God, I hate this.”
“It’s really gross.” Jimin says. “They’ll probably start wearing matching clothing. Yoongi-hyung is going to look so silly in Hobi-hyung’s clothing. I’m so happy.”
“He looks hot as shit in my clothing, Jimin-ah, you’re wrong.” Hoseok says. “He looks so fucking good.”
“Please stop.” Namjoon says.
“No, go on.” Jimin says.
“Going to side with Jimin on this one.” Seokjin says. “Like I could see it being cute but I’m not sure about ‘hot as shit’ so, please. Do continue, Hoseok.”
“Wait, first, I want to return to the previous marriage thing because I’m a bit angry I wasn’t invited to the wedding.” Taehyung says. He does look slightly miffed. “Sort of rude, Yoongi-hyung.”
“Common law married.” Yoongi amends. “There was no real ceremony, but we’ve been together for over ten years, lived together for seven, the whole deal.”
“There are no common law marriages in Korea,” Namjoon frowns, “or not like that. Were you watching American TV shows again? Stop applying your haphazard understanding of their legal system to our country.”
“You have not been together ten years.” Seokjin says.
“I also doubt that,” Jimin says, “I feel like I retain memories of you not together but also I’m really happy you guys are married, that’s so nice.”
“I feel so happy.” Taehyung says with a sigh. “Since I was like 10 years old they’ve been in love, my kids are all grown up now, all grown up and married.”
“They’re not married.” Seokjin repeats.
“Thank you.” Yoongi says, because Taehyung’s giving him that real big boxy smile that means he’s being honest.
“The rings are nice,” Namjoon says, “and I’m not denying that or anything, but also you’ve sometimes had couple rings for years.”
“Literal years.” Seokjin adds.
“Well, yeah.” Hoseok says patiently. “Because we’ve been together for years, we just finally had money to buy nicer ones.”
“No.” says Namjoon.
“Feels wrong.” says Seokjin.
“Commitments are nice.” Jeongguk says.
“We’ve been together since—” Hoseok frowns, “how old were you the first time we kissed, hyung?”
Yoongi considers, tilts so he can catch Hoseok’s eye around Namjoon. “Fifteen? Just barely fifteen.”
“Yeah, so like a decade.” Hoseok says.
“That doesn’t count.” Seokjin says. “That’s not how that works. You’re not just together because you kissed.”
“Wait, how does common law marriage work in Korea?” Yoongi asks Namjoon. “How long do you have to—”
“No, it—you have to actually get married. Like a public wedding ceremony. It’s a strange system.”
“Babe,” Yoongi says, “babe, Joon says we’re de facto married.”
“No, I said the opposite.” Namjoon sputters. “He’s literally sitting right there, he heard what I said too, Yoongi-hyung.”
“Nice.” Hoseok grins, leans forward over Namjoon. “Give me a kiss, husband.” Yoongi tilts up from the other side of Namjoon, uses Namjoon’s knee to hold himself up, lets Hoseok kiss him soft and sweet and then not so sweet.
“Stop making out in front of me.” Namjoon says.
“They’re astounding.” Jimin says to Taehyung.
Well, Yoongi assumes to Taehyung, he’s not really paying much attention. Hoseok is worrying Yoongi’s bottom lip with his teeth and Namjoon is trying to push Yoongi off of him.
“You’re astounding,” Jimin tells Yoongi when Yoongi and Hoseok break apart.
Yoongi hums happily, crawls over Namjoon and into Hoseok’s lap.
“Thank you.” He says.
Taehyung smiles dreamily. “My favorite not-actual cousin and his husband.”
“No.” Namjoon says.
“No.” Seokjin says.
“Aw.” Jimin says.
“You guys really are great.” Jeongguk says, something like awe in his eyes, as he scoops Holly onto his lap. “I find this inspirational. I’m inspired.”
“Jeongguk, no.” Seokjin says.
“Jeongguk, yes.” Jeongguk whispers under his breath.
Yoongi curls into Hoseok’s chest, tilts his head up for a little kiss.
“Inspirational.” He tells Hoseok as he cuddles back into his warmth. “I find you inspirational too, Seokseok.”
“You too.” Hoseok presses a little kiss to Yoongi’s head, wraps his arms around tight around Yoongi’s waist. “My sleepy cat.”
“I didn’t want to know you call him that.” Namjoon sighs.
“It was kinda cute.” Jeongguk says, wrinkling his nose. “I mean I don’t need more details on their pet names, but it was kinda cute.”
“So cute.” Jimin whispers.
“So so cute.” Taehyung whispers back.
“I really don’t think you three should encourage them—” Seokjin starts as Yoongi pouts up at Hoseok and Hoseok gives him another little kiss, winks at him. “See, now you’ve encouraged them.” Seokjin finishes with a sigh.
“It’s good we have a healthy and loving marriage.” Hoseok tells Seokjin. “Hyung, why are you begrudging us our happiness? What do you and Joon have against us being happy?”
“Why?” Namjoon whispers. “Why would you phrase it like that? I don’t begrudge your happiness, I value your honesty w—”
“We are honest.” Yoongi tells him. “Honestly in love.”
“Oh my god.” Namjoon says.
“I am so frustrated.” Seokjin says, staring at them icily. “You two frustrate me so completely. I want a drink. Jeongguk-ah, let’s go drinking tomorrow.”
“Ooooh, yeah.” Jimin says. “Let’s go out.”
“No,” Seokjin snaps, “I invited Jeongguk.”
“Oh wow.” Jeongguk says, tilting toward Seokjin. “Oh yeah, okay, let’s go, just the two of us, sweet, yeah, let’s.”
“Cool.” Seokjin says. “It’s a date.”
“Aw.” Jimin says, wrapping his arms around Taehyung. “Today is so cute. I love today.”
“Can we please just order food?” Namjoon sighs. “I’m tired.”
Later, after everyone has left, after they take Holly out for his bedtime walk and come back sleepy and late summer evening chilled, after showering and Yoongi rummaging for Hoseok’s softest sleep shirt, Yoongi heads to the freezer to get them dessert, while Hoseok opens the windows, lets the warm air in.
“Raspberry or lemon water ice today?” Yoongi calls. “Seok. Hoseok? Seok, you gotta answer or I’m gonna melt it in the microwave and mix them together and force you to dr—” Hoseok sneaks up behind Yoongi in the kitchen, still sort of shower damp, and squirms fingers into his ribs. “No,” Yoongi twists helplessly, “no tickling, no—"
Hoseok relaxes his hands, and pulls Yoongi’s back to his bare chest, slides his arms tight around Yoongi’s waist, presses a kiss to the back of Yoongi’s neck, the back of his head, the shell of his ear.
“Stop.” Yoongi whines, tilts into the touch. “No wait, keep going.” Hoseok smiles against his skin.
“I’m glad we’re fake common law married.” Hoseok tells Yoongi and presses his nose into the side of Yoongi’s neck, then presses a little kiss to the spot just below Yoongi’s ear, the sensitive spot that always makes Yoongi squirm.
“Seok.” Yoongi whines, twisting as Hoseok nips gentle.
“Yoongi.” Hoseok whines back and grins.
Yoongi twists around in his arms so that he can see properly.
Hoseok’s smile is so pretty and Yoongi knows what it tastes like now, can taste it whenever he wants to now, never wants to stop tasting it.
“I’m glad we are too.” He tells Hoseok and lets Hoseok catch his mouth, kiss him gentle, fingers fluttering on the sides of Yoongi’s face before travelling down with pressure, travelling around to the small of his back to pull them close with practiced ease.
It feels so good, touching Hoseok, being touched by Hoseok.
Yoongi cups Hoseok’s face in his palms, presses their foreheads together.
“Hi.” Hoseok grins.
“Hi.” Yoongi whispers. “Love you. Raspberry or lemon water ice?”
“Raspberry.” Hoseok whispers back. “Love you too.”
And it’s nice. Nice to hear the words. Nice that they’re followed by a kiss. Nice that Hoseok kisses Yoongi long enough that Yoongi has to kick the freezer closed, kisses him long enough that Yoongi’s whole body feels warm. It’s nice that when Yoongi gets them dessert Hoseok drags him to the couch and cuddles up with him, already has Netflix open to Namjoon’s account.
It’s nice, that when Yoongi complains the water ice made his mouth cold, gave him brain freeze, Hoseok whispers don’t you know how to get rid of brain freeze, hyung? and kisses Yoongi warm, pulls Yoongi up and walks them to their bedroom, kicks the door closed behind him, pushes Yoongi down onto their blankets and covers him up with his body. It’s nice that Hoseok kisses Yoongi, is kissed by Yoongi, likes to make Yoongi smile even when they’re in bed. It’s nice that their bed is big and their sheets are soft and their apartment is painted a gentle gentle yellow that makes Yoongi think of early morning sun.
It’s nice. Their apartment is nice.
There’s no loud sounds from outside, the electricity always works, the door isn’t a figment of their imagination, and there’s no ghosts or witches on the second floor. There is one drug dealer but (a) he lives on the fourth floor and (b) he’s pretty cool. He’s named Steve. Yoongi and him are buds. His mixtape was kinda shit but Yoongi appreciates his dedication and he gave them free rolling papers with it so like. You know. Win some, lose some.
But yeah, it’s nice.
It was a nice day with their friends and a nice evening and now Hoseok is touching him in their pretty apartment in their pretty bedroom and Yoongi feels good, just the kind of good where you’re helpless to do anything but smile.
Like, sure, the elevator and them are engaged in a battle and they’re lowkey on a list with management now but—their new apartment is nice. They have an actual for real honest to god grownup lease. Holly has more space to run and has made friends with some of the dogs from other units who are not thieves and thus a better influence than George and Andrew were. And overall the place is significantly less haunted and at least 200% less condemned than their last building. Namjoon still says that’s not how condemning buildings works and also that that’s not how percentages work, but Yoongi and Hoseok and Holly don’t like that attitude.
So, yeah, Hoseok and Yoongi really like their new place.
It’s pretty great.
Honestly, everything is pretty great.
It’s him and Hoseok though, so Yoongi figures that makes sense.
(Actually, it’s a given.)