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dear me (from ten years ago)

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There isn’t much else, on days like these. The water in the gutter roars deep with the sound of the thunder of the night before. The once-tiny leak in the roof of the car has gotten worse. There’s a fresh parking ticket, crumpled and stuffed beneath the windscreen wiper that he still hasn’t gotten fixed yet. He shoves it into the glovebox to forget about.

There isn’t much, but there is the morning sun, the morning sun that lies in wait for him to stumble out of the backseat and shuffle out, hands in his jacket pockets.

Yoongi glances up, and cuffs his hand along his brow, eyes sharpening. It’s too fucking bright for a Sunday. Especially for a day right after a rainstorm.

The usual bench in the park is empty. A little way away from the playground. Yoongi draws out yesterday night's leftovers from a paper bag and arranges his food on his knees, careful to not drop anything on the ground.

A couple of kids giggle and shout as they run around the playground. He idly watches the kite-fliers from where he's sitting, and bites into his sandwich.

There's a sudden thud, near where he's sitting, and his head snaps around just as a kid wails. One of the boys who'd been playing on the playground has fallen down while running down the sidewalk, and Yoongi gets up, leaving his food behind on the bench.

"Hey, hey kid," he calls, bending down beside the boy. The boy sniffles. "You okay? Come on, let's get you up."

Yoongi lifts the boy up easily, and settles him down on the bench. "Thanks," says the boy. A polite thing, thinks Yoongi, as he rummages in his pockets for his wallet.

"Jeongguk," comes a voice, a little frantic, and Yoongi glances up. "Oh, god, I told you not to run too fast."

"Mommy," calls the boy, and Yoongi finds the plaster that's tucked away just as the boy's mother reaches them.

"I've got a plaster," he says, the first thing he says, holding it up, and the way the boy's mother smiles is enough to knock him aback for the slightest bit of a second. It's bright. Almost as sunny as the dress she's wearing. She's pretty, goes the thought in Yoongi's mind, but he shakes it off, and adds, "If you want it."

"Thank you," she says, obviously grateful, and Yoongi crouches down to meet the boy's eyes, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear on his cheek.

"Hey, Jeongguk, was it? I'll fix that up for you, how about that?" Yoongi places the band-aid over the scratch, nothing too deep, just surface enough to require that one plaster, and the boy nods, less teary than before. "See? You're going to be just fine now, hmm? That's a good boy."

"Thank the nice man, Jeongguk," says his mother, and Jeongguk mumbles his thanks, patting at his face with one little hand. Cute kid, thinks Yoongi, and he ruffles the boy's hair. "Thank you for that, by the way. I'm so sorry for imposing."

"It's fine," says Yoongi, standing back up, and offering her a smile in return. "Things happen. Kids happen."

She laughs, light and airy. It's a pretty laugh. Everything about this girl seems pretty. "It's his birthday today," she tells him, "he must have gotten a little too excited about going out to play."

"I see," says Yoongi knowingly, and he directs his attention back to Jeongguk, "and you're a big boy now, aren't you, kiddo? How old are you today?"

"Six," says Jeongguk, voice still a little wibbly around the edges.

"Wow," says Yoongi, bending down again, and he smiles at Jeongguk, "six now! Isn't that something. You're really brave, you know that?"

"Why?" asks Jeongguk, looking confused.

"Because you got back up when you fell down," Yoongi tells him, and the boy's face brightens when he adds, "and that's something only really brave and good kids do."

"I'm brave?" exclaims Jeongguk, much happier than he'd been only seconds ago, and Yoongi nods, patting his head again. "Cool!"

His mother watches the proceedings with a smile. "You're good with kids," she says, when he's stood back up, and Jeongguk's trotted off to go play again, this time with less running and a little bit more caution.

"Thanks," says Yoongi, "I had a lot of younger cousins." He glances up at her, and smiles again. "I'm Yoongi, by the way."

"Hoseok," she says, and they sit down, watching the kids play on the playground. Jeongguk whoops when he goes down the slide, and Yoongi finds himself inadvertently smiling. "You watching a sibling today?"

"Ah, I'm just." Yoongi shakes his head. "Eating breakfast, actually. I come here often."

"I know," she says, and Yoongi turns a curious glance on her. "I've seen you around."

"I can't believe that I haven't seen you around," says Yoongi, "you'd be hard to miss."

"And why's that?" she asks, eyebrow raised.

"I've never seen anyone as eye-catching as you," says Yoongi truthfully.

"Is that a come-on?" she says, almost laughing. "Oh, no way."

"What?" Yoongi shrugs. "I can definitely appreciate when someone as pretty as you is sitting next to someone like me."

Hoseok shakes her head. "That is the most shameless flirting I've ever been subjected to in my life," she announces, leaning back against the bench, not fleeing the scene as Yoongi would have expected. "Please, do go on."

It's Yoongi's turn to laugh now. "Well, well," he says, "who's the shameless one now?"

"I can definitely appreciate when someone as good-looking as you compliments me," she replies, all well-humoured teasing and lighthearted flirting right back in turn, and Yoongi has never felt this attuned to a person in a long time.

They continue to make light conversation for a little while more, before Hoseok has to leave. "See you around," says Yoongi, smiling, and she waves.

It's a bright Sunday today, and this time, it's not just because of the weather.

They bump into each other a few more times after that, in the weeks to come. At the convenience store, at the park. Perhaps fate has decided to intervene with Yoongi's life, this time around.

It doesn't take very much for the both of them to strike up a friendship, something tentative punctuated by conversation made in too-short moments, and little questions about how the day's been, how the weather's been, how they've been.

Yoongi meets Hoseok at the grocery store this time, nearly three months into their first meeting. “Hey,” he says, “here, let me help you with those.”

“It’s fine, oh, really,” starts Hoseok, but she’s got three bags in each hand and she looks like she might topple over at any given second if the wind blows too hard.

He walks her to her street. It’s one of those tucked away, in the city but at the same time, not quite. One of the smaller areas, the low-cost flats. Yoongi says nothing, offering to bring the bags up to her place for her instead.

“It’s not much,” Hoseok says over her shoulder, as she’s fumbling for her key. “But it’s just the two of us, you know, and it’s simple. It’s enough.”

“It is,” agrees Yoongi quietly. It’s more than enough. It’s a home. It feels like one, the moment he steps in, mismatched furniture and upholstery and curtains that are a little too long for the windows, but it’s great. Yoongi only realises he’s said the last sentence aloud when Hoseok glances at him, disbelieving. “No, really. It is. I like it.”

“Thanks,” says Hoseok, and Jeongguk comes running in, tackling Hoseok around the knees.

“Mommy!” he says, voice muffled by her jeans, and Hoseok smoothes back his hair. “Taehyung and Jimin showed me how to make paper aeroplanes today! I wanted to show you when you got home but I forgot!”

“They did?” Hoseok makes a surprised sound. “Why don’t you bring one out to show Mr. Yoongi here?”

“Just Yoongi is fine,” starts Yoongi, but Jeongguk is already skidding off, hollering the words Mr. Yoongi as loudly as he can go. Hoseok giggles. Yoongi just shakes his head.

“Babysitters?” Yoongi guesses, when he recalls what Jeongguk had been saying. “When you’re away?”

“Couple of college kids who live next door,” says Hoseok, and all the gratitude in the world can be heard in her voice. “They’re sweet on him. Jeongguk loves them. The walls are honestly thin enough to hear anything, here, so I just tell them to sit tight when I go down to the store for a moment. If anything, Jeongguk knows enough to call them, anyway.”

“So, I’m guessing the entire flat knows my name by now?” Jeongguk had definitely been loud enough to inform the entire neighbourhood of his presence.

“If you’re lucky, they’ll stop referring to you as that handsome stranger who keeps accompanying me at the park.”

“I have a reputation then,” says Yoongi, “handsome stranger. Perfect. I’ll remember to put that on my resume.”

Jeongguk comes skidding back out. It’s terrifying how six year olds can seem like a cross between stampeding buffalos and drifting cars going way too fast, sometimes. Jeongguk is no exception, all exuberance and excitement. “Here!” he says, thrusting something into Yoongi’s hands, “for you, Mr. Yoongi!”

“Wow!” says Yoongi, admiring the (very) crumpled paper aeroplane. It seems to be missing half a wing. “It’s fantastic. You could be an engineer, for all I know.”

“What’s an engineer?” asks Jeongguk, suddenly fascinated, and Yoongi finds himself being tugged over to the couch to explain as Hoseok smiles, heading to put the groceries away as Jeongguk occupies himself with Yoongi’s conversation.

Yoongi doesn’t even realise that he’s been commanding Jeongguk’s attention for an entire hour, until he glances at his watch and goes, “Oh, s—I mean, sorry, I didn’t mean to stay so long—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” says Hoseok immediately, leaning against the doorframe. She had looked tired. Yoongi knows that she works too, to be able to take care of Jeongguk. It must have been nice to have had an hour of someone watching Jeongguk for her. “Thank you so much for the help. And for answering all his questions. He’s a curious kid.”

“He is,” says Yoongi, “and really. It wasn’t any trouble. I don’t really have anywhere to go right now, anyway.”

Hoseok pauses. “Well,” she begins, a little unsure, “if you don’t really—then, would you like to stay for dinner? As a thank you for everything.”

“I don’t want to intrude or anything,” says Yoongi, but Jeongguk is tugging at his sleeve.

“Please,” says Jeongguk, eyes big, “please, Mr. Yoongi sir man!”

“Mr. Yoongi sir man,” repeats Yoongi, and Hoseok is already trying to muffle her laughter with one hand, “I have never been called so many different things by one person before.”

“Be glad he hasn’t added uncle, yet,” says Hoseok.

“Mr. Yoongi sir uncle man!” says Jeongguk immediately. “Please stay for dinner!”

“I can’t tell if he’s being polite or mocking me,” says Yoongi, and he ruffles Jeongguk’s hair. “If your momma doesn’t mind.”

He sits down for dinner with them, and for the first time in a long time, enjoys the company of someone other than the cook at his favourite noodle stall down the road from the park. It’s a nice night. He hopes it doesn’t end here.

And it doesn’t, when Hoseok sees him off at the door and says, “You could drop by again, sometime, if you’re free,” in response to him commenting on how much he’d enjoyed the evening.

“Definitely,” he says, without any further thought needed. “Absolutely.”

And Hoseok smiles.

He wouldn’t call it dating. He wouldn’t really call it friendship, either. It’s some strange concoction of something in between, only because Yoongi isn’t too sure how to approach things.

But it’s still strangely quaint. He spends his evenings coming over to visit them, or going to the park with them, and it seems like a fine way to spend his time. His work doesn’t demand much of him, or, to be honest, any of him at all. Not that Hoseok is aware yet.

Nobody ever takes musicians seriously, anyway. So, Yoongi just shoulders it off, and pretends that he doesn’t have a keyboard stowed away in the back of his car.

Jeongguk finds it though, one day, and asks him in his loud voice, “Why do you have a music thing in your car?”

“I use it for work,” says Yoongi, and he glances up at Hoseok, whose expression doesn’t change. “I make music.”

“Cool!” says Jeongguk. “Show me?”

Later, Hoseok sits with him at the table in the kitchen while Jeongguk plays, and says, “It’s fine, you know. Not everything works out.” The tone of her voice suggests that she knows this well enough.

“Not everything works out,” repeats Yoongi, nodding, and he looks at her. “There’s really only one thing I want to work out.”

She regards him with curious eyes.

Yoongi reaches over, and quietly takes her hand. Their fingers slide together, closing the gap between their palms easily. Like puzzle pieces fitting together. His hand is warm, but hers is even warmer, and he feels it all the way up in his chest. Like an oil spill being set alight.

Hoseok says nothing, just looking at their hands, entwined. Then, she glances up, and smiles.

They don’t need words. Not at all.

Quiet days are harder to come by, now and then. They are blessings in the form of off-days, Sundays with no extra shifts to pull, and no aggravated neighbours screaming through the thin walls of the flat. Sometimes Jeongguk asks why they fight all the time. Sometimes Hoseok just doesn't know how to explain.

But quiet days aren't always quiet days, when you have a child who's as rambunctious as Jeongguk. His pent-up energy has to go somewhere. Yoongi has seen Jeongguk clamber all about a playground for hours on end, not even tiring in the slightest. Yoongi has also seen Jeongguk fall asleep within three minutes flat on his mother's lap, tiring out completely.

Today is a day somewhere in between.

He hangs his coat on a chair as usual, smiling at Hoseok who returns to her studying at the table, and ruffling Jeongguk's hair when he pads over to say hello. "Hey, kid," he says, patting at Jeongguk's cheek warmly. Jeongguk beams at him. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," says Jeongguk, tugging him over to the table, where Jeongguk gets up on one of the chairs, pulling over a colouring book. "Colour with me."

"You're probably better than I am," warns Yoongi teasingly, but Jeongguk just places a crayon in his hand (daffodil-yellow, like the colour of Hoseok's sundress the very first time his eyes fell upon her) and shares his space of the table with Yoongi, who sits between him and Hoseok.

Jeongguk soon falls bored, though, and decides to peer at his mother's books instead. "What are you doing, mommy?"

"Studying," answers Hoseok, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she writes, looping handwriting that Yoongi can barely make out. Hoseok's been taking part-time classes, Yoongi knows, these little lessons at night that she goes to after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays every week, despite already pulling two jobs.

She's amazing. Yoongi doesn't know how anybody could work that hard and stay as cheerful as she does. He watches her with fascination, mirroring Jeongguk, who wriggles his chair closer until his face bumps her shoulder. "Can I braid your hair?"

Hoseok glances over, and there's a little bit of mirth in her eyes. "Do you know how to?" she asks, amused.

"Yeah!" says Jeongguk, enthused, and Hoseok permits it.

Some seconds later, it seems though, that Jeongguk does not actually know how to braid, and Yoongi watches Jeongguk attempt to twist her hair around in a strange attempt. Hoseok's shoulders are shaking with silent laughter, even as Jeongguk is a model of concentration. She's given up on studying completely, books closed on the table.

Jeongguk looks forlorn, and turns to Yoongi. "Help me, Mr. Yoongi!" he whispers, attempting to be covert. Well, as much as one can be covert when they're sitting an inch away from the person they're trying to be sneaky around. Hoseok pretends to not hear, and then laughs when Yoongi tugs his chair around in mock-resignation, and sits at her other shoulder.

"I'm going to regret letting you both do this, aren't I?"

"Oh ye of little faith," says Yoongi, smiling. His fingers slip through her hair easily. Soft, like touching the petals of the flowers next to the bench he occupies regularly at the park. He can smell her shampoo from where he's sitting, that dollar-store lavender that he's seen in their bathroom. Yoongi swallows a silent breath, and remembers to move.

They're hopeless, the both of them. They mess up her hair completely, and Yoongi is pretty sure that he might get grounded along with Jeongguk if they attempt to do anything any further.

"Boys," says Hoseok.

"I'm sorry," says Yoongi, from behind one shoulder.

"Me too, sorry," whispers Jeongguk, from behind the other.

"You're both hopeless," she says, confirming what Yoongi already knows, but it's fond. It's very fond. It's the kind of voice Hoseok always has, when it comes to Jeongguk. He loves how fond her words can become around them. Around him, sometimes.

Tonight will be special, Yoongi decides. A surprise. A nice one.

She deserves just as much. She deserves the world. Yoongi can't give her the world, but if he could, he would rename every ocean after her, histories of cities rewritten to paint her in every light. Yoongi can't give her very much at all, but he will give her what he can, for now.

He calls in a reservation at a restaurant. A nice one, maybe something fancy, but not too fancy. Seafood, maybe. He isn't sure if she likes that, but it won't hurt to try. Roses, a bunch of them, blooming big and bright red, like the colour of her favourite hairclip.

Yoongi knocks on the door, flowers behind his back, and waits for her to open the door.

When she does, he pauses, just momentarily.

Hoseok smiles at him, weary-eyed and still in her uniform from the night's job. "I just got home," she says, and god, she looks so tired, Yoongi just wants to lay her down and let her sleep the week away without any worries at all, occupying her mind, "I'm sorry, I'll just go change—"

"No, wait," Yoongi finds himself saying, smiling back reassuringly, and he holds out the flowers. "These are for you."

Hoseok takes them, a little taken aback. "You didn't have to."

"I did," says Yoongi. "And, hey. Surprise. I'll make dinner tonight."

"You can cook?" says Hoseok, unbelieving, but there's the soft hint of a smile on her lips anyway.

He can't. He can't cook at all. He's an awful cook, and life knows it. But he makes a mean omelette (the only thing he does know how to not screw up completely) and he can always improvise.

"If it's for you," says Yoongi, and he revels in the quiet smile that he receives. "Go. Sit. And no going into the kitchen while the creative process takes place."

Hoseok laughs, and closes the door behind him, as Yoongi goes through the familiar motions, shoes off, coat down. Ruffling Jeongguk's hair as he passes by.

He manages to not burn dinner, and they sit, the three of them, just talking. Yoongi would give up a thousand fancy dinners to have them just like this. There isn't anything better, he thinks, watching in amusement as Jeongguk attempts to maneuver his dinner with his fork, and smiling when Hoseok tells him off for dropping rice in his cup.

There isn't anything better than being with the people you love, he thinks, and that's when it hits him.

Hoseok convinces him to stay over, one night. “You keep going back and forth from our place to yours, and you’re just going to waste all that petrol anyway,” and Yoongi doesn’t attempt to correct the sentence, “so you might as well just. Sleep over here, once in a while. The sofa is quite comfy, I have to say.”

“Yeah!” says Jeongguk, obviously happy at the thought of this idea. Happy at getting to spend more time with Yoongi, he realises. And Yoongi, getting to spend more time with the both of them, too. “Double bedtime story!”

“No double bedtime story,” says Hoseok, and Jeongguk’s face falls, “unless you brush your teeth within the next five minutes, and wash your face.”

Jeongguk speeds off in a flash, leaving the both of them in the living room. “You are a fantastic tactician,” says Yoongi, “I don’t think I ever want to play any board games against you.”

One night turns into two, and two turns into three, and it seems that Yoongi has practically moved into the living room by the time the month is up. It’s nice, he thinks, waking up in the morning to the sunlight, streaming through the window above him, to have somewhere soft to sleep.

And, he figures, spending less on gas means that he can help out a little more. Put food on the table. Get Jeongguk a new book. Buy Hoseok a flower, once in a while. Anything to see her smile.

It’s around that time that the heater breaks down mid-winter. Yoongi drops by on the weekend to find Jeongguk bundled up in all the scarves they own, and Hoseok with three coats on. “Jesus,” she says, tugging him in, “how do you even stand the cold outside?”

“No clue,” says Yoongi, but he remembers past winters spent, and actually being inside a building is nothing compared to the previous alternative. “God, you look like you’re freezing. What happened?”

“Heater’s broken down,” says Hoseok, jerking her thumb towards it, “and I can’t—I couldn’t get it fixed soon enough.” What she means is, all her shifts combined still hadn’t been enough to cover the cost of fixing the heater, but Yoongi doesn’t need to hear it from her own mouth to deduce the answer when he’s known her for all these months, now. “Maybe in a week. Or two. I don’t know,” she says, pressing a hand against her forehead wearily. “God, I don’t know.”

Yoongi reaches over and gently tugs her hand down, threading their fingers together. She smiles at him, appreciating the gesture. “It’ll be fine,” he says, a promise in his words that he hopes she hears, “it will.”

They spend the evening shivering, but it’s better than nothing.

When night falls, Yoongi takes his usual place on the couch, prepared to withstand the cold as usual, but Jeongguk clambers into his and Hoseok’s bed and says, “Is Mr. Yoongi gonna sleep on the couch again?”

“Yes,” says Hoseok, “why, sweetheart?”

“It’s cold,” says Jeongguk simply, “he should come here. There’s lots of space, isn’t there? And, and, and, I heard hugging makes you warmer. I want a Mr. Yoongi hug.”

Yoongi hears Hoseok’s quiet laugh. “Maybe you could ask Mr. Yoongi,” he hears, and oh. She didn’t outright say no. Yoongi’s heart thumps a little in his chest, but he tells himself to still when he hears Jeongguk padding over.

“Mr. Yoongi,” whispers the kid, curling his fingers into the edge of the sofa cushions, “you wanna share with us? There’s lotsa space.”

“Well,” says Yoongi, “I don’t know if I should.” And honestly, he isn’t sure what he’s even doing, thinking about getting into the same bed with Hoseok even though they haven’t even talked about any of this directly yet, even though Jeongguk is there, even though Yoongi is just too cautious to do anything at all.

But then, Hoseok’s voice floats in from the bedroom. “Just get in here, Christ,” she says, “it’s freezing and I swear, only Jeongguk kicks in his sleep.”

“I do not!” Jeongguk vehemently denies, and Yoongi stifles his grin.

“Okay,” says Yoongi, and Hoseok’s hum is enough to soothe the nerve in his chest. “Alright. Give me a second.”

It really is getting colder as the clock’s hands move slowly. The floor is already cold enough, and just walking is enough to make Yoongi wish he had a warm fire in front of him. But, this will do just fine.

He slips in cautiously, on the other side of Jeongguk, coming face to face with Hoseok over Jeongguk’s head. “Hey there,” he whispers, gazing at her. The angles of her face are even more pronounced in the soft moonlight that echoes through the barely-parted curtains. He almost wants to reach over and stroke over her cheek, over the corner of her lip.

“Hey there, yourself,” whispers Hoseok in return, eyes bright in the darkness.

“Me too, hey!” goes Jeongguk, and Hoseok hushes him, tugging the blankets up.

“Goodnight, Jeongguk,” murmurs Hoseok, and she presses a kiss to his forehead, letting him snuggle closer.

“No goodnight kiss for me?” jokes Yoongi, but Hoseok smiles, and leans over to kiss him, chaste but sweet, sweet but full, full and sleepy and it last barely a second but Yoongi has never felt warmer in his life. “Hoseok,” he breathes, and Jeongguk makes a snuffling noise between them, breaking the moment.

“Hush,” says Hoseok, smiling, but she’s pink-cheeked, and Yoongi can’t tell whether it’s from the cold, or the boldness of the move. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”

Yoongi does reach over this time, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Goodnight,” he says, hand lingering over he cheek, before he lets the night wash over them.

He sleeps well, that night.

They all do.

“Are you happy?”

Yoongi holds the phone against his ear. “Yeah,” he answers. Namjoon can always tell whether he’s lying, and this time, he really isn’t. He can’t remember the last time he’d been happier. “I really am.”

Namjoon sounds reassured. “Alright, then. Call me again, soon, yeah?”

“Sure. Bye,” says Yoongi, and he hangs up. Namjoon is his oldest friend, one of the only friends who has ever stuck by his side, and Yoongi has always hated being so dependant on him. But, now, he thinks things might be working out.

He doesn’t know how he can even say that, when he doesn’t have a stable job to keep himself going through the year.

But then he recalls Hoseok, stepping through the door, that smile on her face and the matching grin on Jeongguk’s, and the way Jeongguk runs at him with just as much familiarity he gives Hoseok, and the way Hoseok kisses him hello, and god. Yoongi doesn’t even need anything else, does he?

He’s got everything he could ever need, right here, and he hadn’t even realised it.

The question comes, some time later.

“Move in?” asks Yoongi, and he’s the one asking it. Hoseok had been the one to suggest it, over cereal in the morning, and Jeongguk had been sitting so quietly, looking up at Yoongi so strangely that Yoongi was sure he’d fallen into a Twilight Zone episode. “I—”

“I mean,” interrupts Hoseok, obviously nervous, uncertain, unsure. “You basically live here anyway. Not that I’m implying you’re some sort of freeloader or anything, god, no, I mean. It could be home for you, too. If you’d have us.”

Yoongi exhales. “I just,” he begins, and Jeongguk looks like he might cry, “have no idea how to say that I want nothing else more in the world than to do exactly that.”

“Really?” says Jeongguk, voice cracking halfway through, finally unable to stay silent, and he practically launches himself at Yoongi. Hoseok is looking at them with those fond, fond eyes again, and Yoongi is in love. “You’re gonna stay,” mumbles Jeongguk into his shirt, “you’re gonna stay with us and never leave now.”

“Yeah, buddy,” says Yoongi, running a hand through his hair, but his eyes never leave Hoseok. And they smile at each other. “That’s right.”

Hoseok adds, “You don’t have to do it right now, I mean, it’s on your own time, but—”

“It won’t be that hard.” Yoongi tilts his head, and smiles, a little awkward. “I don’t actually... have anywhere to move in from.”

There’s a little pause that hangs around them, a little blip in the conversation where everyone begins to connect the dots.

“That’s why you have so much stuff in your car,” says Jeongguk, and Hoseok looks like she’s torn between laughing and crying, and god, Yoongi wants to wrap them both in his arms and never let go for the rest of his life.

And he does. “We’re ridiculous,” murmurs Hoseok into the curve of Yoongi’s shoulder, and Yoongi just presses his lips against her temple and laughs. “Look at the three of us.”

“Three of us,” repeats Yoongi, “I like how that sounds.”

“Me too.”