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 “Are you going to be a good boy for me?”

Yoongi still doesn’t know how he finds himself here. He’s not his type, he’s not, he knows he’s not, and yet—a quiet gasp leaves his lips as he squirms, nodding a little as his cheeks burn hotly, hands clammy. Kisses are peppered to his hair and cheeks and temple and he melts like butter on warm toast, eyes fluttering slightly. The hand that isn’t holding his wrists together ghosts over his hips and thighs, avoiding his weeping length as it settles over the smooth contours of his tummy. He isn’t like Jimin, there’s no definition there, it’s just soft and pudgy and there and no one ever really sees it because he covers up so well and there are always layers, so many layers—he cries out and presses back, sighing at the hardness that presses against him.

“That’s not what good boys do.” There’s a tut, disappointed, and Yoongi looks back and fixes him with what he hopes is something alluring and coaxing, hopefully sexy. Jimin always said he wasn’t, but not everyone is and that isn’t so bad, it’s okay—but he isn’t Jimin, either.  




Min Yoongi is described to be, by all accounts—including his own—a soft, unassuming, shy person. He knows that he’s nothing special to look at. He has a little button nose, brown eyes with heavy dark circles from late nights spent locked in his studio, and eyelashes that are feathery and soft. There’s a light smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and little mole behind his ear. His lips are pink and chapped more often than not because he picks at them anxiously while obsessing over his mixes late at night.

The most exciting thing about him? There isn’t one, as far as he’s concerned, and that’s okay. He really doesn’t have a lot of time to be interesting, and no one really finds him interesting, anyway.

“How about a break?” Yoongi asks quietly, rubbing his eyes as he speaks into the small speaker. Hyunjin smiles at him and nods, tucking her hair behind her ear as she takes her headphones off and hops off the stool she’d been sitting on. It’s nice, working here. He gets to be alone, something he craves—Hoseok says he can’t hide away forever, can’t protect himself by holing up in his studio and ignoring the outside world but what the fuck does Hoseok know, anyway, with his flawless skin and straight white teeth and syrupy sweet relationship?—more than anything these days. It’s good for him.

He can protect himself here, and no one can hurt him in his studio because he won’t let anyone in here that could ever hurt him, anyway. So he’s fine. Yoongi is fine. Hoseok says he isn’t but he is. What the fuck does Hoseok know, anyway? Asshole. Today Jimin posted a picture with Namjoon on the train today, goofy, mid laugh, with Namjoon laying a kiss on his ruddy cheek and Yoongi didn’t even throw his phone at the wall. Hoseok should be proud. 

Yoongi stretches and makes a face as his arms and legs creak, rolling his neck and shoulders before standing up. He reaches for his coffee and makes a face when he realizes it’s almost empty, throwing the plastic cup away on his way out of his booth. He squints at the bright lights in the hallway, rubbing his eyes at the sudden harsh light. He would much rather record in his own studio, but he can’t afford it right now, so renting a place out is really his only option right now.

It’s a stepping stone.

This time next year, he hopes to be in his own space, set it up as he pleases, working on the projects he wants to work on versus the ones he has to work on to make money.

Yoongi wanders down the hall and presses the down arrow on the elevator, glancing down at his phone. No notifications. Of course. No one is checking up on him because no one cares because Yoongi is plain and just there, and if he disappeared tomorrow the only one who would even worry would be his dog, Holly. And maybe Hoseok, but he could always find another roommate.

He doesn’t mean to be so self critical and sound so self loathing. He really doesn’t. But how can’t he? The last few months have paid testament to that. Yoongi clears his throat and sighs, mentally reviewing the tracks he’s laid down with Hyunjin in the studio over the past few weeks. She’s nice and all, he supposes, easy enough to work with, and he really has no complaints, surprisingly. She’s probably one of his favorite artists to work with, if he’s being honest, and he’ll be sad when she finishes this record, but also happy and curious to see how people react to it. 

Yoongi steps off the elevator at the lobby, humming under his breath as he digs a few loose bills from his pocket. The one good thing about renting the studio as opposed to having his own in his shoebox apartment is that there are little food shops out here and food trucks outside, so he doesn’t have to depend on under cooked ramen from the corner shop across the street. He decides to treat himself to some bubble tea, smiling a little to himself as he watches Hyunjin con the blushing boy behind the baked goods counter out of a pastry. Yoongi buys the honeydew flavor and a small bag of chips, paying the bored teenager behind the counter and telling him for the sixth time in two days that he won’t listen to his mix tape. (He listened to one of his tracks track on Soundcloud and felt like his ears were going to start bleeding.)

Yoongi heads back up to the studio while Hyunjin sits down to eat, sipping his drink with a small smile. His indulgences are few: expensive toys for Holly, over priced coffee, editing software, and bubble tea. Jimin used to think his obsession with the cute tea was silly, that it juxtaposed terribly with the image he projected. Fuck Jimin. Yoongi is an adult and if he wants to drink bubble tea three times a day, so be it. 




The thing is, Yoongi knows he’s not interesting. He isn’t. Jimin is only interested in him because he craves attention. Yoongi knows that. People only ever pay attention to him because they want something from him: exposure, a different take, editing work. Still, he supposes that’s alright, anyway, because that’s just how things are and how they’ve always been.

There’s always a reason for why people want to be around him, some end game, clean and cut and dry.

The problem with Kim Taehyung is that Yoongi isn’t quite sure what he wants from him. Not at first, anyway.

 He doesn’t know how he managed to attract Taehyung’s attention in the first place.

 He’s horrifyingly handsome, a lanky, doe-eyed boy who rents out a studio in the multimedia building that Yoongi rents his studio in as well.

Yoongi never really pays him much mind. He had seen him in passing, but not often enough to cause a real impression, and just categorizes him among the other people who work in their building. 

They meet by chance in an elevator one morning. Yoongi had rushed to get to it before the doors closed, and Taehyung had stuck his foot out just in time to keep the doors open. Yoongi was a little - read: sopping - damp from the rain, but he was fine. It's just water. It won't kill him, and he usually keeps a change of clothes in his studio anyway because of how often he spends the night. He'll just towel off and change into something dry and warm when he gets there. He’s so busy with trying to make sure he didn’t drop anything running into the building that he doesn’t actually notice Taehyung standing there until Taehyung asks him if he’s alright. 

Yoongi glances up and nods, startled into silence. No one really asks how he is. Except Hoseok. But it’s Hoseok, it’s in his nature, and it doesn’t count because he knows that Yoongi is never really alright. It’s fine. Yoongi would probably lie if anyone did ask, and he does so when Taehyung looks at him with that head tilt, curious. 

“Um, yeah. Just got caught in the rain in the parking lot,” Yoongi says, reaching up to fix his wet hair. He knows he looks godawful, blonde hair—he lost a bet—in messy disarray, unkempt and disheveled. He feels gross. Taehyung simply smiles and nods, holding onto the handle of his black Hermès bag. Who the fuck brings an Hermès to work? (He only knows what it is because Hoseok had seen a similar bag and was dying to buy it but it was sold out online. Yoongi had tried to find one to surprise him for his birthday, but he couldn't find it anywhere. He wonders how Taehyung did.)

Yoongi presses the plastic number eight, gnawing on his bottom lip. They’re silent in the elevator. Every time Yoongi meets Taehyung’s eyes in the reflection of the elevator doors, he thinks he’s going to have a stroke. He gets it. He looks terrible. But there’s no need to stare, is there?

He doesn’t know his name, not until he steps off the elevator and bumps into Jiwoo, who greets the man by his name, (“Taehyung sunbaenim!”) with a stammered smile and deep bow and blushes deeply when he smiles and waves, bidding them both a good day. Jiwoo never greets him like that. He doesn’t care, one way or another, but it still makes him frown curiously.

“I can’t believe this! Oh my God! The rumors are true! His studio is here!” Jiwoo is buzzing in the studio booth, bouncing up and down on her stool as she flips her hair over her shoulder. She's typing animatedly at the screen of her phone, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Can you stop screaming? You’re going to strain your voice.” She’s getting over a cold and just had her vocal rest lifted two days ago, so she isn’t exactly out of the woods yet.

“Don’t you know who that was?! It was Kim Taehyung! I can't believe this. The Kim Taehyung!”

“I gathered that,” Yoongi replies, squinting as he sips his coffee. “Who is he?”

Jiwoo looks up at Yoongi in shock, eyes wide as she throws up her hands in shock, yelling at him about being so uncultured and tells him to keep up more with the times. 

“Do you live under a rock?! He’s only the cutest, most handsome, most talented man alive. He’s amazing. I love him! I can’t believe he works here! He said he had gotten a new studio a few weeks ago... I guess now I know where!” Yoongi snorts as he adjusts the bass settings, amused. She’s a teenager. Teenagers are easily impressionable and it doesn’t take much. He’s probably one of those heart throb ulzzang types, not that Yoongi is surprised. He was well dressed, from what Yoongi could tell, and it wasn’t like he was ugly, or weird, or bad looking. Though why someone who probably made his living taking predictable selcas and causing panic in tweens and teens needed studio space here, Yoongi couldn’t quite understand. 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes, really! Oh my god. I can’t believe you got to share an elevator with him! What did he say? Was he nice? What does he smell like?! Did you see if he had any lunch? Maybe if I find out where his studio is I can send him something to eat…”

“He was nice. I don’t know. We didn’t trade juicy gossip or life secrets or something, Jiwoo,” Yoongi says, pouring some sugar into his coffee. He laughs. It’s funny to see her so excited, especially because she doesn’t get excited easily by most things. “I was only there for a minute. If that. He smells like… I don’t know? I didn’t sniff him, you weirdo.”

“I’m not weird! I’m just asking because we sent him cologne for his birthday and I was just wondering if he was wearing it. He’s so dreamy.”

Of course someone like Kim Taehyung would have a fansite. Of course.

“He’s not.”

“How could you say that?! Kim Taehyung is a national treasure, Yoongi. How would you know?!” Her tone is chastising and accusatory, sharp as she folds her arms over her chest.

“I was only teasing,” Yoongi softly protests, making a face at her. “Let’s do a vocal warm up before we begin, okay?”




Yoongi doesn’t know how Taehyung finds out which studio is his. The door is nondescript and doesn’t have his name on it. The glass is frosted, so he wouldn’t even be able to peek inside and even if he could, he still wouldn’t know it’s his. But somehow he found him.

Maybe Taehyung is determined. Or maybe someone told him? Maybe. Yoongi isn't sure.

On his way out for the day, he finds a black umbrella hanging on the door handle. Yoongi has had a long day, infernally so, and he’s just ready to go home and curl up with Holly on the couch and eat some of Seokjin's left overs. Holly’s probably sleeping on his bed right now, and he misses him something awful. Yoongi frowns, unsure as he looks up and down the hall. Everyone is gone for the day—he’s usually the last one to leave.

It has to be from Taehyung—and the note only confirms it. It’s small and white, folded over. Stay dry. He snorts and shakes his head, but takes the umbrella regardless.

It’s pouring down outside and terrible, but at least Yoongi has the umbrella now and it keeps him dry on the way to the car. It’s actually pretty nice, and the gesture was touching, but he knows that he’ll be giving it back tomorrow, or the day after, or whenever he sees him next.




It’s been four days. It’s been raining all week, but Yoongi can’t just take Taehyung’s umbrella. What about him? He’s been getting soaked all week, for what? So Yoongi doesn’t? He makes a face as he spots Taehyung chatting animatedly the man who sells overpriced bibimbap, laughing and putting a smile on the face of the usually austere, serious man. Yoongi doesn’t know if he’s seen anyone talk to Taehyung with a frown on their face, for that matter, but that’s neither here nor there.

Yoongi waits until their conversation ends before approaching them, cheeks rosy as he plays with the tie on the umbrella. Taehyung is eating a smoothie bowl. It has pineapple and kiwi and coconut flakes, sliced banana and some sort of minced nuts. It looks tasty, but a little too involved for Yoongi, who normally just picks up something down here or helps himself to some instant ramen.

“Oh, hi,” Taehyung says as he licks his spoon innocently, meeting Yoongi’s eyes. Yoongi feels the hair on the back of his neck standing up as he makes eye contact. He’s literally just licking a spoon. His meal looks delicious. He’s savoring it. Still, Yoongi feels the skin underneath his loose cotton turtleneck flush, heating up as his cheeks begin to turn berry red. Why is he always flustered whenever Taehyung is around?

“H-Hi,” Yoongi replies, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you, I just—” 

“You’re not bothering me at all. What’s up?” He looks at Yoongi. Really looks at him. He looks like he’s interested in what Yoongi has to say—and no one ever does; no one really makes eye contact. But of course, Taehyung does. Yoongi feels like he’s going to combust.

“I just—the umbrella, the uh, um—I—this is yours, right?”

“So?” Taehyung seems confused, and Yoongi suddenly feels very silly, hands clammy. He knows that the umbrella has to be Taehyung’s. It’s engraved with Taehyung's name and everything, and Yoongi doesn’t feel right keeping it. It seems expensive.

“You left it, uh, on my door? I was just trying to return it to you.”

“Do you have an umbrella?” 

“No, but—” 

“So you need it, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but I can just, like buy myself—”

“Just keep it,” Taehyung says, shrugging as he pops a cube of dragonfruit into his mouth, lips puckering slightly. It’s obscene. Yoongi’s palms are starting to sweat. "No sense in buying one if you already have a perfectly good umbrella."

“But—I mean, this is yours, right? What about you?” 

“I have other ones. It’s quite alright. They said it’s going to rain all week. Just keep it. Consider it a gift.”

He flashes a small smile at Yoongi, who could die.




Yoongi looks Taehyung up online one night out of curiosity. Taehyung has his own vlog, where he posts videos with advice, funny anecdotes, and fashion ideas. He’s been to Fashion Week in New York twice, which is impressive if you’re into that sort of thing. His social media pages are sweet—artistic photos of him and small videos featuring him out and about during his day. He’s popular enough that he has fansites, real fansites, and it makes him think about Jiwoo’s comment the other day. 

Taehyung is so opposite to Yoongi. He’s happy go lucky and friendly, he’s such a bright individual, full of light and sweet. He’s popular and well liked, well loved. Yoongi is pragmatic and shy, fumbling and awkward, with his only real friends being Hoseok, Seokjin, and Holly.




Yoongi keeps running into Taehyung. And Taehyung keeps trying to talk to Yoongi, talks to him about the weather, about a movie he saw the night before, about lunch, his choice in coffee… it’s strange. Yoongi doesn’t know why he does it, but he does. They usually end up meeting in the elevator, so their conversations are usually brief and superficial. One time, though, Taehyung actually sits down with Yoongi to eat in the courtyard outside. They sit together on the bench and their thighs brush together once. It’s enough to get Yoongi at half chub in about thirty seconds, and makes Yoongi wonder how starved he is for affection that just a brief touch like that gets him all riled up. It’s embarrassing.

Yoongi becomes adept at avoiding Taehyung. Or he tries, anyway. There’s nothing really stopping him from talking to Taehyung. He’s a nice guy. He’s not annoying. He’s a good conversationalist, easy on the eyes, even. The problem is that Taehyung is intimidating.

Taehyung is tall. He’s loud and patient and he’s just always there. People are drawn to him. He seems to have a magnetic personality, confident and so self assured. Maybe it’s an act. Yoongi isn’t sure. He’s so funny, too—people are always laughing when he’s around and Yoongi isn’t in the mood to be the butt of one of his jokes. (Yoongi’s always the butt of jokes, always, and he can never think of a comeback in time to defend himself.)

He’s just such a nice person, he’s so well liked, he’s so... different. He isn’t like Yoongi; Yoongi is soft and  sensitive. He thrives in isolation and also withers in it, and can’t get himself out of it. He’s moody and anxious and shy. Taehyung is unique and friendly and energetic. Something isn’t making sense.





“Busy today?”

“Always busy,” Yoongi murmurs, sipping his coffee slowly. “Did you call the producers I told you about?”

Taehyung had asked him about maybe helping him produce a record. Yoongi had feigned interest, but he was actually crushed.

They had finally come full circle.

Taehyung didn’t want to be his friend, he didn’t find him funny or captivating, he didn’t want to hang out after work or get a beer as friends. He wanted Yoongi to produce an album for him. Everyone always wants something, even Taehyung. Or especially Taehyung. Yoongi feels silly for believing that Taehyung could ever be remotely interested in him as a person, and not just someone who happened to have some sort of musical talent.

Taehyung says he wants to work with Yoongi because Yoongi has won awards for his work, and he’s the best of the best. It’s true. Yoongi took home three awards at the last awards show for his production work alone. That was four months ago. Two of the records also tied for Album of the Year, so there’s that. It makes him feel good to have his work recognized, obviously. He just works hard. Yoongi isn’t particularly good at it, but he’s so obsessive with his work that he refuses to put anything out that isn’t perfect. So Taehyung is right in the strictest sense of the phrase, but there are other producers. Better producers, ones that are more sociable, kinder. Similar to Taehyung, anyway. Yoongi doesn’t know if he can work with Taehyung without making his strange crush apparent. And it isn’t a crush. It isn’t.

Taehyung is just the person who has mass appeal and is attractive to everyone. As soon as Yoongi sends him away, he will lose interest in working with him, and Yoongi will get over this weird little infatuation he seems to have developed. It’s his own fault, really. If Jimin would leave, why on earth would Taehyung be interested in him?


“Why?” Taehyung is petulant and pouty. Yoongi pinches himself discreetly, forcing himself to stay calm and not give into the temptation to give him what he wants. It seems that Taehyung always gets what he wants, and isn’t used to hearing no.

“I don’t want to work with them,” Taehyung says, as though it should be obvious. “Can you just listen to my demo?”

“I don’t have time.”

“It’s only three songs. They’re all shorter than five minutes. It’s only fifteen minutes out of your busy day, hyung,” Taehyung protests, leaning against the wall petulantly, fixing those large, moony brown eyes on him. His eyelashes are impossibly long. It should be illegal. “Please?” He presses the flash drive into Yoongi’s hand, nodding. “Just listen to it. If it’s total shit, tell me and I’ll never bring up again. Promise! I’ll even take you out for dinner.”

“Are you going to stop camping out in front of my studio?”

Taehyung shrugs a shoulder, jacket falling back to reveal a stylishly unkempt button down. There’s a cute mole on Taehyung’s neck. Yoongi doesn’t know what to do. Does he stare? Kiss it? Push Taehyung away?

“Are you gong to listen to my demo?”

Yoongi shrugs, the way Taehyung did. Taehyung calls him cute and he almost chokes on his coffee. Taehyung smiles, patting his shoulder gently.




There’s always a sort of tension that sizzles softly whenever Taehyung is in the same room as Yoongi. This is only added to the ever growing list of reasons why Yoongi feels that it’s necessary to avoid him so fervently. 

It isn’t anything that makes him uncomfortable. Yoongi doesn’t feel awkward or weird. It’s just strange that someone like Taehyung would take note of someone as bookish and plain as Yoongi. And Taehyung does notice. He always notices.

Yoongi always feels Taehyung’s eyes on him in a room. At first it’s unsettling. He feels nervous. Is he waiting for Yoongi to do something embarrassing? Or weird? Does he stare because Yoongi’s weird, socially awkward, shy? Is it because Yoongi can’t talk to him without blushing bright red? Does he like flustering him? Maybe it’s something he gets off on.

Yoongi doesn’t know. Sometimes he’ll leave his studio to eat lunch with whoever he’s working with that day in an attempt to leave his shell and be more sociable, and sometimes Taehyung happens to be eating in the inner courtyard, too. He usually sits on a bench and reads or talks on the phone. If he sits with people, he always sits at the farthest table in the left lower corner with sunglasses in his hair. They don’t really talk. Sometimes they’ll exchange a greeting but not often. Not like Yoongi keeps track.

But his eyes are always on Yoongi, even if they don’t talk. He smiles, mostly, gentle and warm. It’s sweet. It makes Yoongi flustered every time he sees it and he doesn’t know why it happens. At times he thinks that maybe he has something on his face, but he doesn’t eat messy foods, not often.

In any event, it seems like Taehyung doesn’t mean anything by it. Maybe he’s just a person who likes to people watch, and Yoongi’s a person, so maybe he likes watching Yoongi? It sounds asinine whenever he tries figuring it out. Nobody likes watching Yoongi. No one likes him. People like working on him, but it’s because he’s talented, not because they enjoy his company. And after Jimin... Yoongi is all but convinced, anyway, that his redeeming qualities are far and few in between. And that’s okay.

Maybe Taehyung doesn’t know that. Maybe he sees him at face value. Maybe he likes what he sees? Yoongi snorts as he adjusts the treble slightly, shaking his head.

The fact remains that the tension is there. Yoongi can feel it, senses it every time he happens to make eye contact with Taehyung in a hallway or the courtyard, and he’s not quite sure what to make of it.




Their following interaction (of note, anyway) occurs exactly five weeks after the infamous introduction. Yoongi has decided to treat himself to a badly needed break. He’s been in the studio all day and his eyes are going to fall out of his head if he stares at the screen for another second. There’s something missing in one of the tracks and it’s killing him. It’s there. He knows he is, but he can’t find it. A break will do him good. It’s fine. His deadline isn’t for another day, and he knows he’ll find it. Even if he has to stay here all night.

Yoongi’s eyes are heavy as he stands in front of a vending machine located at the end of the hallway his studio is located on. He deposits a few coins into the appropriate slot and punches in the numbers for a chocolate bar, a bag of chips, and a small bag of peanuts. He groans as he retrieves them. He digs into the chocolate first, eyes heavy. He’s exhausted. He’s been working on the last track for close to five hours, and he’s at his wits’ end. Munching on a little bite of chocolate, Yoongi buys an energy drink from the other vending machine, shoving it into the pocket of his hoodie.

He walks down the silent hallway, yawning into his elbow as he smacks his lips and rubs his eyes. He’s so tired. Shutting the door to his studio, Yoongi sinks into his seat quietly.  A frustrated groan leaves him. He feels like he’s going to cry. This track is simple. It’s a simple synth melody. What is it missing?

He groans, setting his snacks and drink out on the surface of the desk, staring at his computer screen again. Yoongi clicks the mouse and starts the track over from the beginning. He closes his eyes and allows himself to just listen and focus intently, resting his head against the comfortable leather chair.

Yoongi falls asleep. Of course he does. He tells himself he’ll only rest his eyes for a moment, just to regroup and refocus. But he slips into sleep so suddenly that before he knows it, he’s dead asleep. But he’s in his studio, and this isn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep here, anyway. It’ll be fine.

“Yoongi? Yoongi, are you okay?”

The voice is quiet, concerned, but familiar. It sounds far away, and Yoongi assumes he’s just dreaming. He’s just so tired and all he wants to do is sleep—he deserves it, he knows he does, and he knows he should be working but he’s just so fatigued that he couldn’t help it and to hell with the deadline—

“Yoongi,” the person tries again. He keeps repeating Yoongi’s name and brushes his hair back, sweet and gentle. There’s a hand in his hair, warm and soothing and comforting, tender. Yoongi opens his eyes slowly, blinking for a few moments while his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. His laptop screen has gone dark and the recording booth is dark since no one’s in there. The only light in the room comes from the soft glow coming from the computer screens he’s set up to work when he wants to do multiple projects at once.

Taehyung’s eyebrows are knit in a frown. Yoongi notes a small mole on the tip of his nose and his lips are glossy and it irritates him how he notices even that small detail. Up close, Yoongi is struck again by how beautiful he is, and it makes his chest hurt.

“Oh, good. I was scared. I couldn’t tell if you had passed out or just fell asleep,” he murmurs softly, plopping down in the chair next to Yoongi’s. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah,” Yoongi mumbles, rolling his suddenly sore neck. He had fallen asleep at a very strange angle and felt uncomfortable, and suddenly wished he’d given himself a bit more breathing room with his deadline. “I think I just fell asleep. I’m—wait, I’m sorry, what are you doing in here?”

“I wanted to get my drive,” Taehyung explains, watching Yoongi stretch and try to get some feeling back after sleeping in that position for so long. “I would have called but I don’t have your number.”

“You know, knocking is a thing. Breaking into locked rooms... not so much,” Yoongi says, groaning when he cracks his back. God, he’s getting old. “And I haven’t... I actually haven’t gotten the chance to listen to your demo? Sorry. It’s um, it’s in one of these drawers... or my bag? I just have to look. It won’t take me very long.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? How long have you been here? Maybe you need some fresh air.” Taehyung seems worried as he watches Yoongi stretch, eyebrows knit in consternation. "And I didn't break in. The door was open."

“I don’t. I’m fine,” Yoongi protests, shaking his head. “I’m okay.” He checks the time on his phone and grumbles, shaking his head. He’s only got a few hours left to finish, and he feels like that’s not enough time. It’s enough to make him feel on edge, a cold sweat breaking out. “I’m kind of in the middle of something right now, so I don’t have time to look for it. I’m sorry.“

“Oh, I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Taehyung says, truly apologetic. “I was just worried about you. I was knocking and you weren’t answering and the door wasn’t locked, so I just came in and you looked like you’d passed out. But you’re okay! So that’s good. Can you text me? Even if you don’t listen to it, that’s okay, I—oh, look at me, you’re busy! Okay. I’ll get out of your hair, sorry,” Taehyung laughs, cheeks pink as he scribbles something on a writing pad next to Yoongi’s laptop.




After that, Taehyung does this thing where he waits for Yoongi after a long day. He doesn’t say much, he looks tired, but he does at least say that he does it so Yoongi doesn’t fall asleep in his studio. Taehyung says he has a perfectly good bed and should put it to use.




Taehyung brings him coffee. Yoongi knows it’s Taehyung. Only Taehyung buys coffee from that ridiculously expensive place two blocks away. He doesn’t know how Taehyung guesses what his coffee preference is—iced americano, no cream, two sugars—but he does. It makes Yoongi smile. It shouldn’t.




Yoongi stares at the scrap of paper, cheeks flush. He signed his name with a heart. Kim Taehyung, of all people, gave Min Yoongi, bookish and plain, his phone number. He asked him to call him. It’s about his demo, obviously, but still.

“What do you think?”

“It… I don’t know. Sounds… it’s nice,” Namjoon says, choosing his words carefully. He never wants to sound harsh or critical about anything or anyone, especially not about their music. Taehyung isn’t bad but even if he was, Namjoon would probably find the nicest way to say it. “I mean. It’s just a demo so it’s nothing special. I’d like to hear him in person. That’s my suggestion. I think you should do it. It’s only a few songs. You could knock it out in your sleep. What’ll be? Three days? If that.”

“You should do it,” Yoongi says, pausing the song as he munches on some chips. “Hm? Get back to your roots,” he teases. “If it’s only three days, anyway. Don’t have much to lose.”

“Gotta say… kind of like where I’m at right now,” Namjoon hums, glancing at his phone. “I would love to, but you know how it is. Between fan meets and shows and recording, I don’t know where I’d even have time.”

Yoongi glances at him, making a face. He says it because it’s true—he really is busy, really does have a lot on his plate, but Yoongi can’t quite be bothered to feel bad for him, all things considered.

“Namjoon, come on! Just—I can’t do it, okay?”

“Why not? This could really put you on the map—”

“I’m already on the map,” Yoongi grumbles, making a face. He wants to tell Namjoon that he’s the one who put him on the map, too. He refrains, and instead shakes his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly. No sense in being petty, after all. “I’m there. I don’t need to be put anywhere that I’m already at.”

“Easy, tiger,” Namjoon says, furrowing his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just think you have more time to do it than I would. That’s all. And he asked you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know. Can’t do it, I guess.” They talk quietly about the production value on the demo, which is low, but it’s just a demo and he hasn’t heard Taehyung sing in person, and compared to what Yoongi does, all production values are a little lower. Or most, anyway. And Yoongi is fine.

Namjoon is his best friend, despite eloping with the love of his life, deserting him for his newfound fame, and acting like nothing happened. Which, as far as Namjoon is concerned, it didn’t. He got married to someone he loves. That’s really about it, and Yoongi doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth about what really happened. Namjoon is so in love with Jimin that he probably wouldn’t believe him, anyway. It is what it is.

Jimin flits into the studio and leans on the back of Namjoon’s chair. Namjoon tilts his head up and Jimin kisses his nose, laughing softly. It’s like Yoongi isn’t there. And it’s okay. Yoongi is okay. He’s not going to cry and he isn’t going to get mad, and he’s okay. Jimin is happy. Namjoon is happy. He should be happy too. He should be! Why isn’t he? 

“Are we going home? I’m exhausted,” Jimin sighs, looking down at him. He caresses his face gently, thin wedding band gleaming on his left ring finger. Yoongi feels like he’s been slapped. “You said this wouldn’t take long and I feel like we’ve been here for ages.”

“Soon. I’m almost done here,” Namjoon says, and it’s only then that Jimin even acknowledges the fact that Yoongi is there at all.

“Oh, hey,” he says dismissively before turning his attention back to Namjoon. Their conversation is so mundane and domestic and Yoongi just wants to keep it together for a little while. He knows that they’ll be leaving shortly and he’ll be free to be alone and get upset then. But it’s just hard. Jimin and Namjoon talk about getting groceries, picking up dry cleaning, where to go for dinner, about the dog—the dog, the fucking dog is what gets him, of all things. Jimin is carding his fingers through Namjoon’s hair and Namjoon is looking at him with love and Yoongi is going to be sick.

He doesn’t even say anything, just slips out of the room and tries to find a bathroom, but the fucking bathroom is closed because it’s being cleaned, of course it fucking is. Of course. Yoongi storms into the elevator and lets himself cry, hiccuping as he presses a random button, just desperate to be alone and vent. It isn’t fair. It isn’t. He loved Jimin. He loved him a lot, he worked as hard as he did because he wanted to give him everything and make him happy and nothing was ever good enough and Yoongi, it’s Yoongi, Yoongi is the problem, Yoongi is always the problem

“Oh! Yoongi! Yoongi, what’s—Yoongi, what’s wrong?”

It’s Taehyung. As if his day couldn’t get any worse! Yoongi just looks down and shakes his head. He doesn’t even know what to say, or how to say it, and he doesn’t trust himself to speak, either. The elevator door shuts silent behind him. Taehyung tries meeting his eyes but Yoongi just can’t and he doesn’t know what to do, he can’t breathe and he just wants to go home and curl up in a tight ball and just stay there forever.

He wants to say that he’s fine and there’s nothing to see, apologize that Taehyung has to see him like this, tell him he’s getting off on the next floor and that he’ll give him his demo back tomorrow, and sorry, no, he can’t work on it, he’s too busy, but he’ll help him find someone who can help him. Except every time he tries to speak, he sobs, quiet and pathetic and he hates it, hates how much it hurts. Because it does. It hurts. Everything hurts.

The elevator stopped at some point. Yoongi isn’t sure when, but it does, but he doesn’t care, he just doesn’t. How can he? 

And then Taehyung just… hugs him. He doesn’t say anything. Yoongi doesn’t even see it coming, and he hiccups in surprise, hands at his side as Taehyung simply wraps him in a warm embrace, comforting and unassuming. Yoongi can’t help it. He cries into Taehyung’s chest for a few moments and Taehyung mumbles comfortingly into his hair, rubbing his back and shushing him, encouraging him to take a deep breath before he makes himself sick.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi tries to say, but it comes out choked and awkward, tense. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I—you’re busy, I know, I–”

“Not really,” Taehyung hums. His voice rumbles against Yoongi’s chest and he’s sad, he is, but it stirs something inside him that makes him blush for all the wrong reasons. “Actually, this is usually about the time I go around hugging cute producers anyway.”

Yoongi splutters, sniffling as a startled squeak leaves his lips, cheek still pressed against Taehyung’s chest.

“I’m—I’m not,” Yoongi mumbles, shaking his head. He isn’t. But not everyone is. Not everyone can be cute. It’s okay. He has other redeeming qualities.

“Are you busy right now?”

“Aside from my breakdown? No, I’m free,” Yoongi mumbles, self conscious. It’s a Saturday night. Jimin and Namjoon are going out for dinner and dancing, and Yoongi is having a mental breakdown and being comforted by the guy who he kind of likes, but doesn’t like him, because why would he? Why would anyone? “I should probably get back to my studio. I’m sorry–”

“You just said you weren’t busy, and I’m not busy. Why don’t we get out of here?”


“I don’t know. Just get some fresh air? It’s stuffy in here, and it’s a bit much. It’s so nice outside. It’s warm. Let’s go for a walk or something.”




Taehyung buys Yoongi ice cream.

They had walked around the block once, then just kept going. The sun was setting and everything had that hazy glow that only seems present during dawn and dusk. They walk past an ice cream parlor and Yoongi feels gross because his face is puffy and still a little pink, fidgeting a little in the line. People don’t really pay them much mind in the busy shop, which he’s thankful for.

They sit together in a booth, and Taehyung doesn’t bring up the fact that he ugly cried in an elevator with him for five minutes, or that he probably looks terrible. Instead he asks Yoongi about his day, if he tried the new food truck, and about Holly.

(He brought Holly to work with him last week when Hoseok had the painters in. The fumes were no good for him. Taehyung saw Yoongi walk Holly. Holly doesn’t like strangers but he likes Taehyung, of course. He licked his hands and barked excitedly when Taehyung picked him up, licking his cheeks and nose. It was cute. Terribly so.)

Yoongi feels a little better on the walk back. Sometimes their hands brush together and Yoongi doesn’t know why, but it flusters him and makes him feel… something. He isn’t sure what.




Taehyung and Yoongi do text. Sometimes. But it’s usually something trite—questions about the demo, referrals to producers, advice about finding a good one, et cetera. They don’t ever really talk about anything personal, not until the Elevator Incident. They have sort of become friends, maybe.

Taehyung texts him every morning. He asks him if he slept well, if he’s going to eat breakfast, if he saw that video of the puppy running in the snow that went viral last week. It’s sweet. Yoongi tries not to pay it much mind, tries to just see it for what it is—a text—and not for what he would like it to be, namely, something more. They have lunch together unless they can’t because they’re busy working—Yoongi still isn’t exactly sure of what Taehyung actually does here—and if that happens, they just text one another instead.

It’s kind of nice, being friends with Taehyung. It makes him smile, keep his mind off of things, and feel… well, good. It’s weird, a foreign sensation, feeling good.




“What are you smiling at?”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been staring at your phone with that dopey smile for the last two minutes,” Hoseok comments. “Is it Taehyung again?”

“No,” Yoongi says quickly, defensive as he flips his phone over, picking at his dinner.

“It isn’t?” Hoseok is quick, quicker than Yoongi, and snatches his phone away before Yoongi can stop him. “Oh. Hm. I see. Not Taehyung, my ass.”

“Give it back!”

“Ooh!” Hoseok giggles, ducking out of Yoongi’s way as he reads the texts. “Aw. Yoongi! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“When did you guys start dating? This is so cute!”

Yoongi chokes on his samgyeopsal, hacking into a napkin as Hoseok slides the phone across the table. He blushes, sipping his water as he tries to calm down. 

“He—Taehyung isn’t my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend. He doesn’t, he doesn’t like me,” Yoongi says, frowning at Hoseok. “Trust me. I would know. He doesn’t. He’s not my boyfriend. I think I would know if he’s my boyfriend, and he isn’t. Taehyung and I are just friends.”

“Who eat lunch together every day and text 24/7. Right. Not homoerotic at all.”

“I text you all the time and don’t wanna bone you. People can talk and just want friendship. Pervert.”

“I text you, and you text me back five days letter with two word replies. You’re always talking about him or to him, and apparently you can text him back right away, but not your best friend and platonic life partner. Sad.” 

“Friends do that, Hoseok.”


“Yeah. Sure. But Taehyung doesn’t, like, like me that way, and I’m sure he doesn’t. I’m positive.” Yoongi doesn’t mean to sound so defensive, but it can’t be helped. What else can he do? Taehyung doesn’t like him and the idea is a little too ridiculous and almost cruel. Why would he? They’re friends and that’s good. Yoongi likes where they’re at.

“Are you?”

“Yes! He’s my friend.”





“So, Hoseok is funny. He’s so silly,” Yoongi says, shaking his head as he munches on some yogurt and granola, scooping some berries into his spoon. His words have been bugging Yoongi all week, and he has to put this to rest once and for all. “He’s wild. He said—jeez, just saying it sounds ridiculous! He said, like, that—that you like me. Like, like—like you want to go out with me, which is just—”


Ridiculous. Right?”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

Yoongi finds his laughter fading as he looks at Taehyung, surprised. Taehyung looks like he means it, and is curious about why Yoongi finds it to be so absurd.

“I like you,” Taehyung says, as though it’s obvious. And Yoongi knows. He does. 

“I like you too, Taehyung. That’s why it’s so silly!”

“No, I like you,” Taehyung says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “What? I—wasn’t it obvious?”

“What—no? Wait, what?” Yoongi splutters, gripping his water bottle tightly so as to stay tethered to something. “I’m sorry. What?”

“What? It’s true. You’re cute and you make me laugh. I like you. What’s so weird about that?” It’s so simple and clear, just like he’s talking about the weather or how good the dumplings from the food truck two blocks away are. He says it like Yoongi should know these things, that they’re obvious, and that everyone knows. Does everyone know but Yoongi? 

“Nothing, I just—um—I—really?” Yoongi asks, soft and surprised. “I—oh. I can’t—wow. Me?” Taehyung simply smiles and nods, reaching across the table to pat Yoongi’s hand. It’s reassuring and warm, enveloping his own hand gently.  “Is this about the demo?” Yoongi asks, looking down at their hands before glancing over at Taehyung again. “I can—I can just, um, master it for you, you don’t have to pretend to—”

“No. This is about you, just you,” Taehyung replies softly, giving Yoongi one of those smiles, sweet and soft and makes him feel like he’s the only boy in the whole world. “Just about you and me, if that’s what you want.”




Taehyung wants to take him out.

Yoongi relents, eventually. It’s a passing fancy, and Yoongi feels like it’ll pass as soon as Taehyung sees him out and about. He’ll realize Yoongi is nobody, and he’ll get over it, his weird I like youkick that he’s on all of a sudden. According to Taehyung, he’s been obvious about it for weeks, and assumed Yoongi knew. In any event, Taehyung wants to take him out on a real life date. He won’t tell Yoongi where, all he says is that he hopes Yoongi really likes it, and that it’s one of his favorite places in the city.

Yoongi decides to just go. The worst thing that could happen is that Taehyung realizes he’s just Yoongi, nothing special, and they go back to normal by next week. It’s just a date. No. Sort of? Maybe. He doesn’t know. Yoongi feels like he looks kind of nice. These are his nicest pair of black pants and he got a decent haircut, and he’s wearing his favorite black sweater, and comfortable tennis shoes. He looks good. Sort of. He’s curious about where Taehyung wants to go, and hopes he isn’t over or under dressed.

On the drive to the address Taehyung has sent him, Yoongi listens to the radio loudly, trying to remind himself that he’s going to be fine, he’s going to be okay, and that Taehyung is, at the very least, someone who he could consider his friend, and that he would have fun with him. It seemed difficult to not have fun with Taehyung.

What’s the worst thing that could happen?




Yoongi squints as he pulls into the aquarium parking lot, parking his junky little four door between a truck and a van. He makes sure he has some money and his phone before getting out of the car and heading towards the main entrance, frowning. Did he get lost? He must have. He’s about to call Taehyung to make sure he didn’t get mixed up when he sees Taehyung waiting at the gates, looking around. When he sees Yoongi, he smiles wide and bright, and Yoongi smiles back, shy as he greets him.

“Did I keep you waiting long? I’m sorry,” Yoongi says apologetically, glancing up at Taehyung. “I got a little lost.”

“I wasn’t. I had actually sat down a little bit before,” he explains, shaking his head. They walk together to the ticket window and Taehyung talks animatedly about the different exhibits and his favorite ones, which ones aren’t worth the hype, and which ones he really wants to see. It’s cute. Taehyung is cute.

It isn’t the first time Yoongi has thought that about Taehyung, but it is the first time he’s able to think so freely without feeling awkward or like he’s being obvious.




They start holding hands when they see the shark exhibit, mostly because Yoongi is startled and reaches out for Taehyung, instinctively. Taehyung doesn’t say anything about it, and simply laces his fingers with Yoongi’s and lets him drag him along to the next exhibit, featuring colorful tropical fish that swim and swirl around them in the tank overhead. The date is actually going surprisingly well. Yoongi can’t help but to laugh at all of Taehyung’s quips and Taehyung is quietly enamored by Yoongi’s gentle, soft wonderment. Yoongi allows himself to entertain the idea about, perhaps, maybe, doing this again.

They almost kissed—an accident—and laughed about it. Taehyung and Yoongi sat in front of the moon jelly tank and talked about everything and nothing for the better part of an hour and it was fun—really. They hold hands and Taehyung leans in close and Yoongi is afraid they’re going to kiss, but they don’t. He had an eyelash on his cheek and Taehyung blew it away.




“Oh, look! It’s a photo booth!” Yoongi exclaims excitedly, dragging Taehyung along behind him. Taehyung entertains all of Yoongi’s whims—including buying a plush harbor seal, an overpriced mug and keychains with jellyfish and an octopus. It’s been an enjoyable night so far. And Yoongi’s afraid, at first, that Taehyung will get annoyed or irritated, but Taehyung seems to along with his harebrained schemes happily and no complaints. “Do you wanna take one with me?"

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to have a momento,” Taehyung says, squeezing his hand. Yoongi blushes and laughs as he climbs into the booth with Yoongi.

It’s takes them a little while to get settled with all their purchases—Taehyung has a shark and a sea lion, yet to be named—but once they’re settled, Taehyung picks a setting and Yoongi slides a few bills into the blinking slot.

“Make a funny face,” Taehyung says, giggling as the picture snaps. Yoongi’s not expecting it, so his eyes are closed and Taehyung just cracks up even more. Yoongi smile because his laugh sounds so silly and goofy and squeaky, he sounds so ridiculous that Yoongi can’t help but crack a smile. 

Taehyung tickles Yoongi to try to get him to laugh, and Yoongi squirms and whines, pushing at Taehyung’s hands. They’re warm and feel nice and his fingers have all these rings and they’re so shapely and the little moles on them make him laugh. Yoongi tries to distract him by picking a piece of cotton candy and shoving it in his mouth.

And then, of course, Taehyung licks Yoongi’s fingers and Yoongi almost chokes, blushing. Taehyung meets his eyes and smolders. Of course he smolders. And the camera is still snapping pictures and Taehyung is looking at Yoongi like he’s going to bend him over a flat surface and Yoongi doesn’t mind, he doesn’t, as long as Taehyung doesn’t stop looking at him that way.

When Yoongi pulls his fingers away in a soft, dizzy haze, Taehyung’s tongue darts out to swipe at his lips slowly.

“You taste sweet.”

Yoongi splutters. Taehyung smiles, pleased. Yoongi’s blushing and is distinctly pleased that the photos are in black and white, and hopes the rosy glow isn’t too obvious. Taehyung wriggles his eyebrows and Yoongi tries to shove him, but ends up almost falling into his chest instead because of how cramped their booth is. Taehyung finds it hilarious. Which, well, it kind of is—Taehyung has hair in his eyes and is smiling his big smile and teasing Yoongi for being so clumsy, chides him for being cute, and Yoongi frowns, tells him he isn’t cute at all, because he isn’t, Yoongi knows that and no one has to lie, not everyone is cute, after all. Taehyung dissents, fiercely, and Yoongi can’t help but squeak and laugh when Taehyung asserts that Yoongi is cute, calls him pretty.

“I’m not!”

“The prettiest boy in the whole world,” Taehyung insists, peppering Yoongi’s face with kisses, soft and fleeting and dry, make Yoongi giggle and the half chub that is ever present when Taehyung is around makes itself known, and Yoongi flushes, about to move and tell Taehyung to be normal so they can get one decent picture at least, but he moves forward instead of back and—

They’re kissing. Yoongi’s surprised as he pulls away, only for a split second before he leans in again, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s neck after a split second. It’s those kisses that imprint themselves on you and your being, make Yoongi feel all dizzy and breathless and like he can’t stop. Is this the kind of person he is now, gets so overworked by a kiss that he can’t stop himself? But kissing Taehyung makes Yoongi feel good about himself, makes him feel special, and he can’t stop smiling and laughing and it’s nice.

Even after the flashes stop going off in the cramped photobooth, they stay close together, sharing those lazy sweet kisses that make Yoongi feel like he could stay here forever. But then Taehyung cards his fingers through Yoongi’s hair carefully, kisses him again, and asks him if he wants to look at some penguins.




Things are going fine until they walk outside to see the penguin exhibit, splendid, really, which is how Yoongi knows it must all go tits up at some point.

They’re having fun. Everything is perfect.

But then they’re at the penguin exhibit, and Yoongi decides that this is, perhaps, the tipping point of the evening. It happens so casually that Yoongi doesn’t even notice the implications until it’s too late. He tells Taehyung that he’s cold under the assumption that Taehyung will give him his sweater, but Yoongi should have known better. He should have. Taehyung almost deep throated his fingers before kissing him, after all. It couldn’t have worked out.

Taehyung simply wraps his arms around Yoongi instead, kisses the top of his head, and waddles with him towards the tour guide giving a very detailed explanation about the new exhibit on emperor or empress penguins, or something like that. Yoongi’s almost sure he’s short circuited.

He must have. He grips the twine on the bags of their purchases tightly and gnaws on his inner cheek as he tries to focus and listen to the young woman. She’s so happy and excited as she talks on and on about fucking mating season, and Taehyung hums, pressing against Yoongi. Yoongi stills, eyes wide. It’s fine. People are around them and he doubts anyone can tell that Taehyung is a) hard and b) pressing into him. But Yoongi can tell. Yoongi can tell and he almost whines, and is acutely thankful for the hat he’s wearing, casting a small shadow over his face. They’re in a crowd of people, in the middle, and all Yoongi wants is to learn about the cute little waddling penguins.

He can’t quite think about much else outside of the fact that Taehyung, Kim Taehyung, is hard (presumably because of Yoongi) and is holding him close and doing very little to hide his arousal.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi mumbles softly, petulantly as he looks up at Taehyung. Taehyung’s response is to kiss his nose and ask if he’s okay. And he is. He is. Yoongi doesn’t mind, hates how eagerly he nods and splutters when Taehyung rolls his hip slightly. “I want—the penguins,” Yoongi sighs, eyes almost rolling back when Taehyung slips a hand under his shirt. He doesn’t know when Taehyung managed to do that, but his hands are cool against his warm skin, and he squirms, inadvertently doing nothing to dissuade Taehyung from rocking his hips against Yoongi’s.

“So watch the penguins,” Taehyung says, casual with a shrug as he slides his hand over the soft planes of Yoongi’s tummy. Yoongi withers, almost slumping in Taehyung’s arms. “Behave.”

“Me? Behave?! You're the one who's--” Yoongi almost hisses when Taehyung slides his hand down, resting on the button of his pants. His cock twitches in interest, traitorous thing. A quiet whimper leaves his lips as it presses against the damp fabric of his boxer shorts. He leans his head back against Taehyung’s chest, gulping slightly. “The penguins, and I… I’m…”

Yoongi can’t say it out loud. Obviously. But he knows Taehyung knows and hates how a few simple touches have reduced him to a mess. He takes a shaky breath and gulps, trying to pay attention. He wants to. He likes penguins. But he also likes dick, and Taehyung feels so nice, it feels good, and it takes all of Yoongi’s willpower not to cry out when Taehyung jolts into him harder, not by much, but enough that it makes him bite his tongue and almost faint.

Yoongi does, after a minute or two of trailing fingers and kisses to the top of his head, manage to rock his hips back, meeting Taehyung’s nearly imperceptible movements. Yoongi can feel Taehyung smiling into his hair and could melt, barely even listening to the woman discussing mating habits and the incubation period for baby penguins.

It seems that Taehyung is bent on listening to the whole entire presentation and not taking Yoongi into the nearest bathroom to fuck him silly, much to his chagrin. Yoongi tries. He does. He rocks back, he whines quietly, tries to beg but he can’t really string anything coherent together, feels silly and desperate. He doesn’t quite realize the presentation has ended, not until Taehyung pulls away and asks him if he wants to get something to eat since the aquarium is closing soon, anyway.




Hoseok isn’t home. Yoongi is surprised, but pleased. He was probably on a date, which was all well and good, anyway, because Yoongi wants the apartment to himself, and suspects that it’ll be better if Hoseok isn’t home to hear Taehyung pound him six ways to Sunday. (They had a conversation about it in the car, briefly discussed a safe word, preferences, and things of that sort. It made Yoongi comfortable, in a way, that Taehyung cared about what Yoongi wanted and not just coming too soon and leaving him to worry about himself. It impresses upon Yoongi that Taehyung wants this to be good for both of then, and only makes him buzz with more anticipation.) Because that’s what he wants, it’s what he’s wanted for the past two hours, just about, and if he has to wait any longer he might just cry. He wastes no time as soon as they’re in the privacy of his dark apartment, reaching up to pull Taehyung into a kiss that makes his eyes roll back.

“Do—um, do you want to—um, my room, do you wanna go?” Yoongi whispers between kisses, laughing when Taehyung peppers his face, giggling softly. He murmurs a quiet yes against Yoongi’s, and Yoongi can hardly believe his luck. Taehyung, of all people, asked him out on a date, kissed him, teased him throughout, and is now about to do something, maybe, hopefully. He still can’t believe this happened! To him!

Yoongi leads him to his bedroom, stumbling in the dark, but relieved to have finally reached it. He flops onto his bed, kicking off his socks as he pulls Taehyung closer to him, enjoying the moment for what it is, simply. It’ll be a brief moment, he knows, no one like Taehyung is ever interested in Yoongi, and so he has to enjoy it now, because it will probably never happen ever again.

“What do you want?”

Taehyung looks debauched. His hair is a mess and his eyelashes fan out so prettily, lips rosy and swollen and he just looks so good. Yoongi still can’t quite wrap his mind around it, as he looks at Taehyung. His shirt had joined Yoongi’s shirt on the ground moments ago, and so his shoulders, broad and lean, are on display, and Yoongi, again, is reminded of how diametrically opposed they are.


“I don’t—it doesn’t make any sense,” Yoongi replies after a beat, closing his eyes. “I’m… I don’t get it. You’re so—and I’m not—you’re handsome, Taehyung, and you’re—everyone, everyone wants you and everyone talks about you and you’re… you’re Kim Taehyung and someone like you shouldn’t, like, want someone like me, not like this and I—”

“But I do,” Taehyung says softly, shaking his head as he frowns. Even petulant and confused looks good on Taehyung and Yoongi has half a mind to fight him. “Is it such a foreign thought?”

“Um, yes,” Yoongi points out, like it’s obvious. He finds it hard to believe that it isn’t. “I—I’m not your type. I’m tiny and awkward and weird.”

“What if tiny and awkward and weird is my type?” Taehyung counters, pulling Yoongi closer to him, flush against his body. He maneuvers them so that Yoongi’s backside is pressed right up against Taehyung’s chest and ridiculously pretty cock. It’s absurd. Yoongi would fight him if he didn’t want to ride it so badly. “I like you. I like your little nose and your lips, your cute little frown and the way you slurp noodles, which I used to hate before we met.”

Taehyung speaks in a quiet and calm voice, soothing and rich and melodic, deep in its’ own vibrant way. Yoongi doesn’t know whether to come or cry.


“P-puffins,” Yoongi stammers, trying not to drool. It’s the way he likes—thick and long and so pretty, golden brown and pressing right up against him, nestled in the cleft of his ass. Yoongi doesn’t bottom often. He doesn’t. It takes a certain personality to really get him in that mentality, and even then he has to just… be in that sort of mood, he supposes. Being around Taehyung puts him there quick as can be, which should be alarming, but isn’t, not really.

“I think, personally, that there quite a few lessons you need to learn, and it’s a shame no one’s taken the time to teach them to you,” Taehyung murmurs into the shell of Yoongi’s ear, careful as he scoops Yoongi’s thin wrists into his hands. He’s a soft summer glow in comparison to Yoongi’s dead of winter pallor, and when the moonlight streams in through his parted curtain, Yoongi can appreciate it fully. “Easy. The more you squirm, the longer it’ll take. I’m going to make you feel good. I promise.”


“Did I ask you a question?”

“No,” Yoongi mumbles, blushing at the dominant tone Taehyung had taken. Who would have thought? He’s always so bubbly and carefree, happy go lucky to a fault.

“I think it’s a shame you don’t see yourself the way I see you, Yoongi,” Taehyung tuts, disappointed as he nuzzles closer to Yoongi, snuggling right up to him. His cock twitches against Yoongi’s hole and Yoongi keens, soft and needy against the cool pillow. “You see a short and ‘frumpy,’ to use your words, man who works too much and has nothing to offer. But I see a pretty boy who’s good at all sorts of funky things.”

“I’m not pretty.” Yoongi’s petulant, but his protest is weak and even Taehyung can hear it. He laughs, that soft chuckle that always gets Yoongi, and Yoongi is even more flustered. He never knew how much he liked being called pretty. He’s almost positive Taehyung might be one of the first people to use that term to reference him, exclusively, and it makes him light headed.

“No? What are you then? Huh? What’s this? You mean to tell me this isn’t the prettiest cock this side of the Han River?” Taehyung asks. He doesn’t touch Yoongi. Of course not. His fingers stop just above his pubic bone and Yoongi grunts in frustration. “Words only, baby.”

“Not a baby.”

“You’re tiny and cute. Baby boys are tiny and cute.”

“Tiny… maybe. Cute?” Yoongi snorts, rolling his eyes, and Taehyung simply snaps his hips in response. Yoongi could choke. “I—ah—I’m not cute.”

“Are you saying I have a bad taste in men?”

“No! No, I just—”

“Because I chose you because you’re just so pretty and soft, Yoongi. Look at you.” His breath hitches as he closes his eyes, trying to hide his face in the pillow. “Can’t hide from me when I can see you. I mean, okay. Sure. Cover up all you want, Yoongi. Wear your little turtlenecks and jeans and caps and masks and jackets. Sure. But it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re incredible, every inch of you.”


“I didn’t ask you a question. Seems like someone’s getting a little antsy,” Taehyung teases. “You wanna know who gets antsy?”


“Bad boys. And bad boys definitely don’t get to come. Are you going to be good for me, baby?” Yoongi chokes, really does, splutters. He isn’t sure how Taehyung knows. There’s no way he could. Though Taehyung is observant, and so Yoongi finds he shouldn’t be surprised by anything Taehyung does anymore. “I asked you a question. This can go any way you want, Yoongi. I know you’re nervous and anxious. I can feel it. I just want to see you relax and calm down, that’s all. You’re so tightly wound.”

Yoongi could cry, and he hates how vulnerable and sentimental he feels all of a sudden, blinking quickly. He’s going to cry. Great. He somehow managed to seduce Taehyung into bed and he’s going to ruin it by crying. Who cries during sex? It’s a turn off, and Taehyung is going to go and leave because he’ll finally see that Yoongi is just—Yoongi hiccups, whole face burning as he bites his inner cheek.

“Oh, darling,” Taehyung says gently, wiping Yoongi’s face with his free hand. The hand wrapped around Yoongi’s wrists are comforting. They aren’t a vice grip, they’re there and make Yoongi feel solid. “Why are you crying? Do you want to stop?”

“No!” Yoongi doesn’t mean to sound needy. He doesn’t. But it’s been ages since someone has been so tender with him and it puts him on edge. It’s a bittersweet feeling, the sensation of longing fulfilled. “I—don’t stop, Taehyung.”

“I hope you know I only want to take care of you because I really do like you,” he confesses, almost shy. Only Taehyung could manage to sound shy with the head of his dick pressed right up against Yoongi’s hole. It almost makes Yoongi smile, bottom lip quivering as he sniffles. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“You do.” Taehyung smiles, Yoongi can just sense it, and it makes him feel soft and warm. He asks him about his safeword, again, and reminds him they can always stop if it’s too much, but Yoongi doesn’t want to stop until he’s sated and can’t remember his own name. “And I… I want the second one,” Yoongi says softly, clearing his throat.

“The second what, baby?”

“You asked… you asked if I was… if—don’t make me say it,” Yoongi begs quietly, embarrassed as he squirms. “Taehyung…”

“I don’t read minds. I’m talented, but not that talented. You can tell me what you want, baby. Be a good boy.” Yoongi could die every time Taehyung uses that phrase. It’s so, so, so gratifying, especially for Yoongi, who has only ever felt good at a handful of things, sex not included.


“Say it,” he teases, kissing the tender spots behind Yoongi’s ears that make him flinch. “Say it, and I might consider touching you.”

“Tae!” Yoongi whines, kicking out his feet in a petulant sulk, throwing his head back. “You know…”

“I know you’re being bratty. But it’s cute,” he quips, kissing his cheek. “I—”

“I’m… I can—I’m not a brat,” Yoongi mumbles, gnawing on his inner cheek. “I—I… I can… I can be good.”

“Oh, anybody can be good, Yoongi. Anyone. The real question is… are you going to be a good boy for me?” Yoongi sighs as he breathes out, cheeks rosy and pink as he nods, fervent, trying to entice Taehyung. “That isn’t what good boys do. You know who does that? Little sluts. It’s always the ones you least expect, too,” Taehyung sighs, nudging a leg between Yoongi’s thighs. “But you’re no slut, are you? No. Nope. You’re a good boy. A sweet and thoughtful boy.”

Yoongi ruts against Taehyung’s thigh, desperate for any sort of friction. He’s aching at this point, cock leaking onto Taehyung’s thigh as a quiet whine leaves him, turning his face into Taehyung’s neck, arching to kiss his jaw. Taehyung sighs as his hand slides down, carefully circling the sensitive head of his flush length.


“Hush,” Taehyung quips, kissing his jaw. “It’s so cute! Like you,” Taehyung hums, chin resting on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Cute little cock. Well not little. But it’s so pretty.” He grips it right when Yoongi is going to beg him to just do something, thumb rubbing against a sensitive vein. Yoongi almost hisses. “Pretty boy with a pretty cock and pretty nipples and thighs and an ass that’s to die for.”

Yoongi whimpers, closing his eyes as he squirms, thighs pressed against Taehyung’s own muscular thighs.

“You’ve been hard for a while. I could tell,” Taehyung whispers, starting to stroke slowly. Yoongi gasps and sighs, rolling his hips back against Taehyung, gulping. “Soft baby. What I should have done is gotten this cock out in the booth and just gotten you off there.” Taehyung laughs when Yoongi sighs, pulling his hand away. “Can you stay still, baby?”

“It—it feels good,” Yoongi protests, rocking slowly against Taehyung. “I want—please, I…”

“What do you want?”

You know.”

“I can do this with you all night, Yoongi.”

“I want…” Yoongi trails off, voice breaking as he breaks out in a cold sweat. He whines, unabashed, as Taehyung slowly ruts against him. He can feel it, all his hair standing on end. He’s a bit longer and thicker and all Yoongi wants is to sit on it and rut until he comes and he just wants Taehyung to touch him. That’s it. “Can—can you touch me, please? I… I want—Taehyung, I’m… it hurts, I just, please, I wanna—can—I… I want… I want to come.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Taehyung murmurs, reaching down to palm Yoongi’s cock again. It twitches and spurts clear, sticky and soft. Taehyung giggles, amused, kissing his neck slowly. “I want you to come, too. Not yet. I want to play with you first. You doing okay?” Yoongi nods and Taehyung moves to kiss him, properly. He swallows Yoongi’s moan when Taehyung picks up the pace, arching his back and struggling to stay still.


“You sound so pretty just like this,” Taehyung comments. “Look at you! Pink cock all hard and warm in my hand. Does it feel good? Hm? Do you like this?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please—”

“I wonder what you’d feel like on my cock, huh? Tight little hole sucking me right in,” Taehyung murmurs, voice soft and deep, sultry. It’s languid, syrupy and sweet. “I just love seeing you like this, all soft and pretty for me. I wanna kiss you all over. You just look good enough to eat.”

Yoongi chokes out a quiet moan, and Taehyung simply brings him closer, kissing his temple as he smiles against his cheek.


“Mmhm. I think you’d look good like that, too, riding my face. Do you like to be on top, sweet thing?”

“S-Sometimes.” Yoongi bucks his hips when Taehyung beings working his lips down his neck again, leaving tiny bites that make him ache. “I—I… I could, if you want me to—”

“I just want you to stay right there and let me make you feel good,” Taehyung murmurs, letting go of Yoongi’s cock. “It bounces so pretty, too. It looks grumpy and cute. I just wanna kiss it, kiss you. Who knew such a small boy had so much to work with?”


“I mean it. I mean, I had my suspicions,” Taehyung confesses, reaching for Yoongi’s cock. He’s sensitive, almost, but it hurts in the best way, makes his toes curl and mouth hang open when Taehyung starts touching him again. “But it’s nice to know I was right all the same. Even your cock is pretty! I’m jealous, hyung. It’s not fair, really. I feel selfish, having you all to myself like this.” His hand moves a little faster, gripping Yoongi and squeezing sometimes. “Just dripping, aren’t you? Sweet boy. Do you think your come is as sweet as you?”

Yoongi cries softly, sniffling as Taehyung continues to praise him.

“I bet it is! Going to have to suck you off, one of these days. Not used to someone so thick, but you know what they say. Practice makes perfect.” Yoongi arches his back at the thought, cheeks flush as his hair sticks to his forehead with sweat. “Bet you’d look good like that, too, look good on your knees, on your back, against the wall, on the floor, on a table... can’t think of a place where you wouldn’t look good, really. My tender boy, smart and funny and sweet and kind. The best boy, really—”

Yoongi comes so suddenly that he doesn’t expect it, gasping and moaning and crying out, spraying over his belly. He’s embarrassed, but he just can’t stop, trying to hide his face again when Taehyung lets go of his wrists. But Taehyung pulls those hands away, peppering his face in kisses and sweet nothings.

“Even when you come, too?! It’s too much, Yoongi! Really. Beautiful when he comes. I can’t believe this! And you come so pretty, don’t you? Look at the mess you made! It’s like a painting. It’s so cute.” Yoongi is breathless and can’t quite speak properly yet, still letting his orgasm wash over him. Taehyung keeps stroking and works yet another one out of him a minute or two later, pulling away when Yoongi hiccups and pushes his hand away. Taehyung moves to hover over Yoongi and kiss him properly, cupping his cheeks as he noses at him.

Taehyung kisses his way down Yoongi’s body as Yoongi catches his breath, eyes closing as they roll. Taehyung gives his cock a reprieve, finally, and instead focuses on kissing and nipping at his tummy, lapping it clean with slow, careful strokes, holding Yoongi’s hips down in an attempt to be thorough.

“You did so well. Pretty boy. Let’s clean up, hm?” Taehyung asks, leaning forward to kiss Yoongi’s nose. “Taste like candy,” he murmurs against Yoongi’s lips. Yoongi laughs, swatting at him for being so cheesy, and Taehyung’s response is to kiss him.

Yoongi suspects—hopes, wishes, yearns—that this is the beginning of something lovely.