But to be clear, it was a sex app. A gay sex app, for gay sex, and Yoongi knew, knows, that sometimes in dire situations he was (is) willing to put a few of his more petty personal judgements aside. And to be even more clear, Seokjin’s profile picture showed an annoyingly attractive man (not that attractive, his own stubborn mind reasoned with him. Attractive in an ulzzang kind of way, but that’s all) with annoyingly pretty lips. Yoongi, with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, glanced down at his little description.
I’m funny and I’m hung. What else do you want?
Yoongi decided very quickly that he hated Seokjin. He decided this as just as he pressed the little envelope button, and began typing out a message. Again, dire situations.
that’s a really stupid username
i don’t accept constructive criticism from people whose pictures are all selcas
it wasn’t constructive it was just criticism
is there a market on this app for mean little twinks?
in my experience, yes
it does have a certain appeal
i imagine ur whole chaebol heir thing does too
how do you know i’m not a self-made man
self-made wealth is a lie spread by the upper class
ooooh he went to college
no i’m funny, didn’t you read my bio?
And Yoongi, despite himself, found himself snorting.
my name is yoongi
my name is seokjin. you want me to fuck you or what?
And Yoongi, despite himself, did.
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. Gestures for Hoseok to go on, like there was any danger of him not doing so.
“You’re exclusive,” Hoseok says. He looks at Yoongi expectantly, and Yoongi nods. “You’ve been seeing each other for eight months.” Another nod from Yoongi. “You spend all your fucking time together.”
Yoongi makes a face. “Of course we don’t.”
“He has a drawer of clothes in your dresser,” Hoseok says, raising his eyebrows like he’s unimpressed with Yoongi’s denial.
“He can’t wear my fuckin’ clothes, he’s built like a stringbean fucked a swimmer,” Yoongi complains. “What am I supposed to do? Let him walk around naked if he needs to change out of what he was wearing?”
Hoseok nods, though he’s still giving Yoongi a deadpan kind of look.
“Right. Sure. So anyway, you’re in love with him, right?”
Yoongi screws up his face into something disgusted. “What the fuck? No. It’s a casual thing, Hoseok.”
Hoseok sighs. Seokjin pokes his head out from the kitchen, says, “Yoongi-yah, come peel the garlic. You know I’m too delicate for these things. Were you talking about fucking a swimmer?”
“You’re not delicate,” Yoongi grumbles. “You’re just too fuckin’ impatient to — yeah, alright, I’m coming,” he says louder when Seokjin calls his name again. “Were you a swimmer?”
“Absolutely not. I hate moving,” Seokjin says simply.
“That is true,” Yoongi agrees. He walks into the kitchen with Seokjin, grabs the chef’s knife to smash the garlic just enough to peel it. When he glances back at Hoseok, he’s sitting there at the table rolling his eyes. But Yoongi puts it out of his mind as he tells Seokjin exactly all the ways he’s cooking wrong.
“I find most thieves don’t ask,” Seokjin replies, but he looks kind of delighted.
“This place makes me want to become some kind of Robin Hood. Steal from the rich, redistribute the wealth,” Yoongi says, letting his eyes slip closed as he lays against the soft mattress.
“That sounds more like Marxism,” Seokjin comments.
Yoongi cracks open an eye to look at Seokjin incredulously.
“I went to college too,” Seokjin says with a smug little smirk. And Yoongi hates that it looks so good on him, the way his lips are swollen from kissing and sucking Yoongi off.
“Whatever,” Yoongi lands on. “Robin Hood, Karl Marx. Be gay, do crimes, that’s both their motto, right? Eat the rich and all that.”
“If you wanted to eat me out, you should have just mentioned it,” Seokjin says lightly.
Yoongi, surprised, lets out a laugh.
Seokjin is smiling at him now, less smirk and more genuine. “See? Funny and hung. I don’t believe in false advertisement.”
“Admirable,” Yoongi comments. He closes his eyes again, feeling spent. Usually, he finds these kinds of things a little more awkward, or at least more impersonal. Usually, he would already be out the door after getting fucked by a pretty almost-stranger. But Seokjin, goddamn him, is engaging and charming even post-orgasm.
“You can steal whatever you want, but if I catch you, you have to put it back,” Seokjin tells him a moment later.
“Ooh,” Yoongi says, his interest not ingenuine. “Fun.” And then, just because he can, he says, “I would’ve eaten you out, actually. I’m good at it.”
“Well, I’ll just keep that in mind for next time.”
Yoongi cracks his eyes open again, gives Seokjin a searching look, but Seokjin doesn’t look any different from how he did a moment ago. Cool, collected, a perfect mask of teasing indifference on his face.
“Sure,” Yoongi agrees. Because who is he to say no to good dick?
Seokjin showed up to Yoongi’s apartment with a bottle of bourbon a board game. Yoongi felt, very briefly, incredibly turned on by both of those facts. Now, as Seokjin sits down at the coffee table, spreading out the game board, he feels weirdly suspicious.
Seokjin looks at him with a questioning expression. “I don’t know. Why can’t it be?”
Yoongi crosses his arms. “I mean, I guess it can be. Just, you know, some warning would be nice.”
Seokjin pauses, looks him up and down. Raises an eyebrow. “Min Yoongi, just a warning, but I’m going to date you, if that’s agreeable with you.”
Yoongi scowls, crosses his arms harder. “You’re being a shit.”
“Of course I am,” Seokjin says with a scoff. “Are we dating or what?”
“Fine, whatever,” Yoongi says, rolling his eyes.
“Great,” Seokjin says with a sarcastic little smile. “How’s the date going so far?”
Yoongi sighs. Sits down across from Seokjin at the coffee table, helps gather up the little wooden tiles into neat stacks. “I’m not going to want to date you anymore after you cheat at a fucking children’s game.”
“Be gay, do crimes,” Seokjin tells him easily.
“There’s crimes, and then there’s anarchy,” Yoongi explains.
Seokjin smiles. “And I’m an anarchist, so that works out perfectly.”
Yoongi huffs out a little laugh. “Oldest goes first,” he says, and lets Seokjin draw tiles.
The game ends, predictably, with the two of them tipsy from drinking bourbon “extra neat” (which is how Seokjin describes drinking it from the bottle, ignoring Yoongi’s protests that ten-year old bourbon deserves better) and angry at each other for making up rules and cheating, yelling through hysterical laughter over the game board.
Seokjin’s face is red from screaming and flapping his arms, and eventually Yoongi knocks the board over on his way to pin Seokjin to the floor, kiss him just to shut him up.
“This is,” Seokjin says between kisses, “the worst fucking date I’ve ever been on.”
“No it’s not,” Yoongi says with a smile.
“No, it’s not,” Seokjin agrees.
Yoongi has had a fucking terrible day. He never likes his birthday; there’s too much weird pressure around it, too many expectations. It always ends up like this, with Yoongi waking up wincing, anticipatory, and the entire universe deciding to take a collective shit on him in response.
He woke up late. He was given regular coffee instead of decaf because he had to go to a new coffeeshop, because his usual coffeeshop was closed for the day. He was too jittery and anxious at work to get anything done properly around the shop. He dropped a million-won midi keyboard on the floor when he was trying to move some stock around and saw his entire goddamn life flash before his eyes. It ended up being only mildly broken (Namjoon assured him of this in a semi-panicked tone, seeing the way Yoongi lost it), still fine to use as a display, but it was enough to send Yoongi into a panic attack. At work. And sure, Namjoon has seen him have panic attacks before, but the eighteen-year-old kids who work for them haven’t, and Yoongi never particularly wanted them to.
And then, to top everything off, it started pouring rain on Yoongi’s walk from the nearest metro station to his apartment. Of course. It was only barely warm enough for it to not be snow, and the result was a cold, slushy mess that Yoongi was stuck in for a solid ten minute walk.
By the time he gets to his door, he’s soaking wet, freezing cold, and against his will, crying, with angry little tears running warmly down his cheeks. Fuck this. Fuck all of it. Fuck the very concept of being alive. Fuck. He just wants to take a shower in the dark and go the fuck to sleep. Try again to exist tomorrow, and hope for the best.
But of course, when he opens his door, he’s met with the sight of Seokjin, scurrying around and setting down bowls at Yoongi’s dining table.
“Oh god,” Yoongi voices weakly as Seokjin looks over at him and his confident smile fades.
“...Yoongi?” Seokjin asks hesitantly.
“Nope!” Yoongi says, and stomps off, wet shoes and all, into his bedroom. He expects Seokjin to follow him, to hear his whining voice behind him, but he...doesn’t. Okay. Well, good.
He sniffs loudly as he kicks off his shoes and the horrible wet jeans he has on, and god, why is he crying, hasn’t he broken down in front of enough people today? Whatever. He keeps stripping down until he’s naked and cold, skin still damp from the wet clothes, and against his will, he lets out a sad little broken half-sob. Fuck this. Fuck this.
There’s a knock at his door. “Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says, voice softer than it is usually.
Yoongi sighs. He wants to tell Seokjin to go away, but he can’t figure out how to without sounding like a petulant twelve-year-old. “What, hyung?” He asks instead.
A pause. Then, “I can go, if you want.”
Yoongi’s instinct is to say yes, to make him leave. But there’s something in his voice, careful in a way that Seokjin so rarely is, that makes him feel bad about that. He sighs again. “Why are you here?”
“I made you dinner, for your birthday,” Seokjin answers simply. “I just...thought it would be nice.”
It is nice. It makes Yoongi feel worse.
“I had the worst fucking day, and I’m —” Yoongi’s voice cracks again, new tears falling from his eyes, and oh my god, he wants to fucking disappear.
“Do you want me to go?” Seokjin asks, not acknowledging it.
“No,” Yoongi says quietly. Too quietly, to talk through a door. “No,” he repeats louder.
“Do you want me to run you a bath?”
If it were a more functional moment in his life, a moment where he wasn’t crying naked on his bed on his fucking birthday, Yoongi would scoff and say no. It would chafe at him, the kindness of it, the intimacy of it. He and Seokjin don’t do intimate, not really — they don’t buy each other gifts for holidays, they don’t talk about difficult things, they aren’t — they aren’t vulnerable like this. Yoongi thinks Seokjin hates it just as much as he does, showing each other anything messy or raw. And it’s fine. They’re casual. Yoongi’s friends say you can’t be casual with someone you’ve been seeing for a year, but they are, and they’re happy that way. So really, he should laugh the offer away. Tell Seokjin to go home. Apologize tomorrow.
But he’s cold down to his bones, down to his stupid dumbass heart, and the hand Seokjin’s extending seems warm, and he feels — he doesn’t want to think about how he feels. He closes his eyes and says, “Okay. Thanks.”
Seokjin doesn’t say anything else, but a moment later, Yoongi hears the bathtub begin flowing water, and he finds himself crying a little bit again. He sits there until the water stops, the apartment going quiet again, and then he grabs his towel from where it’s hanging on the back of his door and shuffles his way to the bathroom. Seokjin is crouched on the floor next to the tub, in nice jeans and bare feet, and he turns over his shoulder to glance at Yoongi when he hears him walk in.
“Hey,” Seokjin says, turning back to the tub. Yoongi drags a hand across his face, wipes the wet of his eyes away, makes a little noise of acknowledgment.
Seokjin stands, wipes the creases out of his t-shirt and shakes a little excess water off of his hand.
“You made dinner?” Yoongi asks, voice coming out quiet and rough. He fidgets where he stands, cross his arms, moves his weight between feet. Seokjin’s seen him naked countless times, but this — this is more bare and exposed he can remember feeling in ages, with anyone.
Seokjin nods. “Seaweed soup. Got meat to cook, too.”
“Oh,” Yoongi says softly, feeling...something. He doesn’t want to stop and figure out what.
“Sorry. I know my key is for emergencies. I just wanted to do something nice,” Seokjin tells him, corner of his lips lifting into a smile.
“I don’t really like surprises,” Yoongi mumbles, looking down at his feet.
“See, if you had told me that before, I would have planned a whole surprise party, so it’s better I didn’t know,” Seokjin says with a little snort of laughter.
Yoongi, despite everything, chuckles a little. Except the act of it kind of triggers some weird latent emotional response, and it accidentally ends in a hiccuping gasp as he cries a little more.
Seokjin steps forward, and Yoongi winces as Seokjin wraps him in a hug, broad warm body pressed against Yoongi’s.
“You’re such a jerk,” Yoongi mutters, trying to steer back to the way they were joking a moment ago. Trying to steer away from the way he feels fragile right now, the way Seokjin’s hands on his back feel like they’re holding him together.
“I know,” Seokjin agrees with a laugh. “You put up with me so well.”
Yoongi swallows. “You’re lucky I do.”
“Yeah,” Seokjin says. He pulls back a little, kisses Yoongi’s wet forehead, and Yoongi, humiliatingly, feels a couple more tears roll down his cheeks. “Take a bath, Yoongichi.”
“Don’t call me that,” Yoongi grouses. “What even is that? Why do you call me that?”
Seokjin just laughs, his big ugly fake laugh, and squeezes Yoongi a little before he lets him go.
When Yoongi gets in the bathtub, he dunks himself under the water and stays there until he feels warm all over.
Seokjin is sitting on the couch when Yoongi emerges from his bedroom, dressed in soft clothes and feeling more like a human being. He has his fucking Switch in his lap, which makes Yoongi snort a little.
“Are you playing Kirby?” Yoongi asks.
“Yes,” Seokjin says simply.
Yoongi glances toward the little dining table he has shoved up next to the window, sees it empty of the bowls Seokjin was setting out when he came home.
Yoongi walks over to the couch, settles himself on the other end, curled up against the arm. “Did I fuck up dinner?”
“You didn’t fuck up anything,” Seokjin tells him, voice more delicate than Yoongi is used to hearing it. “Soup just needs to be warmed up again. Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” Yoongi admits. “Thanks, um. For dinner.”
For some other things, too, Yoongi thinks, but he doesn’t want to talk about those. Seokjin looks up at him, face neutral, and he nods.
“Yeah. No problem. Come help me cook, yeah?”
Yoongi nods, feels grateful for the chance to do something with himself instead of sitting around. Maybe Seokjin knows, how strange it feels for Yoongi to let someone do something for him.
Of course he knows, he tells himself a moment later, trailing behind Seokjin into the kitchen. You’ve been together for a year.
There’s galbi marinating on the counter, and Yoongi stands to the side while Seokjin cooks the meat on the stove. Seokjin starts talking, telling a loud, meandering story about how he saw a dog that reminded him of the dog he had growing up. It’s a stupid story, and Seokjin makes sure to be as annoying as possible while telling it, and Yoongi is glad for it. The rest of the evening is like that, Seokjin loud and absurd like he’s trying to fill up all of Yoongi’s quiet, Yoongi laughing along and complaining when Seokjin wants him to.
Seokjin seems to be waiting for Yoongi to tell him to go, and at some point Yoongi decides to end that stupid dance, and say, “Hyung, stay the night.”
Seokjin raises his eyebrows. “You know, I was incredibly prepared to fuck you extremely well tonight.”
“I didn’t mean like that. I’m not...I don’t really feel like sex. Just, you could stay. I want you to stay,” Yoongi says, overriding his urge to stare at the floor when he says it, looking at Seokjin instead.
Seokjin nods. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
“Sorry,” Yoongi says with a grimace. “About the sex, sorry, I just…”
Seokjin shakes his head. “Don’t apologize,” he says quietly. “I don’t care.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says quietly, choosing to believe him to put it out of his head.
“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says. Yoongi looks at him, but Seokjin pauses, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “I’m sorry that you had a bad day.
Yoongi swallows and nods. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just...a lot of stupid shit.”
“You don’t have to be fine,” Seokjin says.
Yoongi makes a face. “I don’t like not being fine in front of people.”
Seokjin gives a little huff of laughter. “Come on, I’m barely even a person.”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows and nods in concession. “You have a point there.”
If Yoongi was another person, he would maybe say something like thanks for taking care of me. I really needed it. Or maybe he would tell Seokjin I can’t remember the last time I cried in front of someone. If he was another person, he would curl into Seokjin’s lap and let himself be held, say thank you, this time for all the right things.
But Yoongi is himself, and that’s an obstacle to all of that. Makes things harder. So he just swallows again, shakes his head. “I’m okay, hyung. Can we watch a movie or something?”
And if Yoongi reaches out to hold Seokjin’s hand more than he would usually, neither of them mention it.
year 1, month 6
Namjoon looks up at him sleepily. Namjoon’s never been good with mornings.
“How do you know if you’re in love?” Yoongi asks him, ignoring the way even saying the words makes him feel kind of sick.
“I’m the wrong person to ask,” Namjoon says around a yawn. “I fall in love with everybody.”
“I know,” Yoongi says. “You have two boyfriends.”
“Right,” Namjoon says, like he forgot. “Yeah. I do.”
Yoongi sighs. “Joon-ah,” he whines.
Namjoon looks him over. “Why are you asking?”
“You’re right, I know better,” Namjoon says. “Bet it has nothing to do with your boyfriend. Bet it’s just scientific curiosity.”
“Don’t call him my boyfriend,” Yoongi says, making a face.
Namjoon turns and fixes him with a withering look. “Alright, hyung,” he says in a patronizing voice, the kind you would maybe use to placate a child who was angry at you for something they did themselves.
“Listen, just —” Yoongi starts in a huff, but Namjoon shakes his head, waves him off.
“I knew I was in love when I couldn’t see my life without the other person. You know? I mean, that’s how Jimin happened. All the sudden me and Hoseok couldn’t figure out what our future would be without him in it.” Namjoon shrugs.
Yoongi closes his mouth. Thinks about that. He’s not big on the future, really. Doesn’t go out of his way to think about it very often. But he pictures himself in five years. He’ll still be running the shop with Namjoon, no plan to stop. Is he still in his tiny apartment? Is Seokjin still sitting on his couch a few days a week, loud and laughing and eating all of Yoongi’s chips? Maybe Seokjin is there more often. Maybe Seokjin lives there. That wouldn’t be awful, would it? They could get a bigger place, where all of Seokjin’s skincare shit fits on the bathroom counter. Seokjin is good to be around, Yoongi thinks. For all the time he spends being noisy and annoying, they’re good at being quiet together. Good at giving each other space. They could live together.
Briefly, Yoongi tries to remove Seokjin from the picture. Maybe Yoongi’s by himself again, like he always has been. And that’s — that would be fine, right? He’s used to being by himself. Really, how different has it even been, with Seokjin in his life? Sure, it’s nice to have someone to talk to every day, and it’s nice to...to be liked. That’s all nice. And sure, it’d be hard to get used to being alone again. It would be quiet, and...maybe a little lonely.
Yoongi blinks. Realizes Namjoon’s looking at him, so he says, “Right. Sure. That’s...helpful. Thanks.”
“No problem, hyung,” Namjoon says with a good-natured smile, because Namjoon is terribly good-natured. Yoongi ignores the way Namjoon looks at him like that for the rest of the afternoon.
“Yoongi-yah.” His father’s voice calls out to him gently, softly as Yoongi clears away plates from the table. His brother is helping his mother put away leftovers in the kitchen, and Yoongi looks over at his father with eyebrows furrowed in question as he sees his father holding his cell phone. “Someone called for you. I picked it up.”
“Oh,” Yoongi says. He wonders who would call him on Chuseok — most of his friends are home, too. Maybe Taehyung, since he said he would be in Daegu, but then his father holds the phone out to him and Yoongi sees Seokjin’s embarrassing contact photo, where he’s making a big kissy face against Yoongi’s cheek, under the name Seokjinnie cutie~~. Half of Yoongi’s face is in the picture, a disgusted expression on his face, and his hand is in the frame, a motion blur trying to snatch the phone away. Yoongi feels his cheeks go pink as he takes the phone.
“Hyung,” Yoongi says in a quiet voice, aware of his father’s eyes on him. “What do you want?”
“Your dad sounds like you,” Seokjin says conversationally.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, is about to ask Seokjin again what exactly he wants, but Seokjin cuts him off.
“I just wanted to say hi. I’m dying of boredom at home. My brother just got a promotion at work and it’s all anyone will talk about.”
“So I’m entertainment,” Yoongi says with a snort of a laugh.
“Yeah, I find you entertaining. Sounds like it’s a bad time, though.”
Yoongi’s father is still hovering on the other side of the kitchen. Not the best time, no, but he can’t really say that. “I’ll call you back later, okay?”
“Yah, but you have to really do it! Yoongichi, I have trust issues, and —” Seokjin is squawking on the other end, and Yoongi chuckles under his breath.
“I’ll call you. I will. Try to cope, hyung,” Yoongi says before he hangs up. He laughs again to himself, puts his phone in his pocket as he goes back to clearing dishes.
His father clears his throat. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
Yoongi goes red. “I’m…” he trails off, wincing. “It’s...not like that, really.”
Yoongi’s father raises an eyebrow, and Yoongi hates knowing that it looks just like him. “Alright,” he says, sounding disbelieving.
It used to be a sore subject, back when Yoongi was younger and angrier about a lot of things. The whole liking boys thing. Yoongi thinks it was mostly just a shock to his parents, and Yoongi didn’t handle the shock well. But now they seem — well, like they got over the shock. Whenever his mother pressures him to find a girlfriend, she’ll tack on “or boyfriend!” to the end of it, which Yoongi finds kind of endearing. But it doesn’t mean he wants to talk about this right now, especially because Seokjin is — because they’re barely anything.
“He looked handsome,” his father says now.
“Dad,” Yoongi whines.
“I’m just saying, you could do worse, Yoongi-yah —”
“Dad,” Yoongi says again. “He’s not...my boyfriend or anything. He’s just this guy.”
“Oh, that clears it up,” his father says with a snort.
Yoongi shrugs. He can’t exactly tell his father that they initially met for casual sex and now they’re sort of dating. “It’s not serious,” he lands on instead. And then, “Don’t tell mom. She’ll get her hopes up for something.”
“She just doesn’t want you to be alone, Yoongi-yah,” his dad says with a sigh. “I don’t either.”
“I’m fine,” Yoongi says decisively. “Really. I’m fine.”
“You’re too stubborn,” his father says, laughing a little.
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees easily, giving his dad an apologetic kind of smile.
“Well,” his dad says. “If it get serious, you can tell us, you know.”
“I know,” Yoongi says quietly. “Thanks.”
Yoongi picks up the pile of plates he collected and goes to bring it into the kitchen, his father patting his shoulder as he goes.
“My dad asked me if you were my boyfriend,” Yoongi says later, on the phone with Seokjin.
Seokjin barks a laugh on the other end. “And? Am I?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Yoongi says with a little laugh in return. And thank god everything with Seokjin has always been so easy.
year 1, month 1
In truth, the longer he’s sat here with the two of them, the more itchy and uncomfortable he’s felt. He doesn’t know why. Something about the way Taehyung pulls Jungkook into his lap and laughs into his neck. Something about the way Jungkook looks at Taehyung when Taehyung’s not looking.
None of it’s new. They’ve been dating since they really were kids. They’ve been dating as long as Yoongi has known them. Maybe that makes it worse — shouldn’t they have calmed down, sometime in the last thousand years they’ve been dating? Doesn’t it all become boring after a while? Television and movies have always said that. How come they’re so — so in love still?
How does a person stay in love for that long? How does a person feel sure of anything long enough to hold as wild of a creature as love in their hands and know it will always be there? Know that it won’t bite, run away, that you won’t crush it by accident?
Yoongi sighs, and pours himself some more of the soju he shouldn’t have bought.
year 1, month 8
His first instinct upon startling awake is just to leave it, that it’s broken, or someone leaned against the wall downstairs just right. But it keeps going, so fuck, fine, he’ll go investigate. He shuffles out of bed blearily toward the front door, where the little security camera screen is illuminated, and sees...Seokjin.
His shuffling gets quicker and angrier.
“What the fuck,” he says, pressing down his talk button, and watches Seokjin startle. He’s talking, but Yoongi doesn’t feel like listening to him, and just opens the door instead. Yoongi doesn’t move, waiting for the inevitable knock on his front door, and when it comes, he cracks the door open to stare at Seokjin.
“What the fuck?” He repeats again.
“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says, way too fucking loud, and Yoongi can smell the liquor on him from half a meter away. “It’s you!”
“I fucking live here, asshole,” Yoongi grouses, but he’s already opening the door wider. “What did you expect?”
“Thought maybe you’d let me die of consumption out on the streets,” Seokjin declares dramatically, marching his way into Yoongi’s apartment.
“You would deserve that,” Yoongi insists bitterly. “I’m going back to bed.”
“Nooo, Yoongi, you can’t,” Seokjin says in a whine, his insistence sudden. Yoongi narrows his eyes.
“I have work in four hours, Seokjin.”
Seokjin puts his hands on his hips. “And I have work in five hours!” His face is red, Yoongi can tell even in the dark, the way he always gets when he drinks too much.
“Then why the fuck did you go out drinking?” Yoongi asks, bite in his voice.
“Everyone did,” Seokjin whines. “The whole office did. It was fun, but then I wanted to leave, so I came here.”
Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Why didn’t you go home?”
Seokjin frowns at him. “I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to see you.”
They look at each other, seemingly at an impasse. “Well, I’m going to bed, so if you want to continue seeing me, you should come too.” He turns on his heel and makes his way back to his bedroom, ignoring the frustrated little huff Seokjin gives.
“Can’t I come see you?”
“Not at three in the fucking morning, no,” Yoongi says back. He’s already managed to get himself back into his warm bed, eyes slipping closed. Seokjin is stomping into the room now, and Yoongi cracks an eye open to watch him, face red and pouting, hands still on his hips. He looks like a cartoon character.
“Well, I want to see you at three in the morning. I want to see you all the goddamn time,” Seokjin says, sounding angry over it. He’s pulling off his tie now, angrily flailing his blazer off before he unbuttons his shirt.
Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Just come to bed, hyung.”
“What does it mean! That I want to see you all the time!” Seokjin is saying, undeterred by Yoongi. He’s down to his underwear now, just standing there all angry.
Yoongi sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t fuckin’ know, okay? Can we go to sleep?”
Seokjin makes an angry noise, gets himself into bed lacking any sort of coordination and lays next to Yoongi with his arms crossed, glaring up at the ceiling. If Yoongi turned over to put his back facing Seokjin like he wanted to, he wouldn’t have noticed the tear fall sideways down Seokjin’s cheek, dripping down onto the pillow. As it is, his eyes follow it, transfixed.
“Hyung,” Yoongi says quietly. “Are you okay?”
“No,” Seokjin says in a petulant whine. “I’m drunk, and I hate this.”
Yoongi sighs, turns over in bed. He rests his arm across Seokjin’s chest. Seokjin is unmoving, but Yoongi hears him sniffling.
“I hate drinking,” Seokjin grumbles.
“No you don’t,” Yoongi says quietly against Seokjin’s chest. Honestly, Seokjin is sort of in his element when he’s drunk. Charming and loud and ridiculous, doing anything to make someone laugh. Sometimes, though, he swings too far the other way, and ends up a bratty disaster. Usually, he just throws a fit over nothing, but this seems different than that.
“I do too!” Seokjin insists. “It makes me a mess. I hate being a mess.”
Yoongi hums. “You’re not that much of a mess right now.”
“I’m crying!” Seokjin says, way too loud this close to Yoongi’s ear.
“Well, yeah,” Yoongi admits. He wants to know why, what made Seokjin upset, but — but also, he’s kind of afraid to. This is already strange territory, and Yoongi’s worried he’ll take a corner too fast and shatter something by accident. “But that’s whatever.”
“It is not! It is not, Min Yoongi! You terrible little goblin of a man!”
Yoongi narrows his eyes in confusion. “Goblin?”
Seokjin barely stops to breathe before he keeps going. “I wish everything was just whatever but sometimes things are not whatever! This is one of those times!”
“So if it’s not whatever, then what is it, hyung?” Yoongi asks. He’s losing track of this conversation fast but he knows if he doesn’t keep it going, Seokjin will huff, because he’s a baby.
He’s expecting another loud, nonsensical answer, but instead Seokjin just turns to look at him, eyebrows furrowed and making his whole face look serious, voice quiet as he says, “I don’t know. I don’t know what it is.”
Yoongi nods, not sure what he’s agreeing to.
“I want to see you all the time, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin is saying.
“I…” Yoongi pauses, sighs. “Yeah. I want to see you too, hyung.”
Seokjin looks serious, somewhere between angry and confused, and Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond to it. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t wake me up in the middle of the night, though,” he says dryly, trying to get back to solid ground rather than float around out here.
“I don’t take constructive criticism,” Seokjin says back with a sniff, and then he flops himself over aggressively to lay on his stomach and bring an arm over Yoongi’s stomach, squeezing him a little. Yoongi laughs quietly, amused despite not wanting to be.
When Yoongi gets up for work, hand frantically moving to silence his alarm, Seokjin is disturbed from his sleep, blinking his eyes open and looking comically confused.
“Why are you here?” He mutters as he looks at Yoongi, eyes narrowed.
“You’re in my apartment,” Yoongi tells him, standing up from the bed and stretching. “You came over at three in the morning.”
“Oh, jesus christ,” Seokjin mumbles with a groan, closing his eyes again. “Sorry.”
“Is it? Did I suck your dick or something? In what universe are you not mad at me?” Seokjin asks with a weak little laugh, then winces like he regrets it. Yoongi wonders if he’s hungover or just still drunk.
“No,” Yoongi says with a snort. “I don’t know. I’m just not. Stop looking at me like that, god, go back to sleep.”
Seokjin doesn’t, though. He stays awake, sleepy eyes on Yoongi as he gets dressed, paces between the bedroom, the bathroom, and the coffee maker. When Yoongi says, “Gotta leave. See you, hyung,” Seokjin just says, “Come give me a kiss,” and Yoongi doesn’t think anything of walking over and leaning down over him on the bed.
Seokjin puts his hands on Yoongi’s hips, pulls him down so he’s straddled over Seokjin on top of the covers, and Yoongi snorts as he leans down to kiss Seokjin’s forehead.
“Your breath smells like absolute shit,” Yoongi tells him, and Seokjin laughs, loud and squeaky.
“I might call out from work,” Seokjin says.
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Probably a good call.”
“You mind if I stay here?”
Seokjin looks up at him, face unreadable, like it often is. “No,” Yoongi answers, voice quiet. “That’s fine. Just use your own toothbrush, I can tell when you use mine.”
“You put your tongue in my asshole on a regular basis and this is your hard line?” Seokjin asks with a dry look.
“You clean your asshole before I put my tongue in it,” Yoongi says with a grimace.
Seokjin’s still laughing when he pushes at Yoongi’s shoulder, says, “Go to work. Say hi to Joon for me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi grouses, but he leans down to kiss Seokjin on the forehead again before he pries himself off the bed.
Yoongi thinks about I want to see you all the time, thinks about it every time he tries not to and especially thinks about it when he gets home from work, and there Seokjin still is. And yeah. Yoongi wants to see him too.
It’s lazy, television still playing in the background from the variety show they put on while they ate take-out, and the fact that Seokjin’s rich ass called that a date was hysterical to Yoongi, but it didn’t bother him. None of their dates so far have bothered Yoongi, a person who is famously easy to bother; in fact, he’s liked them. Liked how easy they all were, no veneer of discomfort. Liked the way Seokjin would take him home and fuck him well afterward. Liked how easy it was to fall asleep next to him.
And this is a hell of a time for it, but an errant thought gets loud in his head, and suddenly he’s distracted, suddenly something seems more pressing than riding Seokjin and chasing the slow build of his orgasm. He pauses, still in Seokjin’s lap, and for a second Seokjin tries to thrust up from underneath him, but Yoongi just pulls back to look at him.
“What? What is it?” Seokjin asks, voice breathy, reaching up to push Yoongi’s bangs out of his face.
“What are we?” Yoongi asks him.
Seokjin looks at him for a moment, and then with narrowed eyes, asks, “Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says with a nod, licks his lips where they’ve gone dry.
“Would you like me to pull out for this conversation?” Seokjin asks, sounding incredulous.
“Seems hasty,” Yoongi says. “We can make it quick.”
Seokjin shifts underneath him, blinks, and says, “Okay. Well, I thought we were dating.”
“Right, yeah,” Yoongi agrees. “But I mean — tonight was a little...”
“A little what?” Seokjin asks in a rush. Understandable, he guesses.
“Aren’t we awfully familiar with each other?” Yoongi asks.
“Familiar,” Seokjin repeats, like he has no idea what Yoongi means.
Yoongi shifts again, wants to pull back up so he can press down, wants the friction, but this is — he needs to talk about this for a minute.
“I don’t want anything serious,” Yoongi says.
“Me either,” Seokjin agrees, still a tone of bafflement in his voice. “You think take-out and TV is serious? Fuck, I didn’t ask you to marry me, I just brought you fried chicken.”
“Like, are you my boyfriend?” Yoongi asks him.
“I don’t know. Not if you don’t want me to be, I guess,” Seokjin says with a shrug. “Do you want me to be?”
“I don’t know,” Yoongi answers honestly.
“Well, we can figure it out. Preferably, though, after we both fucking come,” Seokjin says, voice strained.
“I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page,” Yoongi defends himself, but he pulls his hips up a little, thrusting back down onto Seokjin and making them both groan. “I just — want us to be casual.”
“You got it. Consider me casual,” Seokjin says, pushing his hips up in tempo with Yoongi. Yoongi lets out a choked little moaning noise, can’t help it, and grinds back down again.
“No, but, sometimes — sometimes I’ll say that and guys won’t — they want more, and —”
“Min Yoongi,” Seokjin says, bringing a hand to grip the back of his hair. “I promise, I do not want anything serious from this relationship. Now let me fuck you in peace.”
Yoongi nods, slumps forward again with his forehead against Seokjin’s shoulder.
And that’s that.
Seokjin keeps washing all the dishes. He keeps — every time Yoongi sets a plate down, it’s like Seokjin’s already washing it, without even asking.
A month ago, when he got a letter under his apartment door informing him the building was changing owners and rent was doubling, when he told Seokjin that he was gonna try to stay with Hoseok, maybe, sleep on the couch, and Seokjin looked at him like he was an idiot, when Seokjin said, “I have three extra bedrooms, stay with me,” this was not the problem he was expecting to have.
It made sense, obviously. Way more sense than living on Hoseok’s couch for however long finding a new place would take him, since it’s not like Hoseok has the space. It made sense, but to Yoongi, it felt like putting an expiration date on this thing between them. He’s never lived with anyone like that, never been serious enough to do it, and he always thought that was for the best; he’s particular, he’s territorial, he’s prickly sometimes. Yoongi expected for them to push each other away, for things to get awkward and uncomfortable between them. Too much time together would surely wear them out, make them sick of each other, make them both want to sprint in opposite directions. He agreed, for lack of options, but winced as he did it, feeling sure this would be a turning point for the worse.
But none of that happened.
Instead, it’s — easy. On days when Yoongi works in the morning, they wake up together, get ready for work in such vastly different fashions that sometimes Yoongi finds it funny, to pull on an oversized flannel shirt with skulls on it as Seokjin ties his tie. Yoongi makes coffee, won’t admit how much he likes Seokjin’s fancy coffee maker, and Seokjin pours his in a stainless steel to-go mug before he leaves, kisses Yoongi at the door with a laugh. The days Yoongi has the closing shift, Seokjin will lean over the bed to kiss his cheek, wake Yoongi up just enough to look at him sleepily and tell him bye. They make dinner together, eat on the coffee table instead of Seokjin’s big glass dining room table, debate ten-year-old movie opinions and end up somewhere between arguing and laughing. They go to bed together, have sex if they feel like it, fall asleep next to each other.
And Seokjin washes the dishes. Every night, before Yoongi can beat him to it, he’s washing the dishes. And he doesn’t know why, but it’s so irritating. It’s been three weeks of it, and tonight, when Seokjin grabs his plate, Yoongi makes an annoyed noise.
“What?” Seokjin asks, unfazed.
“Why are you — why do you always do the dishes?” Yoongi asks.
Seokjin pauses, sets the plate back down. “I don’t know, to...be nice? Are you mad at me for doing the dishes right now?”
“Maybe,” Yoongi says with a huff. “You don’t need to take care of me.”
Seokjin snorts, sounding amused. “God, you have the weirdest boundaries for this shit sometimes. Go wash your own plate, Yoongi, jesus.”
Yoongi huffs again, standing up. “Boundaries for what shit?”
“Boundaries for how well other people can treat you before you get all mad and paranoid,” Seokjin answers easily.
“It’s not about treating me well, it’s about — it’s about the fact that we weren’t ever supposed to be this.”
Seokjin raises his eyebrows. “And what, exactly, are we?”
“We’re fucking living together is what we are!” Yoongi bursts, voice too loud even in his own ears. He’s not sure where this is coming from, but he feels not unlike one of those gross pimple-popping videos that Taehyung likes to watch; a break in the skin, something unpleasant coming out of him and feeling satisfying.
“Technically, I guess you’re right,” Seokjin says. “I don’t really see your point, though.”
“We never — you were supposed to be a good lay and that’s all,” Yoongi’s saying.
Seokjin laughs at that. “That was almost two years ago, Yoongi.”
“Exactly, exactly, two years passed and now we’re this, now you wash all my fucking dirty dishes without even thinking about it, and — and kiss me goodbye in the morning, and it’s like — how the fuck did we get here?” He crosses his arms, paces next to the coffee table, and Seokjin’s just looking at him with that same unreadable expression, and Yoongi wants to yell at him.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin says slowly. “Did you want us to stay the same? Did you want us to be...friends with benefits, or something? Because I have to tell you, we crossed that bridge a really long time ago.”
Yoongi shakes his head. “Nothing ever changed, that’s the thing. From the beginning, it was always so easy with you, it’s like we never had to even try, and now I don’t know where we even fucking stand.”
Seokjin blinks, nods to himself for a moment. “So to get this straight, you’re mad because our relationship has always been easy? Things are going so well that you...don’t know how well they’re going?”
“You’re making this sound stupid,” Yoongi says with a frown.
Seokjin makes a face. “Well, if the shoe fits.”
Yoongi growls a little, and Seokjin snorts, crossing his arms. “Oh calm down, I was joking.”
“You do not get to tell me to calm down! You’ve never been calm a day in your life! Why the fuck are you starting now?”
“I’m not sure,” Seokjin says with a shrug. “Something about watching you throw a fit over a dinner plate was really illuminating, like is that what I look like usually?” He’s joking, but he doesn’t give Yoongi a chance to react before he goes on, “Honestly, Yoongi, I was hoping we’d just ignore all of this.”
“Ignore what?” Yoongi asks. He swallows, feeling like he’s gotten close to the thing that’s bothering him.
“The fact that we’re in love, I guess,” Seokjin says calmly.
“How do you know?” Yoongi asks, and it comes out more sneering than he really meant it. Luckily, Seokjin doesn’t seem to take offense. He just sits down on the couch, sets his own plate back down on the table.
“Well,” Seokjin says. “That’s what it is, Yoongi, when you wanna be around someone all the time, because you like all the parts of them. When you wash someone’s dishes for them, and you kiss each other goodbye in the morning and it’s all really easy. And it’s easy to live together, because you want to see them all day every day.” Seokjin takes a breath, looks more rattled than he usually does, his indifferent little mask shaken. “That’s being in love.”
“And you wanted to — you were just planning on never talking about this, ever?” Yoongi asks.
“That’s my strategy for most things, yeah,” Seokjin answers him.
“You’re such a dick,” Yoongi accuses.
“And yet, you love me. I think. You love me, right?” It’s a vulnerable question, uncharacteristically vulnerable for Seokjin, and Yoongi thinks maybe he’s trying to play it off as a joke, but it doesn’t come out like a joke. It comes out uncomfortably real.
He thinks about Namjoon, months ago, telling him to picture the future. Thinks about how hard he tried not to admit that without Seokjin in it, he wouldn’t know what to do anymore. He knows he used to always be alone but he isn’t sure he’d know how to orient himself anymore, after all this. He’s gotten so used to having someone to kiss goodnight. And worst of all, he likes that it’s Seokjin he gets to kiss.
“Yeah,” Yoongi answers, feeling rubbed raw. “I love you.”
Seokjin nods. “So does it matter, Yoongi?”
“Does what matter?”
“The fucking plate!” Seokjin snaps, grabbing the plates off the table. “And the fucking — when and where and how of it all. Can we just skip all the parts where you are unbearable, because oh my god, the microscope-analysis thing you do with shit like this is unbearable, and can we just love each other?”
“You’re less calm now,” Yoongi observes.
“Well, my boyfriend just told me he loves me for the first time and I’m a little fucking worked up!” Seokjin says, face red and head moving around animatedly while he talks. Yoongi finds himself biting down on a smile.
“I don’t think we’re allowed to just ignore it, hyung,” Yoongi tells him. “Or...I don’t know, maybe I don’t want to.”
Seokjin sighs, put-upon. “Well fine then, we won’t. We’ll talk about it, and be all exhausting, like you love to be.”
Yoongi is laughing now, hand over his mouth. “Such a dick. Just such a dick.”
“You think I’m funny,” Seokjin counters, and he’s smiling too now. “You think I’m a funny dick. You love me.”
“I love your dick, mostly,” Yoongi says, and Seokjin yells, a little “Yah!”
“So we’re not casual anymore, I guess,” Yoongi says, crossing his arms again.
“Sadly,” Seokjin tells him. “I don’t think so.”
“Well. We’ll figure it out.”
“I think we already have it pretty figured out.”
Yoongi huffs a laugh. “No, we absolutely fucking do not.”
“Agree to disagree,” Seokjin says haughtily.
“No!” Yoongi says through laughter. “You cannot!” Seokjin walks away with the plates and Yoongi follows him, laughing. “You are not allowed to act functional! You are not functional!”
“I am thriving, Yoongichi,” Seokjin insists, talking through a smile, and Yoongi doesn’t know if he wants to kiss it or slap it off his face.
“Oh, just let me wash the fucking dishes,” Yoongi says instead of doing either.
Seokjin kisses the nape of his neck as he walks away, and Yoongi, despite himself, loves him.
are you busy
incredibly, all the time
could be convinced to clear my schedule though
are you 80 years old no one uses those emoticons anymore
i’m immortal actually
cool. anyway wanna come over and fuck me
lol listen ya ur hung but i promise your dick is not special enough to play hard to get
you got other prospects?
a couple but i like you the best
oh trust me, no part of this is about liking you. you’re really annoying
so which is it, i’m nothing special or i’m good enough that you wanna fuck me despite my sparkling personality?
you’re not special. i really get the feeling you haven’t been told that enough in life so i wanna make it clear.
but you’re kinda funny and you’re good in bed and i’m horny so do you wanna come over and fuck me or not
do i get to steal from you this time??
don’t the rich steal from the poor enough? give back instead. give back in the form of dick
a bold new charity idea
i do like you
i guess you’re fine too. anyway jesus christ can i text you my address now???
i’ll only come over if you admit that you like me
well it’s becoming less true by the second but yeah, fine. i like you.
great! on my way! looking forward to the sex
god you’re just gonna be a nightmare to deal with
“Yoongi-ssi, your husband is here?”
Yoongi looks up from his clipboard with a truly startled look at Yerim, who’s standing in the doorway to the stockroom.
“My what?” Yoongi asks, and then Yoongi hears Seokjin’s stupid laugh. “Oh my god. He’s not my husband. I’m not married.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Yerim mutters as Yoongi walks past her out into the store. There, standing next to a display of electric guitars, is Seokjin. He’s wearing his sweater that says “#1 Dad” in English and looking chipper, holding Yoongi’s lunchbox.
“You left your lunch at home!” Seokjin says cheerily, waving it.
“Thanks, husband,” Yoongi says with a huff of laughter, reaching out to grab it. He is very aware of Yerim and the other twenty-year old cashier staring at them. Seokjin almost never comes by the store, mostly just because he doesn’t have much reason to. Jimin, on the other hand, is around all the time during Namjoon’s shifts, and all the girls are in love with him. Yoongi thinks Seokjin’s kind of jealous of it, which is unbelievably stupid and unbelievably Seokjin.
“I’m just trying it out,” Seokjin says with a smug smile. “Did you like it?”
“I did not,” Yoongi answers simply.
“Ah, you’ll come around,” Seokjin says, patting his shoulder.
“Go home, Seokjin,” Yoongi replies, trying not to laugh.
“It’s boring when you work on Saturdays,” Seokjin says with a sigh. “I miss you.”
“I hate this,” Yoongi says in a deadpan voice, excruciatingly aware of the girls whispering behind him. “I know you’re just trying to put on a show.”
“Life is a show, Yoongi. All the world’s a stage.”
“You are literally so full of shit,” Yoongi says with a laugh. He steps forward, kisses Seokjin on the cheek. “Go home, dumbass, I have a business to run. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Seokjin is smiling, and then he gives Yoongi a peck on the lips. “Not soon enough, darling.”
Yoongi just laughs, walking back over to his abandoned clipboard on the counter. The girls there immediately try to busy themselves, like they weren’t just staring, and Yoongi snorts. When he glances back, Seokjin blows him a kiss, and Yoongi buries his face in his hands.
“Horrible,” Yoongi mutters. “The worst.”
He finds it difficult to stop smiling.