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The Sweetest Devotion (Hit Me Like An Explosion)

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 “It was…not love at first sight exactly,

but - familiarity.

Like: oh, hello, it's you.

It's going to be you. Game over.”

You Had Me at Hello (McFarlane, Mhairi)

There’s too many people and the music is too loud. The lights are blaring and bright, and it’s such a tight fit, this tiny club, that Yoongi finds himself steadily growing angrier by the second. Jimin’s lost in the crowd somewhere, the last Yoongi had seen him was by the bar, the younger boy telling him that it’s okay, that he should have fun, this is a goddamn club, hyung, and Yoongi had just rolled his eyes and settled down on a chair, because this is a goddamn club and that’s the goddamn problem. 

A couple of women shoulder their way into the front of the bar, elbows propped on the tabletop as they lean forward to catch the eye of the bartender. One of them, the smaller of the three, catches Yoongi staring at her (he wasn’t, he was just blinking, trying to get the blur out of his eyes, these damned lights, honestly) and it’s like a switch has just been activated. She purses her lips, bats her eyes, and tosses her long black hair back over her shoulder. And then she smiles, slow and sweet, as she inches closer to him. 

Yoongi realises too late what’s happening because she’s suddenly by his side, one hand reaching out for him, dainty fingers trying to catch at his own hand - that Yoongi immediately pulls back, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden intrusion. 

“Excuse me,” Yoongi mutters, dragging his hand back down onto his lap. Her eyes follow the movement and she sighs, clearly disappointed that her advances were ill-received, and Yoongi supposes that a pretty girl like her isn’t so used to being completely shot down, but, Yoongi’s not in the best of moods and his supposed best friend had left him by the bar for god knows what, and Yoongi’s just really fucking done with the whole club and partying, so. 

So he doesn’t have much of an interest with girls who try too hard to get free drinks simply by batting their eyelashes, who try to latch onto the first man who’ll so much as give them a second glance. Maybe back then, Yoongi would have - explored every unknown terrain, reached out to anybody who would hold their hand out to him - but as it is, Yoongi’s gotten a bit too old (okay, fine, he isn’t that old, but college was spent basically getting trashed every other night - both by the alcohol and the academe - and now Yoongi’s just a little bit jaded, wanting more quiet nights and even quieter mornings that don’t involve a screaming headache and an upset stomach.). 

“Are you alone?” She asks, voice sweet and soft. She leans in closer to him, unrelenting. 

The arrival of one Park Jimin is a true miracle from the heavens that has Yoongi breathing a sigh of relief and relaxing, the tension now seeping out of him like the cold gush of air he breathes out. 

Jimin clutches onto his arm, face shiny with sweat and his hair sticking to his forehead. His face is flushed and he looks like he’d just done five shots in a row, which isn’t good at all, because a drunk Jimin is the worst Jimin for a terribly sober Yoongi. It just won’t hold up. But, Yoongi welcomes the interruption all too gladly and turns away from the girl to stand up, Jimin insistent on his attempts to pull Yoongi onto his feet.

Behind him, he hears her huff and whisper something to her friend - something about knowing why he wasn’t so interested - and Yoongi rolls his eyes, because of course, the only reason a guy would be rejecting advances from a pretty girl would be because he’s gay - 

Well, she isn’t exactly wrong, but she’s not completely right, either. 

“Come on, come on, I’ve got friends you should meet,” Jimin tugs on his hand, leading him right into the middle of thrashing and gyrating bodies. Yoongi sucks in a breath and follows the younger boy, already regretting standing up from the bar - while the bar had an annoying girl who just didn’t get the message, at least Yoongi was away from most of the noise and the people. 

To his surprise, Jimin leads him straight out of the crowd and into one of the booths to the side of the club. 

“Hey, this is Yoongi hyung,” Jimin practically drags Yoongi into focus and Yoongi, startled from the sudden introduction, stumbles on his footing. He rips his hand out of Jimin’s hold and tries to fix whatever self-dignity he’s got left (well, he’s in a club at Thursday in the evening and he’s got work tomorrow, that’s not exactly something a self-respecting individual would be up to, but Jimin’s persistent, if anything, and Yoongi had always been prone to saying “yes” to him instead of “fuck no”.) and just gives up on straightening his shirt, because it’s nearly midnight and he’s had far too many drinks than is advisable for a Thursday night. “That’s Taehyung and Jeongguk,” Jimin sweeps a hand in gesture to the two boys lounging on the plush velvet seats, their smiles easy and friendly. 

Yoongi raises a hand in greeting, honestly stumped at the how and the why of the entire situation - but this is Jimin, and Yoongi supposes he’s got more friends than he talks about (okay, fine, so the names are familiar, maybe Jimin had mentioned them once in passing, some kids he’s interning with, or something.) “Hi,” Yoongi says, nodding to them once and then tipping the rest of his beer into his mouth.

It’s not as cold anymore and it definitely doesn’t taste as good, but it’s nearly midnight and Yoongi’s pretty sure he’s going to end up either late or calling in fake-sick to work tomorrow, so he might as well, right? 

Indulge and get himself shit-faced wasted on a Thursday night. 

Jimin plops himself down beside Taehyung, who slings a gangly arm around Jimin’s shoulder immediately. He looks drunk, now that Yoongi looks at him. His grin is lopsided, his eyes half-lidded. Yeah, definitely drunk. “I’m Taehyung,” He introduces himself again, laughing when he realises that that part had been done and over with already. “I mean, I’m drunk, hyung,” 

Yoongi snorts out a laugh, “Yeah?”

Beside him, Jeongguk shakes with barely suppressed laughter, his eyes twinkling with delight. 

They’re an easy bunch, Yoongi thinks, it’s no surprise that all Jimin’s spoke of them were praises - and the endless tales of all the messes they all seem to get into, which is both alarming and amusing at the same time. 

The drinks don’t seem to stop and somewhere in the back of Yoongi’s murky mind and hazy thoughts, he remembers something Jeongguk had said - the DJ being a personal friend of his.

And who’s Yoongi to say no to free drinks, really? His whole entire week had been nothing short of complete and utter shit - a couple of displeased clients threatening to break off their agreement, some more being complete and utter pests that Yoongi wishes he’d just done something easier, that involved less people interaction. Maybe he should’ve become an IT. - and Jimin did promise him that tonight’s going to be great, free drinks at this new club (at this goddamn club, was all Yoongi heard), and it’s been a while, really. Jimin’s been busy with his last year in university and everyone of his friends have apparently let life catch on to them, barely having any time left for their friends. Once, Yoongi had promised himself not to be that kind of person, not to turn out into that kind of adult. But life has a funny way of proving you wrong and smacking you in the face with all the promises and self-assurances you thought you could keep. Life is shit, Yoongi had realised. Again and again, and again. 

Thirty minutes past one and Yoongi makes to get up, only to stagger heavily to his left, his head suddenly so light and his body too heavy. 

The only thing he thinks about is how on earth he’s supposed to wake up tomorrow and be sober enough to work by nine (he definitely doesn’t think about a ride back home or the keys that he’s suddenly misplaced, fuck, fuck, fuck, what kind of luck?). Jimin barks out a laugh, amused at seeing a friend almost fall face-first onto the floor. 

Yoongi tries to take another step forward - and tries to swallow past the feeling of wanting to throw up - and he would’ve slipped on the wet floor (some asshole had spilled his beer - and by asshole, Yoongi means Taehyung). had it not been for a hand that snatches at his arm, fingernails digging gently into the underside of Yoongi’s hand as whoever it is helps steady him back onto his feet. 

From behind him, Yoongi hears Taehyung’s deep voice trill, loud and excited, “Hoseok hyung!” 

“You said -“ Jimin’s voice this time, breaking off his own trail of thought to yawn. “You said you were coming three hours ago,” 

“Yeah, I was stuck in traffic for three hours,” A loud laugh that rises over the noise of both the music and the people all trying to talk loud enough to be heard over the drum of the bass. 

“What,” Yoongi starts, face flushing when he notices that he’d just slurred the single one word he thought he could’ve dropped without sounding like a complete and blundering drunk idiot. “I’m fine,” He tries to shake his hand out of the boy’s - Hoseok, they’d mentioned - grip, but Hoseok just holds onto his arm even tighter, his grin wide and too fucking bright, it’s almost blinding. 

“You okay?” Hoseok asks, peering forward to get a better, closer look at Yoongi.

The multi-coloured strobe lights dance across Hoseok’s face, and had it been brighter, Yoongi would’ve noticed concern flicker in the boy’s eyes, but as it is, it’s dark, and the music is too loud, the neon lights too fucking bright and annoying, and Yoongi is drunk. Really, really, drunk. So drunk that his own reactions are delayed - he notices a bit too late that Hoseok’s waving his free hand in his face, his grin not for a second letting up.

Yoongi snatches his hand out to close around Hoseok’s. All that waving in his face had made Yoongi queasy, and now Yoongi feels like he’s about to be sick, and Hoseok’s standing so close to him, still holding onto his arm, and now staring amusedly at him as Yoongi’s grip on his hand tightens, and then - 

And then Hoseok screams, surprised, as Yoongi throws up. 

 “Get up, get up, get up,” 

Yoongi is stirred - or shaken awake - by rough hands and an even rougher voice. 

“Hyung, you’re going to be late to work,” 

He struggles to break through the haze of sleep to try and pinpoint the voice - it sounds like Namjoon, but that’s funny, because Yoongi remembers bits and pieces last night. Jimin dragging him into the club, meeting Taehyung and Jeongguk, and then Hoseok, and - 

Fuck, he’d thrown up on a guy he hadn’t even been introduced to yet.

That aside, it still leaves Yoongi at a point that he can’t quite understand, because none of the people from last night had mentioned Namjoon, or made arrangements with the boy, so Yoongi is inclined to believe that this isn’t Namjoon. Perhaps this is just a figment of his imagination, just his brain drawing back from his days in university when he’d shared a room with Namjoon, the younger boy always kicking his bed awake and pulling him by the leg just to get him to wake up for an exam, or for a project due that same morning. 

It’s impossible, now that Yoongi thinks about it, for Namjoon to be waking him up, because Namjoon lives literally on the other side of town, and he’s big boss Namjoon now, even at such a young age - having a company thrusted at you by your parents helps elevate your rank, but still, that only makes him an even busier person, which makes the likeliness of this whole odd, strange scenery even less. Impossible. 

Yoongi cracks an eye open and regrets it instantly.

He sees all white at first, the rest of the room coming to him slowly. He doesn’t even try to sit up or anything like that, instead, Yoongi just slings an arm over his eyes and groans, trying hard not to move. At all, or else his brain will explode and hadn’t he already thrown up and made a mess at the club last night? Whoever’s house he’s in, Yoongi can’t afford to be sick. He just doesn’t have the time to be cleaning up after his own sick spill. 

“Get the fuck up,” The blanket is ripped harshly off of him and Yoongi groans again, this time from the lack of warmth. “Fine, don’t go to work, I don’t care, but I have to,” 

That sounds exactly like Namjoon. 

After what seems like an hour - it had only really been a couple of seconds, maybe forty at most - he finally opens his eyes. 

Namjoon stands by the foot of the bed, a tie hanging loosely around his neck. “Jimin called me asking if I could pick you up,” He lopes the tie around his neck and tugs on it, making a face when it ends up crooked. “They were thinking of taking you to the hospital, calling the ambulance, or some shit. That’s crazy, what did you even do last night?”

Yoongi doesn’t even want to think about - not about the girl who’d insisted her company on him, not about  the dozens and dozens of drinks he’d tipped back into his mouth, and certainly not about puking on a complete stranger who had the decency to help Yoongi up when he’d almost stumbled. 

“I think,” Yoongi starts, shifting very carefully on the bed - Namjoon’s bed, he realises. It’s wide enough for the both of them to sleep, tossing and turning, without accidentally smacking the other in the face - and then closing his eyes again, because it’s too bright and his head is about to explode. “I have a hangover. Can you maybe call work and tell them I’m dead?”

“Call them yourself,” Namjoon snorts, throwing a pillow at Yoongi, and had Yoongi been more sober and less hungover, then he would’ve returned the favour by throwing the thick book by Namjoon’s nightstand right back at him. “Anyway, try not to destroy my house,” 

He shoos Namjoon away with a “fuck off” and Namjoon leaves with a laugh, voice trailing off sing-song and highly amused when he says, “It’s like you own the place, hyung.” 

The rest of the morning, Yoongi spends it lying in bed and regretting every single life choice he’d made that led to that terrible disaster of a night. 

Just before nine, Yoongi had managed to pick up his phone (and crack his head open from the pain of simply rolling over to the other side, as well) and called work, telling Seokjin - without fake-coughing or sniffling, because he sounds sick and dead enough - that unfortunately, things have taken a turn for the worst and there’s no way he can come in today, so if they could just leave him alone, then that’d be wonderful, thanks.

Yoongi had ended the call by accidentally tossing his phone off the bed - he’d heard it hit the wall and then clatter noisily onto the carpet. And that had been that. Perhaps he should check on his phone, see if any important e-mails have come in, or messages and calls from friends. But, Yoongi is far too tired and his hangover isn’t going away soon, so he resigns himself to sleeping on a bed that isn’t his (but is just as comfortable, or even more so. Namjoon’s a bit of a snob when it comes to his things - always up-to-date and the most improved one, however expensive they may be. His bed is proof of that, it’s fluffy and soft, and it feels like the blanket was woven by angels. An over exaggeration, but Yoongi is hungover with a massive headache the size of both the Koreas combined, and he’s skipped work to sleep and laze around a house that isn’t his, so he might as well just do that.)

Right before sleep pulls him back under (sweet, sweet relief), Yoongi’s mind flashes to the boy who’d pulled him up and steadied him back on his feet, who’d asked if he was okay, and Yoongi can’t exactly remember what he looks like, but he can remember the look of concern, however fleeting that may have been. Yoongi had thanked him by throwing up on his shoes. 

He buries his face into a pillow and closes his eyes, the sweet sense of relief coming from sleep trickling down from the top of his head right down to the tip of his toes. For now, Yoongi will sleep. He can handle whatever he’d missed from work tomorrow, or on Monday, and about the boy he’d made a complete mess on, well.

Well, Yoongi just thinks that it would be well and fine if they never, ever, under no circumstances, met again. 

Of course, when you want something so bad, life just has a funny way of giving you the exact opposite.

Yoongi would’ve been fine never running into Hoseok ever again, really, he’d already made a complete fool of himself (not to mention the embarrassment that came the day after, since Yoongi can’t even remember anything else from that night after he’d unceremoniously thrown up.) but life, it seems, has other things in store for him. 

Yoongi hangs around the counter, fingers tapping impatiently over the surface as he waits for his order. It’s almost eight thirty and he’s got to be at work by nine. The traffic is terrible today but Yoongi needs coffee. Whoever said you should prioritise work over coffee was wrong, or maybe they liked work too much, who knows with strange people, really? 

A barista slides his steaming cup of coffee into his waiting hand and Yoongi closes his fingers around the middle gratefully. Just the smell of the coffee has him feeling slightly relieved and more ready to face the day. 

When Yoongi gets his fill of coffee first thing in the morning, the rest of the day can’t turn out as bad anymore (that’s a general rule, a rule that a lot of people who know Yoongi like to abide by, because Yoongi gets testy and easily annoyed without that first shot of caffeine). 

He starts to make his way to the door when the sight of familiar brown hair - windswept and ruffled now - roots him exactly to where he stands. Hoseok - the same Hoseok he’d thrown up on a couple of nights back, who was so kind to help him up and steady him, to make sure he was sober enough to be standing and walking around - looks up from talking on his phone when he notices Yoongi (better dressed and more kept now, except for the dark circles under his eyes, but hey, you can’t be perfect.). 

“Hey,” Hoseok calls, lowering his hand down and sliding the phone back into a pocket. He smiles at Yoongi and, to Yoongi’s complete and utter horror, walks over to him. “Good morning. Yoongi, right?” 

Right. 

“We weren’t exactly introduced the other night,” Hoseok proceeds, his laughter short and sweet, amused, even, like Yoongi throwing up on him that night had been no problem at all, just a funny little thing that they could all look back on and think fondly of. “Did you get home safe? Jimin told me your friend was picking you up, but I couldn’t make sure, I had to, erm,” Hoseok mumbles, looking shyly away from Yoongi, cheeks tinged with pink. “Had to sort of attend to the mess,” On his shoes, because Yoongi had thrown up on his shoes.

Yoongi wants nothing else but to high tail it out of that coffee shop, because honestly, what had been the chances? Slim to zero, but the world is cruel and likes to pick on Yoongi, so perhaps the chances had been nine to ten. 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi blurts out, almost spilling the coffee when his hand jerks involuntarily to the left, his attempt at reaching out for Hoseok’s hand, for a very awkward and unwarranted handshake. 

Hoseok laughs again, and if Yoongi were being honest, he thinks that Hoseok looks a little relieved - probably because Yoongi is the better version of himself this morning, less ready to fuck the whole world up and more ready to tackle everything that came for him. A rare day, it seems, but it’s no surprise that Yoongi’s off to a good start - he’s got his favourite coffee in his hand. 

“About the other night,” Yoongi tries again, making the switch to hold the coffee in his left hand. He reaches his hand out for Hoseok to take, because they at least need a formal introduction, given the mess Yoongi had caused them both - how fucking inconvenient. “Min Yoongi.” 

A good, firm grip. Hoseok’s fingers close around his hand and squeezes, not too gently and not too firmly, either. Just enough. The smile on his face is just enough, too, not too bright or too fake. Hoseok looks just enough for eight thirty in the morning. (Unlike Yoongi. He’s pretty sure he looks like he could be more, try a little more, that is. He’d gotten four hours of sleep last night - on and off - and had literally rolled out of his bed and fallen to the floor. That had been painful.) 

“Jung Hoseok,” He introduces himself, shaking Yoongi’s hand. 

It’s nearly quarter to nine already and the traffic hasn’t let up at all outside, and Yoongi’s going to be late, but Hoseok’s still holding onto his hand even after the introductions had ended and the air between them had turned a little bit awkward. 

“Um,” Yoongi’s eyes drag down from Hoseok’s face, settling on their still-gripped hands. Hoseok, realising the mistake, drops Yoongi’s hand as if scalded, his cheeks instantly tinting pink, flushing from embarrassment. Hoseok looks just enough like that, too - pink cheeks and hand coming up to swipe distractedly at his hair.

It’s a thing of wonder, Yoongi thinks, watching as Hoseok’s face quickly turns from pink to a very light red, clearly embarrassed by his mistake. He wants to say that it’s fine, calm down, but he supposes Hoseok’s already screaming inside his head, so he settles back on his heels and watches, a little bit stunned, as Hoseok tries to stutter out an apology, the one hand that had held onto Yoongi’s too long curling in his side.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hoseok stammers out, playing off a smile. It comes out strained and a little bit too much.

Yoongi shrugs his shoulders, brings his cup of coffee to his mouth, and takes a careful, slow, deliberate sip from it. A blessing from the gods, coffee. And a total hell, the fact that Yoongi’s already very late for work. 

“Well,” Yoongi gestures for the door, this time smiling. Just a little bit - a small tugging at the corners of his mouth to curve into a smile. Just to show that it’s fine, no big deal (and no offence or anything, but we probably won’t be shaking hands anymore. Just the usual.) “I’m late for work,” 

It sounds lame, almost like an excuse, but. But it’s almost nine and Yoongi doesn’t see a single ray of light in his hopes to get to work on time. Still probably wouldn’t hurt to try (or, he can just saunter inside with all the confidence he can muster, sit himself down at his little studio, and then pretend that he’d been there for the past hour. Nobody will notice, and people will probably be too intimidated by him to point it out, anyway.)

Hoseok finally (finally, finally) gathers his bearings enough to nod at him. His smile is a little less embarrassed and a lot more sheepish, which Yoongi finds is, well. Quite endearing, or maybe he’s just gone a little bit soft on the near-stranger to make up for the fact that he’d thrown up on him. Maybe it’s because of that and certainly not because Hoseok’s got pretty eyes.

(Coincidentally, Yoongi’s always been weak to pretty eyes, but that’s not the case here, he’s positive.

Well, sort of positive, anyway.)

“Sorry again,” It’s hilarious how both their encounters always end with the other having to say sorry about it. Yoongi wonders, rather briefly, if they’d ever meet again in less time-constricting situations (and also, much more sober, too.). 

Yoongi allows himself to laugh. He’s sure that it’s nine already and that he’s late for work, but here he still is, in a coffee shop with a boy he’d drunkenly thrown up on. With a boy who held his hand for a few seconds too long. 

“It’s okay,” He finally says, shrugging. “Let’s not make these kinds of parting a trend, though,” and it definitely sounds like Yoongi’s hoping for them to meet again, but nothing else is traded between them but a short, surprised chuckle from Hoseok and a smile from Yoongi. 

By no means is Yoongi’s life “boring” or “mundane” or “ordinary”. God forbid Min Yoongi’s trapped himself in the kind of life he thought he’d never live. Perhaps, if you looked at it from a very 2D perspective, you’d get the idea that Yoongi’s barely just, well, that he’s just living, is the thing. Going through the motions of what’s been designed and laid out for him. Routine, boring, mundane, and ordinary. Okay, he relents - it’s all of that, all the things that he thought he’d never become, all the things that he’d yelled at the top of his lungs that one night on his college apartment’s rooftop, proclaiming that there’s no way he’s going to end up selling himself out. 

He hasn’t exactly sold himself out, per se - he’s got a high paying job and working towards his profession, that’s something his parents will be proud of for a long, long time. But where Yoongi had thought pursuing music would make him the happiest, it’s proving to be truly difficult now. 

His work as a producer has both been a blessing and a curse - Yoongi’s always loved music, had dropped law the moment he realised, that one grand morning, that he could do it, that it’s something he can pursue for the rest of his life. But that’s just the thing. Yoongi’s been doing it for two years now and he feels tired and weighed down, almost like he’s constricted and trapped.

Composing and writing songs for people who don’t participate at all in the creative process is the main problem, because Yoongi values music, has always revered it with the highest of regards. But now - now it seems like people are just in it for the sake of getting their names out there, and while Yoongi’s an up and coming producer (drop his name in a room full of people who’re in the same field as him and at least a few handful will react), he still can’t help but feel sorry. For himself, for the false, fabricated music that he feels he’s been creating, and for everybody else. Because this - this doll house kind of life isn’t what Yoongi had expected. 

Maybe this is what he gets for working under one of Korea’s top entertainment industries. You get plastic, lies, and a whole lot of fucking fake. Yoongi doesn’t know how much longer he can do this - a life so uninspired and unartistic, is what he’s been living. Once, there had been a muse - it had been a voice in his head, soft and barely above a whisper. Once, it had taken the form of someone with soft hair and a pretty smile that never reached his eyes. Once, Yoongi had thought that heartbreak would be enough to fuel his fire, to push him through, and it sort of did - it had gotten him swell grades for composition and producing, back in college. But now, in what’s to be referred to as the “real” world, heartbreak doesn’t do you much, especially when Yoongi’s well and over it already. 

Which is why Yoongi’s staring dumbly at a blank screen, eyes dangerously close to drooping. He’s sleepy and the coffee he’s been steadily consuming hasn’t helped much (he wonders if the stupid intern had accidentally gotten him decaf again, because that’s pretty likely) and his brain is absolutely fried. It’s been three hours already and one of the company’s newer groups is set to debut in eleven months, and here Yoongi is with barely five notes for their title track. 

He refuses to admit that he’s stuck, but that’s just the sad reality of his life right now. He’s stuck and voiceless, with nothing to go by but an unhealthy amount of coffee and cigarettes. Maybe one more night out would do him good - probably inspire him to write about youth and living carelessly, or something similar to that - but he backtracks on that. Alcohol with barely any inspiration left in him is hardly a good mix, and besides, Yoongi’s trying not to rely too much on his vices, wanting to do this of his own accord and definitely uninfluenced. 

The door behind him creaks open, alerting Yoongi of a (much needed) distraction. Kim Seokjin pokes his head through the small crack, his smile tentative. 

“What?” Yoongi doesn’t mean to snap, but that’s how it’s coming across. He regrets it immediately when Seokjin frowns at him, brows furrowing in confusion at Yoongi’s sudden harshness. “I spent the night here, fuck, sorry, what is it?” 

Seokjin had helped him land the job, and perhaps Yoongi should be nicer to him, but it’s difficult to be nice to anyone with barely any sleep and a raging headache.

“Checking up on you,” Seokjin says, stepping into the room. He glances around Yoongi’s studio, eyes landing on the empty screen in front of him and all the notes Yoongi’s got scattered around him. “You’re working yourself to death, Yoongi,” 

He’s heard it once, twice, three times already. Or more, Yoongi doesn’t need to hear it one more time. 

“I’ve heard that before,” Yoongi mumbles, twirling a pencil between his fingers. He yawns, eyes tearing up a bit. He really needs sleep, stat. Maybe if the company gave him his own living quarters, then Yoongi would be more productive. “And if you hadn’t noticed yet, there’s nothing to check up on. I’ve got nothing,” 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, careful not to call Yoongi over-dramatic when the boy’s already so damn touchy and sensitive this time in the afternoon. “Maybe if you got some sleep,” 

“Maybe if you got me my own damn room in this building,” Yoongi gestures around his spacious recording studio, and then to the rest of the building, hand flapping weakly in front of Seokjin’s face. “Just get me a janitor’s closet, shove a bed in there and give me a heater, then I’ll be good,” 

“We don’t want you living in the company building, Yoongi,” Seokjin breathes out, exasperated. He sits down on the chair beside Yoongi, hands immediately reaching out for Yoongi’s laptop, and to Yoongi’s surprise (and delight, deep down), shuts it to a close. He slides it back to Yoongi, his smile smug. “I need you to get out of here and go home. Boss’s orders,” 

“Right,” Yoongi nods, a little bit lost in his own haze of sleeplessness and stress. He stands up, gathers all his things - notebooks, laptop, and everything else he can just dump in his backpack - and then looks up at Seokjin, who looks at him expectedly, eyes narrowed at him. “It was nice working with you,” 

“Yoongi, I’m not firing you,” Seokjin rolls his eyes for what seems like the tenth time already. “Just go sleep, trust me, it’s okay, you can take the rest of the day off,” Well, if the vice-president of the company tells you to fuck off and go get some much needed sleep, then Yoongi’s not going to say no to that. 

“You could fire me, since all I’ve been the past month is useless,” He hoists the backpack higher up his shoulder, grimacing under its weight. “On second thought, I might just need some sleep, let’s do a rain-check on firing me, yeah?”

And it’s only because he’s been up for more than twenty four hours - for the most part of two days, even - that Yoongi’s rambling, barely able to stay focused on anything for very long. 

Seokjin laughs, short and more to placate Yoongi than anything, and settles his hands on Yoongi’s shoulder, steering the poor, tired boy out of the recording room and marching him down the hall. 

Before Seokjin sends him off in the elevator, he asks if Yoongi’s still sound enough to drive - a question Yoongi responds with a scoff and another roll of his eyes, because how dare Kim Seokjin pronounce him incapable of driving. Yoongi can run a marathon right now with how he’s feeling, so driving’s clearly not going to be an issue.

(A sleep deprived Min Yoongi is an over-dramatic Min Yoongi who overshoots himself. Yoongi’s sound enough to drive but definitely not in shape to run a marathon, hell, even climbing two or more flights of stairs has him breathing heavily, heart hammering hard behind his ribcage.) 

The drive back to his apartment is quick and easy. It’s two in the afternoon and he’s avoided the major traffic jams and busy streets. Yoongi gets home with barely any feeling left in any of his limbs - he’s weak all over and he feels like his head is both unattached to his body and also ready to split. 

This is what you get for pushing yourself ragged and to the bone in a job you’ve long since lost interest in. You get tired and bored, and because it’s inevitable, uninspired. 

Yoongi doesn’t fall asleep immediately, instead, he lays in bed for what seems like hours on end, just staring at the ceiling blankly and without completely seeing. And while Yoongi had thought that sleep would give him a little bit of respite, it doesn’t, and he ends up dreamless, sliding deeper and deeper into the darkness of sleep.

 

“So, you’re telling me,” Namjoon drums his fingers lazily on the smooth surface of Yoongi’s table, other hand lazily flipping through the next page of one of Yoongi’s noteboks. “That you’ve been up for a day, at least, and still haven’t come up with anything?”

Yoongi looks up from his steaming cup of coffee, cradled safely in his hands, and glares at the younger boy. It’s a halfhearted gesture that Namjoon doesn’t take too hard. Yoongi’s far too tired and missing too many hours of sleep to even be considered intimidating right now. “Fuck off,”

It’s a rare moment, Namjoon dropping by, and here Yoongi is, nursing a terrible spell of vertigo by overindulging in coffee and glaring at his still empty computer screen. 

“This isn’t like you, hyung,” Namjoon hums, thoughtful. “Maybe you should take a break,” 

That’s the stupidest idea that anyone’s ever pitched to him, and Yoongi’s brows furrow in annoyance at Namjoon’s sheer audacity, bringing it up when he knows that Yoongi’s literally got nothing else going for him but this job. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Yoongi snatches the notebook out of Namjoons’ hold, shutting it to a close immediately and sliding it back into his open bag. “I can’t just up and leave whenever I want,” 

Some people aren’t born as an heir to a rising blue-chip company, Yoongi thinks a little bit bitterly. 

Namjoon completely ignores him (and ignores the words that Yoongi could have said but didn’t, because he didn’t need to say them, Namjoon already knows, judging by the look on Yoongi’s face) and shrugs his shoulders, “It’s Friday, hyung, we’ve got to get you out of here,”

It’s Friday and all Yoongi wants to do after work is to go home, pour himself another cup of coffee, and then pass out. His last drunken escapade a few weeks back had only proven that Yoongi should definitely not be drinking in excess. He hasn’t the stamina or the tolerance for it anymore - fuck, it’s actually a miracle his liver’s still working. 

“I’m going to tell Jimin, and then I’m going to call you. Pick you up and drag you out of the building, if that’s what it takes. Meanwhile,” Namjoon stands up, dusts the imaginary lint off of his crisply tailored pants, and then moves to walk over to Yoongi, his smile a little bit forced (it’s honestly hard to smile at Yoongi when the only face Yoongi pulls for you is one of clear disinterest and mild annoyance). “Try not to overdose on caffeine,” 

He leaves with a light pat on Yoongi’s shoulder, fingers catching at the tips of Yoongi’s hair when he pulls back (and Yoongi knows that Namjoon had meant to do it just to irk him, tug at a few tufts of hair just to get him to react, but Yoongi doesn’t, because the last time he slept soundly was maybe one week ago, and he’s lost count on all the coffee he’d consumed the whole day, and it’s just, well, a very bad day in the middle of an already bad month). “Emphasis on try, but I do need you to be alive for tonight,” 

The door clicks shut softly behind Namjoon, the boy’s words hanging in the air. And falling, shattering when it hits the floor because Yoongi refuses to acknowledge them. He doesn’t want to be dragged outside his warm little studio only to be thrown into a horrifying mix of drunk and horny people who’ve got nothing better to do on a Friday night than make his entire life miserable. 

Trust Namjoon to enlist the help of Jimin (and trust Namjoon to know that when it comes to Jimin, Yoongi’s barely got the strength to say no.). Yoongi’s fingers tighten around his large cup of coffee, and as he takes another sip of it, Namjoon’s words start to ring in his ear - don’t drink yourself to death, or something like that; no caffeine overdose, yeah, that. 

Well, Yoongi thinks, downing the rest of his already-mild coffee, at least coffee’s still something he enjoys. Better to die via caffeine overdose than to die from the realisation that your dreams have basically shattered and that this - this terrible version of a life you thought you’d never be waking up to - is exactly your reality. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi slides the empty cup away from him, groaning as he leans back against his chair. “Take a break,” Yoongi repeats, tilting his head back to stare at the bright lights scattered all around the ceiling. 

Take a break, Namjoon had suggested. 

Take a break, Yoongi’s mind had instantly refused the idea, because a break isn’t what he needs right now, especially when the deadline for that new song is, in, what, less than four months? He’s going to fuck up this debut and disappoint Kim Seokjin (and the CEO as well, but it’s not the CEO that’s going to be pouting at him and sighing, it’s going to be Seokjin) and then they’ll have no other choice but to fire him for being so incompetent, and even if Yoongi sort of hates his job already, he also sort of still loves it. 

“Take a break,” Yoongi mumbles, voice sounding far away, even to his own ears. 

Maybe - maybe he just needs a distraction. Or a change of scenery. Change of pace. Something new, definitely. Against his better judgement, Yoongi thinks he might need a little bit of alcohol, too, just to speed that change along. 

His fingers close around his vibrating phone, the screen lighting up to indicate a new text. He grimaces at it even before he’s read it over (it’s from Jimin, and what else had Yoongi expected besides this invitation? A time and a place, and an assurance that Namjoon will drag his sorry ass out of the company if that’s what it takes for Yoongi to join them), and grimaces even more when he reaches the end of it. Yoongi foregoes texting back in favour of throwing his phone across the table, watching as it skitters dangerously close to the edge.

Of all the things that Yoongi thinks he might just need, alcohol is last on the list, but still on the list, nevertheless. And if he can’t take a break from work, then he might as well take a little break from life. That always seemed to help, alcohol. A dangerous substance, but Yoongi’s been so strung up the past few days that he’ll gladly welcome a few shots (that’s a joke in and of itself, because Yoongi never stops at a “few shots”. Case in point: puking on a complete stranger’s shoes.). 

But this will have to do, for now. Alcohol and a few friends to distract him from the crushing realisation that he’s completely bled himself dry, that he’s finally hit the biggest boulder in his life. That he’s actually uninspired and unmotivated. It stings his pride just thinking about it, but perhaps self-realisation and acknowledgement of it would help. 

(It doesn’t do well for his pride, but it does a little bit of good to the raging storm inside of his head. It calms it down enough for Yoongi to actually hear his own thoughts.) 

Like clockwork, Namjoon calls him exactly at five-thirty, demanding that Yoongi be out of the studio and down in the main entrance in five minutes, or else he’ll have to cause a scene, and does the renowned Min Yoongi-PD really want that?

“I fucking hate you,” Yoongi says, a little bit scathingly. 

On the other end of the phone, he hears Namjoon bark out a laugh, “Just come down, hyung. Five minutes, or else,” 

Yoongi hasn’t got much of a choice after that, does he? 

No, he doesn’t. 

With a final sweeping gaze around the room (multiple cups of coffee scattered around the small table to his right, and his workspace littered with crumpled pieces of paper and a laptop that’s been asleep for the most part of three hours), Yoongi gets up, gathers the last remaining strands of self-dignity he has, and makes for the door, not at all plagued by the guilt of leaving for the weekend with barely anything done. 

He’s got the whole entire next week to worry about that, and as long as Seokjin doesn’t come knocking again, then Yoongi will be fine, he’ll be able to hold up over the weekend, maybe even avoid a hangover tomorrow morning and get more than four hours of sleep. 

Wishful thinking, but at this point in Yoongi’s life, he can’t help but wish. 

In hindsight, Yoongi probably should’ve thought this plan through - and by thought this plan through, he means actually get the details from Namjoon and Jimin and not just follow after them blindly. It’s a bad idea born out of concern for Yoongi, and he’s grateful, really, that he’s still got friends who take time out of their day to help Yoongi get shit-faced wasted and hammered, but at the same time, Yoongi kinda of wishes that Namjoon’s plan for the night had more to do with dinner and less with alcohol. 

They’re in the same club Jimin had dragged Yoongi in a couple of weeks back. It doesn’t bring back rather fond memories (Yoongi grimaces at the thought of puking on that very spot) but he supposes that there’s no backing out anymore. Yoongi might not be one to quit while he’s ahead, but when it comes to self preservation, then perhaps he should. Or not. It’s a war raging in his mind, and all brought about by one Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin’s tendencies to prove that they are, without a doubt, Yoongi’s friends

“Taehyung and Jeongguk are catching up in an hour or two,” Jimin explains, practically thrusting Yoongi into an open seat. “Sorry, hyung, but you looked like you were about to puke again,” 

Yoongi glares at him, unimpressed by the comment. “Fuck off,” 

Jimin laughs, tinkling and bright, and Namjoon rolls his eyes beside him. 

It’s already nine and there are fewer people than Yoongi would have imagined for an up and coming club on a Friday, but. But this is better, he thinks, quieter, somehow. Less likely that he’ll end up bashing his head against the wall from the sheer irritation. 

The only thing Namjoon tells one of the hosts is that they should all, under no circumstances, never run out of drinks. Simple enough an order that makes the host laugh and Namjoon grin, eyes gleaming in an almost malicious way when they settle back on Yoongi. 

Some things are easier said and even easier done, such as ensuring that the occupants of table number sixteen never find themselves with an empty glass in their hands. 

By the fifth (or sixth round of vodka mixers, Yoongi’s not too fucking sure anymore), Yoongi feels a little bit lightheaded, his vision only starting to blur. It’s starting, he knows. This is the boundary between sober (and sound) and drunk (and unhinged). 

He looks at Jimin, the younger boy giggling into his glass, and at Namjoon, head thrown back in laughter at a joke that Yoongi had just said in passing (it wasn’t a joke, it was a mere observation, and the two idiots had found it funny enough, it seems). 

Yoongi’s about to call it a night, fingers unwrapping around his nearly empty glass, when a voice interrupts all the drunk laughing and pulls Yoongi back and away from crossing over that thin, thin boundary line. 

“Sorry I’m late,” 

Jimin’s flushed face brightens up, one arm thrown in the air in an obnoxious wave as he beckons Hoseok closer to their table. 

“This is Hoseok hyung,” Jimin introduces, gesturing to Hoseok (rather drunkenly, too). “This is Namjoon hyung, and you remember the hyung who threw up on your shoes, right?” 

Hoseok looks like he’s about to smack that smug look out of Jimin’s face, but he ruffles Jimin’s hair, instead. 

“We’ve had a few run-ins after that,” Hoseok counters smoothly, sliding into the space next to Yoongi. Their shoulders brush for a brief second, and it must be the alcohol or just the music and the energy, but Yoongi feels kind of electric. 

“Sorry about your shoes,” Yoongi mumbles, more to his drink than to Hoseok. It’s one thing running into the boy at a coffee shop - at least there they could have tried for normalcy - but another thing meeting him again at the very same club the little bender had occurred in. Embarrassing, really, and a touch to Yoongi’s pride. But.

But, Hoseok looks like he’d long stopped minding, his smile easy and his eyes alight with amusement and focused on Jimin, who’s busy recounting a story about some accident or other the other day during their internship. 

Amazing, Yoongi thinks, how the company still hasn’t decided to just kick out its three worst and most incompetent interns. 

“Anyway, so Taehyung, right?” Jimin continues, gesticulating wildly in the air (and almost knocking out the host who’d stopped by to give them their refills, and Hoseok his first shot), “Sorry, sorry, anyway, he pressed his entire face on the photoco-“

“Shut up, shut up, shut up - “

Taehyung’s suddenly on Jimin, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. They both wrestle on the couch, Taehyung’s hand slapping against Jimin’s mouth. 

By the head of the table stands Jeongguk, sheepish. “Good evening,” He greets, ignoring the scuffle to his right. “We know of the agenda,”

Yoongi slinks further down the chair, head resting against the edge of the table. 

The agenda, right. To get Yoongi out of this haze, pull him out of this endless, dreamless sleep. Inject a little bit more of life into him. 

Beside him, he feels Hoseok shift, and for the briefest of seconds, Yoongi wonders (startlingly, to his utter surprise) if Hoseok’s going to get up and offer one of the younger boys his seat (because he doesn’t want to be sat next to Yoongi, of all people), but he doesn’t, instead, Hoseok leans in closer to him, so close their shoulders are now pressing together.

“Hey,” Hoseok’s voice is a soft whisper. He’s close enough that Yoongi can hear him over Jimin and Taehyung’s odd, barbaric mix of both laughter and screaming. He feels the lightest of touches to his shoulder, fingers gently digging into his side, trying to get a reaction out of him. “Are you okay?” 

This is - this is strange and new, and Yoongi’s head is light, yet heavy at the same time, and he’s had his nth number of drinks already - shots, shots, shots, and even more fruity cocktails he’d decided was actually pretty good, so why not? Add to that the reality of life simply going by with Yoongi barely steering it in the direction he wants to, and hardly any sleep the past few days, and you’ve got a, well.

You’ve got a “no”.

But he’s not about to admit to that out loud, especially not to someone whom he hardly knows. 

Well, some things really are easier said than done, because as soon as Yoongi lifts his head up, his eyes catch the look in Hoseok’s face - they’re so, so close - and he crumbles under the look of genuine concern and worry reflected so obviously in his eyes. 

At the back of his mind, Yoongi is only slightly aware of Hoseok’s hold around his shoulder, the boy’s grip gentle but firm, steadying Yoongi back up on his seat. 

“I’m,” Yoongi starts, and if it’s almost reminiscent to their first meeting. Quite laughable, but not enough for Yoongi to crack more than an awkward smile - it comes out looking more pained than nonchalant. “fine.” 

It’s a total lie that Yoongi doesn’t buy himself, but so long as he sounds convincing enough, then he’s fine, he’ll be able to dodge his friends’ concerns. 

Hoseok doesn’t buy it, though, but he does ease up on his group around Yoongi’s shoulder, stands up, and then - to everyone’s complete shock (well, okay, to Namjoon’s complete shock, the other three are already somewhere in the middle, making a complete fool themselves with Jeongguk probably recording the entire affair just so he has something to rub in their faces the morning after) - drags Yoongi along with him, warm fingers clasping tightly around Yoongi’s wrist.

“You’re not looking too good,” Hoseok says, tugging on his hand. Yoongi’s got no other choice but to stand up with him, less he wants all their drinks to topple off the table.

Namjoon just watches them leave, far too mellowed down by the alcohol already to snicker at Yoongi being dragged around like a child. 

“I’m fine,” Yoongi grits out, trying to rip his hand out of Hoseok’s hold. “I’m sober enough,” 

It’s a lie and they both know it, because the second Yoongi steps away from their booth and off their little raised platform, the whole world starts to spin. When Hoseok drops his hold around his hand, Yoongi feels like the floor is shaking, threatening to crumble right from under his feet. 

He snatches his hand out for anything, anyone, for Hoseok, his fingers finding purchase on the hem of Hoseok’s shirt. 

Hoseok watches him with careful eyes, lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’,” Hoseok trails off, prying Yoongi’s fingers off of him, but not letting go. He wraps a hand around Yoongi’s arm, giving it an experimental tug before nodding again to the general direction of the exit. “But, I told you so,” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes (bad idea, as if the world isn’t spinning already), and scoffs out a, “Shut up,” 

Hoseok’s eyes glitter with amusement this time, the tentative, careful look Yoongi had thought he’d seen a moment ago now completely gone, as if it was never even there in the first place. 

Surprisingly, Hoseok manages to weave them through the crowd, his hold around Yoongi never once letting up, and Yoongi, mind in a haze and the whole floor on fucking fire, follows after him blindly, only half-aware of the fact that this is Jung Hoseok dragging him outside for air. Jung Hoseok, almost a total stranger but also sort of his friend. This isn’t Jimin insisting that Yoongi catch his breath outside, or Namjoon practically demanding that he take a much needed break. This is Hoseok, an almost-stranger with pretty eyes, a nice smile, and warm hands. 

Once they’re outside and a block down from the club, everything dies down around Yoongi. He can’t hear the loud thrum of the bass anymore and he isn’t blinded by the multiple flashing lights. Outside is quiet, the silence between him and Hoseok comfortable. Surprisingly so. 

Hoseok’s still holding onto his hand, and that’s oddly reminiscent to their second meeting. But unlike the first time, Yoongi finds himself not minding all that much. Besides, all Hoseok has done for him is help him out, and ripping his hand out of Hoseok’s hold would be too harsh and mean, especially for someone who’s dedicated their entire night to watching after Yoongi. 

Which brings Yoongi back to his rather valid point that he’s fine - sort of, anyway. The music might have died down but that’s nothing new. There hasn’t been music in Yoongi’s mind for a long, long while now. There’s just been noise. White noise, loud noise, deafening noise. Just noise is all there is. 

“How are you feeling?” Hoseok asks, finally lowering his hold around Yoongi’s arm. He draws his hand back slowly, almost deliberately, like he’s not too sure he should be letting go when Yoongi’s still not looking too good. 

Yoongi might be pale but he suspects he’s looking extra pasty tonight - he can feel it now, even, the colour draining from his face, lips chapped dry and his eyes heavy, wanting - needing sleep. 

“Like I’m about to drop dead,” Honesty might be the only route Yoongi will be able to take for the rest of the night (he’s definitely not turning around and heading back into the club, that’s for sure). “But other than that, I’m fantastic,” he plasters a smile - so forced out that it comes out as a scowl, instead, and Hoseok throws his head back in loud, easy laughter. 

“Maybe you should do that,” Hoseok suggests, rolling a cigarette between two fingers. “Sleep, not drop dead, I mean,” he passes it off to Yoongi who gratefully accepts it (god knows Yoongi’s in dire need of one, and if Yoongi had it his way - like, say, if he was allowed to smoke in his studio - then he would’ve burned through his lungs long ago). 

“Good idea, that,” Yoongi takes his first drag, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke in for as long as he can. Across from him, Hoseok does the same, but releases the smoke shortly after in a long, thin stream of breath. 

They smoke quietly for what seems like an hour - maybe four minutes, eight, twelve, who knows? Midnight has a way of making it feel like time’s standing still, drawing the night out as much as possible. 

Hoseok doesn’t try to pull him into the conversation and Yoongi doesn’t force one out, either. Instead, the both of them smoke quietly, the lighter passed between them every now and then. 

Vaguely, Yoongi is aware that they’ve been outside far longer than they should have been - their friends might be looking for them already, or think they’re dead, and if so, then a search party for their missing bodies might already have been dispatched already. 

A little part of Yoongi is guilty at the idea of leaving his friends behind - friends who’d dragged him out of his little hole just to get him drunk. Friends who’ve got good hearts and even better intentions for Yoongi. Idiots, yes, but friends, all the same, and for that, Yoongi’s thankful. But he isn’t going back into that club, not tonight or tomorrow - or for the next few months, at that. 

He discards his final cigarette with a simple flick of his hand, crushing the stick under the sole of his shoe once it hits the ground. Hoseok watches him quietly, eyes half-lidded, and fingers still holding loosely onto his half-burnt cigarette. 

They both watch each other now, Hoseok’s heavy gaze settling on Yoongi. 

Through the haze of sleep deprivation, alcohol, and stress, Yoongi sees Hoseok, but not all that clearly. He’s a blur, a few lights dancing behind him - street lamps, his eyes, the goddamn stars bursting behind him - and it almost feels like they’re underwater, the water heavy and pressing in on them, pulling them further down until Yoongi can’t see Hoseok anymore, the boy engulfed in the darkness that the deep water brings with it. 

“I think,” Yoongi thinks he’s gurgling, talking underwater. He hopes Hoseok can still understand him. He’s blurry enough that Yoongi can’t quite make out the look on his face - he can see his eyes alight with curiosity, but that’s about it. “Home,” Yoongi drawls, pushing off of the streetlamp he’d been leaning on. 

Hoseok’s gaze follows him, the boy’s footsteps light as he trails after Yoongi. “Home?” He repeats, the word sounding foreign. Alien, like he’s not quite sure what Yoongi’s talking about. 

“Home,” Yoongi says again, hands groping at his pockets, searching for his car keys - phone, wallet, keys, the usual three-check pat down. “Or else I’m going to die,” Yoongi slurs, and even to his own ears he sounds drunk. 

“You’re not driving,” Hoseok’s suddenly in front of him, hand snatching at the keys Yoongi’s finally managed to locate. “You’re going to actually die if you try to drive like this, and Jimin’s never going to forgive me,” He says it with a little flourish in his words, like he’s partly joking and partly serious. 

Yoongi can’t tell; they’re underwater, of course Hoseok’s words will sound garbled. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Yoongi scowls, attempting to take the keys back from Hoseok. “Fine, keep the goddamn keys, I’m going to walk home,” 

They’re so close that Yoongi can finally see Hoseok’s face clearly, can finally make out the look on his face - concern and worry, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing suspiciously at all of Yoongi’s drunk staggering. 

“I’m fine, whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it,” Yoongi mumbles, glaring at Hoseok’s phone. It’s offensive just thinking about the idea that Hoseok has to call Yoongi’s friends to make sure he’s okay, as if Yoongi isn’t fully capable of that himself. “If you call Namjoon, I’m going to throw you in front of that bus - “

Hoseok whips around so fast Yoongi’s surprised his body hadn’t snapped. 

Christ, Yoongi,” 

This is the first Hoseok’s ever said his name (or the second, the first, Yoongi can’t quite remember, but the way Hoseok had said it - like he was angry and relieved, and fucking frightened, all at the same time - was new. Refreshing. A total change.) and all Yoongi can do is stare at him. 

“I’m offended” Yoongi starts, finally tearing his gaze away from Hoseok’s. “Did you really think I was going to push you in front of a bus?” 

They’re so, so close, and the water’s so clear, the haze around Yoongi lifting for a moment that he’s able to finally see Hoseok in vivid sharp detail. No longer a blur of lights and motion, or held down by the water, Hoseok stands just a few inches away from Yoongi, face blank until - 

Until he bursts out laughing, head thrown back and eyes shut tight. He laughs so loud and so hard that his whole body starts to shake, shoulders trembling at the intensity of it. He holds onto Yoongi, fingers gripping Yoongi’s shoulder tightly, and Yoongi lets him do it, grip his shoulder too tight, because Hoseok’s helped him one occasion too many, so it’s high-time Yoongi returns the favour. 

It’s too late for Hoseok to be laughing so damn loud, but that’s fine when you’re underwater - there’s not much of a noise you can make submerged in water. 

It starts with a text message one late afternoon, with Yoongi mulling over a verse that he’d finally, finally had the nerve to start. The vibrating of his phone startles him out of his little trance, pulling his attention away from the current song to focus on the text at hand. It’s from Jimin, asking if they could grab lunch soon; something about being a poor intern and not eating beef for what seems like forever already (when Yoongi knows for a fact that it isn’t true, they’d just gone out to eat last week). And then, at the very bottom of the message, is a question - can Hoseok hyung come, too? 

Actually, it didn’t start like that. It started out like this: a weird twist of fate that somehow ties everything together, because nothing else will explain just how strange this whole thing is, what a coincidence. 

Thursday afternoon, Yoongi finds himself in an elevator with Seokjin, the older boy tapping absentmindedly at the glass panel. They’re headed down to the practice rooms, something about Yoongi needing to meet with the idol group once and for all - he’s stuck, is the problem, and Seokjin had thought it a good idea for Yoongi to meet the group, get a few words across, say hi, get a general feel about them. Have his music finally see the light of day. 

It’s a group of four boys, all boasting both talent and good looks. Yoongi watches them through the window outside, arms crossed, with Seokjin silently waiting for his reaction. How does he even expect Yoongi to react - shrug his shoulders and say that they’re good? They’re fine, most idol groups can dance, anyway, but can they sing? The answer to that is probably yes, but it’s hard trying to write music for artists who can’t quite grasp the heart of it. 

When Yoongi’s mouth all but drops open and a, “what the fuck” is uttered, Seokjin’s eyes widen, almost hopeful, like perhaps the group had impressed Yoongi enough, perhaps - 

But it’s not the four male idol members who’d gotten Yoongi’s attention but one of the backup dancers. His face might be a bit flushed from all the dancing, glistening with sweat, and even when most of their meetings were muddled by the alcohol, Yoongi still recognises him. Confusion, shock, and then amusement, all transitioning across his face. 

Jung Hoseok stands to the very back of the room, a towelette in one hand and a snapback held loosely in the other. He’s breathing heavily, tired from all the dancing, and when the dance instructor calls for a little break - signified by three claps and a shrilly whistle that rings across the whole room - Yoongi sees him relax a little bit more, obvious relief flooding through his features at finally being able to take a break.

Seokjin drags Yoongi into the room, his mouth set into a polite, friendly little smile. He’s always friendly, Seokjin, and Yoongi admires that about him (even when all Yoongi is to him is a pain in the ass, somehow, Seokjin manages to force a smile on his face - it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which makes it slightly more frightening - just enough for Yoongi to get the message.). “They’ve maybe got a fifteen minute break, you should try talking to them,” 

Yoongi gets at least one “hello” out (and four “hellos” come right back at him, followed by a lot of bowing) when Hoseok raises his head from the back of the room, surprise and recognition colouring his face.

And Yoongi knows that he’s not supposed to be here to talk to an acquaintance - a friend, his mind tells him - he’s here because he’s got a job to do and a song to produce, but Hoseok is staring at him, his smile unsure, tentative, even, like he’s not quite sure if it’s okay, if it’s really Yoongi, and Yoongi isn’t sure, either, if this is the same Jung Hoseok he’d laughed with at nearly ass-o’clock in the morning, but here they are, stuck staring at each other from opposite ends of the room. 

It’s Yoongi who breaks the tension between them by raising his hand and offering a smile, “I didn’t know you worked with us,” he says, surprising both Seokjin and the boy group.

Hoseok shrugs, takes a few steps towards him, and says, “We never got to talking,” He’s smiling at Yoongi, amused now and less careful, and all around them, everyone’s staring, because this is Min Yoongi, and he might be the company’s youngest producer but he’s already got a few songs up on the charts - he’s something, basically.

It should be weird, discussing a rather personal event in the middle of a large group of people, but. But Yoongi supposes that it really doesn’t matter, not when everyone’s far too busy trying to catch their breath to even hear them. 

“We should,” They’re close enough now that Yoongi can drop his voice lower. Just at the corner of his eye, he catches Seokjin rounding up the four trainees back into the middle of the room (and he catches the little glare that Seokjin throws his way, too, because trust Yoongi to push aside the major reason he was even dragged down here in the first place in favour of catching up with one of the backup dancers). “Talk, I mean,”

The dance instructor blows his whistle again, claps his hands twice to signal the start of another round of practice, and Hoseok fixes his snapback on his forehead, looks up at Yoongi, and nods, his grin replaced with a smile, almost shy, by the looks of it. “Yeah, we should.”

(And much, much later, after two more rounds of practice, Seokjin and Yoongi stand to the side, arms crossed, and their eyes locked on the trainees - impressive for a rookie group, but Yoongi will reserve his judgement for now, he hasn’t really heard them sing yet, has he? 

Seokjin, though, at the sight of Yoongi paying more attention to the backup dancer than to the trainees, rolls his eyes, nudges him with his elbow, and says, “Aren’t you glad I dragged you down here?”

Yoongi won’t admit to that directly because he’s never one to really admit to snarky little questions like that - especially now since all Seokjin’s giving him is a smug little smirk - so he scowls, instead, and pretends he doesn’t hear, and with the loud music blaring throughout the whole room, that’s not such a hard task to accomplish.)

When Jimin had asked if Hoseok could come, Yoongi had foregone his reply to tag along with Seokjin. Now, sat again in his studio, completely alone except for the blank static that hangs in the air, Yoongi finds himself staring at his phone, brows furrowed in concentration. There’s a pro and a con to this dinner, he thinks - pros would be a wonderful gathering with friends (as if they don’t see each other enough already - which is, in fact, true. The days where they could all just hammer on each others doors and declare an impromptu outing have long since passed and gone) and the cons would be Yoongi spending on food he’s hardly going to touch just so Jimin can stuff his face silly, declaring that this is all from the stress of work; and Yoongi needs to improve on his “nos” when it comes to Jimin. Literally anybody else could ask him out for dinner - demand him to take them to dinner - and Yoongi would flat out say “no”, but with Jimin, he finds himself contemplating just a little bit longer. 

With the added addition of one Hoseok to the picture, though, Yoongi finds himself leaning towards “yes”. Dinner is dinner and hadn’t they already decided to catch up the next time?

(Next time probably meant with just the two of them, not with Jimin third-wheeling.

And - )

And Yoongi has to shake himself awake because he’s fallen halfway through texting Jimin back, phone slipping in his grip. He glances back down at the screen, shrugs his shoulders, and sends an “okay”.

There’s a long winding flight of stairs that leads to the company’s rooftop. But before that, there’s a heavy metal door that doesn’t open unless you’ve got a key - and not the company issued key cards, either. An actual key. Yoongi had acquired the key after a night out with Seokjin a couple of months ago, when the only things they’d put on the line (they had been at a winery, trying to outdrink each other) was pivotal things in their lives - Seokjin, the key, and Yoongi, his home passcode (he was drunk and had only agreed to it after several minutes of coaxing, Seokjin urging him to just go with it - because Yoongi lives alone, and what if something really, really bad were to happen, who was going to be strong enough to knock his door down?). 

“How did you say you obtained this, um,” A pause in which Hoseok stops abruptly a step below Yoongi. “This key? It looks like - ah, important,” 

Yoongi wraps his hand around the cold doorknob, jiggling it a little bit, just waiting for the soft click that signals the unlocking of the door, shouldering it open when it does, and, without looking at Hoseok, he says, a little under his breath, “I got it legally, don’t worry,” 

Hoseok hums, noncommittal behind him, and follows Yoongi out, careful to shut the door behind him. 

“So,” Yoongi slips the key into a pocket, spreads his arms in a grand gesture on either side of him, and finally turns to look at Hoseok, “This is the roof.” 

He’s met with a roll of the eyes and a scoff, as well as a soft nudge of the elbow to his chest that he receives with a grunt, but other than that, Hoseok looks, well.

Tired, is what he looks like. The dark circles under his eyes spell out all the hours of sleep he’d missed out on, and his face - pale, pallid. Tired, sick, even. Yoongi tries not to look too hard at him, not wanting to stare too much, but it’s hard to ignore the way Hoseok looks like he’s just about ready to drop dead, here and now, on this rooftop. That they’d snuck up to. 

But aside from that (and Yoongi doesn’t point it out, knows that Hoseok’s making a grand effort to look like he’s anything but tired), he looks amused, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he stitches up a smile on his face. It’s not quite a good look, Hoseok weary and tired, but Yoongi knows better than to bombard and suffocate him with questions. 

“Are we not supposed to be here or is this one of your weird little perks?” Hoseok walks up to where Yoongi’s leaning against the railings, his breath stalling when he leans over the edge of the wall, taking in the sight down below. It’s just buildings, concrete, more buildings, and people dotting the road below, but Yoongi knows that that’s not the view that’s suddenly got Hoseok quiet, eyes widening slightly and his mouth slacking. 

It’s the sky, spread out around them, wrapping the entire city in different shades of blue and pink, a blanket of warm, beautiful colours settling around this part of the world. It’s beautiful, Yoongi thinks, and calming. This - the sky, the way the towers don’t reach high enough to block the rest of the view or mar the horizon - is why Yoongi sneaks up to the roof as much as he can, if his schedule permits. This - the feeling of calm and complacent wrapping around him - is why he can spend hours and hours (okay, fine, maybe twenty minutes or so, minimum) just standing around here, leaning against the railings, head tipped back, and eyes set on the horizon, with all its pretty colours, with the sun just barely peeking through the clouds. It’s near five p.m and just about time for the sun to set. 

It’s a good view.

Hoseok slowly turns away from staring at the sky and turns to look at Yoongi, a calm, if not a little bit lazy, smile on his face, his tired eyes slowly fluttering to a close, and Hoseok’s lashes - they’re long enough to almost graze the tops of his cheeks. Almost. 

That’s a good view, too, thinks Yoongi. 

(And as soon as the thought passes, Yoongi flushes, his pale cheeks suddenly dusted with pink.)

“You know, we never got to talking,” The words come out slow, almost in a drawl. Because he’s tired, that’s why, and dragging him up to the fucking roof had been a bad idea - Hoseok dances for a living, practices just as much as all these trainees, and Christ, Yoongi, what an idiot, but then, suddenly, Hoseok smiles, this time wider, fuller. Brighter, like he’s thankful. Relieved, as well. “But thanks, I kinda needed this. The view, the open air,” 

It’s not much of the open air, per se - they’re still in the middle of the city, but Yoongi nods his head yes, anyway, because he sort of understands. He’s been coming up here ever since he’d snatched the keys out of Seokjin’s hands, and every time he finds himself up on the roof, there’s always that quiet, soft feeling of things finally being in place. It must be the vastness of the sky and how tiny and insignificant everything is compared to it, Yoongi’s not too sure, but he likes it. 

He’s not gonna lie, it’s been hard, working in a huge company straight out of college, producing music he’s not even sure he likes anymore. Living the kind of life he’d sworn he would never live, that’s hard. Realising the adult life has been everything that he’d dreaded, it’s hard. But being up here, on the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the city and overlooking everything else, well, it helps relieve some of that stress. It helps Yoongi clear his mind, if only a little bit.

“You look like you need a few hours of sleep,” Yoongi can't help but tease, nudging Hoseok’s arm gently. He turns to look at him, too, his arm dangling lazily off the railings - and if Yoongi were afraid of heights, then he would have probably fainted already, but as it is, Yoongi finds, instead, comfort in being so high up. “And maybe three rounds of dinner,” 

Hoseok laughs, loud and alive, less tired now. “Yeah, I need to be awake to do my job,” He says it like he genuinely enjoys it, though, and Yoongi realises that Hoseok’s in it for the love and passion. There’s a fire that flickers behind his eyes, and perhaps Yoongi recognises it only because the very same fire had flickered in his own eyes, once upon a time ago. “But I can do dinner,” 

Yoongi scoffs, “Everyone can do dinner, apparently. Jimin owes me for that last dinner,” 

The memory of their most recent dinner together, as a little triad, brings up another round of laughter from Hoseok - and a grimace from Yoongi, who remembers it with less fond and more annoyance (Jimin had spilled soy sauce all over Yoongi’s pants, had somehow lost Yoongi’s car keys, and cracked the screen of Yoongi’s phone. All under an hour.). Okay, a lot of annoyance, then. 

Hoseok rests a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, steadying himself from laughing too hard, and try as he might to catch his breath, it’s impossible. Perhaps, if it had been the other way around, if it had happened to either Hoseok or Jimin, then Yoongi would have laughed, too, but as it stands right now, the unfortunate little accident had befallen Yoongi, and he really isn’t in the mood to be laughing at himself, not when he’s only barely getting by with a cracked phone screen. 

“Your phone was actually my fault,” Hoseok wheezes, raising his hands in mock-surrender. “I think I must’ve elbowed Jimin and he ended up crashing into you. That was my fault, don’t get mad at the poor kid,” 

It’s no use, glaring at Hoseok, so Yoongi just rolls his eyes and nudges him a little bit harsher with his elbow, before turning away from him to look back out at the city. 

Fine, Yoongi can deal with a broken phone screen only for so long - one more day and he’ll finally be able to get it fixed. Or, he might just not fix it, at all. Save himself from incriminating text messages and get him out of all the possible little messes and accidents Jimin’s yet to cause him (a heart attack’s somewhere down the line, Yoongi’s already terrified just thinking about it). 

“You’re lucky I can’t physically throttle you over the edge of this building,” Yoongi says, voice nonchalant, like he’s merely talking about the weather, or how the sky’s now flushed pink and purple. “But I would, if I could,”

Hoseok snorts, “Yeah, like how you’d push me in front of a bus?” 

Some people don’t have to try, Yoongi realises. There’s an ease to Hoseok, a certain air of calm and friendliness that he carries around with him, whenever, wherever. It’s hard not to feel at ease when you’re talking to him, and when Hoseok smiles, even though he’s tired, his bones heavy and his mind near shattering from the stress, Yoongi can’t help but think that maybe things aren’t as bad as he makes it seem, not if Hoseok can still smile amidst all that.

“I’d never,” Yoongi huffs, the fight completely lost in his voice. “Maybe nudge you off the pavement, but never in front of a bus,” 

“Sure,” Hoseok leans against him then, their shoulders pressing together, and underneath all the fabric that separates them, Yoongi can feel the hairs on the back of his arm standing, suddenly electric at their closeness. “Whatever you say, hyung.”

And they aren’t so much as talking as just standing side by side, staring up at the sky, down at the city, and sometimes glancing at each other at opportune times when the other isn’t looking (Yoongi catches Hoseok staring at him a beat too long, and while Yoongi feels the tell-tale warming of his cheeks in a flush, Hoseok just smiles sheepishly at him, shrugging his shoulders). But this is nice, the view is nice, and not-exactly-talking to someone is nice, too.

They might have agreed to talk more the next time, but Yoongi had decided against that when he’d dragged Hoseok out of the training rooms and up to the roof. Some things can go without saying, and Yoongi finding a friend amidst this foggy hazy (and underwater, to boot) can go on and on, and one day they’ll sit down, drink coffee, and really talk, but for now, this is fine, this is okay. This is just Yoongi seeking the company of a friend. 

“Maybe you should write a song about this,” Hoseok stretches his hand out, leaning dangerously close over the railing. He’s got one hand curled around the rail and the other is stretched as far as possible, his fingers splaying out in the open air. 

Yoongi startles, a little bit shocked Hoseok had picked up on that - how obvious has Yoongi been that even someone he barely runs into in the company has picked up on his obvious lack of ideas (or burning passion, whatever). “Write about what?” Yoongi asks, turning around to look down at the view.

But Hoseok isn’t looking down, he’s looking at the clouds, head tilted up and eyes transfixed on the way the colours of the sky bleed into each other. “I know I’m not one to give advice about producing,”

Hoseok’s cheeks start to flush red but Yoongi shakes his head and urges him to continue when he stutters to a stop. “Or writing, really. But - you know, this is beautiful,” he clenches his hand into a fist, grasping at nothing - at the air, trying to catch a passing cloud. At everything. “Write about this,” 

“Huh,” Yoongi muses, tearing his gaze away from Hoseok to stare at the sky. “Maybe.” 

(And Yoongi might have said ‘maybe’ but he really meant I’ll try. And try he does, because right after they both barrel down the stairs and go back to their respective jobs - Hoseok to pack up for the day and Yoongi to stare in silence at his sad, empty recording studio - Yoongi sits himself down with a pad of paper and a pencil, and he writes. 

He writes a song about the sky swallowing a little boy up.)

It doesn’t come rushing to him all at once, no, inspiration comes back to him slowly, trickling in through the cracks in his bones and settling deep into his core. Yoongi welcomes it back, arms open, and his mind at ease. This is a start, however slow it may be, but a start is a start when all you’ve been faced with, day in and day out, for countless months on end, is an empty screen and blank pages. 

He taps his pencil lightly against the edge of the notebook, closes his eyes, and allows himself another moment to think, to breathe, because Yoongi can feel it coming to him, the words, the notes, the melody - it’s at the tips of his fingers, he knows it.

When it does hit, he scribbles a couple of lines down, hunched over his table and intent clear in his eyes. He’s going to get this done today - well, at least part of it. He’s got at least nine more months until the rookie group’s debut, and maybe four more months before the toll becomes absolutely demanding. They’ve given him ample enough time, and normally, Yoongi wouldn’t have problems - the notes, the words, they all just come easily to him, naturally. That had been then, that is. Now, Yoongi’s just thankful that he hadn’t scoffed at the nine-month deadline and proclaimed he could do it much earlier. 

Sometimes, you just have to give yourself a pat on the back for not being too over fucking confident. 

Yoongi manages to get the intro written, at least, and when he goes over to read it, he thinks of Hoseok - that time at the roof a couple of days ago, of the vast horizon around them. He thinks of what it would be like to climb a mountain (don’t people do that in their spare time, early in the morning, right before Winter hits?), spend the night atop it, and wake up just as the sun rises. It must be a sight, Yoongi thinks, something so beautiful, how the light sets everything it touches on fire; golden and burning. Beautiful. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, realising exactly what he’d just written down. 

The opening lines to the song is about about how the sky swallows up a little boy dreamer.

Leaning back against his chair, Yoongi stretches his hands over his head and yawns. Well, that’s that, he thinks. 

Little boy dreamers getting swallowed whole by the sky. What a way to go out.

Yoongi doesn’t mind, not really; if the sky were to fall right now, Yoongi’s pretty sure he’s not going to mind. 

What Yoongi does mind, though, is how he’d unconsciously thought of Hoseok the whole time he’d written the song. Convincing himself that it’s only because Hoseok had practically spoon-fed him the idea doesn’t really help tremendously - but it helps just enough, and there’s something about Hoseok that Yoongi thinks is just enough, however strange that may be.

The door creeks open behind him and Yoongi jumps up in his seat in surprise when he hears scurried movements, a shuffling of shoes and heavy breathing. He whips around, chair swivelling, and just about blanches at the sight before him. 

“What the fuck,” Yoongi hisses, pencil dropping to the floor.

In front of him, Seokjin and Namjoon are tangled up with each other, Namjoon’s hand half-way up under Seokjin’s dress shirt, and Seokjin fumbling clumsily with the doorknob behind them. 

“What the fuck,” Namjoon echoes, eyes widening and hand instantly retracting. The both of them step away from each other, cheeks red and their ties crooked. Namjoon’s hair is unmistakably ruffled. 

“This is my studio, what the fuck are you two even doing here - “ Yoongi stays rooted in his chair, still completely at shock at what had literally just barrelled through his door. “And why the hell are you two - holy shit, tell me you haven’t been - “

Seokjin’s cheeks turn even more pink, his eyes diverting away from Yoongi guiltily. 

“You have your own office, why would you two,” Blanching, Yoongi finally makes to get up on his seat, eyes still wide and his face equally as red. “Don’t fucking tell me,” Realisation dawns on him then and Yoongi would’ve laughed at their faces and asked when and how their whole arrangement had started, but he’s got a more pressing matter to address, such as Namjoon and Seokjin just bursting through his room like they’d done this before, like they were expecting Yoongi to be out for the day, and god.

How long?” Yoongi’s face is flushed, right from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. He doesn’t mind, per se, that his friends have somehow started to get together like this - he’d love to hear the story, though, because as far as Yoongi knows, he knows Namjoon and Seokjin, sure, but he’d never known the two of them like this, together. 

Namjoon twists his hands behind his back, his grin uneasy when he tries, “Maybe two, three months ago? Sorry we didn’t -“

Yoongi scowls at him, “No, how long have you been breaking into my office to,” He gestures around him vaguely, not knowing how to drop the word without exploding himself. “And why my studio,” Yoongi is whining now, hands spread around him and mouth twisted in a scowl. He still can’t quite believe the sudden progress with these two, of all people (or maybe it’s not so surprising, knowing the two of them), but.

But Yoongi’s already shoving past the two of them and halfway out the door when Seokjin coughs into his hand and mumbles, “Everybody knows not to disturb you when you’re here,” it sounds like a lame excuse and Yoongi doesn’t buy it at all (but he kinda does, because Seokjin isn’t entirely wrong.) “And I thought you left already,”

At the same time, Namjoon blurts out, “We’ve only done this once,”

Yoongi glowers at them both, gives them a simpering last glare before storming off, the door closing with a loud thud behind him. 

It’s only when he’s in the elevator and punching the button to the carpark that he realises, rather belatedly (and very stupidly) that he’d left the two of them in his office. Yoongi groans, shuts his eyes tight, and focuses on not throwing up at the thought of Seokjin and Namjoon doing god knows what, which is how, moments later when the elevator door pings open, Hoseok finds him. 

“Are you okay?” Hoseok asks, brows furrowed in confusion. He slings a duffel bag over his shoulder and reaches a hand out to prod at Yoongi’s cheek. It gets him a lazy little look that Yoongi hopes is good enough to serve as a greeting.

“Seokjin and Namjoon are together,” Yoongi says, finally, when the elevator doors close. 

Hoseok looks at him sideways, amusement and confusion clear on his face. “So?” 

Vaguely, Yoongi’s aware of how close they’re standing, with Hoseok’s shoulder grazing against his own. They’re close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of Hoseok. Right, practice. Dance. That makes people sweat, makes them warm. 

“Is there a problem with that?” Hoseok asks again, peering over his side to look at Yoongi. 

Yoongi lifts his head away from the glass panel of the elevator walls to look at Hoseok, his mouth opening for words that don’t quite come up. He shakes his head, reels in the shiver that threatens to run down his spine at the thought of Seokjin and Namjoon in his goddamn office, doing god knows what, and fuck, Yoongi shouldn’t have left them like that. 

“Your friends are dating, why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” The question hangs coldly in the air, Hoseok’s final tone apprehensive, like he thinks - 

Like he thinks Yoongi is against the idea of his friends dating. His male friends dating. 

Instantly, as if snapped out of his daze, Yoongi stutters out an apology, head shaking profusely to deny the claims that haven’t been said - that don’t need to be said. Hoseok had sounded accusatory enough. 

“No, fuck, no, that’s not the problem,” Yoongi starts, a little bit taken aback. “I have no problem if they’re dating. If they’re gay, or what, it’s -“ 

The look on Hoseok’s face is irritated, like Yoongi had clearly just insulted him, and his tone isn’t any better when he says, “Then what’s the problem?” 

“Hoseok,” Yoongi tries again, hand gingerly coming up to rest on Hoseok’s arm. “I don’t mind them getting together, it’s the thought of the two of them alone in my studio, that’s what I mind,” 

The anger and tension rushes out of Hoseok visibly, his rigid shoulders relaxing. He lets out a long exhale of breath - a frustrated sigh - and then schools his features back. When he lifts his face back up to look at Yoongi, he’s smiling sheepishly, a little bit embarrassed, “Oh, fuck, sorry I jumped to conclusions there, I’m, wow, your studio,” 

For the first time that day - or week, Yoongi’s forgotten completely - Yoongi laughs nervously, “No, that’s their business, dating, that. But my studio, Hoseok,” Yoongi’s aware that he sounds like a child now, whining and complaining, but it’s his studio and for god’s sake, Seokjin has a bigger, better table that they can defile. Christ.

Instead of laughing, Hoseok just shakes his head, pulls up his best grimace, and pats Yoongi consolingly on the head, “Poor baby,” 

When the elevator doors opens to the garage, Yoongi has to physically tear himself away from Hoseok (not because Hoseok won’t let go, but because Yoongi had taken to leaning against him, drawing further into his touch, however ridiculous pats on the head may be), “I think you missed your floor,” Yoongi says, holding the elevator door open as he stands on the other side, looking at Hoseok. 

Hoseok just shrugs, “You looked like you were about to get sick, I couldn’t leave,” 

Oh, well.

“Do you want a ride home?” Yoongi blurts the words out before he can even process them properly, and it catches both of them off guard because the playful, teasing look on Hoseok’s face is replaced with one of mild surprise and shock. “I mean, if you have other plans, then that’s fine, I just thought,”

But Hoseok smiles at him, surprise still evident on his face, and crosses the small space between them with a few steps, hand tugging on the edge of Yoongi’s jacket to drag him away from the closing doors of the elevator. 

“I could take a bus, but if you insist,” Hoseok’s grin is back, his short round of laughter washing over Yoongi comfortingly, reassuringly. Familiarly. Strange, how someone he’s known for a short amount of time has become so familiar to him. Yoongi won’t say it out loud, but he’s sort of categorised Hoseok’s laughter already, can tell just what that smile of his means by the flitting of his eyes, the shifting from one foot to the other. It’s strange, but didn’t they meet with Yoongi throwing up on him? 

It’s as if they’re bound to just keep crashing, colliding, and exploding. All the time. 

Like they’re bound to be swallowed up by the sky, one way or another. Some day. 

“You could pay me just like how you would a cab,” Yoongi tries, offering a smile. There’s still a little bit of tension between them from earlier, a topic they’ve yet to discuss but have already crossed. He wants to get rid of it, though, because it’s impossible to think that Yoongi’s disgusted at the thought of his good friends getting together when Yoongi lives by the principle of never being a hypocrite. 

Hoseok rolls his eyes and follows him to the car, but before they slip inside, Yoongi looks at him from across the car’s roof, fashions a most serious expression on his face - he wants to look sincere and genuine. Serious. - and then says, voice low enough but not too soft that Hoseok has to ask him to repeat himself, “About earlier, I don’t think Seokjin and Namjoon dating is disgusting, because,” He stops Hoseok before he can barrel through the conversation with his own assurance and quickly follows through with, “Because that’s hypocritical of me.”

Unexpectedly, Hoseok doesn’t brush it off with a smile or a nod, instead, Hoseok holds his gaze, nods his head, almost solemnly, and then says, “Okay, that’s nice,” After a few beats, “good. Great, really. Because now,” He pauses, looking away from Yoongi to try and hide the blush creeping up on his face (adorable, Yoongi thinks). 

“Now what?” Yoongi asks, a sinking feeling in his stomach that’s quickly replaced with the sensation of his heart floating, soaring right out of his ribcage when Hoseok looks back at him with a smile. Tentative, shy. But, a smile, still. 

“Now I can ask you out on a date,” 

Oh.

Oh.

His face is suddenly so hot, his hands clammy, and god, how old is he because right now, Yoongi feels like the stirrings of a first crush. Like high school all over again, giddy and excited and - and relieved, because Hoseok’s still smiling, because it wasn’t a joke; Hoseok isn’t joking and Yoongi’s nodding, his smile matching Hoseok’s tentative one. Shy, but. But a smile, still. 

And they’re smiling at each other from over the car’s roof, neither of them wanting to make the first move to look away, to get into a car that they’re both going to be riding in, and Yoongi thinks that this is fine, too. Enough.

“Sure,” Yoongi manages to say, more of a mumbling of the word than anything. This isn’t like him, it’s been a while, and add to that the shock of the Seokjin and Namjoon development, then you’ve still got a pretty flustered Yoongi. “I mean, okay, let’s do that. When?” 

Hoseok breaks eye contact first when he rolls his eyes and ducks down to slide into the car, calling for Yoongi to follow him. 

“Now is a good time, since,” And like the little (wonderful, really pretty, with eyes that twinkle like the stars when he laughs) shit that he is, Hoseok gestures to Yoongi, himself, and the car. “y’know, pretty convenient,”

Yoongi might just want to thwack Hoseok on the head but he pushes that aside in favour of punching him lightly in the arm. 

“You’re terrible, why did I say yes,” Yoongi wills for his blush to go down - he’d made the mistake of glancing at the rearview mirror, had seen his pink face and his ears, red-tipped and god, he’s on fire. - but no such luck, especially not with Hoseok filling up the car with his laughter, loud and bubbly.

“No take backs,” Hoseok chirps, this time sounding more sure. More himself, less shy. 

Yoongi glances at him, bites down on his bottom lip, trying to prevent his own smile from spilling out, and thinks - 

No take backs, okay. 

Their version of a first date is getting stuck in traffic, Yoongi grumbling under his breath and Hoseok tweaking with the radio. He doesn’t settle on one station for very long, switching it up every three minutes, and when he tires of that - finally settling on a station playing some of the newer girl group songs - he taps his fingers against the windowpane, eyes hooded and heavy. Sleepy. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Yoongi asks, glancing at Hoseok for what feels like the hundredth time already. They’ve been stuck in the worst traffic - at such an untimely time, too - for the better part of an hour already, and Yoongi’s getting really, really impatient. And hungry. “I’m hungry, traffic is a bitch, and you’re falling asleep,”

Hoseok tears his gaze away from the car beside them to look at Yoongi, blinking blearing at him. “I’m not sleepy,” his words are betrayed by a yawn right after, and Yoongi accentuates his point by pressing on the horn when an asshole of a driver tries to cut into his lane. “I’m hungry,” 

Sleep, Yoongi thinks, can wait, especially when his stomach grumbles at the thought of food alone, too. 

“This was a bad idea,” Yoongi’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel and Hoseok laughs, tired and amused. “I’m hungry, you’re falling asleep, and we haven’t moved an inch,” 

Instead of replying, Hoseok reaches across the space between them to fold his fingers gently over Yoongi’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stress,” Hoseok muses, squeezing on his shoulder again. “Or something, I don’t know, I’m not an accredited masseuse,”

Yoongi’s not about to tell him that squeezing his shoulder has the opposite effect, because now Yoongi feels like electric currents are running down his arm, spreading from the very same spot Hoseok had just touched.

He gives up on traffic with one last blaring honk of the horn - another asshole driver, god, the city’s full of them - and settles on the fact that they’re going to be stuck here even longer. Hungry, sleepy, and a little part - the proud part - of Yoongi won’t even admit that this is a first date, because it’s terrible. This situation, the traffic, not Hoseok. 

“My apartment’s just a few blocks away, we can take a detour here, if you want,” Yoongi suggests, already flicking the signal to turn left. Veer out of traffic and get the hell out of the highway. 

Too late, Yoongi realises the gravity of his words, and maybe Hoseok’s just extremely tired and hungry, but he doesn’t mind the implications - there are no implications, Yoongi just wants to go home - because he nods, mumbles a sleepy “okay”, and gestures for Yoongi to get it over with.

Which is why, fifteen minutes later, they’re both stumbling out of the elevator, eyes heavy and their stomachs empty. Yoongi only remembers, a little bit belatedly, that the only food he’s got left is cereal and milk that he hopes is still good. 

Hoseok doesn’t mind, though, instead, the boy shuffles sleepily across Yoongi’s kitchen, already prying cabinets open, the pots and pans clattering as Hoseok reaches for the bowls just to the very back. 

“Your milk’s still good,” Hoseok declares, triumphant. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, watching from the other end of the counter as Hoseok pours himself a generous amount of cereal and milk, sloppily spilling a few droplets on the counter.

“Usually, I’m more of the wine-and-dine guy,” Hoseok bats his eyelashes, a clear, obvious attempt at being flirty. An obnoxious attempt, one that he gives up on when all Yoongi gives him is a scowl in return. “But this works, too. The couch and a bowl of cereal, who knew Min-PD could be so down to earth?” 

With Hoseok plopping himself down on the couch and making himself comfortable, Yoongi realises that this is happening. That this isn’t a dream. This isn’t stress-induced or hunger-induced. This isn’t some weird blackout nightmare, because this is here and now. This is happening. 

Maybe Yoongi needs more sleep and better food, the processing of the situation coming to him slowly, almost agonisingly, but. But it’s there, the realisation, settling on the bottom of his stomach and steadying him, keeping him up on his feet while the rest of the world spins out of control. 

He sits himself down beside Hoseok, a bowl of cereal cradled in his hands, too, and for the first few minutes, the two of them just eat quietly, staring unseeingly at the television - reruns of some variety show or other - and this is.

This is nice, sort of. Like friends. Eating cereal on the couch and yawning occasionally, their shoulders pressing against each other, the most contact they’ve both had since, well. Since the first time Hoseok had snatched at his arm at the club, steadying him, asking him if he was okay. 

“Still think this was a bad idea?” Hoseok slides the empty bowls onto the coffee table in front of them, yawning when he finally leans back against the couch. He looks tired, worn out, and like he could use maybe fifteen hours of sleep. The dark circles under Yoongi’s eyes probably spell the same thing out. 

Yoongi’s not sure how much is allowed on a first date - maybe if they’d gone out to some nice restaurant, gotten expensive drinks, the like, then maybe there’d be a trading of chaste kisses, or something like that. He doesn’t expect anything out of this, really, because the company is more than enough, Hoseok beside him and warm. That’s it, honestly - that’s enough. 

So when Hoseok leans his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, tucks his knees from under him, and says, “I’m going to sleep now,” Yoongi is surprised. 

It’s friendly, the way Hoseok curls up beside him, one hand coming up to rest heavily on Yoongi’s thigh, the other curled on the small space between them.

“What?” Yoongi hears himself say, but he doesn’t mind, already aware of how Hoseok’s breathing have suddenly slowed, signalling the boy’s slow descent into sleep. “Are you - you’re actually sleeping,” Deflated, but not at all averse to the idea, Yoongi just rolls his eyes and lowers the volume to the TV lower. 

Hoseok’s asleep before Yoongi can even say anything else, and this close, with barely any distance between them, Yoongi can see the way Hoseok’s lashes fan out. He can hear his slow, even breathing. Can see the gentle rising of his chest. He can see the stress of the day seeping out of him, Hoseok’s features smoothing over, the furrowed brows replaced now with the calm, serene look of sleep. 

Yoongi won’t admit it, but he watches Hoseok sleep for a few moments, revelling in the image of the boy who’d once looked at the pink skies with wonder; now, Hoseok is a slow murmur of energy. 

It must be awkward, this angle, and his neck’s going to hurt when he wakes up - and not to mention the draft, too - so reluctantly, Yoongi slides out from under Hoseok’s weight, careful not to wake the boy up. 

Yoongi comes back with a thick blanket, and, as careful as he was to not wake Hoseok when he’d first gotten up, Yoongi slides back on the couch beside him, steering Hoseok gingerly back against him, the boy’s head falling against his shoulder (a poor substitute for a pillow, if you ask Yoongi). 

With the blanket finally thrown over their shoulders and providing a little bit of warmth from this godforsaken draft, Hoseok shifts lightly in his sleep to curl even closer against Yoongi, one hand curling on the hem of Yoongi’s shirt, clutching onto him as he slept. 

It’s an unusual first date, but then again, they did meet in rather unusual circumstances (ugly circumstances, but Yoongi likes the sound of unusual more), so Yoongi takes what he can get, and what he gets now is this - 

Hoseok curled up against him and warm, a most pleasant expression on his face as he sleeps, and the faintest trace of a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. 

(And if Hoseok wakes up with Yoongi’s arm around his shoulders and the older boy fast asleep against him, he pretends that the stirring in his gut has more to do with the lack of actual food than anything, although the smile that fits itself on his face at the sight of Yoongi asleep beside him says otherwise.)

“So,” Namjoons begins by tapping the side of his glass with the small plastic fork in his hand. It only serves to irritate Yoongi even more. Namjoon winces at the high-pitched, ringing sound, and shoots an apologetic look at Yoongi who returns it with a simpering glare. “So,” he repeats, this time without the glass-tapping. 

“So,” Yoongi echoes, resolutely avoiding his eyes in favour of staring at the murky depths of this terrible tomato soup. “I need you to tell me my studio’s been disinfected,” 

Namjoon, predictably, colours a furious shade of red. He even chokes on his pasta, sputtering as he tries to push the food down with water. When Yoongi all but just stares at him, watching him struggle, Namjoon chokes on the water, too, which prompts the waiter’s attention. 

Yoongi waves the concerned waiter off, and, finally tearing his eyes away from his soup, he watches as Namjoon recollects himself, trying hard to gather up the last remaining strands of pride and self-respect he’s got, given the most shameful display of choking Yoongi’s ever seen. 

“For the record,” Namjoon says, rather slowly. Enunciating every word and letting it drag out, less he start choking again. “We left right after you left, and really, hyung, we thought you were done for the day,”

That’s laughable, given that Yoongi’s schedule is the most fucked up thing ever. Being a producer isn’t like working an office job. He doesn’t come in to work at a specific time - okay, maybe some days, he does, but most days he doesn’t, and that also means he doesn’t leave work at a specific hour, too, which makes his schedule rather flexible and very fucked up. Which makes Namjoon and Seokjin’s excuses invalid, given how much Seokjin is aware of Yoongi’s rather unbalanced schedule.

Yoongi gives up on tormenting the two of them (two days of intense silent treatment and cold glares over coffee during breakfast and lunch in the company cafeteria, with Seokjin sighing every time he catches Yoongi glaring at him from right across the room, unrelenting and so, so fucking petty.) and just shakes his head, “So,” he says, more as a way to end the conversation than anything. “You’re both banned from my studio, I don’t care if Seokjin practically owns the damn company, he’s not even touching my door, ever.” 

He glares at Namjoon, willing the younger boy to look away or to even say no, that he can’t do that to Kim Seokjin - the Kim Seokjin - but Namjoon does none of that, and Yoongi suspects it’s mainly because he wants to keep on his good side, at least for now. 

(It probably has a lot to do with how Yoongi had just watched him as he choked and struggled to breathe. Who knows what else Yoongi is capable of, really?) 

After the waiter comes by with the cheque and Namjoon pays for it (because Yoongi’s not paying for any of their meals in the next, say, few years, not after that wonderful little surprise they’d dropped on him), Namjoon holds him to his seat with a heavy gaze, a sigh escaping from his lips when he says, “Jin hyung’s worried about you,” 

Yoongi still has to get the actual story, the why and the how of this whole strange new development, but he supposes that can be for another day. Yoongi’s been out on a two-hour lunch already, it’s about time he gets back to work. Or call it a day, whichever. Maybe even call Hoseok, if the boy hasn’t got anything else planned, and - 

And, god, they’ve only ever spent one afternoon together - a few days ago - and had both just passed out from the stress of the day, and here Yoongi is, debating whether he should call first. Or text first, or just head on down to the training rooms to demand his attention. Pretend to be passing by, say hi. Or shit.

“Nothing to be worried about,” Yoongi doesn’t want to talk about work with Namjoon, especially if the topic is spurred about by Seokjin’s on worries. “Tell him I’m working on the album, it’s gonna get done,” it’s not a lie because it’s the truth. Yoongi is working on the album, and the album is going to get done. Eventually. He’s got the better part of four months for that, meanwhile, that rookie group could do with more vocal training.

“Hyung,” Namjoon calls, right before they separate by the restaurant’s front doors. “Sorry about the, um, your studio,” he scratches behind his head, his smile sheepish.

Yoongi returns the smile with a scowl and a threat that if he or Seokjin so much as thinks about his studio, then they’re as good as dead. 

Namjoon’s nervous laughter follows him the whole way to his car, and Yoongi’s really not one to hold grudges, but he does like tormenting Namjoon, so this, he thinks, he can hold over his head for a while. 

A text message pulls him back into the terrible two-thirty traffic, and Yoongi diverts his attention from the unmoving lane to scroll through his phone, the corners of his mouth quirking up at the most recent message - a photo message, just of Hoseok in the bathroom, hair sticking to his forehead, and his face flushed from the endless dance practice, no doubt. At least he’s smiling through all that fatigue. 

At least. 

And since he’s already stuck in traffic and late for work (lies, Yoongi hasn’t got an actual working schedule, he just shows up. The company should even be glad that Yoongi shows up on most days), Yoongi calls Hoseok, hardly even thinking about what it means, because it’s been a day (he’s been avoiding negative words lately, something Taehyung had drilled into his head just two days ago. 

“No “terrible day”, or shit like that, hyung, that brings down the good vibes, the positive emotions,” Taehyung had chirped, utterly serious. 

Beside him, Jeongguk had nodded his head solemnly, and when Yoongi asked how his day went, Jeongguk had stifled the grimace and fixed a rather poor smile on his face and said, “It’s been a day.”

Hence.).

Hoseok answers after the fourth ring, his voice low and quiet when he says, “Hi,” 

And it’s only after Yoongi starts driving, around twenty-three seconds into the call, that he realises that Hoseok hasn’t got a schedule as flexible (nonexistent, more like) as Yoongi’s, and that the boy is probably back at dance practice. And here Yoongi is, being a complete and utter nuisance. 

“Fuck, sorry, are you at practice?” Yoongi asks, voice rising a little bit louder to be overhead above his poor choice in radio stations. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,”

Hoseok laughs, short and low, and for a moment, Yoongi forgets about traffic. About Namjoon and Seokjin. About that terrible tomato soup. He forgets about everything else in favour of committing Hoseok’s laughter to memory. 

“Yes, and no, it’s cool, I’m in the middle of a fifteen minute break. I think I have two more minutes left,” Hoseok sounds tired, laden down with the intensity of practice, of hours on end just dancing. 

“Yeah, you should - “ Yoongi pauses mid-sentence to press on the horn, a stream of curses spilling out of his mouth when a small sedan cuts right into his line, causing a near-collision had Yoongi not stomped on the break. 

Hoseok’s voice rings throughout the car, worry and concern lacing his tone when he asks just what the hell’s going on on Yoongi’s end. 

“That was the sound of me almost totalling my car,” Yoongi mumbles, glaring at the sedan in front of him. “But yeah, I was saying, don’t let me keep you. I’m headed back to the office, so,” 

So. 

Quiet for a few moments, and then the sound of shuffling, Hoseok sounding like he’s pushing himself off of the floor. When he says, “Yeah, I’ll call you after this is over, I wanna see you today.” Yoongi can almost hear the smile in his voice. 

Some days are easy, thinks Yoongi. Some days, Yoongi is able to write pages upon pages worth of lyrics. Sit by the piano and actual play something. On some days, some very special, very good days, Yoongi is able to pull away from his laptop, a pleased little smile on his face, and declare that this is it, this is good enough. Today is one of those days - 

Yoongi, phone discarded somewhere to his right, a set of headphones dangling around his neck, and a smug little look on his face. He wants to call Seokjin now, tell him that he’s got it, he’s got most of the song down - he’s got the chorus and the hook, and now all he needs is the bridge, and he’s good. It’s about to get done, and Yoongi’s relieved, so fucking happy that he’s not a complete failure, at least, not entirely. 

And it’s not even tomorrow yet, either. It’s still a few minutes past eight, and that’s good time, really. Yoongi can’t remember exactly what time he’d managed to push into his studio again after that disaster of a lunch with Namjoon, the only thing he had thought of the second he’d sat down being that he had to compose, had to work, and it had - it had simply happened, just like that. It’s unfinished for now, sure, but the skeleton is there, and for now, Yoongi will allow himself to be pleased. 

With the quiet of the too-late hour and the lack of food in him (save that terrible tomato soup that Yoongi regrets, hours after), Yoongi decides to call it a day. He snaps his laptop close and pushes off of his chair, phone slid into a back pocket. He leaves everything where it is, just grabs his keys and his jacket. He’ll be back tomorrow morning, anyway. Yoongi always comes in early in the morning after a good day. Strange how some people operate, but Yoongi’s always rewarded his hard work with even more hard work, because slacking is never a good sign (and Yoongi might get lazy, but he never slacks off). 

He’s about to reach for the door when he hears the lock click, the doorknob turning slowly. Yoongi watches, stunned in silence, as the door cracks open and Hoseok slips through, hood pulled up and a bag slung heavily on one shoulder. He looks refreshed, though, hair damp and his face soft (Yoongi can only assume, he can always try and feel it for himself, but he figures that would be kind of weird). 

“Hi,” Hoseok chirps, smiling up at Yoongi, all pretence left on the other side of the door. He drops his bag on an empty chair and looks around the office, and in the dimly lit room, Yoongi can barely make out the shifting of Hoseok’s gaze from all the recording equipment to Yoongi. He looks nervous all of a sudden. “Sorry, I know I should have called, but I just figured, yeah? Try to see if you were still here,” 

Yoongi’s throat is dry, his fingers twitching in his side. He’s standing just a few steps away from Hoseok, gaze fixed on the boy with the messy hair who’s got the entire horizon in his backdrop, following him around wherever. 

“I’m still here,” Yoongi says, returning Hoseok’s smile with his own, a smile he hopes is good enough to appease his nerves. It’s more of a twitching at the corners of his lips, but it’s enough because suddenly, the tension from Hoseok’s shoulders seep right out of him, a small, tired little sigh escaping from his lips as he walks over closer to Yoongi. “And you’re fine, Hoseok, you can drop by anytime.” 

Hoseok nods, worrying lightly on his lower lip. “Really?” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, leans against the edge of the table, and then stretches his hand out, a clear invitation for Hoseok to take. 

They’d practically slept with each other, so maybe this isn’t too much of a long shot. Maybe this isn’t moving too fast. 

Hoseok looks soft, tired, but he’s got a bit of a spark in his eyes that tells Yoongi that he’s not about to collapse on his feet, and Yoongi wants that. He wants to feel that warmth, wants to bask in it. He wants to feel Hoseok’s hand in his (and he might have wrapped an arm around him cautiously a few days back, but it had been different - Hoseok had been asleep and Yoongi had been no better, falling asleep beside him, too, the both of them leaning against each other, necks stiff the very second they’d woken up). 

There’s a pause where all Hoseok and Yoongi do is stare at each other, Yoongi’s hand hanging in the air between them, an invitation that Hoseok probably won’t take, because Yoongi’s an idiot, and that first date hadn’t even been a date - it had been a joke, christ, who does Yoongi even think of himself, but then - 

But then Hoseok does the complete opposite, and instead of grabbing for Yoongi’s hand, he crosses the few feet between them easily and folds himself against Yoongi’s side, arm winding around Yoongi, fingers folding gently over his shoulders. 

Yoongi wants to ask what this means, the two of them like this, so close, but Hoseok’s laughing, gentle and quiet, almost like he doesn’t quite believe it himself, and for once, Yoongi doesn’t over think things. For once, Yoongi doesn’t doubt. 

“This okay?” Hoseok asks, nose nuzzling into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, his smile brushing softly against the edge of his jaw. “I mean, probably a bit too late to ask, but, y’know,”

The reply he gets is more than okay, because Yoongi scoffs, catching Hoseok completely off guard, the younger boy about to draw back away from him when Yoongi closes the gap between them with a kiss, lips pressing feather-light against Hoseok’s, a hello.

Hoseok kisses him back, surprised but not at all averse to it, and it’s not a very good kiss, because they don’t get much kissing done - Hoseok’s smiling too much and god, this boy is an idiot, thinks Yoongi, but he can’t help it, he kisses him right through it, teeth, too-big grins, and all.

It might not be a very good kiss compared to all the other types of kisses out there, but for a first kiss, it almost feels like a touch of heaven. It feels like what the horizon and the ocean must feel like when they finally meet - sweet, sweet relief. 

When they pull apart, Hoseok’s slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed, and eyes alight with the ferocity of at least a thousand suns. 

“Should’ve kissed you sooner,” Hoseok says, thumb tracing the edge of Yoongi’s jaw, his smile softer now, more relaxed. Languid. Less like his bones are about to crumble and more like he’s finally, finally got the answer he’d been holding his breath for.

And Yoongi - 

Yoongi just rolls his eyes, bumps his hip against Hoseok’s playfully, and laughs, “You’re an idiot.” 

(But he drags Hoseok down for a second kiss, and a third, and a fourth, and they kiss for so long, for so many times, that Yoongi loses count after the fourth, Hoseok’s lips against his sweet and tasting like cherry - cherry flavoured water, Yoongi later learns.)

They don’t exactly drop the news of their most recent development to their friends immediately. They keep it to themselves, for now. Yoongi wants to say that it hasn’t got anything to do with how he works at one of Korea’s top entertainment agency, and that Hoseok’s a backup dancer for the aforementioned entertainment agency, but. But that’s not the case, and it might not be the only reason, but it is a reason, so for now they keep quiet. It’s easier like this, anyway. 

Jimin walking in on them was never in the plan.

Jeongguk stumbling right into Jimin when the boy had stood, frozen and still, was never in the plan, either.

And Taehyung pointing, mouth wide open, and declaring, “Holy shit,” was completely out of the pretty picture Yoongi had constructed. 

It had started out like this - 

Just a normal evening after work, with Yoongi practically dragging Hoseok out of the practice room and into the car, their hands not touching but barely grazing as they walked side by side. 

Yoongi hooks his thumb around Hoseok’s, and it’s barely any contact, barely any skin touching, but this, especially in public, in the company parking lot, is enough. 

Hoseok talks animatedly beside him, recounting the last round of practice with one of the members spraining his ankle after he failed to land his turn. Probably not serious enough to cause a delay in the debut, but still serious enough for the kid to be given a few days off to recover. Hoseok doesn’t sound too pleased with that, but he works too hard, often to the bone, so whatever kind of break he gets, Yoongi’s just relieved.

This - whatever this is between them. Dating, that. Is a new development in Yoongi’s life that he welcomes with open arms, but he still can’t deny that it’s weird. Definitely not odd kind of weird, just weird as in funny. How life turns around, how it moves. Almost in mysterious ways. Yoongi’s long since stopped trying to make sense of things, over thinking leads to destruction, and while he overthinks a lot during work, he prefers to just not when it comes to life and in general. Some things you have to just run for. 

Before they slip into the car and slide into their seats, Hoseok hooks his thumb around Yoongi’s, his smile barely contained as he tries to tug playfully on Yoongi’s hand. 

Yoongi hopes the look on his face is less like he wants to explode in a fiery barrage of colours and more like he’s calm and composed. The usual. 

(And Yoongi notes how nice it is, just that bare minimum contact of skin against skin, the inside of Hoseok’s palm pressing lightly onto his wrist. It would make for a good line, this very instance - would make for a good song, Yoongi thinks. But.

But some things you have to keep private, and this is something Yoongi wants to keep between the two of them, if only for now.) 

The drive back to his apartment is thankfully free of traffic, and the whole time Hoseok keeps on changing the radio station, shuffling back and forth between the hip-hop station and the disgusting pop one (he settles on the pop one, much to Yoongi’s chagrin). 

It’s nice, the two of them like this. It’s natural, even. This progression of events, the way one thing had led to another (probably something more detailed than that, but). Most times, Yoongi would have shied away, would have just said no, but there’s something about Hoseok that keeps Yoongi on his toes.

Maybe it’s because of the way he looks at the sky, with eyes full of wonder. Eyes that reflect at least a dozen constellations. 

Or, maybe it’s because Hoseok’s the boy who can hold his breath long enough to say hi to Yoongi underwater. 

Or it could be both. One thing’s for sure, Hoseok almost feels like a dream.

(And that’s a thought that has Yoongi’s cheeks colouring the instant it occurs to him, something that he passes off with a cough that quickly gets Hoseok’s attention, the other boy quirking up his brow in question at the sudden onslaught of coughing and bad, jerky driving.) 

They stumble back into Yoongi’s apartment, hands held loosely between them, because this is new. This is the start, and Yoongi might have dove carelessly without checking to see if the water was deep enough in the past, but for this, Yoongi is determined to get it right. To see it through, because he likes Hoseok, he’ll admit (and he’ll admit that it hadn’t started off like that, his embarrassment at throwing up all over his shoes overriding the initial reaction of how good looking he is - and how nice, too.). 

The moment the door closes and the lights are on, Hoseok turns to him, teeth worrying on the bottom of his lower lip.

Yoongi drags him over to the couch, fingers linked, and pulls him down on top of him, Hoseok’s legs coming around his side, the boy practically on his lap now, hands laced behind his neck, and his smile replaced with something else, a different look all together. A hungry look, with a fire sparking just behind his eyes.

Hoseok kisses him first, and where all the other kisses had been just around the company, quick pecks they had to contain, less someone accidentally walk in on them, this kiss is the complete opposite. Hoseok licks into his mouth sinfully, fingers tangling in the back of Yoongi’s hair, and Yoongi kisses him back just as hotly, with the same fire that Hoseok’s burning into him, into his skin. Into his bones. 

He swallows all of the pleased little noises that slips past Hoseok’s lips, Yoongi’s hands wandering now, sliding down the length of Hoseok’s sides and settling over his hips, slipping out from under his shirt. 

Hoseok is a warm weight on top of him, legs locked around his and Yoongi won’t have it any other way, because this is great, kissing Hoseok, having him right here, right now, and god.

Yoongi leans back against the couch’s arm rest, Hoseok practically clambering on top of him now as he leans down to follow Yoongi, catching his lower lip between his teeth, and sighing out, small and content, when Yoongi’s hands slip back under his shirt again, warm hands ghosting over his skin, nails dragging softly down his bare back. 

When their eyes lock again, Yoongi finds that there’s no question in Hoseok’s eyes, just an answer and an invitation, and fuck if Yoongi’s going to pass on that. He starts to tug on the hem of Hoseok’s shirt, successfully pushing it off and over his head in seconds, all the while still kissing him, hot fevered kisses that has Yoongi shivering, aching for more.

“Are we really,” Hoseok asks, hand curling around Yoongi’s neck, scratching just behind his ear. He smiles, eyes blown wide with want, with need, and lips swollen and slick from all the kissing. 

Yoongi nods yes, they really are, because they hardly get this much time alone. Yoongi’s schedule is fucked up and Hoseok’s always being driven up against the wall with practice, with the impending debut, and to be quite honest, Yoongi’s also pretty damn curious how good Hoseok can make use of that talent for dancing he has.

With Hoseok’s hand halfway under Yoongi’s shirt and his mouth back on his, Yoongi can’t help but sigh, leaning into his touch, and just letting himself go, hands back and wandering all over Hoseok’s now bare torso. It’s good, the feel of hot skin under warm hands. So good Yoongi can’t help but think how else Hoseok will taste, how he’ll sound. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Yoongi hisses, Hoseok’s knee accidentally digging into his side in Hoseok’s effort to try and pull his shirt off. He obliges, his shirt already half-way off when the door turns, the lock clicking open. 

They both freeze, Hoseok hovering on top of him and practically half-naked now, eyes wide, but this time with shock.

Yoongi watches as the door opens and Jimin stands, mouth hanging open and whatever greeting he has lost as he braces himself on the nearby coat rack, Jeongguk running straight into him. 

It could have been comical, watching the two of boys fall onto Yoongi’s floor, but instead, it’s painful, and had Yoongi not felt bad for them (the floors are hard, after all), then he would’ve been mad (because of course, Jimin would know the passcode to Yoongi’s apartment, of fucking course, the little brat.).

It’s Taehyung who breaks the silence, cutting into the heaviest, most awkward air ever. 

“Holy shit,” Taehyung says, eyes wide and a hand pointing at the both of them, still on the couch, Hoseok still half-naked. 

Hoseok gives up then, falling on top of Yoongi and slumping against him, face buried in the crook of his neck.

Yoongi glares at the three of them, because this, the fucking interruption, hadn’t been in the plan. Kissing Hoseok senseless and maybe, maybe going farther was definitely the plan, but now that’s moot, with Taehyung practically jumping in his spot and gesturing excitedly at the both of them.

Jimin and Jeongguk push themselves off of the floor, the looks on their faces equally shocked and embarrassed, faces pink and their eyes wide. 

“Oh, wow,” Jeongguk says while Jimin slaps a hand over Taehyung’s mouth, effectively cutting off the long stream of “holy shit, holy shit, holy shit”. 

“What is this?” Jeongguk asks, eyes unwillingly travelling back to Yoongi and Hoseok, still on the couch, and still in different stages of undress. 

Jimin picks the coat rack off of the floor, his smile forced and awkward as he raises a hand up to Yoongi and Hoseok, “Hi, bad time?”

Yoongi glowers at the three of them, groans out a, “Fuck off, all of you,” and closes his eyes, arm coming around Hoseok, more to steady himself than anything, because Hoseok’s a laughing mess on top of him, shoulders shaking and his laughter loud. 

With the younger kids knowing about Yoongi and Hoseok, it was just a matter of time before the rest found out, too. 

So, naturally, Namjoon finds out two hours later, calling Yoongi up and practically screaming into his ear when Yoongi finally picks up (Hoseok somewhere behind him, shuffling around the kitchen and trying to make something for dinner, an almost impossible feat with the lack of actual food in Yoongi’s fridge). 

“How old are you? Shut up,” Yoongi hisses at him through the phone, cheeks colouring when Namjoon refuses to shut up, his loud chorus of “oh my god, hyung, what the fuck,” ringing loud in Yoongi’s ears. He’s five seconds away from just chucking his phone out the window if Namjoon doesn’t let up.

“Did you really just call me to scream like a twelve year old?” Yoongi asks, glaring at the TV screen. He hears Namjoon moving around on his end, and then more laughter, followed by the distinct sound of the car alarm. “I think somebody’s trying to steal your car,”

“No, I just bumped into it,” Namjoon explains, laughter finally subsiding. “And hey, this is just payback, you were a complete shit to Jin hyung,”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, leans his head against the counter, and groans, “Fine, karma is a bitch, just fuck off. And tell Jimin he’s dead to me and that I’m changing my passcode,”

Before Namjoon hangs up, the boy tells him that he’s not doing anything like that - he’s keeping his passcode as is, because changing it would mean that he’s revoking Namjoon’s rights to trespass into his apartment, too, and the poor, stupid little idiot just won’t have it. 

Yoongi doesn’t change the passcode but he does spend the rest of the evening mumbling death threats under his breath, only calmed when Hoseok drags him close, hands on his hips, his touch hot, but.

But Yoongi is hungry and the whole mood has been ruined, so they don’t do anything else but eat the soggiest ramen noodles Yoongi’s ever had (they give up on it after three minutes, Hoseok’s poor attempt at cooking rewarded with a few dozen kisses and an order for chicken).

Before Hoseok leaves, Yoongi curls his fingers into the front of his shirt, dragging him down closer to him, “G’night,” Yoongi says, kissing him squarely on the mouth, tasting a mixture between a few spices and soda. 

Sweet with a little bit of a kick, just like Hoseok. 

“Next time,” Hoseok promises, hands smoothing down the front of Yoongi’s shirt. “You’ve got terrible friends, too,”

Yoongi reminds him rather pointedly that they’re as good his friends as they are Hoseok’s, and Hoseok deflects the insult with a scowl, “They’re terrible, we should just shun all of them,”

“Jimin wouldn’t leave you alone if you did, but you can try,” Yoongi ushers him into the elevator, hands regretfully letting go of Hoseok. “We can try,”

They don’t, of course, because their friends mean well, they do. They just have terrible timing most of the time.

Yoongi watches as the elevator door closes, blocking Hoseok’s smile, but when he patters off back to his apartment, he can’t help but think that - 

That this has been a good afternoon, a good day. Actually, it’s been a good few weeks with Hoseok. 

With the door close and music softly filtering through the speakers by his bed side table, Yoongi props a notebook on his lap, pencil poised and ready to write. He ends up writing about the same boy who’d been swallowed up by the sky, but this time, he learns to swim. 

Yoongi ends up writing about Hoseok, and come the next morning, he’s not surprised, or embarrassed by it. But he does keep it to himself, though, for now, because while it’s not something he should shy away from, it is something that he’s slightly shocked at - for someone he’s known for a few short months, it’s surprising how much Yoongi likes him already, and -

And it doesn’t take an actual genius to tell that Yoongi actually, genuinely likes him. 

Likes him enough to write a song about him. Christ, what will Seokjin say about that, Yoongi wonders.

“How’s it going?” Seokjin asks, rifling through one of Yoongi’s discarded notebooks. “Heard you had a song for the rookie group already, yeah?” Yoongi knows he’s just dawdling, dragging the introduction to this god forsaken conversation even longer, because Seokjin’s known that already since the last week, there’s no other reason for him to be up here, bothering Yoongi and rattling on about a song that he’s known about for seven days now. Unless. 

“Heard a few other things, too,” Seokjin’s smile is innocent, just a twinge of playfulness in it. Yoongi can’t imagine how Namjoon puts up with him, or how Seokjin puts up with Namjoon. Maybe this is why they’re together, because nobody else can put up with them. For the sake of his job and just to keep his good mood, Yoongi keeps that thought to himself, and instead dignifies Seokjin’s little query with a quirk of his eyebrow and an offhanded shrug. 

“Do you want to listen to the other songs? I have about three here, now,” Yoongi clicks open a file on his laptop, Seokjin swivelling in his chair to turn towards him. “I need the kids up here by Thursday, we’re gonna start recording,” 

There’s about eight months left for their impending debut, and in order to get things really started, they have to start recording soon. Choreography will come right after.

(And that does something to Yoongi, imagining Hoseok dancing to a song he’s composed, he’s produced. 

Yoongi tries rather hard - and very successfully, too - to push the thoughts aside, because he’s at work. He’s working, it’s definitely not the time to be thinking about the boy that he’s sort of dating. Sort of.)

“They’ve been a little bit slow the past few days, Joohyuk’s still got a sprained foot,” Seokjin slides the notebook back towards Yoongi, a furrow in his brows. “They’re already overworking those kids,”

“They’ll be fine,” Yoongi grits out, passing an earpiece to Seokjin. “They’ll turn out fine, hyung,” Yoongi’s not sure if he’s certain about it, or if he’s just saying it for the sake of reassuring Seokjin, but there’s something about that bunch of kids. They’re determined, they’re young, and they’re training under one of Korea’s most successful entertainment companies. Yoongi’s got a feeling they’ll be more than fine. 

“Well, let’s listen to it, then,” Seokjin carefully fits the earphone into his ear, his shoulder brushing lightly against Yoongi’s when he leans towards him, his smile almost cheshire like when he says, “And you’ve made good progress on one of those kids, huh?” 

Yoongi groans, huffs out his response, and smacks his finger down on the space bar. 

“Fuck off.” He mutters under his breath, but Seokjin doesn’t hear him anymore, the first notes of the song already dropping. 

Seokjin loves the song. He loves all three of the songs, and that’s saying something, since Seokjin hardly says his praise out right - he might be a nice guy, but when it comes to music, when it comes to work, he’s viciously meticulous. A perfectionist, in his own right. Yoongi understands because he’s exactly the same. 

With the Seokjin stamp of approval practically plastered on the first three songs, Yoongi feels slightly better. And to think he’d thought he was going to fuck it up, send these rookie idols straight into their idol grave even before they’ve had a chance to truly shine.

As his reward (for himself, Yoongi would never give Seokjin anything unless it was a prank, or his birthday. Maybe for Christmas, just maybe), Yoongi excuses himself (to nobody in particular, he doesn’t share his studio with anybody, which is a good thing. Probably Yoongi’s favourite thing about the job.) early from work but doesn’t go home immediately.

Yoongi’s definition of “early” is the complete opposite of every desk worker’s definition of “early”. Early is when he doesn’t have to stay past midnight, staring resolutely at a blank computer screen, or with his hands cramped from pressing too harshly onto the piano keys, with the beat to a new song thumping against his ears. It’s quarter to twelve and Yoongi considers this early, quite. 

He heads down to the practice rooms, knows that Hoseok’s making up for lost time by exerting even more effort into practice, and had Yoongi not known better, he would have definitely asked why Hoseok pushes himself too hard for an idol group that isn’t his, but Yoongi knows just where Hoseok’s passion lies, and it’s in dancing. And besides. 

(“I don’t want to be in an idol group,” Hoseok had said one afternoon in Yoongi’s studio. “I just really like to dance. Want to keep on dancing.” And whatever else he could have said about the topic, whatever else explanation that would have followed it, had been cut short when Yoongi pulled him onto his lap and dragged him down for a kiss.)

Yoongi finds Hoseok in one of the smaller practice rooms. There’s sound of activity in a room a few doors down, but here, Hoseok is alone. And sprawled on the floor, hair fanning out from behind him, arms and legs spread out. 

He looks dead.

“Are you dead?” Yoongi asks, crouching down low next to him. He stretches his hand out, fingers brushing carefully through Hoseok’s damp hair. “You look very dead, please don’t be dead,”

Hoseok’s eyes flutter open slowly, the smile on his face tired, “I feel very dead,” his chest is heaving, his breath heavy. He sounds dead. Looks dead. He must be dead.

Yoongi cups a hand gently over his cheek, letting his touch linger for a few seconds too long. They’re in an empty dance studio at near-midnight in a mostly empty company building. There are maybe half a dozen more people on the same floor as them, just a few doors down, but this, Yoongi thinks, is fine. Touching Hoseok like this, looking at him like this, it’s fine. Enough. Through the cover of midnight and the silence the night brings, Yoongi knows that they can get away with it. 

“Get up, it’s time to go home,” Yoongi murmurs, hand curling lightly on Hoseok’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He leans down, brushing soft lips against Hoseok’s forehead, his greeting coming a bit too late. “Hello, by the way,”

Hoseok looks at him with clearer eyes, his mouth popping open into a little “o” when he realises just how close they are. “Hi,” Hoseok breathes out, pushing himself up on his elbows and tilting his head up, catching Yoongi’s mouth in a kiss, slow and gentle. Nice. 

“Now get up,” Yoongi coaxes him up into a sitting position, hands trying to pull on his shoulders, trying to pull him up and onto his feet. Hoseok doesn’t move to stand, but at least he’s sitting up straighter now. “Hoseok, you can’t sleep here,”

“I’m tired,” Hoseok whines, fingers catching at the edge of Yoongi’s shirt. “Maybe if you gave me a piggyback, I’ll consider not dying in the dance studio. You know, if I do die here, then that means I’m going to haunt this entire building,”

He would have gone on and on with that, a long, overdrawn story about ghosts, and pseudo-dying, and haunting everyone’s asses in the company, but Yoongi stops him immediately. Some other time, he’ll listen to it, but for now, they both need to go home. Need to sleep. 

“Okay,” Yoongi says, straightening up. “I’m not picking you up, though, so you have to get on yourself,” 

Hoseok blinks up at him, staring disbelievingly, mouth open with a question that gets lodged in his throat. Are you fucking serious? His eyes seem to say, and Yoongi shrugs, because, yeah, Hoseok had asked for it. He looks tired enough to only be half-joking. 

“C’mon, Hobi,” The nickname rolls familiarly off his tongue, and Yoongi’s cheeks colour at it, because, fuck, he sounds actually fond of Hoseok. Nicknames and all. 

“Okay, okay,” Hoseok’s smiling now, eyes coming completely alive at Yoongi’s offer. He pushes himself up to his feet, slings his bag across his back, and waits for Yoongi to bend down slightly enough so he can clamber onto his back. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” Yoongi mumbles, staggering slightly when Hoseok catches him by surprise, practically throwing himself onto Yoongi, his laughter dying in the middle when he realises what Yoongi had just said. What Yoongi actually means.

For a moment, Yoongi is afraid he’d said the wrong thing, scared Hoseok off, but then he feels the boy’s arms wind around his neck, and his breath warm against his ear.

“You like me?” Hoseok asks, voice sounding far away, surprised. He nuzzles his face into the side of Yoongi’s neck, hair tickling Yoongi’s cheek, causing him to stumble a little bit under his weight. 

Yoongi hooks his hands behind Hoseok’s legs, keeping them locked and secured on either side of him as he finally straightens up. Hoseok’s not too heavy on his back, he’s just right. Just enough. Yoongi likes it, the feel of Hoseok pressed to him, even through at least two layers of clothes. 

“Good,” Yoongi hears Hoseok say, feeling his smile before it actually breaks out across his face. Hoseok turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss to the edge of Yoongi’s jaw. “I like you, too, hyung.”

Hoseok catches the corner of Yoongi’s mouth in a kiss, and with the both of them so close like this, Hoseok practically breathing down the side of his neck, Yoongi knows that it’s fucking obvious just how hot his face is, how pink his cheeks are. But, he can’t help it. He snorts out a laugh, his smile spreading a little bit wider. 

Happy, this is what it is. And relief, too. 

They come hand in hand, after all.

Just like him and Hoseok. 

Yoongi pulls over by the curb of Hoseok’s apartment, fingers curling around the steering wheel. Something’s changed, he can tell. The air between them is lighter, somehow. Things feel more right, better. Yoongi turns to look at Hoseok, already unbuckling the seatbelt and fumbling around for his bag. 

“Thanks,” Hoseok kisses him his goodbye, tugging on the front of Yoongi’s shirt and dragging him towards him, kissing him over the gear shift and under the bright orange light of the car. “And I sort of take back what I said,” Hoseok murmurs against the side of his mouth, lips brushing softly on Yoongi’s skin.

This is it, this is exactly what Yoongi is holding his breath for. Instinct and self-preservation calls for Yoongi to pull away and beat Hoseok to the punch, tell him that it’s okay, whatever it is he’s got to say. But instead, Yoongi lets out a small sigh and waits.

“I like you a lot,” Hoseok reiterates, his smile completely wiped off and replaced with a more worried, more nervous expression now. His brow furrows, eyes downcast, staring at his and Yoongi’s hands, interlocked. “Like, a whole fucking lot, it’s ridiculous, I know.” 

Before Yoongi even knows what he’s doing, he’s already unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door, hurriedly making his way to Hoseok’s side, who meets him with an expression on his face that shows that he’s no less worried or confused. 

“Good,” A smile tugs at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth, at the memory of Hoseok saying the exact same thing. It’s almost like a game between them, how fun this could be. Mixed in with anticipation and just that spark of surprise. It’s breathtaking, is what it is. “I like you a whole fucking lot, too,” 

Yoongi’s never thought that it would be this easy, talking. Just letting things out. He’s always known about the depths of the ocean and the beauty of the sky, but now, with Hoseok, Yoongi thinks he knows about the vastness of the universe, too, of the countless stars and galaxies dotting across their sky. 

The breath Hoseok lets out is sharp, his cheeks flushed, and it’s a pretty look on him, flustered. Embarrassed, almost.

“Do you want to come up?” Hoseok asks, looking over his shoulder at the front door to his apartment building. “It’s not much, y’know, but I’ve got a couch,” Hoseok hooks an arm around Yoongi’s neck, pulling him closer against him.

“And a bed,” Hoseok adds, voice a hot whisper against Yoongi’s ear. 

Yoongi swallows past the lump in his throat, hopes that it’s not so obvious how his hands shake slightly when his grip around Hoseok tightens, hopes that his voice doesn’t betray the need, or the want. 

“I have a couch, too, and a bed,” Yoongi tries for a joke, smiling at Hoseok. 

Hoseok rolls his eyes, “Yeah, but I’ve got a fridge with actual food,” 

And he tugs on Yoongi’s hand, practically dragging him alongside him as they both stumble down the long hallway and up the stairs that leads to Hoseok’s floor. 

When they finally managed to push through the doors to Hoseok’s apartment, the farthest thing on Yoongi’s mind is rummaging through Hoseok’s fridge.

“We’re doing this?” Yoongi asks, suddenly serious. He grips at Hoseok’s wrists, stopping him from tugging at the edge of his shirt. Yoongi feels stupid asking, because they’d practically been on the edge of this very same thing just a few days ago, and they would’ve gone through with it had the three idiots not shown up, but here, now, in Hoseok’s apartment, with nobody (thank god) to disturb them and tear them away from each other, it all suddenly seems real.

“You want to?” Hoseok asks, voice low. He looks at Yoongi with heavy eyes and flushed cheeks. From the cold, mostly, but also because of Yoongi’s hands, suddenly creeping up under his shirt and settling on the jut of his hip. 

It’s a stupid question, Yoongi’s a fucking idiot for asking, and he’s done this countless times before to know what he’s doing, but it’s just different with Hoseok. Yoongi looks at him and he thinks, he actually thinks things through. He looks at Hoseok and he wants to stay, wants this to work out. 

So of course he’s going to try and do things right, however awkward the execution may be. 

“Fuck, yeah, I want you,” Yoongi catches Hoseok’s bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a sharp gasp from the other boy. His knuckles press into Hoseok’s skin, suddenly warm. “We’re doing this, yeah?”

Hoseok guides him with a hand on the small of his back and another folded on his shoulder, steering him towards the bedroom. Hoseok leans over Yoongi to fumble with the door knob, pushing Yoongi into the room, pitch dark for the first few seconds until Hoseok flicks the switch to a nearby lamp. 

Yoongi drags Hoseok onto the bed with him, the both of them practically falling on top of each other, a heaping mess of nervous laughter and hot energy just bubbling below the surface, just a few degrees before boiling point. 

“Okay?” Hoseok successfully manages to push Yoongi’s shirt over his head, discarding his in the next second. “Yoongi,” Hoseok clambers on top of Yoongi’s lap, feeling the growing arousal from under him as he brushes against it, Yoongi’s warmth practically seeping through the thin denim of his skinny jeans. 

“Hoseok,” Fingers cling to the back of Hoseok’s hair. Yoongi tugs on it experimentally, and then tugs on it a second time just to watch Hoseok squirm on top of him, head thrown back, baring his neck. 

How beautiful, Yoongi thinks, kissing down the length of his neck, teeth grazing sensuously down his smooth skin, pausing only to suck a bruising kiss onto Hoseok’s collarbone. Yoongi watches as it quickly turns a shade darker, and christ, he almost sort of regrets wanting to do other things because he can’t see that mark blossom. 

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. 

Hoseok returns the kiss by grinding down on his lap, hands finding purchase on the hair at the back of Yoongi’s nape. 

“We’re doing this,” Yoongi has a feeling Hoseok’s saying it more to himself than to him, and he laughs, a little bit giddy and a whole lot breathless. “Yoongi, come on,” 

Hoseok’s hands settle against Yoongi’s chest, burning hot through his skin, and then Hoseok pushes him onto the bed, hovering above him with barely contained mirth and amusement. 

Sex, Yoongi thinks, is great, but it’s fun, too, when it’s done right. Done with the right person. 

And Yoongi has to applaud Hoseok’s skill, really, because one second Yoongi had been wearing pants, and the next he feels the cold rush of air and the lack of material - both pants and boxers, just how fucking out of it was Yoongi to have not noticed Hoseok working his way down, hands successfully pulling off both his pants and boxers in one swift motion (except it catches around Yoongi’s ankles, and there’s a bit of shuffling around and a little more laughter between them when Yoongi struggles to get them off.).

“Fuck, how tight are these?” Hoseok asks, finally pulling the pants all the way off.

Yoongi smothers his laugh into the back of his hand, “Out of context, that would’ve been sexual,”

“Out of context,” Hoseok repeats, hands back on Yoongi’s skin, roaming down the length of his torso, across his stomach, and brushing just low enough to tease. “But, fortunately for you, this is just the right context,”

 There’s not much else to say, Yoongi’s protests dying even before they could slip past his lips, because suddenly Hoseok’s got a hold around his cock, fingers closing in around his length, and, well, fuck, if that doesn’t feel nice. 

“Okay?” Hoseok asks again, tugging on it experimentally, slowly. 

Yoongi props himself up on his elbows just in time to see Hoseok go down on him, lips wrapping around his erection, and he’s still smiling, the bastard, obviously amused and aroused at the same time. It’s a sight to see, Hoseok’s cheeks hallowing as he swallows around Yoongi’s erection, every moan from Yoongi spurring him on. 

His hips twitch up on their own accord, something Yoongi can’t help, not when Hoseok’s got his pretty, pretty lips wrapped around his length, and especially not when Hoseok’s eyes are blown with want, with need, his face flushed, and his tongue licking a hot, wet stripe up Yoongi’s length.

Yoongi’s bones threaten to burst through his skin and fly away while his heart stutters to a soft murmuring under Hoseok’s touches. Yoongi wants more, needs more, and Hoseok is right here, so close, and as beautiful as the skies are blue. 

“Shit,” Yoongi’s fingers twist into Hoseok’s hair, tugging a little bit too harshly because it has Hoseok pulling away from him, a dazed look in his eyes. “Come here,” 

The kiss is messy, too much tongue and wandering hands - Hoseok’s got a hold around his cock again, thumb swiping across the slit, and when Yoongi moans out Hoseok’s name, Hoseok kisses him numb and breathless, so fucking hard Yoongi starts to see the stars. 

Kissing Hoseok is perfect, and it shoots straight up Yoongi’s list of most favourite things to do. Hoseok shoots up and settles right on top of that list, because Yoongi’s already so fond of him, likes him enough to be so careful about this, to want this to work out. 

The only thing out of Hoseok’s mouth is Yoongi’s name, repeated again and again like a fucking mantra, breath catching in his throat when Yoongi kisses his neck, nails dragging down his back, and his hips rolling against Hoseok, back arching off the bed slight enough to meet Hoseok’s hips with his own, their erections brushing against each other, and, “Fuck, Christ,” 

Hoseok has the common decency - or the absolute lack of it - to smile down at Yoongi, and even with Yoongi’s hand around his length, with his hair tousled beyond repair now, Hoseok still looks perfect. He looks even more perfect like this, completely coming undone under Yoongi’s careful ministrations. 

“You look really, really good,” Yoongi’s aware of how low his voice sounds, how rough it is, and it stirs up a fire in his gut. Starts a fire right at the back of Hoseok’s eyes. Like a star going out in a powerful explosion. 

The next thing that happens is natural, coming to them easily. Yoongi loosens his hold around Hoseok’s cock, mouth popping open in a silent exclamation when Hoseok grinds down against him, hands coming back to push on his shoulders, pressing him back against the mattress, the sheets. Into the pillows. 

Hoseok slicks his fingers up, wiggling them in front of Yoongi’s face, and Yoongi’s so painfully hard now that he doesn’t have it in him to roll his eyes, or really put up a fight against the idiot, so instead, he throws his head to the side, digs his fingers into Hoseok’s hips, and groans, “If you’re going to leave me hanging, I’m going to kill you.” 

“Would you?” The tip of his finger brushes past Yoongi’s entrance, and it sends a shiver up his spine, because Yoongi wants more, and Hoseok is being a total fucking idiot about it, and god, why did Yoongi have to fall for the idiot? “Push me into a bus, like you said you would?”

Not fair, how Hoseok’s recounting a drunken threat that Yoongi had almost forgotten. 

“Stop stalling,” Yoongi hisses out through clenched teeth, leg hooking around Hoseok’s waist and dragging him closer, Hoseok almost losing his balance if not for the hand that he settles on Yoongi’s hip. “Hoseok, come on, come on - “ The rest of his words are cut off, replaced with a sharp moan when Hoseok finally pushes in, finger working its way inside of Yoongi and curling experimentally, careful not to hurt him, careful not to move too fast, or forcefully stretch him out too soon. 

It’s a tight fit, and it’s been a while, but god, if Yoongi didn’t want this then he wouldn’t be pushing for more, asking for more, practically whining out Hoseok’s name, and it’s embarrassing, he can hear himself, can barely contain the low groan when Hoseok works three fingers into him, the boy’s forehead slick with sweat, lower lip bruised from worrying on it too much. Or because Yoongi had kissed him too hard, who knows. 

The slide isn’t exactly painless, and when Hoseok finally starts to push inside of him, hands settled around Yoongi’s shoulders, gently working his way in, Yoongi can’t help but hiss out in pain, eyes closed tight as he waits, as he breathes. As Hoseok waits it out with him, hand fanning across his stomach, gently kneading into his belly, helping him through it. Gentle, tender, and absolutely fucking perfect Yoongi’s not even sure why they’d waited this long, how they’d managed to drag this out too long when just the feel of Hoseok’s skin against his is enough to set an entire forest on fucking fire. 

“Okay,” Yoongi breathes out, tugging Hoseok down for a kiss, less fierce and more gentle. Sweeter. “Okay.” He repeats, moving first, rolling his hips once, twice, until it feels better, feels good, until Hoseok regains his breath and matches him, one hand curling almost painfully on Yoongi’s hip and the other fumbling for Yoongi’s free hand, finding it in this semi-darkness after a few messy tries. 

“Oh, fuck,” It sounds filthy, the slap of skin against skin, their heavy breathing mixed in with their sharp, breathy moans. Even more filthy is how Hoseok looks on top of him, hair sticking to his forehead and lips kiss-swollen and perfect, hips slamming against Yoongi, pushing himself further, deeper, and it had been a rough start, but they’ve got a rhythm now, and it’s absolutely brilliant. 

With Yoongi kissing the edge of Hoseok’s jaw, practically biting down on his collarbone and his free hand twisting into the back of Hoseok’s neck, Hoseok’s breath stutters into a long, loud moan that has Yoongi’s toes curling because suddenly Hoseok’s got a grip around him again, forehead knocking against Yoongi’s, forcing him to lift his head back up, and look at him. 

It’s hard to see much when the stars cloud his vision, but Yoongi tries so fucking hard. To keep his head on straight, to keep himself from crying out in pure pleasure, to keep himself from twisting his fingers harshly into Hoseok’s hair, digging his nails hard enough into his skin that he’ll leave fingernail-shaped indents the next morning. Hoseok’s got to show up for practice again, and Yoongi suspects that it’s not such a good image to show up all sex-ravaged. 

“Yoongi,” The name drips out of Hoseok’s mouth like honey, sweet and heavy, and Yoongi obliges him, arching off the bed and meeting him for a kiss, this time sloppy, messy, and filthy, because Hoseok’s hand is all slicked up and working around Yoongi’s cock, tugging him off the edge, his hips moving in slow, deliberate circles that has Yoongi’s toes curling in complete and utter pleasure, because this is wonderful, great, and god, who knew?

The ocean is a vast and powerful thing, and Yoongi’s spent so much of his life underwater that when he finally breaks through the surface, it’s to find that the sun is warm against his skin and the water refreshing instead of intimidating and dark. Hoseok is warm and refreshing, the way he walks on the clouds, the way he’s able to pull Yoongi out of the water and drag him to the surface with him, up into the clouds and higher.

With a final thrust, Yoongi comes, Hoseok’s name stuttering out of his lips like staccato beats.

 

Hoseok isn’t far behind, and Yoongi might be spent and basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, but he kisses Hoseok again, arms coming around to lock around his neck, fingers softly tugging at the tufts of hair behind his neck. Slow, sweet, tender. 

“I’m - “ Hoseok doesn’t finish, his exclamation of Yoongi’s name, of whatever expletive there is that’ll work, that’s enough (nothing is enough to describe the sensation of being inside of Yoongi, of watching Yoongi fall apart beneath him), smothered when Yoongi kisses him through it, swallowing every moan that Hoseok breathes out, riding the wave with him, waiting for the aftershocks to settle. 

“Fuck,” Hoseok plops down on top of him, after carefully pulling out and discarding the used condom somewhere (“I threw it into the bin, Yoongi, do you really think I’d throw it on the goddamn floor?”). He nuzzles his face into the crook of Yoongi’s shoulder, arm coming around Yoongi’s middle lazily. Possessively, though, how his hold tightens. How he doesn’t let go. “Fuck.” 

Yoongi’s still panting, his brain reeling. The ocean current is heavy, the waves strong, crashing against him. But he’s got Hoseok to hold on to, and for once, Yoongi isn’t afraid of being pulled under again, because Hoseok can swim well, can tread the water for forever, probably, just to keep Yoongi company. 

“I need a moment,” Yoongi says, turning his head to the side to look at Hoseok, nose nudging at the side of his cheek. 

Hoseok pats his stomach weakly, “You can have two moments. Have all the moments you want,” 

A laugh gets caught in Yoongi’s throat. He stops mid-laugh, his throat feeling a little bit raw and his brain a little bit too fucked out. 

Quiet descends on them, the silence comforting, Hoseok’s presence beside him warm. Familiar. 

Yoongi tugs the blanket over their shoulders, fitting himself beside Hoseok. The afterglow of sex fades and so does the raging currents and the high tides. Everything around them settles, everything except for the erratic beating of Yoongi’s heart, drumming behind his ribcage, a most unfamiliar marching-song. 

“Moment over,” Yoongi announces, kissing the edge of Hoseok’s jaw. His thumb rubs around a particularly dark bruise that’s already blossoming, right on the base of Hoseok’s throat. Easily concealable under a sweatshirt. Or a turtleneck and a scarf. 

Hoseok hums softly, his lips pressing in to kiss Yoongi blindly, meeting hair instead of his forehead. Or his mouth. “Okay, good, great. Now I need you to have maybe a six-hour long moment, because we have to sleep,” 

Idiot, Yoongi wants to say, but he doesn’t, because some things go without saying, and that proclamation would only be met with a smug little grin and a chuckle. So instead, Yoongi just laughs, head thrown back into the pillows, and his heart full. 

“I’ll have a seven-hour long moment, just for you,” 

Hoseok’s laughter is warm. Refreshing. It’s everything Yoongi would have expected from a boy who dances with the stars and walks amongst the clouds. 

They fall asleep in each others arms, and it’s oddly reminiscent to the first time they’d slept together. It’s the same, almost, except.

Except things have taken a sharp turn. They’ve both taken down a new path, and it’s okay, it’s not scary at all, not when Yoongi sleeps to the comforting sound of Hoseok’s heartbeat, a distinct thump, thump, thump.

“Good night,” Hoseok whispers, lips brushing gently on Yoongi’s cheek, feather light and adorable. Perfect. 

Yoongi closes his eyes, succumbing to the heaviness of sleep that pulls him under. 

“G’night, Hoseok.” A gentle twisting of his fingers into Hoseok’s hair and a last kiss to the edge of the boy’s mouth before sleep washes over him.

Hoseok stands up to leave first, but not before he lingers by the side of the table, fingers catching on the front of Yoongi’s fringe, combing it back. He leaves a small, chaste kiss to the side of his mouth, his smile beautiful, and his hold around Yoongi’s wrist warm. 

“I gotta go,” Hoseok chirps, straightening up. He turns to Jimin, his grin wider now. He ruffles his hair playfully, amusement growing when Jimin recoils, swatting his hands away. “What a brat.”

Yoongi’s fingers drum quietly on the table top, gaze following after Hoseok, only averting when Hoseok steps out of the restaurant and crosses the next street over.

He hears Jimin snicker, “You’re such a creep, hyung,” 

Jimin gets a kick under the table for the unwanted comment and a very pointed look, “I think I should stop feeding you,” 

“No, I was kidding,” Jimin goes back to his food, chopsticks clicking at Yoongi before he swoops down to pluck an egg roll from the basket in the middle of the table. “I actually meant you look really happy,” 

A few moments of silence, with Yoongi just watching Jimin eat. Devour egg roll after egg roll, and glass after glass of orange juice. Jimin’s far too old already to be excusing his feasts as “a growing boy’s needs”, but Yoongi thinks it’s sort of cute, just watching Jimin eat. Cheeks puffy and his smile absolutely contented after every end of the meal. 

Maybe this is why Yoongi’s too kind to these kids. He likes them too much, has grown way too fond of them already. Jimin, especially, which probably explains just how it’s possible for Jimin to always be tagging along to his dates with Hoseok. Any other one of them and Yoongi would have put his foot down and ended the call. 

“You look happier, hyung,” Jimin repeats himself, finally pushing the plate of food away, his chopsticks set aside now. He smiles at Yoongi, all cheeky and friendly. Genuinely happy and just a little bit amused. “I mean it, hyung.” 

Yoongi brushes it away with a duck of his head and an aversion of his gaze. The last he wants is for Jimin to be commenting on his so-called relationship. Yoongi doesn’t need that, doesn’t want validation from anybody else. 

But he supposes that this feels kind of nice, too. 

And when it’s the truth slapped to his face like that, Yoongi’s got no reason to really deny it or call it otherwise.

So instead, he just nods his head, careful not to lift his face too much, less his flushed face become too obvious (Jimin notices it immediately, laughing from across the table and calling him, “Adorable, hyung.”). 

“You think so?” His cheeks are burning and there’s a stirring in his gut. A crazy fluttering of butterflies, that’s what they call it. 

Jimin laughs again, light and tinkling, and says, “Happy and disgustingly so, if you have to know.” 

Remind me again why I’m always feeding you for free?” All he wants to do is bury his face in his hands and maybe kiss Hoseok for the next hour. Or three. Or for the next day. Next three days. Maybe kiss him for a really long time. Yeah, most definitely. But instead, Yoongi is stuck with Jimin at a hole-in-the-wall type of restaurant. On the bright side, there’s not nearly enough people that’ll react if, say, Jimin were to topple out of his chair.

While the thought is entertaining and the image of Jimin sprawled on the dirty floor hilarious, Yoongi holds himself back, and just sighs. 

“Because I’m your favourite,” Jimin grins, throwing a piece of napkin at him. “And because I’m broke as fuck, if you don’t feed me then I’m going to starve.”

“The second one,” Yoongi murmurs, nodding solemnly. “I believe it’s the second one.”

Yoongi’s lounged on the couch of his studio, notebook propped on top of his stomach when Namjoon comes through the door, bearing with him two iced coffees and a box full of donuts. Well, Yoongi’s not sure exactly what the box is full of, but if it isn’t donuts then Namjoon doesn’t have any right to plop himself down on one of Yoongi’s really comfortable chairs.

“I got donuts,” Namjoon declares, tossing the box at Yoongi. He has the foresight not to do the very same thing to the iced coffee, because the box clatters off Yoongi’s feet and falls to the floor. He hears the donuts tumble over each other, the wonderful, delicious bread now a wonderful, delicious mushy mess inside. 

“And coffee,” Namjoon passes it over to him with a quirk of his eyebrows. 

“For someone who’s supposed to be running a rising blue-chip company, you sure do have a lot of free time,” Yoongi plucks the box from the floor and takes the offered coffee. Namjoon knows how to work with Yoongi’s moods, knows exactly how not to get himself kicked out of what Yoongi has dubbed as his own sanctuary. “Why do you have so much free time? Are you even working or do you just come over here to shag the -“

“Enough, enough,” Namjoon stops him before he can even finish the sentence, and Yoongi leans back against the plush cushions of his couch with a pleased, small little smirk. “And I have the day off. It’s when you’re not working, when you take a break from work, I know it’s a foreign concept, but some people actually take day offs,”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “Seokjin just told me I took too many day offs, most of them unaccounted for and supposed to be “invalid” and totally not “approved”, but let’s be real,” A pause while Yoongi rifles through the sort-of-smushed donuts, looking for the strawberry filled one. “He gave the okay for my fucked up schedule. Technically, he also gave the advanced “okay” to all my excessive day offs.” 

Probably not true, but Yoongi gets away with most things so long as he comes back better (and with actual songs, too. Maybe his three day long absence had been swept under the rug because he’d come back with a completed album for the rookie group, and that had been enough for Seokjin. Yoongi’s job was done - sort of, anyway.). 

“I don’t know how you get away with all of this shit,” A sweeping gesture to Yoongi’s elaborate studio. “Do you even work?”

It’s a joke, they both know it, but that still warrants a throw pillow at Namjoon’s head. The pillow hits its mark squarely, and Yoongi scoffs. “I am the backbone of this company,”

A complete lie, but only because there are a few more experienced and seasoned producers who’ve gone and released maybe a few dozen more albums and songs more than Yoongi.

He’s only been doing this for two years professionally, but he’s already made good progress.

“Sure you are, hyung,” Namjoon nods, nudging Yoongi’s knees to the side. He throws himself down on Yoongi’s couch, almost spilling his coffee as he tries to make himself comfortable. Namjoon leans closer towards him, eyeing the open notebook to Yoongi’s side. “What are you doing? Didn’t you just finish the rookie’s album?” 

“I feel like you’re over stepping your boundaries,” A careful flick of his wrist to close the open notebook and then a casual lean to the side, drawing further away from Namjoon. “If it wasn’t for the coffee or the donuts then I would’ve kicked your ass out. Through the window, too.” 

Namjoon snickers, but he doesn’t draw back, either, and to Yoongi’s complete and utter horror, he tosses his coffee to the side (it lands on the carpet, against a table leg, and thank god, or else somebody would’ve had to clean the stain. 

Namjoon, Namjoon would have had to clean the stain.

With his tears.), and reaches across Yoongi to grab at the notebook, hand darting fast enough to successfully make a grab for it. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Yoongi’s on his knees, trying to reach over Namjoon’s head to get the notebook back. “How old are you?” And he’s trying really hard not to just knee Namjoon in the groin and take the notebook back, really, but Namjoon’s making it so damn hard, especially when he’s standing up on the couch, bouncing a little bit and cackling.

He must be drunk, or high. Or he must just have a death wish, either way, Yoongi’s measly seven hours of sleep isn’t enough to deal with this shit. 

Yoongi bolts up to his feet, totally misjudging the softness of the couch. Namjoon’s jumping doesn’t make balancing on top of it any easier, though, and Yoongi knows that Namjoon’s just bored out of his fucking mind, waiting for Seokjin. Yoongi knows that he’s playing right into the fucking idiot’s game, but. But, Yoongi also knows that the shit on that notebook has to stay in the notebook, and nosy friends trying to piss you off for a living really don’t deserve a glance inside. 

“You’re a fucking child,” Yoongi practically hisses, trying to grab for the notebook just as Namjoon yelps, and - 

And falls. 

Which is exactly how Seokjin finds them two minutes later, sprawled on the floor with coffee spilled and donuts scattered all around them.

He grimaces at the sight before him, hand still on the doorknob, tightening. Ready to just turn around and pretend he’d never been there.

“I’m not going to ask,” Seokjin raises both hands, an obvious show of surrender. “But you’re not leaving today without cleaning that up,” 

Namjoon’s triumphant yell of victory is instantly shut down when Seokjin’s glare settles on him, “Both of you.” And then after a few more seconds where all Namjoon does is try to wiggle out from under Yoongi, Seokjin adds, “Why does it feel like I always have to babysit the both of you, or else shit like this happens?” 

Yoongi wants to say that theres no need to babysit him, thanks, but maybe he can try and lock up his idiot of a boyfriend and keep him away from Yoongi’s office. Yoongi doesn’t get to say anything else, though, because Namjoon successfully manages to flip him over, his cry of relief loud enough to have Seokjin wincing at the noise. 

“Right, anyway,” Namjoon says, an obvious play at composure. He fails desperately. His jeans are stained with coffee and a mixture of both chocolate and blueberry filling. Yoongi doesn’t have to look down at his floor to tell that it’s an absolute mess. “I have news,” 

Namjoon pulls on the collar of his shirt, straightening it, and then works his hands down his front, smoothing past the wrinkles while Yoongi makes his way up to his feet, hands catching on the sticky jelly that clings to his jeans. Great, just great. 

Seokjin tilts his head, quirks an eyebrow, and gestures for him to proceed. 

Like a child given the a-okay to talk after a timeout. 

“Good news is, Yoongi hyung’s working on a new song. Disgusting news is, he’s writing a song for Hoseok.” Namjoon announces, voice loud and clear, and really, if Seokjin had moved a little bit faster or yelled “stop” two and a half seconds earlier, he could’ve prevented Yoongi from throwing a jelly filled donut at Namjoon. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon says, glancing over to where Yoongi’s sprawled on Namjoon’s couch (no donuts or coffee in the near vicinity, thank god). “You’re so fucking sappy, writing songs for your boyfriend,” 

Yoongi’s fingers catch in Hoseok’s hair, unintentionally tugging on a few strands a little bit too hard. Yoongi apologises with a soft pat to his cheek and a smile.

“There, there,” Namjoon calls, pointing at the both of them. On his couch, with Hoseok practically lying on top of Yoongi, the both of them completely at home. Completely invading Namjoon’s only day off after three weeks of over-time and stress. “Just look at yourself,”

“No, I’m not,” Yoongi mumbles, fingers combing gently through Hoseok’s hair, relishing in the small, quiet and pleased noises that slips out of Hoseok’s lips, a contented smile on the boy’s face. Sleepy, he looks. But not as tired anymore, just sleepy. Yoongi’s long since realised that combing through Hoseok’s hair gets him this exact same reaction, every single time. It’s a treasure of a realisation. 

“Yes, you are. Just as Hoseok,” 

Hoseok, practically asleep on Yoongi’s lap, stirs, eyes slowly fluttering to an open. 

“Sometimes, babe, but I like it,” He murmurs, voice heavy with sleep. With contentment. Hoseok’s hand finds hold of Yoongi’s, fingers clamping around his and clutching onto it. 

Yoongi’s gaze slides over to Hoseok, and where he’d all but scowled and glared at Namjoon, Yoongi’s expression softens, turning quite fond at the sight of Hoseok smiling languidly up at him. “Thanks,” 

The microwave timer beeps behind Namjoon, who throws his hands in the air and turns away, muttering, “You’re both fucking sappy, and you’re being sappy on my couch, why,”

Hoseok’s laugh is a low rumble that has Yoongi’s stomach twisting and turning, performing little somersaults and turns. It’s warm, its nice. Yoongi thinks that he can listen to it for a long time. That he wants to listen to it for as long as he can, for as long as Hoseok will laugh. 

Yoongi feels so light, just hearing that laugh. He feels like it’s possible for him to walk amongst the clouds, too. Maybe this is Hoseok’s secret, but then again, having a laugh that sounds like an absolute dream isn’t so much as a secret as a heaven sent gift. 

Namjoon, pattering around his own kitchen, gathering three plates for their impromptu dinner, is completely ignored for the rest of the night.

It’s okay, Yoongi thinks, scoffing a little bit. He’ll get over it. 

The debut showcase starts in ten minutes, and Seokjin has been on edge the whole time. This is his first group. This is the idol group he’d pushed so hard to his father, so confident that they’d succeed, that they could do it in eleven months, and not in the next two years. Seokjin trusts them, Yoongi knows. And Seokjin trusts Yoongi, too, which explains why this group’s pass or fail weighs so heavily on him, because it was him who’d composed and produced the songs, him who’d spent nights upon endless nights brooding over the same goddamned track, over and over again. 

But, Yoongi trusts Seokjin just as much as Seokjin trusts him, and if Seokjin says this group is going to lead the new generation of Korean pop music, then Yoongi believes him.

What he doesn’t believe, though, is how Hoseok still has the time to shove him into an empty dressing room, hands fisted into the front of his dress shirt, careful not to crumple it or mess up his tie. 

Hoseok’s kisses are like little sparks of fire burning across Yoongi’s lips. He tastes good, and he looks great, too, hair styled to look messy, jeans tight, and - 

“Hands here,” Hoseok drags Yoongi’s hands off of his ass, his smirk evident even in the dim lights. “I wish we could, but,” He kisses Yoongi again, fingers sliding into Yoongi’s hair, holding on. “But I’ve got to be on in five,” 

Yoongi groans, because of course. Of course Hoseok would drag him in here, kiss him silly, and then leave him high and dry. Of fucking course. 

“After,” Yoongi murmurs, kissing down Hoseok’s neck, careful not to leave any marks or drag across an older bruise. They’re still there, barely faded. Yoongi feels a twinge of arousal at the sight of them, Hoseok’s neck looking like a right wreck. Concealer can only do so much. “I can have you after,” 

Hoseok smiles at him, eyes twinkling. 

The stars, they sing. 

“Anytime,” Well, probably not the right thing to say, given how Yoongi wants him now but can’t, but he’s willing to overlook this one technicality to let the weight of that one word alone settle deep inside of him. It settles behind his ribcage and in his heart. Anytime. “You have me,”

Hoseok takes a step back, but doesn’t go too far. He smooths down the front of Yoongi’s dress shirt, buttoning him all the way back up, and straightening his tie. His smile is gorgeous as he looks over his handiwork. 

Anytime, Hoseok had said.

Always, Yoongi thinks.

“Okay,” Yoongi nods, tangling their fingers together, wanting to savour even the last twenty seconds he has before Hoseok has to run off with just seconds to spare before the show starts. “You’re gonna be great,” 

And it’s such a shame, someone as talented as Hoseok only dancing in the background, but this is what he wants. What he likes to do, and Yoongi will accept that, will still watch him, eyes trained on him for the entirety of the show. It’s hard to look away from Hoseok, Yoongi has long since realised. 

“Thank you,” Hoseok kisses him again, letting this one linger, because it’ll be at least three more hours, minimum, before they’ll be able to see each other again. 

Yoongi ushers him to the door with a hand on the small of Hoseok’s back and a particularly fond smile on his face. It’s showing, it’s obvious, and Yoongi doesn’t mind. Not really. 

Before he leaves, he pulls Hoseok back down into a kiss, fingers combing through his hair, tousling the already tousled hairstyle (thank god he’s not an idol, then, or else Yoongi will have to be more careful with his hands, with all the bruises he likes to litter across Hoseok’s skin). 

“Later,” Hoseok murmurs against his mouth, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smile.

“Later.” Yoongi agrees, pushing him towards the door. 

Hoseok leaves with a final, “Watch me!” that he calls over his shoulder. 

It’s funny and completely unnecessary, something Hoseok doesn’t even need to ask for because he’s got all of Yoongi’s undivided attention. Yoongi doesn’t particularly mind just looking at Hoseok, really. He’s good for the eyes. 

(And when the showcase starts, with Seokjin beside him, hands clasped on his lap and leaning anxiously on his chair, eyes trained on each of the rookie boys in turn, Yoongi finally settles down. 

Hoseok and his team come up to join the rest of the boys after the second song, and they’re great, perfectly in sync. Yoongi can go on and on about the choreography, but he doesn’t really know how to dance, so he’ll leave it at that.

But he knows how to appreciate things, though, and Hoseok’s masterful skill and grasp on the art of dancing doesn’t go unnoticed, or unappreciated.

And his hips - that Yoongi completely appreciates.) 

Sweat glistens across Hoseok’s chest, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He’s got a tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and a blissed out look in his eyes. He looks practically on fire, skin warm to the touch.

Hoseok sinks slowly down on Yoongi’s cock, hands braced on his shoulders, fingers digging into Yoongi’s skin. 

The slide is surprisingly smooth and easy, and good. So fucking good, Yoongi feels like his mind is about to blow, like the walls around them might just crumble.

Hoseok is beautiful on top of him, beautiful when he starts to move, a slow grinding of his hips, meeting Yoongi’s thrusts in time, and it’s beautiful just how Hoseok can take his on-stage persona to sex, how he can move his hips in a manner that can only be described as sinful.

“Fuck,” Yoongi curses, nails biting down on Hoseok’s hips, his other hand wrapping around Hoseok’s cock, hold around him tightening. “You’re so good, babe, so - “ Yoongi stutters to a stop when Hoseok lifts himself all the way up, almost pulling completely away from Yoongi, before he sinks back down, back arching at the strength of it, at the pleasure that shoots up both of their spines, has them both moaning into each other’s mouths. 

Watching Hoseok ride him like this, with complete abandon clear on his face, hair a sex-tousled mess, and lips particularly swollen, and neck littered with bruises, Yoongi can’t help but feel full. Completely full to the brim and threatening to spill. 

That’s his heart threatening to burst and break out of his ribcage. 

“Hyung,” Hoseok gasps out, overly sensitive now with Yoongi thrusting up into him and pushing him into his climax, hand expertly working around him, stroking him. 

Hoseok comes with a long moan of Yoongi’s name, teeth biting down on his lower lip as he continues to move, this time a little bit slower, his sensitivity overly high after his orgasm. 

Yoongi takes the chance to flip their positions, pushing Hoseok onto the bed and under him.

“Okay?” Yoongi asks, hand grazing softly down the side of Hoseok’s cheek as he pauses, waiting for the response. 

Hoseok’s hair fans out around him, his eyes half-lidded, and god, he looks completely fucked out and in pure bliss. “Okay,” Hoseok nods his head, a smile breaking out across his face. He throws an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders, dragging him down towards him for a kiss. “Okay,” Hoseok says, one leg hooking around Yoongi’s waist to drag him further, push him deeper. 

Yoongi moans into the kiss, his heart hammering like crazy, the butterflies in his stomach turning completely savage.

Hoseok’s constant call for Yoongi’s name sounds almost like a prayer, said again and again, and with Hoseok sucking a kiss onto the side of Yoongi’s neck, mouthing across his skin, Yoongi comes. 

It feels like he’s been completely swept up by a fucking tidal wave, pulling him up and then dragging him back under. It feels like his heart has actually just burst because it’s simply not possible for a human being to feel this full, to feel this much. But here Yoongi is, post-orgasm and completely spent, trying not to squish Hoseok as he all but collapses on top of him, face buried in his chest, and hand still caught in his hair. 

“Little spoon,” Yoongi declares, once they’ve both been wiped clean, the blanket pulled just up to their chests. “I called it first,” 

He hears Hoseok huff, feels the bed shift slightly under his weight, and then feels the boy’s arm go around his waist, dragging him closer to him, right against his chest. 

“Whatever you want,” Hoseok murmurs into the back of Yoongi’s head, his smile so clear in the tone of his voice. 

Yoongi clasps a hand on top of Hoseok’s, twining their fingers under the covers. 

Right before Hoseok falls asleep, Yoongi gives a tug on their joined hands and murmurs, voice low enough that it doesn’t startle him too much, “I want a five-star breakfast tomorrow morning,”

He’s rewarded with a pinch to his side and a series of kisses that start down the back of his neck and ends on his shoulder, “You get coffee and burnt toast served by me,” 

“You gave me a mind-blowing orgasm, that’s fair enough,” He hears Hoseok snort behind him, his laughter washing over Yoongi like how the water laps softly against Yoongi’s skin. “I mean that the other way around, I just realised,”

“Go to sleep, Yoongi, or else you’ll start getting sappy,” Hoseok’s yawn is smothered into Yoongi’s hair, his only apology coming in the form of one last, final kiss to his shoulder. “A one-star breakfast, that’s it.”

Yoongi closes his eyes, tightens his hold around Hoseok’s hand, and murmurs, “How wonderful.”

Coffee and burnt toast is enough, Yoongi thinks, far too fond for his own good. 

It’s enough. He knows this now, but then again - he’s always known, because Hoseok’s been enough, from day one. Will always be enough.

Looking back on things now, Yoongi finds that it’s true what people say about storms. They don’t last forever. 

It looks like it’s going to rain, the clouds heavy and grey. Beside him, Hoseok stretches, hands raised high over his head, yawning as he leans against Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“So I have a long break ahead,” Hoseok says, eyes fixed on the horizon up ahead. “The group’s wrapping up their music show stages, so that means I’ll be out for a while,” 

“Out as in?” Yoongi prompts, looking sideways at him. “As in, out of the job, or out dancing again?”

“I’m just on a little break,” Hoseok links their arms together and tugs Yoongi closer to the rails where the view of both downtown Seoul and the sky is beautiful. “Thinking of opening up my own studio,” He says it slowly, like he’s still deliberating, the words rolling off his tongue nervously, shyly, even. 

Yoongi turns Hoseok around, hand gripping gently on his arm and his grin wide, spilling out of him like the sudden rush of pride and happiness for the talented, beautiful boy by his side, “Fuck, that sounds amazing,” 

“Your reaction makes it sound like a big deal,” His nervousness is masked behind a short laugh, forehead knocking against Yoongi’s shoulder, and his arms coming around his waist, pulling him in for a hug. “I mean, it’s no big deal, just something I’ve always wanted to do,”

“It is a big deal,” Yoongi says, wrapping Hoseok up in a hug, hands coming around his shoulders, and his lips pressed lightly to his forehead. “I mean, your own studio, yeah? You’ll be teaching classes, that’s big, Hoseok,” 

Hoseok kisses the corner of his mouth, steering clear of Yoongi’s smile, not wanting to completely wipe it off with a sloppy kiss. “I could teach you how to dance, probably. Wanna be my first student?” 

It sounds like they’re mapping out the days before them, making promises for a future a long way down the line. It sounds like Hoseok wants to stay, wants Yoongi to stay, and the realisation of it has the whole world spinning and the tides rising. 

It feels like Yoongi’s finally, finally, and this time for real now, broken through the surface of the cold water. Let the tides rise and let them fall, that’s okay, that’s fine. Yoongi knows how to swim now. No more treading or floating endlessly, or getting swept by the current, pulled under into the depths and the dark. No more. Now, there’s just the clear sky up ahead, the wonderful sound of the wind rushing past his ears. The sun peeking shyly behind the clouds, orange rays reflecting beautifully on the ocean’s surface. 

Fond had felt like waves crashing against him. This - this feels like the gentle lapping of the water, refreshing and sweet on his skin. 

It hits Yoongi then that this - 

This might be love.

Yoongi catches Hoseok’s mouth in a slow kiss, one hand cupping the side of his face, thumb gently running small circles on his cheek. 

“I’m gonna break your foot, don’t blame me.” Yoongi says, voice low, and eyes glinting with amusement, a playfulness that resurfaces at the sight of Hoseok laughing breathlessly in his arms. 

“You can write a song about how my hips don’t lie,” Hoseok manages to say between his long stream of laughter, shoulders shaking, and face pressed into Yoongi’s shoulder. He tightens his hold around Yoongi’s waist, more to steady himself from rocking too much from laughter than to actually hold Yoongi. “But, really, that sounds great. I always wanted to take you dancing.” 

Yoongi smiles a small, tender smile, his eyes slowly fluttering to a close as he gently knocks their foreheads together, leaning most of his weight against Hoseok, practically putty in his arms. He breathes in a question and breathes out an answer, and the clouds may be grey and overcast, but Yoongi’s mind is clear, the twisting in his stomach now gone, because he knows. 

Yoongi knows now that this.

This is most definitely what love is like. 

The rookie group is well on their way to success and Seokjin can’t be any happier. He’s bouncing on the back of his heels, grin wide, and hands moving animatedly as he recounts their last music show stage. Talks about their upcoming events. Fan-signing. A possible concert in a few months time. He’s excited, so so proud, and so, so thankful, too, because suddenly he’s engulfing Yoongi in a hug, his laughter bubbling out of him. Sweet relief. 

“Thanks, Yoongi,” Seokjin says, drawing away. “I know it was hard for you, but thank you, the album’s amazing, I can’t stress that enough,”

Yoongi wants to tell Seokjin that it hadn’t been mainly his work - he’d partnered with a few more of the company’s talents. He hadn’t singlehandedly arranged the songs himself - bust most, yes. The backbone of it, the skeletal structure. A majority of the lyrics. But the praise doesn’t go all to him, Yoongi thinks. 

“I know, I know,” Seokjin’s still smiling, completely unfazed. “You did so well, though, and they’re all a hit. You know what you did, how much you put into this album,” Almost like it was his own, Seokjin doesn’t say. 

It’s big, Yoongi’s greatest work yet - to be entrusted this responsibility, honestly, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him, but it did. Now, though, with the success of it, with his name steadily growing more recognition, Yoongi feels relief. Sweet relief. Now he understands. 

“Thank you,” Yoongi murmurs, allowing a small smile to grace his features. More a quirking of his lips than anything. Contentment evident on his face. As clear as day. “I could have bombed and fucked it all up, but I didn’t,” A scoff and a one-shoulder shrug. 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, heading for the door. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Yoongi,” 

“You don’t give me enough vacation days,” Yoongi tries to sound bitter or dry, but it doesn’t work, not when that’s one of the biggest lies he’s ever told. Seokjin lets him get away with so much shit it’s almost surprising whenever Yoongi shows up for work. 

“I give you too much vacation days,” Seokjin laughs, halfway out the door. He looks over his shoulder, eyebrow quirked up when he says, “And dinner tonight, yeah? We want to celebrate you,” 

We, meaning him and Namjoon. Yoongi makes a face at that, carefully filing that piece of information to the back of his mind. And to think Namjoon had called him sappy. 

“He’s already invited the kids, you can bring a date, though,” Seokjin smirks at him, all playful and amused. He knows better, of course. Knows about the scribbled lyrics Yoongi’s got stashed in between the pages of his beat up notebook. “Okay?”

Yoongi thinks about Seokjin, the trust the older boy had always had for him. What a leap of faith it must have been to ask Yoongi of this, a year and a half ago. 

About Namjoon, a constant thorn to his side but a budding entrepreneur. Who knew, really, that two of his good friends would find themselves like this, find each other. Amazing how things work, how life just happens if you let it. 

Jimin, the same annoying brat who’s practically clung to him ever since high school. Small hands that are always stretched before him, ready to catch at whatever falls, ready for anything. Always a smile, always with eyes glittering with the promise of adventure, with more. Some people never grow up, and Yoongi likes that about Jimin. 

Taehyung and Jeongguk - he hasn’t known them as long as he’s known Jimin, but they feel like family, how close they are now, how inseparable the three of them have become. They’re good kids. Sloppy interns, but good kids who need to get their act together. It’s fine, Yoongi thinks, they’ve got a long ways to go, still.

And then Hoseok - and god, Yoongi doesn’t know where to start with him, but Yoongi knows. He just does. The boy under the big blue sky, who can sleep amongst the clouds and wade through the raging ocean. 

Hoseok, Yoongi thinks, is something between a dream and a miracle. 

“Okay,” Yoongi finally smiles at Seokjin, wide enough for Seokjin to be taken aback, his responding smile coming in a few beats too late, too surprised at Yoongi’s sudden grin. “I’ll go call Hoseok now.” 

They have dinner at a quiet little pub a few blocks down the company. Namjoon is the first to arrive, a cigarette dangling between his fingers as he waits for the rest of his party outside. 

Jimin comes in next, hair a mess and tie askew. He looks like he’d just been seconds away from getting run over by a cab. A suspicion that’s easily cleared when Jeongguk huffs beside him, saying exactly that, “We almost got run over by a truck because Jimin hyung doesn’t believe in pedestrian lanes.” 

Taehyung claps his friends on their shoulders, wheezing pathetically when he adds, “In our defence, nobody fucking cares for pedestrian lanes.” 

Seokjin arrives with a bounce in his step and a pretty, pretty smile on his pretty, pretty face. He leans in, gives Namjoon a kiss to the edge of his mouth, and motions for the rest of them to follow.

Yoongi and Hoseok arrive last all because Hoseok had insisted on clambering on Yoongi’s lap in the front seat of his car. A tight fit, knees knocking against knees and clashing, but. But, Hoseok’s got lips so warm it could probably warm up the first circle of hell. Yoongi indulges him in this, kisses him right back, hands fitting around his waist, fingers kneading into his skin. Too tight, not enough room to move, but it’s okay, they make it work.

The tiny little space in Yoongi’s car is enough for a shameless eight-minute make out session.

They manage to stumble out of the car twenty minutes late to what had been agreed on. Yoongi fixes Hoseok’s shirt and lets Hoseok comb his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, smoothing past the obvious face-sucking tousled hair. 

“There, all good,” Hoseok declares, clamping his hand around Yoongi’s. “Now you look hot enough to be seen around me,”

Cheeky and utterly shameless. Yoongi loves it.

He loves him, is how it is. 

“You’re terrible,” Yoongi squeezes on Hoseok’s hand, revels in the wonderful feel of finally being able to hold his hand out in public. Hoseok’s got a dance studio in the making and Yoongi’s got no other projects but his own down the line. It’s wonderful, all this free time. “I thought I was the hot one in this relationship,”

Hoseok kisses the side of his temple, “Sure you are, babe,”

Another squeeze and a playful nip at his earlobe before they step through the pub’s doors, joined hands swinging between them. 

They’re both greeted with loud jeering - a very drunk Taehyung (they’ve only been sat approximately twenty minutes but Taehyung’s already drunk on his sixth consecutive shot of tequila, and god, isn’t anybody taking care of these kids?) throwing his hands in the air and yelling out their names, calling to them so loudly and so obviously, Yoongi’s got half a mind to just steer to the left and avoid them completely. 

Hoseok pulls him along, his grin wide. 

“We had a banner and all,” Jimin says, pulling out a small piece of copy paper from a pocket. “It was twenty times bigger than this, but then we almost got run over by a truck,” He unfolds the paper and shows it to Yoongi. It’s a doodle of his face and a lot of “congratulations” written at least a million and two times around it. “Swear it was better than this,” 

Yoongi takes the poorly drawn congratulatory sheet of paper, tucks it into a back pocket, and leans across the table to ruffle Jimin’s hair, “Thanks,” 

Seokjin raises the first official toast for Yoongi - Taehyung raises his seventh drink to them all - and instead of saying congratulations and thank you for the five hundredth time that day, Seokjin just says, “I hope nobody dies tonight,” 

Everybody echoes the sentiments (Taehyung slurs it out, dunks the contents of his drink into his mouth, and then pounds the glass so hard back onto the table, Yoongi winces, afraid it the glass breaking) before taking very small, casual sips on their drinks. 

Yoongi downs it in one shot, feeling the burn in an instant. 

He leans against Hoseok, their shoulders pressed together.

Hoseok ducks his head down, voice in a low whisper that only Yoongi can hear, and says, “What’s the rush?”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth tugs into a smile, his eyes fluttering - shyly, it looks like - and under the table, he finds Hoseok’s hand, giving it a less than gentle but not exactly bone-crushing squeeze. “Wanna go home with you,” 

Namjoon hits his knee against the underside of the table and winces, cheeks an extreme red. He sputters on his drink and would have knocked Yoongi’s glass right off the table had Seokjin not pulled him back, hand patting down his back, and the look on his face unmistakably fond. 

“I didn’t hear that.” Namjoon finally gulps down his drink, taking Jeongguk’s half-finished one when the only response he gets from the rest of his friends are raised eyebrows and very amused smiles from both Yoongi and Hoseok.

It’s not much of a view, just the flashing lights of cars zooming past them and the sound of more drunk people trudging down the street, laughter as light as their heads. 

Hoseok drags Yoongi out of the pub, face flushed and hair plastered to his face. He looks like he’s having fun, eyes alight with mirth and amusement. Yoongi likes that look on him, thinks that Hoseok’s got one of the best smiles he’s seen on anybody. It’s pretty, really, really beautiful. Yoongi doesn’t mind waking up to it the next morning. Or the morning after that. Or the next mornings for a very long time in his life. Or all the mornings in his life. 

This is perfect, Yoongi thinks. His friends loud and intoxicated in the pub behind them, their words of well wishes - for both him and Hoseok, god, Hoseok deserves most of it, really. Opening his own studio, doing what he loves to do, working on his dream. That deserves all the praises. Yoongi’s already so proud of him, so fucking happy for him that he can’t quite put it into words. So instead, he grabs hold of Hoseok’s hand, and it’s perfect. 

Natural, even, how Hoseok’s hand fits almost perfectly against his, their fingers sliding together in the empty spaces between. It’s like they’re meant to hold hands. For now, for a really long time. Forever, Yoongi doesn’t mind. 

For a boy who’s spent a good portion of his life underwater, staring at the clouds just up above, Yoongi isn’t afraid of the heights and of falling, not at all. Falling’s the best part, it’s a trip, an adventure. Love

Hoseok smiles, warm and tender. Inviting, calling Yoongi back home, and Yoongi thinks - 

What a beautiful view.

“Y’know,” Yoongi starts, smile already creeping up his face. Under the warm orange light of a street lamp, Hoseok glows. The alcohol makes everything blurry, the lights turning fuzzy, soft, except for Hoseok. He stands out in vivid detail amidst the gaussian blur of motion and light. “I wrote a song about you,” 

Hoseok steps closer towards him, lips grazing hotly on Yoongi’s forehead. “Yeah, you’re a sap. I know.” 

Yoongi nods, hand tightening around Hoseok’s and his head tilted up to look at him when he asks, “You know I love you, right?”

A pause, the entire world moving except for the both of them. A moment passes, Hoseok catching his breath, and Yoongi’s heartbeat may finally be calmed down enough for him to hear his own thoughts now, but his bones still rattle with every breath he takes, waiting for Hoseok, looking up at him like - 

Like how the moon looks at the sun right before she tucks him to sleep, tells him thank you, you’ve done good. You were enough, my love, and it’s intoxicating, just looking at Hoseok, watching as his face absolutely brightens up, his eyes twinkling like the fucking stars, god, what’s wrong with this boy, it’s like he’s got a galaxy in his eyes, stars that have yet to be discovered dancing in the back of his eyelids, just waiting.

Hoseok bumps their noses together, his smile spilling out of his face, barely contained.

“Yeah,” Hoseok says, sounding a little breathless. He presses his thumb into Yoongi’s cheek, leans close enough that Yoongi can count his lashes if he wants, can count the specks of brown in his eyes if Hoseok would just stop blinking. “I know,” 

A boy, a song. The ocean, the sky. 

“Why don’t you take me to the studio tomorrow? Teach me how to dance, seduce me in front of all those mirrors,” Yoongi’s hand slides up to Hoseok’s nape, fingers splaying across hot skin, and nails digging in gently. “Maybe?” 

Hoseok kisses him, still smiling, and Yoongi kisses him back because it’s impossible not to kiss Hoseok back, especially when he’s got a smile that can power a small city and lips that taste like promises and more

“God, I’m in love with you,” Hoseok pulls him into a hug, hands coming around his shoulders and holding onto him tight, and it’s good, feeling him everywhere, all around him. 

A laugh, a smile. The ocean tides rising and the skies rumbling. 

Hoseok slides his hand down Yoongi’s side, settling it on his waist. He folds his fingers around Yoongi’s shoulder, squeezing, and kisses him once on the corner of his mouth, “We’re dancing now,” 

It’s silly, absolutely fucking ridiculous, the both of them laughing into each other, sounding drunk. A little less like they’re drunk on the alcohol and a lot more like they’re drunk on each other. 

“So you can just seduce me in the studio tomorrow?” Yoongi smirks up at him, obliging him this little indulgence. He leans his head on Hoseok’s shoulder, hands settling on either side of his hips. They must look crazy like this, two idiots dancing under a street lamp. 

Two idiots in love. 

Thank god the rest of their friends are too caught up on drinking themselves to death that they don’t see them like this, but even if they did, Yoongi supposes that it’s fine, that someone like Hoseok deserves to be under the spotlight, all the time. 

“Something like that,” Hoseok smothers his laugh into Yoongi’s shoulder, hold around his shoulder tightening as they continue to sway, moving to a soundless song. To the sound of their heartbeat, to the song of the stars. To the whispering of the wind during a calm day out at sea under the infinite blue skies.

“Okay, let’s do that.” Yoongi nudges Hoseok’s head back up, pulling him instantly down for a kiss the second he does. Yoongi takes his time with Hoseok, knows that he’s got many, many days to do this, to kiss him. He’s got the rest of his life, probably, to kiss him, so he can take his time. He kisses Hoseok softly, lips pressing gently together, and Hoseok’s hand on the small of his back now warm, comforting. 

Hoseok kisses him back but pulls away when the corners of his mouth twitches into a smile, his grin too wide it’s impossible to kiss him like this, but Yoongi tries again, kisses him smiling, and it’s not the hottest kiss, or the best kind of kissing, but it’s Yoongi’s favourite kind. 

How did it start, Yoongi wonders. 

It started with a laugh. A playful greeting. It started with Yoongi throwing up all over Hoseok’s shoes, but before that - 

Before that, Hoseok had smiled, clasped warm fingers around Yoongi’s wrist, and steadied him.