"It’s all very beautiful, isn’t it?
— when you hold the world underneath the right light."
- Moon, Shinji
The day Yoongi almost quits painting is also the day his mother calls him to say that his father - long estranged father who’s never so much as picked up the phone to talk to his only son - has passed.
It does not strike him very hard and maybe that’s the reason why Yoongi feels guilty. He isn’t so much as mourning as he is assessing his own guilt - a man who has never been there suddenly dying, the news delivered by his sickly mother who always, always tries her best to provide for her only son? Yoongi isn’t phased in the slightest, but he does feel a twinge of guilt for how well he receives the news. Or, rather, how he doesn’t receive it at all.
And as for painting - he likes to think of it as a coincidence. Long gone are days spent just staring at a blank canvas. Gone are his paint smeared hands and face, his white walls tarnished by smudges of paint. Gone are long nights spent agonising over a piece he has due tomorrow - and to think of it, gone is his education, too, because there’s no way they’ll keep an art major who refuses to paint, right?
Which leads Yoongi back to the front of the building, hands in the pockets of his coat, and staring rather forlornly at the admissions building. He can do two things - one, he can drop out completely. Two, he can change his major. But what else is there to do after years and years of beating himself up just to persevere as one of the top contenders in his own course, economics? Take a page out of Namjoon’s thick and rather pretentious reading and major in Philosophy? Is that really what’s all that’s left for him to do?
Yoongi looks away from the building and then around him - the quad is quiet, most students still fast asleep. He can stand here all he wants and nobody will stop him. He can stand here all day and still not be pushed to make a choice.
And so Yoongi walks away, back to the general direction of the main exit, phone already out of his pocket and in his hands. He decides to call Namjoon - and while he may be an utter prick on his good days, he’s still a good friend, who sometimes miraculously offers good advice (those are days where Yoongi thinks that maybe the sky really is blue and the sun yellow, because wow, did Kim Namjoon just get something right.).
Namjoon doesn’t pick up the first time Yoongi calls. To somebody else, it should be an indication that the boy was still asleep, but this is Yoongi, and this is Namjoon, and so Yoongi calls him. A second time. A third time. A fourth time. Finally, Namjoon answers after Yoongi’s sixth attempt, voice heavy and thick with sleep, and sounding considerably pissed.
“What the fuck do you want? Do you know what the fucking time is?” Namjoon grumbles. Yoongi hears some shuffling around, Namjoon still in bed and forced to move around now that he’s awake. “I thought you’d get the hint after the second call,”
Yoongi shrugs, realises that Namjoon can’t see him, and says, “Joonie, I need help,”
And it must be the use of the terrible nickname, or how endearing it always makes Yoongi whenever he drops it, but Namjoon’s breathing calms down, his voice more stable when he asks Yoongi just what the problem is - and it better be important, he says, for him to be awake way before seven in the morning.
“My dad is dead,” Yoongi murmurs, unsure of why he even needs to say it. He’s grown up with Namjoon - the boy knows he’s never had a father, but then again, Namjoon’s always known that Yoongi would go far with art. But here Yoongi is, with a father he never knows already deceased and his passion and commitment for art torn into fucking shreds. “And I - I want to quit,”
From the other end of the phone, he hears Namjoon grumble. Hears a heavy thud, too - feet finally meeting carpet - quickly followed by Namjoon’s voice, low and considerably softer, now, “I’m on my way to the convenience store. I’ll see you there.”
The phone call ends with Yoongi not able to protest that. He stares at the dim screen of his phone and sighs. Trust Namjoon to know how to deal with a sleep deprived Yoongi who’s been contemplating just throwing three fucking years of hard work into the goddamn gutter.
With nowhere else to go, Yoongi slips his phone back into his pocket and makes his way to the one convenience store they’d always frequent ever since they’d both stepped into the holy and sacred grounds of university.
The wind is chilling and biting against his skin. Yoongi doesn’t mind it at all, not when he thinks of how fitting it is for this morning.
To say that Namjoon had talked him off the ledge is an understatement because Namjoon had literally yanked Yoongi by the collar of his shirt and hauled him away from the ledge. He’s a good friend, thinks Yoongi. Too good, because sometimes there isn’t any way for Yoongi at all to fuck his own life up because he knows Namjoon is always there, ready to catch the whole before it breaks into pieces. Always, always there.
Yoongi kind of hates him for that, but today, as he sits at the edge of his bed, hands smeared with paint, he thinks otherwise.
So Yoongi hasn’t dropped out of the art program - not just yet. One more semester, Namjoon had urged. If there’s no inkling of passion left in him, then fine, quit, burn everything, but one more semester. In turn, Yoongi had asked him for permission to be able to hit him on the back of the head with whatever goddamn book he’s reading out in public whenever Yoongi see fit. Namjoon had agreed, and so their friendship continues, spinning. Turning. Working.
There’s at least three more days left before classes actually start and Yoongi is left wondering, now, not of how much of a sinking feeling he has, but of the whereabouts of his new roommate. Seokjin had recommended him when Yoongi had said he wanted to finally move out of the dorms and into his own apartment near the university. Someone who knew how to clean up after themselves and keep to themselves, too.
In other words, someone the complete opposite of one Kim Namjoon.
It’s Thursday and Yoongi’s new roommate is still nowhere to be seen - which is just fine, anyway, because the apartment is a mess. There’s rolled canvas propped up against the wall and so many tubs of paint, Yoongi isn’t sure if they’re all even his anymore, because surely not a single person can own so much blue, right?
Wrong, because Yoongi owns a lot of tubs of the same fucking shade of blue.
Tidying up is no chore at all, not when all Yoongi has to do is stick a couple of old sketchbooks and paintings into a huge trash bag. He drops it just beside the door, ready to be thrown out with the rest of the trash by the end of the week.
A knock at the door has him standing up right, though, and he realises rather belatedly that he still looks like such a wreck - hair windswept, white shirt muddy with all the colours available at his disposal, and his hands (well, won’t Namjoon like the sight of his hands now, then, when it’s obvious Yoongi had picked up the brush and tried, as per the idiot’s request).
“Hi,” A boy - slightly taller, slightly younger, with a smile too bright for the dimly lit apartment. For how early it is this gloomy Thursday morning. “Min Yoongi hyung?”
Yoongi blinks at him and after a second or so of just staring, he nods. “Are you Hoseok?”
The smile brightens - Yoongi isn’t sure how that’s even possible at this point - and laughs, a little breathlessly, “Yeah, hi. Sorry, I got caught up with a few things from home the last couple days. Couldn’t make it in last Monday, I hope it’s alright,” and here his features change, his smile shifting just the slightest bit to look apologetic, his bright face shadowed now with clear remorse.
Yoongi shakes his head, steps out of the way, and says, “No, it’s no problem. Do you need help with your bags?”
“Uh - no, it’s fine. My friend’s downstairs helping me haul the rest of my things,”
Yoongi now notices the two large suitcases behind Hoseok as well as a few cardboard boxes lining against the side of the wall. He looks like he’s got a lot of stuff - and Yoongi doesn’t mind, the apartment is big enough for the both of them. Two separate rooms, one and a half bathrooms (okay, it’s like this. The other one has a shower and a toilet, while the second one only has a toilet and a huge ass mirror behind a sink. It’s a fucking powder room, if ever there ever was one. Seokjin had laughed straight for five minutes when Yoongi called it such.), a kitchen Yoongi’s never touching, and a spacious living room.
If they wanted to, they could live just bypassing each other every morning. But a look at Hoseok - bright smile, bright face, energy practically rolling off of him - tells him otherwise. But, Seokjin did say he knew how to keep to himself. How to clean up after himself. Yoongi knows Seokjin hadn’t been lying just to get his friend a good place to stay.
Hoseok wheels his bags just outside of his room - the one across from Yoongi’s, at literally the other side of the place - says that there’s a couple more things downstairs, and adds that if some weird kid comes up with a couple more bins then there’s no need for alarms, it’s just Taehyung.
“Hey,” Said kid apparently named Taehyung greets, smile lopsided as he steps into the apartment with a couple more bins stacked on top of each other. “Which one’s Hobi hyung’s room?”
Great, another underclassman.
Yoongi lifts a hand in greeting and points to Hoseok’s room, “You’re Taehyung?”
Taehyung unceremoniously drops the bins on the floor - Yoongi even hears a small crack and hopes to god the kid just hadn’t broken something important - straightens up, and grins, “Yep, not some burglar dropping off the loot. Oh, hey, your hands are really colourful,”
Which has Yoongi immediately staring at his hands - fuck Namjoon for telling him to try again this morning, now he’s a mess and his roommate must think him the sloppy one. Which is great, honestly.
“It’s, um. Paint,” Yoongi murmurs, not even trying to wipe it away. There’s no use, they’ve dried already.
“Oh, cool. Is that - “ And Taehyung squints at a couple more of Yoongi’s work propped against the walls, some in frames that he’d already taken down. His mouth drops open in a little o, and it’s almost comical, how he looks. Actually, it’s pretty comical. “Wow, that looks great,”
He points at a particularly large painting right against the window, something Yoongi had failed to roll up properly. He feels the start of a blush rise up from the base of his neck to his cheeks. As much as he wants to brush it off and just shrug, he isn’t able to do that (and he can on most days, really, but this morning is just. Well, it’s weird. Off, even.).
“Thanks,” Yoongi shrugs, easily crossing to the other side of the room to roll the painting up properly. It’s in the trash bag it goes as soon as Taehyung walks out the door and Hoseok is settled in. “Do you go to university here, too?”
This is what hell looks like, small talk with someone he’s met within the last five minutes.
Taehyung nods, “Yep. Hoseok hyung, too,”
Well, Yoongi could have figured that out himself, but, eh.
Speaking of Hoseok - the boy finally stumbles back into the apartment, the last few bins in his hands. They threaten to topple over and Yoongi immediately grabs for one, quickly stepping away from Hoseok in case the rest come spilling out of his hands. Thankfully, they aren’t faced with a mess like that so early in the morning.
“That’s everything?” Taehyung asks, kicking at one of Hoseok’s bags. “You owe me lunch for this,” he sticks his tongue out and, right before he slips out the door, waves to Yoongi in goodbye, grin still wide.
Yoongi, a little confused but still relieved to have had that done and over with, waves goodbye to him as well. The front door closes with a quiet click and soon enough it’s just him and Hoseok - as well as Hoseok’s countless bags - left.
“Sorry about the mess,” Hoseok murmurs, looking around the wreckage. “I’ll clean this up quick, I swear,”
Yoongi waves his concern away and cracks a smile, just a tiny little one - it’s the only kind he can afford right now - and shakes his head, “Nah, it’s cool. You take your time, god knows how messy my part of the place is,”
And here Hoseok laughs, head thrown back, eyes squinted. His laugh is loud, easily filling up the room, and it. Well, it has Yoongi smiling, too, and not just a tiny one, either.
Perhaps Hoseok isn’t too bad, he thinks. Perhaps Seokjin hadn’t been wrong.
(Spoiler alert: Seokjin hadn’t been wrong because Seokjin is never wrong, a monumental fact he likes to drill in everybody’s heads, all the goddamn time.)
To say that Yoongi wants to throw that stupid book at Namjoon’s face is an understatement. He’s reading something Russian - Yoongi can’t even bother to try to get what it is, or read the title. Something about Russian propaganda. Conspiracies. Who fucking knows, but they had a deal, and the deal was for Namjoon to limit his philosophical resources around Yoongi, who really has zero tolerance for that.
Like, of course - let your friends be, mind your own business. But this is Namjoon, and Yoongi would be damned if he didn’t at least try to screw Namjoon over once a day. It’s the highlight of Yoongi’s day, and the backbone of their years’ withstanding friendship.
“I’m going to hit you with that book, now,” Yoongi murmurs, fingers closing in around the edge of the book. “If you’d let go,”
Namjoon lets out the saddest, lamest whine, ever, and shakes his head, “Hyung, don’t be inhumane,”
Yoongi feels the first trickles of a smirk pull at the edge of his lips, “A deal’s a deal, and didn’t you say I didn’t even have to ask?”
“I’m going to fucking kill you - “ Namjoon tugs the book back to his side, steadily glaring up at Yoongi. “If you do this in front of everyone, I’m going to kill you and then your mother will have no choice but to grant me everything that was supposed to go to you, because succession, that’s what,”
“I,” Yoongi starts, surprised. He drops his hold on the book and raises an eyebrow up at Namjoon. “I don’t think that’s how succession works, you idiot. That’s not even how inheritance works. Are you out of your mind or is this topic too mundane for you to try to comprehend?”
A shrug, a cheeky smile, and then a ruffling of pages. “Maybe,”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, kicks lamely at Namjoon’s ankle, and goes back to his seat from across from him, wondering if he could maybe flick the ashes of his cigarette in Namjoon’s drink without him noticing. Well, Yoongi can try.
And try he does.
Which is exactly why Seokjin finds them almost at odds with each other again, in the one cafe they all love so much and hold dear - Seokjin most especially. Like always, he pulls the both of them back by the tips of their ears, his sigh disappointed. “Can you both try not to kill each other while I’m not around?”
“We were talking,” Yoongi explains himself, putting out the remnants of his cigarettes (and this time, not in Namjoon’s drink.). “I even bought Namjoon a drink,”
To which Namjoon just rolls his eyes, shuts his book close, and places it nearly off the edge, far, far away from Yoongi. “Until he decided to use my drink as an ashtray,”
“You’re both impossible. But,” And here he looks at Yoongi, gaze shifting away from Namjoon to settle on Yoongi’s, the curve of his smile much friendlier, now. Much more open. “It’s almost a month. Well, how is he?”
A flash of Hoseok walking around the kitchen late at night, an empty bowl in one hand, and a soup ladle in the other. Cereal, the boy had said when Yoongi emerged from the bathroom (powder room, Seokjin would correct him had he been there).
Another memory, of the both of them falling asleep on the different ends of the couch, popcorn spilling between them. Of Hoseok cooking breakfast on more than one occasion - and preparing coffee, too. Hoseok, not minding Yoongi’s mess everywhere around the apartment - brushes, empty paint tubes, paintings he’s yet to thrown away.
All in all, Yoongi finds the boy, well. Quite nice.
It’s been nearly a month since Hoseok had moved in and Yoongi really has nothing bad to say about the boy (which comes as a shocking surprise to Namjoon, but maybe that’s only because Yoongi always has something bad to say about Namjoon. And only Namjoon.).
“He’s great,” Yoongi decides to finally say, fingers wrapping around his iced drink. “Cleans up well, cooks breakfast sometimes. He kinda freaked out that one day when I was trying to throw out my paintings, though,”
It’s both Seokjin and Namjoon who round on him this time, eyebrows furrowed, and the downward curve of their mouths clearly disappointed.
“You were trying to what?” Seokjin asks questions he already knows the answer to.
Namjoon groans, “I thought you said you were going to try, hyung,”
“And I’m trying. I still haven’t dropped out, have I?” Yoongi takes a careful sip of his drink and turns away from the both of them - they’re both very good friends but there are days where even their own expectations land heavy on him. It’s not enough that Yoongi’s own mother is one of the country’s most renowned artists, but even his friends? And perhaps that’s the mark of a true friend - but.
But it sure does make quitting really hard to do.
So instead of getting angry at friends who care too much about him, Yoongi tries to feel grateful. He doesn’t succeed at channeling gratitude, but at least he’s trying.
Which explains the almost-smile on his face and the softening look in his eyes. That, or it could really just be because the skies have started to dim, signalling the oncoming sunset. Yoongi’s always loved sunsets.
“I’m serious,” Yoongi makes to get up, taking his drink with him - and leaving Namjoon’s thick book about Russian propaganda alone, because he’s pretty sure Seokjin wouldn’t allow him to just throw it at random passerby. Or at Namjoon. “But, anyway. I told Hoseok I’d buy milk before I got home. You know he’s obsessed with cereal?”
That gets a little laugh from Seokjin, who shakes his head in disbelief. “We’ll talk more next time,”
Namjoon waves Yoongi off and with a final look over his shoulder, Yoongi sets off, hand feeling much clammier with every step he takes towards the convenience store a few blocks away from their apartment.
It’s strange, this. Not Yoongi trying - and failing - to quit, or the fact that he’s throwing out every single piece of art he’s ever made - but this, Yoongi going to the convenience store because his roommate of one month had asked him ever so nicely this morning if he could maybe find sometime between his oh so busy schedule to grab some milk, please and thank you.
Well, maybe not so nicely. Hoseok had sounded completely desperate. Sprawled out on the couch with a pillow pressed against his face, quietly murmuring something under his breath. It’s only when Yoongi had leaned in close enough to hear that the boy was whining about the lack of milk and his abundance of cereal.
Yoongi’s never going to say it out loud - not to himself, not to Hoseok, and certainly not to his other friends - but Hoseok had been. Well, kind of cute, then.
And so here Yoongi is, with a gallon of milk in one hand and a weird little smile on his face as he sets it down on the counter. “Hey, idiot,”
Hoseok looks up from that thick book he’s reading, eyes wide, and grins at him. “You’re the best, hyung,”
One month, thinks Yoongi.
One month and no little bumps on the road. Hoseok is just - a good roommate, that’s it. Good roommates deserve a non-expired gallon of milk for his odd but still healthy obsession with cereal.
“You owe me breakfast for the rest of the week,” Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Hoseok, the smile tugging at the corners of his lips slight. But it’s a start. God damn, is it a start. “And no cereal.”
Outside, through their open windows and drawn back curtains, the sun sets, colouring the world orange and red. Inside, Hoseok’s laughter fills the apartment.
There’s a fine line between having a roommate who’s just that - a roommate - and having a roommate you actually think could be your friend. Which is really saying something, given how nice Hoseok is to him (and perhaps Yoongi reciprocates it, too, the boy is always nice, it would only be common courtesy to be just as nice, right?).
Hoseok cleans up after himself. Sometimes after Yoongi, too. He has friends he drags along into the apartment with him but they’re good people - and funny, Yoongi will give them that. Okay, fine, they’re adorable, the bunch of them. Hoseok and his little cronies of underclassmen.
So they’re friends, Yoongi thinks to himself one night as he’s sat from across Hoseok, the boy having brought with him a box of chicken that he thought he would share with Yoongi, because that’s what good roommates are for. Scratch that - that’s what friends do.
“I thought I was going to have to kick you out after the first week,” Yoongi tells him honestly, raising an eyebrow up at Hoseok who almost chokes on his water.
“If I showed up on Monday, I would’ve cosigned that lease,” Hoseok murmurs under his breath, a mischievous glint in his eye. “And then you’d have no choice but to keep me,”
Yoongi laughs, a quiet and short little laugh that nonetheless brings colour to his face. A laugh that Hoseok mirrors with a bright smile (and again with the bright smiles. It’s past eight in the evening, Hoseok shouldn’t even be allowed to smile with the power of at least a dozen small little stars.).
“Hey,” Hoseok reaches his hand out from across the table, fingers gently grazing against the inside of Yoongi’s wrist. “Were you painting this afternoon?”
His hands might not be splattered terribly with paint but there’s a couple faint smudges that linger on his pale skin. He looks at Hoseok for a beat too long, wondering how exactly the boy had managed to notice it. If Hoseok’s always looked at him this closely.
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, rather lamely. It was a weak attempt at painting - just a line sketch of what, he has no idea. It had been too vague, too abstract. Yoongi had chucked it into the bin right before Hoseok had walked through the doors. There’s no reason for any of his friends to know about his bad little habit of throwing away his art - or, rather, know that he still does it. “Class sucks,”
Not much of an explanation, but Hoseok takes it, for now. He draws his hand away from Yoongi’s and goes back to scrolling down his phone, eyes occasionally darting up to look at Yoongi, maybe just to make sure that Yoongi’s still there. Still eating. Still hasn’t decided that the best possible course of action against a roommate that likes to peer too much into Yoongi’s own recreational time is eviction.
Of course, Yoongi doesn’t do it. Doesn’t even think of it because try as he may to brush off Seokjin’s smugness about recommending him the best damn roommate this side of town, he isn’t wrong.
“You’re going to stay up all night again, aren’t you?” Yoongi asks, once the dishes are stored away and the rest of their food is placed in the fridge. He glances over his shoulder at Hoseok who’s already setting up on the dining table - and why he doesn’t study in the confines of his own room is beyond Yoongi. “You need sleep, Hoseok,”
Hoseok shrugs his shoulders. Shrugs it as easily as he shrugs off Yoongi’s concern. Taehyung’s concern - god, even Jeongguk’s concern. The boy hardly listens to people his own age, much less people younger than him. And add Yoongi to that list as well.
“Maybe,” Hoseok says, flipping through the first few pages of his financial accounting book. “But sleep is for the weak. And I always had a feeling you didn’t really like the weak, hyung,”
“You think I like you?” Yoongi snorts, eyebrow raised, and a quirk on the curve of his lips. A playful smile that Hoseok mirrors with his own, that same mischievous little glint in his eyes. “I don’t even know you,”
“That hurts my feelings,” Hoseok mock-gasps, taking on a look of pure betrayal and pain on his face. “And of course you know me, hyung. You know I like cereal. You know how old I am. How I like my coffee - and you also know I’m friends with very dangerous people,”
“They’re only dangerous because they’re a threat to your very safety,” Yoongi counters, mind reeling back to how reckless Taehyung and Jimin can be together, how much trouble they can drag themselves into. “I mean, can you even cross the street with them without the fear of getting run over?”
At that, Hoseok laughs, loud and barking, and promptly gives up on studying. He pushes off of the chair, gathers up most of his things from the table, and with much difficulty balancing most of his things on one arm, he makes a mock-salute at Yoongi. “Point made, hyung. But you should sleep on time tonight, too,”
“Whatever,” Yoongi throws a pencil that Hoseok had left behind on the table, one the boy narrowly avoids by ducking away just on time.
“Good night, hyung,” Hoseok calls from all the way in his room, voice still so damn loud. Still ringing and bouncing against the walls of their apartment.
Yoongi heads to his own room, hand already clasped around the cold doorknob. “G’night, Hoseok.”
It’s a rainy Thursday morning when Yoongi ends up on the floor, in the middle of a mess of painting materials and crumpled sheets of paper. His bedroom door is ajar, the music from his speaker drifting out to the rest of the apartment.
Hoseok looks up from his spot on top of the kitchen counter, a bowl of ice cream in one hand, and his phone in the other. He gives Yoongi a long and strange little look - Yoongi hadn’t just tripped and fallen onto the floor, Yoongi had deliberately decided to stay sprawled on the floor, a perfect picture of disappointment and of giving up.
“Hey,” Hoseok starts, jumping off of the counter and leaving his things by the kitchen table. He shoulders his way into Yoongi’s room, steps over all the books on the floor and the haphazardness pieces of broken brushes, until he finally gets to Yoongi’s side. He crouches, low enough for him to whisper his next words. Low enough for Yoongi to merely flick his eyes up and see Hoseok up close. “I think the tub of red paint is spilling onto the carpet and if we don’t stop it now, the neighbours are going to think somebody’s bled out to death up here,”
His smile is softer now given his own joke, his voice just as tender. Yoongi feels the tips of Hoseok’s fingers brushes against his forehead to sweep the few strands of hair out of his face. Soft, that, too. Yoongi closes his eyes and grumbles out an incoherent response that Hoseok only rolls his eyes at.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Hoseok adds, this time getting down on the floor, too, knees folding from underneath him. He’s retracted his hand away from Yoongi’s head to drag an empty sketchbook towards him as well as the nearest pen he could find. “I can draw you, still life and all, and you’re allowed to laugh for as long as you’d like,”
Yoongi finally opens his eyes to see Hoseok looking down at him, that same soft little smile on his face. How is someone who Yoongi hardly knows treating him like this. It seems only yesterday that Hoseok had moved in, but here he is, on the floor trying his hardest to console Yoongi. And here Yoongi is, looking up at him and not wanting to glance away for a second.
There’s a minute stirring in his gut, a whisper in the wind.
“Why are you doing this?” Yoongi asks, not even making the slightest bit of effort to get up. He just suffices himself by looking up at Hoseok, although the view is upside down. Whatever, Hoseok’s always liked to be funny, and an upside down view of the boy is sort of funny. That, or Yoongi just likes looking at him from any which angle.
(And it may or may not be a fact, but be that as it may, there’s no way Namjoon will ever hear of it, no way he’s going to admit that he might have a teeny, tiny little crush on his roommate. Because - because that’s impossible, and had they signed a contract, then there would have been that little clause against it.).
Hoseok taps the pen against the sketchbook, tongue peeking out from his mouth as he concentrates. “Same reason you buy milk before the one we have expires or runs out,”
Yoongi doesn’t have an exact reason for that except - except that Hoseok is his friend, and however shocking that may be, it’s still a pretty uplifting little thought. Uplifting and relieving, if Yoongi were being honest.
“So basically to avoid food poisoning and unintentionally aiding in a murder?” Yoongi cracks his first smile of the day, though he looks more bemused than ever.
“You should’ve taken pre-law, hyung,” Hoseok snorts, closing the sketchbook and sliding it somewhere to the side. He taps the end of the pen against Yoongi’s temple, earning a little scowl in response. “Well, I don’t hear the rain anymore, so either we gather all your materials and bring them to the park or we go grab some coffee, choice is yours,”
Hoseok gets up quickly after that, the smile on his face much wider now. He reaches out both hands to Yoongi who only blinks up at him. A few more seconds until Hoseok is rolling his eyes and puffing, and before Yoongi even knows what he’s about to do, Hoseok already has his hands locked around Yoongi’s wrists and hauling him up.
“Coffee,” Yoongi says, dusting his hands clean of the chalky remnants of the charcoal he’d tried to work with earlier. “And you’re buying,”
Before Yoongi follows Hoseok out of the apartment, he grabs his book bag from off the couch and slips a couple of pens into the pocket. Who knows, thinks Yoongi, there might be a good reason to start sketching at a cafe.
His roommate had basically just hauled him off of his ass after an hour spent just lying on the floor of his bedroom, ironically surrounded by broken pieces of paint brushes and pencils.
They both forget about the spilled tub of red ink, but that doesn’t matter for now. It’ll matter again in two weeks when their land lady pounds on their door asking about a complaint from the tenants below them, but for now, they make their way to the cafe that’s got every single bit of praise imaginable from Hoseok.
Hoseok bumps their shoulders good-naturedly right as they make their way inside, and Yoongi.
Well, Yoongi ends up just staring blankly at Hoseok’s face for a good few minutes, stunned from Hoseok’s own efforts to help him out of the pit he’d fallen in, and from Hoseok’s own smile, as bright and as comforting as the goddamn sun finally emerging from the clouds after a full afternoon’s worth of rain.
Yoongi ends up telling Hoseok the story of the whys and the hows and a little bit of the whats, too.
He accidentally - or maybe not, this is Yoongi after all - leaves out the minor detail of his dad dying. And it just goes to show - the man has never been a part of anything in Yoongi’s life, so he can’t be part of this story, as well, lest people think the death of a man Yoongi’s never known was the turning point, the main reason that drove Yoongi to quitting and dropping out. Now that’s completely laughable at this point.
“How does it make you feel?” Hoseok asks, abandoning twirling his straw around his nearly empty cup of iced coffee. He sounds a lot like Seokjin at this point, asking Yoongi how he feels. Sounds a lot like a psychology major, is what. Hoseok’s smile digs dimples onto the side of his mouth and Yoongi forgives that stupid question, if only because his guts have practically turned to mush at the sight of Hoseok. “That sounded dumb, but you know what I mean,”
They’ve chosen to sit outside merely because they’d both wanted to smoke without having to get up every other minute. Perhaps a little part of Yoongi hadn’t wanted to leave Hoseok alone in the cafe. Perhaps.
Now, he taps his fingers against the small black box of cigarettes, Hoseok’s eyes instantly darting to the minute movement. Yoongi’s been trying really, really hard not to smoke himself to death with each passing day. He wants to say that he’s been doing quite well, thank you.
“What, quitting?” Yoongi gives in and drags a cigarette out of the box, bringing it up to his lips. He dawdles in lighting it, fingers gripping at the lighter loosely until Hoseok, with a huff and an exasperated smile, lights it for him. Yoongi has no other choice but to suck in that first breath and blow it out in a steady stream of smoke.
Hoseok takes a careful sip of his coffee, shoulders much more relaxed now. “No, painting, but we can talk about that, too,”
It’s so easy, talking to Hoseok. So, so easy, Yoongi’s surprised they haven’t met and hit it off earlier. It isn’t rare, really, for Yoongi to meet someone and instantly take a liking to them - and it’s not like he’d taken an instant liking to Hoseok. Or, maybe. Who knows.
“It’s great,” Yoongi probably gritting his teeth isn’t the best way to answer that, but. But painting’s always been their thing, him and his mother. Critically acclaimed artist who’s got her artwork featured in galleries all across the country. Some think it be tough to grow up with her as not only a mother but also a mentor, but Yoongi begs to differ because not once - not a single instance - has he ever stood in the shadow of his own mother’s talent.
They’re all they have, from the first day until their last.
“I started out because it was a way to connect with her, until mom found out I was doing it for that reason,” And had there ever been a time when all Yoongi wanted was to fight for his mother’s attention - because there never had been. Yoongi had been the star of her world, the single brightest star that brought light onto the dry plains of a planet already long forgotten. “I don’t know what happened exactly after that, but I took up painting a second time with the intention of learning, and things just happened,”
One thing led to another and here Yoongi is, on the brink of quitting. Of never wanting to pick up a single pencil ever again.
“What’s your deal?” Yoongi flicks the ashes off the side of the street and looks back at Hoseok, feeling like a wave has just crashed against the walls of his stomach. Steady. Slow and steady. “Why are you a business major again?”
Hoseok smiles, dimples and all, and Yoongi wants to roll his eyes all the way into the back of his head. Hoseok should never be allowed to do that, not when it has Yoongi’s own gut churning, twisting, reacting.
“Huh, I don’t know exactly,” Hoseok begins, shifting his gaze away from Yoongi to look at the slow stream of traffic from across the street. “Dad said it was good and that nothing else would give me a job, so,” he gestures rather lamely to their surroundings, his smile weaker, now. Or maybe it just looks that because Yoongi’s finally seen through the cracks. Finally managed to look beyond.
“But you’re smart enough for it,” Yoongi says out loud, unable to catch his own words. The sudden praise has Hoseok colouring from across him, cheeks turning a slight pink, and his smile faltering to be replaced with a sort-of-pleased, sort-of-surprised look on his face.
“Maybe,” Hoseok’s voice is a quiet murmur against the palm of his own hand, an unlit cigarette now dangling from between his two fingers. Hoseok is smart, Yoongi wants to reassert. He can be whatever he wants to be - major in whatever major he wants to major. But here he is, majoring in business. Perhaps this is what life does to children of strong people - they let them walk on a road they’d paved themselves.
“It’s getting a bit chilly,”
There’s a quiet moment wherein they both start to gather their stuff. It’s nearly eight in the evening and the temperature’s just dropped. Yoongi doesn’t realise just how long they’d spent talking until he chances a glance at his phone - half a dozen messages from his friends and at least three missed calls. Funny how you let other things slip by in favour of someone else.
“Didn’t bring a jacket,” Hoseok dumps his empty cup in a bin they manage to pass by and Yoongi does the same. Hoseok smokes as they walk, a stream of smoke trailing behind them, the smoke itself blown away with the cold wind with every step they take.
Hoseok smokes like a chimney, Yoongi notices.
“I don’t remember turning the heat on,” Yoongi’s teeth are chattering, hands buried in the pockets of his own jeans, now. It’s getting really, really cold, and it’s not fair that the temperature’s just dropped like this. He kind of hates the start of autumn sometimes. “Whatever, let’s just get home,”
The rest of the walk back home is uneventful (well, except the fact that Hoseok takes two huge leaps just to avoid stepping on dog shit), the both of them more than relieved when they finally push through the doors of their apartment, the warmth instantly wrapping around them.
God bless centralised cooling and heating systems.
Just as Hoseok’s about to slip into his own room for the rest of the night, Yoongi stops him with a light hand on his elbow. His touch doesn’t linger, hand dropping as soon as Hoseok turns around to look at him.
“Thanks,” Yoongi says, not wanting to meet Hoseok’s eyes because he feels the telltale rush of a blush rising up his cheeks. He manages to glance up at Hoseok’s face, though, and notices the softening in his own eyes. In his smile. “You didn’t have to, but you did,”
“Anytime, hyung,” Hoseok says, voice cracking through his smile. It catches Yoongi by surprise but it’s all Hoseok needs to duck away from Yoongi’s immediate line of sight and head towards his room, shoulders rigid straight, now. He does look over his shoulder at Yoongi, though, one last time before he retreats for the night. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re really talented.”
And then he’s gone, the door to his room clicking quietly to a shut.
Yoongi stands in the middle of the kitchen, feeling like he’s been completely blindsided.
But it’s not the bad kind, though. Not when Hoseok had looked at him so softly, smiled just as soft, and. And hesitated, for a split second. Yoongi doesn’t know what it means but he does know that overanalysing and assuming has never led anyone into a great victory. Into a pit of despair, maybe.
That night, Yoongi dreams of a sky the colour of purple and pink, the sun just barely awake, still. He dreams of a little boy stuck in a raft, the ocean rocking him to sleep.
When Yoongi wakes up, its to find his room flooded with purple and pink, the colour of the sky right after a heavy night of rain.
The first time Yoongi fails to turn in a piece in time for a deadline, he slams the door close, footsteps heavy in his wake.
Hoseok isn’t home. Good, thinks Yoongi, because nobody needs to see him wallowing in his own stupidity - it had been a two week art project. Three months into the term and Yoongi’s barely shown signs of improvement, or much effort, for that matter.
Getting mad at failing to come up with something on time is good, though, because then this means that however small it may be, there’s still passion left in him. Either a passion to succeed or a passion in art, he isn’t quite sure. Could be both, but for now, Yoongi is just thankful.
Well, as thankful as a fuming, frustrated Yoongi is, anyway.
Namjoon decides that there’s only really one way to deal with this, and it’s to celebrate Yoongi’s failure through a night out, drinks abundant and all.
Yoongi eventually agrees to it, but it’s only because Namjoon’s bombarded his phone with texts. That, and he said he could invite Hoseok if he wanted. Yoongi just does that, brings the idea up as soon as Hoseok walks through the door.
“Um, good evening to you, too, sunshine,” Hoseok stalls by the door, shuffling out of his shoes, and dropping his book bag by the coat rack. “And what did you say?”
“Namjoon wants to go out for drinks,” It might not exactly be a celebration for Yoongi’s own downfall and demise, but it somehow helps get Yoongi through, thinking about this (and he knows, he really does, that Namjoon is just being a good friend, just trying to help get Yoongi’s mind off things.) “He’s paying for everything, obviously,”
Hoseok crosses the small room to get to the kitchen, sticking his head into the fridge in search of what - in search of a candy bar that he brandishes up at Yoongi as soon as he finds it in the mess of junk and all the goddamn gallons of milk, and boxes of take out.
“I can’t,” Hoseok declines, ripping the candy bar open. He smiles up at Yoongi rather apologetically. “Hyung, you know I’ve been working on the same paper for a week, now. It’s due this Friday. And,” Here he glances dramatically at the clock hanging over the fridge and then back at Yoongi, an eyebrow raised this time. “Isn’t it, like, what. Wednesday?”
“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Yoongi doesn’t mean to sound as deflated as he does, but he’d had thought that maybe, just maybe, dragging Hoseok along with him to a night out with Seokjin and Namjoon would make the sting of failure, well, sting just that little bit less.
It takes Yoongi a couple of seconds to realise just the implication of his own thoughts - to own up to it. He shakes his head and collapses back on the couch. Just because the boy had helped him out once doesn’t mean he can expect the same thing again and again. Over-analysation and assumptions. They never lead to a good thing, a constant reminder Yoongi has to tell himself over and over again.
“Right,” Yoongi looks at Hoseok, surprised at the sudden dipping of the couch, the other boy joining him on the opposite edge. “Is it really just Wednesday?”
Hoseok laughs and Yoongi knows it’s not supposed to be normal, this twisting of knots in his stomach, this swooping sensation just at the sound of Hoseok’s laughter, but he can’t help it. Watching Hoseok’s face light up and either side of his mouth dimpling has him smiling, too.
It’s not that hard to smile back at Hoseok.
Yoongi finds that it’s actually one of the easiest things he’s ever done.
They opt out of the bar, instead deciding to just crash at Seokjin’s pad. It’s spacious enough for all three of them, giving them all room to wander around on their own and only come back occasionally to the kitchen for their next beer.
Of course, Seokjin prevents them from doing this, dragging both boys down around the living room with him as soon as he finishes placing the last plates of food down on the wide coffee table in the middle of the room.
“So, what happened?” Namjoon asks through a mouthful of chicken that he quickly washes down with beer. Amazing, the humane abilities of that boy. Yoongi sometimes stares at Namjoon in wonder, just too fucking perplexed at him.
Yoongi cracks open his first can of beer and leans against the plush cushions of Seokjin’s couch - part of the reason they all decided to crash at his pad than either of theirs - and shrugs his shoulders. “I ran out of time?” More of a question than an actual statement, one that both Seokjin and Namjoon roll their eyes at.
“Sure, and Namjoon can’t recite the constitution backwards,” Seokjin snorts, picking through a piece of chicken.
Namjoon nods at that, “I very fucking well can, but anyway, cut the bullshit and tell us what happened,”
These are what friends are for, thinks Yoongi - they push, and they push, and they push until it hurts. Push hard enough until they get the truth out of Yoongi. And mind you, that’s not exactly the easiest thing to do, even with years of practice and experience dealing with him.
It takes Yoongi at least three more cans of beer until he finally decides on telling them, and at this point, with exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders, he starts to feel just the slightest bit light headed. He could always hold his alcohol, but. But nearly four days of not enough sleep can drag even the strongest contender down, eventually.
“I couldn’t do it,” Yoongi murmurs, voice quiet. Shy, ashamed. Could be both. Yoongi refuses to meet both their eyes - these are two of his oldest friends. Friends who’ve seen him grow up. Who’ve pulled him out of quick sand and ran through the fucking sahara with him with lions at their heels. These are his friends, and times like this, Yoongi wouldn’t have either of them any other way. “I tried,” He adds, catching the disappointing look on Namjoon’s face. “I really did, but. I just blanked. It was an abstract piece. Do what you like, and,”
Deep breaths, Seokjin seems to say without actually saying anything. The look he gives Yoongi is enough and Yoongi downs the rest of his beer in one shot, the can skittering over the edge of the table after he’s done with it.
“And obviously, I couldn’t,” It’s more than a simple art block this time. Being a Fine Arts student hadn’t been so hard his first and second year - mostly painting, doing whatever he had been comfortable with. Now - now Yoongi is stuck with taking classes he doesn’t even like, fucking pottery and goddamn mixed media.
He feels Seokjin’s hand on his shoulder, calm and reassuring, and Yoongi groans. “I don’t even need to drop out anymore, they’re just going to fail me and I’ll have no other choice,”
“A bit over dramatic, but no,” Seokjin sighs, getting that look in his eyes - the very same look that he gets whenever it’s Namjoon’s turn to have his own existential breakdowns and mid-youth crises. “Y’know what, we’ll stop grilling you,” He quickly glances at Namjoon, brows furrowed, and doesn’t look away until Namjoon nods at the suggestion. “And just - just eat, okay? You look like you haven’t been eating the past week,”
“Or sleeping,” Namjoon adds, snickering. “You look like the walking dead, hyung. Or a White Walker, whichever,”
“They’re the same thing, idiot,” Yoongi says with not nearly enough inflection in his tone to insult Namjoon.
But his lack of knowledge of general pop culture and media is enough, though, and Namjoon gasps, over dramatic and everything, as usual, “No, they’re not. One is an army of the undead and the other a legion of frozen undead,”
This is all fine and good if not for the headache Namjoon’s own rambling is causing Yoongi, and before Yoongi can call him anything else that’s even harsher than ‘idiot’, Seokjin steps in between them, as usual.
“Tell me about Hoseok,” Seokjin says, almost causing Yoongi to tip over the rest of the noodles off the table. “Didn’t you say you were going to bring him along?”
Yoongi decides that finishing his fourth can of beer is better than answering that question. Besides, intoxication can very well be the reason for his flushed cheeks. His friends don’t need to know about that, not yet.
And if he were friends with anyone else but Seokjin and Namjoon, then perhaps he would have gotten away with that. But unfortunately.
“I’ve met the guy three times,” Namjoon recalls, leaning in closer to Yoongi. “And when we bonded over Japanese literature, you didn’t want to rip my head off. Fishy,”
Yoongi glares at Namjoon, who takes on a defensive stance, shoulders shrugging.
“What, did you hit on him?” Namjoon presses on. Beside him, Seokjin almost chokes on the piece of tofu he’d just shoved into his mouth. “Are you fucking your roommate, now?”
If there was anything else but the empty cans of beer in front of him, then Yoongi would have already chucked it at Namjoon’s head. But he’s not left with very good choices, and so he balls his hands into fists on either side of him, trying to steady his own breathing.
Finally, Yoongi shakes his head, more flustered than ever, his voice faltering when he says, “No. I would - I would never. He’s my roommate, that’s - Hyung, tell him that’s messed up,”
Seokjin raises both his hands, “No, I’m not getting in between this. You do what you want, Yoongi,”
“Do who you want, you mean,” Namjoon snickers, nudging Yoongi’s knee with his own, tone playful now, his grin wide. Easy. The alcohol rushing through his veins. Through all their veins, because Yoongi can feel it, too, the sense of ease that settles over him. The smile that finds its way across his face, his eyes drooping as he leans against the soft cushions of the couch.
He should want to maim Namjoon, but instead, Yoongi just rolls his eyes at him, thinking that it’s much better this way. Seokjin can probably use a break from always trying to tear the two of them apart from each other. “I’m serious,” Yoongi says, reaching for his bowl of previously discarded noodles. “We’re friends. He’s nice and that’s it,”
“Answer the question then,”
Yoongi longs for a day where Namjoon isn’t allowed to torture him anymore. Namjoon, the same boy who’d shaken the sense back into him when Yoongi had called him at ass o’clock in the morning with the news of his father dying. Of him wanting to drop out of school.
“He’s fine, nice, that’s what I said,” Yoongi twirls his chopsticks in the noodles rather absentmindedly. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for that, so thanks,” a quick look at Seokjin who smiles much too knowingly for Yoongi’s liking.
They spend the rest of the night alternating between three different channels until Seokjin gets them both to settle on reruns of Running Man. Both Yoongi and Namjoon know they’re only watching the same goddamn episodes again because Seokjin has the biggest, stupidest crush on Song Jihyo. Cute, but there’s much better programs on television.
It’s nearly one in the morning when Yoongi decides to call it a night.
Seokjin tells him he can stay, if he wants. The couch is all his. Namjoon can have the kitchen counter.
“Sweet,” Namjoon yawns, almost tripping on a pile of discarded beer cans. “But I’ll take the bed. It’s fine, hyung, you can ask anyone - I like to cuddle,”
“This is really touching, really makes me feel thankful for our friendship and everything,” Yoongi starts, making a move towards the door, completely bypassing a drunk Namjoon, who’s taken to lean against the kitchen counter for support, because clearly none of his so called best friends will offer it to him. “But I’d rather not. I’m good, I can still catch the bus,”
“Sure,” Namjoon yawns, already making his way to Seokjin’s bedroom. “Won’t even matter if you miss your stop, you can just sleep. That, or we’ll find you on page six tomorrow morning,”
Seokjin looks like he’s ready to take on the couch if it means not sharing the same bed with Namjoon, but after the tiring day he’d had both from school and work, he figures his chances of not getting kicked off his very own bed are slim. He ushers Namjoon inside and lingers for a while longer by the door, looking at Yoongi from across the room.
Shrugging into his coat, Yoongi nods. “Yeah, some other night, hyung. Thanks,”
And with a final look that passes between them, they both break eye contact, Yoongi turning around to walk out the door, and Seokjin slipping into his bedroom.
The bus ride back home is short, so short Yoongi doesn’t even have time to doze off. He makes his way up to his apartment as quickly as he can, tripping on the stairs and almost slumping against the wrong door.
He gets the right apartment number the second time around, his key fitting into the hole, and the lock turning.
The apartment is quiet and dimly lit, the television on mute.
On the couch, he finds Hoseok, hand dangling off the edge, and head pillowed on one of the pillows Yoongi had dragged out of his bedroom and to the couch. There’s books on the floor and Hoseok’s laptop on the coffee table.
The boy looks tired, dark circles under his eyes.
Looks like he hasn’t slept in a while, too.
Yoongi stops just in front of him, deliberating whether he should shake him awake or leave him there until morning.
Eventually, Yoongi decides on waking Hoseok up, because if it were the other way around, then Yoongi wouldn’t want to sleep on their stupid couch. He crouches down just in front of Hoseok, hand resting lightly on his shoulder.
He gives it a gentle squeeze. “Hoseok,” Yoongi says, voice a little bit slurred. He’s had a little bit too much to drink but - but he’s fine. If he weren’t, then he’d already be dead to the world and asleep on his bed. But here he is, being the thoughtful and kind roommate that he is. Doesn’t matter that he may or may not have a stupid crush on his roommate. No, it’s beside the point. “Wake up. You’re not supposed to sleep here,”
Hoseok stirs in his sleep, hand dangling over the edge of the couch twitching.
Yoongi tries again, this time giving him a firmer shake. Voice louder when he calls for Hoseok.
“Hey, astro boy, you have a bed, you should use it,” Again, no response.
Yoongi’s feet fold from under him and he falls on the floor with a small thud.
That seems to wake him up, though, because Hoseok is finally stirring, eyes fluttering open. Blearily, he makes Yoongi out in the dark, and the first thing he does - the first fucking thing he does when their gazes lock is smile at him.
“Hello, sunshine,” Hoseok’s voice is thick with sleep, his words coming out slow.
The hold he has on Hoseok’s shoulder involuntarily tightens, Hoseok noticing the sudden pressure instantly. He’s still slow from sleep, eyes barely able to stay open for long, but the way he looks at Yoongi is with clarity, clear as the goddamn sun shining high up in the sky at ten in the morning.
It takes Yoongi a couple of tries, but he finally manages to get the words out of his throat - they’d been lodged in there the moment Hoseok had smiled, a small, intimate little smile that looked like it was meant just for him - and says, “You should sleep on your bed. Come on,”
Hoseok responds with his own observation, though this one comes with his hand sweeping aside the strands of Yoongi’s hair away from his eyes. Again. “You’re drunk, Yoongi,”
The use of his own name doesn’t surprise Yoongi as much as Hoseok’s hand resting on the side of his face does. Cupping his cheek, the same stupid, intimate, and soft smile still on his face.
It’s a bad idea, Yoongi had said it himself not an hour ago to his best friends - it’s wrong to make a move on your roommate. It’s going to be messy because they live together and Hoseok - Hoseok is an actual student, studying, trying. Striving. Yoongi’s just too fucking lazy to work for his degree and too scared to quit. There’s a world of difference between them.
But that still doesn’t stop him from leaning into Hoseok’s touch, eyes fluttering dazedly at the warmth Hoseok’s hand is providing. He’s so warm. Always so warm. Yoongi remembers the first time he’d seen Hoseok - hair squashed under a snapback, his smile dimpled on either side, and so, so bright. Too bright for someone he’s never even said so much as a hello to.
“I’m drunk,” Yoongi blurts out when he feels their noses brush. He can see the specks of brown in Hoseok’s eyes, can even map out the laugh lines on his face. They’re so goddamn close, all Yoongi wants to know is what it must feel like, being even closer. If Hoseok is truly as warm as his smile makes him out to be.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok says, thumb pressing against Yoongi’s cheek. “I’m sorry,”
It takes a lot of effort to just draw away from Hoseok, even more to put a hand over Hoseok’s, and pull it away from him (and if there’s anything Yoongi gets from doing that, then it’s that Hoseok is burning up. Or maybe that’s just him.).
“No,” Yoongi pushes himself up from the floor and reaches down to tug at Hoseok’s hands, slowly bringing him up with him and off of the couch. “Come on. I’ll even tuck you in,”
At that, a look of panic crosses over Hoseok’s face. He shakes his head, the easy and pleasant smile on his face replaced with a nervous little grin that Yoongi doesn’t trust the second it lodges its way on Hoseok’s face.
“No, it’s fine,” Hoseok says, voice hitching. “I - I’m. You’re drunk, let me tuck you in,”
It doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, now that Yoongi thinks of it.
He can’t even get anything out because Hoseok is already dragging him to his own room, easily manoeuvring across the mess that’s Yoongi’s room, and finding his bed easily.
That smile had been weird, Yoongi thinks. He tells himself to remember it tomorrow - to remember Hoseok touching his cheek, to how the two of them had been so fucking close, Yoongi doesn’t even know what could have happened had he just closed his eyes and leaned in, taken the plunge.
And perhaps he’ll never know.
But for now, he lets Hoseok do this - literally tuck him into bed, the boy more awake than ever, the look in his eyes that Yoongi had connected with lost, now.
“Good night,” Hoseok reaches a hand out to Yoongi but - but he retracts it before it can rest on. On what? On Yoongi’s forehead, to brush his hair back, on his cheek? “I’m - hyung,“
“Don’t say it, Hoseok,” Yoongi says, turning over on his side, away from Hoseok. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Quiet for a minute too long until he hears Hoseok’s footsteps towards the door.
The spell is broken as easily as it had been cast, and whatever Yoongi had seen in Hoseok’s eyes - whatever kind of warmth he’d felt, whatever compulsion he’d had to be so goddamn close to him - it’s gone.
It leaves Yoongi more sober than ever, but sleep is heavy on his eyes and he succumbs to it, the darkness bringing him in and under.
He almost doesn’t hear Hoseok’s apology, so quiet and under his breath. Yoongi definitely doesn’t hear the sigh, though, or catch the crooked smile on Hoseok’s face.
Well, that’s better, then, because Yoongi wouldn’t even know what to make of it.
Tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes, and the two of them barely skirt by each other, eyes not meeting, words not being traded, and definitely nothing else being done.
As if whatever that had happened the night before had been just that - something that can easily be buried under the cover of darkness and the early o’clock hours.
Hoseok slips back into his room with barely a word out to Yoongi, and Yoongi stays in his spot in the kitchen, fingers closing around a glass of water, while his other hand holds onto two pills of Advil. A hangover, he wants to say - that, or maybe he’s just getting sick.
It’s not until later that evening that Hoseok finally says something other than a pleasant greeting meant for someone he hasn’t lived with in the past - what, three months?
“Hyung, about last night,” There it is, Hoseok’s voice. Different. What happened to him calling Yoongi by his first name? Right, buried under nightfall. “I’m sorry. I - I don’t know what happened,”
Yoongi pauses in stirring his still warm cup of coffee and blinks up at Hoseok.
“You were drunk and I didn’t want to take advantage of you,” There, the floodgates are finally open. Hoseok is blushing, eyes downcast, like he’s not sure he can meet Yoongi’s gaze like this. Not until Yoongi sighs, a little bit frustrated.
“Take advantage - “ Glad Yoongi hasn’t started on his coffee yet or else he would have sputtered it out already. He shakes his head, puts the mug down, and looks at Hoseok. Looks hard enough until the boy has no other choice but to look at him, too. “I don’t know what could have happened last night, but that clearly didn’t. Wouldn’t,”
Hoseok’s face is flushed, from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, his hands wrung in front of him, nervous. He has that same look in his eyes as last night, though - when he’d still been on the couch. A wistful, almost longing look that Yoongi thinks is too good to be true.
“C’mere, astro boy,” His first smile of the day comes to slowly tug at the corners of his lips, face lighting up. His hangover has ebbed away and Hoseok’s looking at him again. Nothing else was done except for that, but Yoongi thinks it’s been a pretty productive day.
There’s a moment of hesitation that’s clear on Hoseok’s face until he decides fuck all and just walk over to Yoongi, who reaches a hand out to him, reaching, asking, taking.
He does what Hoseok had done the night before - cups Hoseok’s cheek with his hand. Feels Hoseok lean into his touch, feel the smile blooming across his face. His clouded eyes clear, now.
This is weird, Yoongi thinks, but - but it isn’t, not really, not when Hoseok is soft.
Soft and warm.
Yoongi thinks he can spend the rest of the evening like this, just touching Hoseok, leaning into his warmth.
“Thanks for last night,” Yoongi snickers, his hand dropping from Hoseok’s face. “I was asleep in minutes,”
Hoseok smiles, that same crooked little smile from last night. That same smile that had Yoongi tiptoeing quietly as he traipsed from one skyscraper to another. “I told you I’d tuck you in,”
They’re so close, Yoongi can feel the warmth of Hoseok’s breath.
There’s an infinite number of possibilities for every little thing in Yoongi’s life, but this here - this right now, there’s only really two: One, to push Hoseok away, and two, to drag him closer, drag him in.
It’s fight or flight and it must be the hangover, or remnants of alcohol still in his system, or the fact that he’s practically spent the entire day in bed, or -
Or perhaps he’s still drunk from Hoseok’s smile, eyes fluttering, smile so open, so vulnerable. So fucking magical and wonderful, Yoongi hadn’t felt like it was for him - it couldn’t be, until - until Hoseok had called out to him and Yoongi, despite his best efforts not to assume, not to overanalyse, not to beat himself up, just knew.
He knows now, too.
Knows that there’s two ways about this, and he chooses the second one.
He doesn’t do it abruptly, though. He does it like this -
Yoongi’s fingers circle around Hoseok’s wrist and he tugs gently, imploringly, prompting the boy to look at him.
He asks first, because while the fall is thrilling, it’s better to sometimes plunge into complete darkness with a torch in your other hand.
Hoseok nods, a small movement, but it’s all Yoongi needs. That and his smile, the same smile from last night, intimate and wonderful. Like it’s really just for Yoongi, just for the two of them.
“Are you sure you’re not drunk anymore?” Hoseok asks, so fucking close - but not close enough.
Yoongi feels Hoseok’s hands on either side of his face, the boy’s thumbs pressing into his cheeks gently. Hoseok’s touch is warm. Always so warm.
“No,” And that’s all Yoongi needs to say because Hoseok is kissing him - kissing him even if it’s Yoongi that had asked if he could do it - still smiling, unable to stop smiling. Soft and gentle, and so goddamn warm, Yoongi’s surprised he hasn’t combusted into flames.
Maybe not now, but soon.
Yoongi’s mind is clear and Hoseok - Hoseok is very real and very much alive against him, fingers gripping at Yoongi’s jaw as he kisses him, sometimes slow and gentle, sometimes deeper and with more intention. Yoongi kisses him back, gives as much as he gets, hands on either side of Hoseok’s hips, fingers clutching tight, bringing him even closer, as close as possible.
When they finally pull apart, it’s to smile at each other, foreheads pressed, and the most relieved looks on their faces.
Hoseok is so close to him that when he closes his eyes and leans his weight against Yoongi, he can feel Hoseok’s eyelashes against his own cheeks.
Yoongi holds him through it, a pleasant surprise running through his veins.
Waves upon waves crashing against the walls of his stomach, flooding his insides, and threatening to drag him in under the sudden current.
But Yoongi does not falter, he does not go under.
Hoseok holds him steady, keeps him afloat.
Yoongi might have just eaten the very words he’d said not twenty-four hours ago, but he thinks that perhaps it’s not so bad, getting involved with your roommate. It’s plenty easy, too, given how close they are.
So maybe this had been the plan all along, and if so - then Yoongi has to thank Seokjin.
And so that’s how they start - slow and natural, falling into each other as easily as they’d both smiled from across the room that very first day they’d met, several months ago.
Nothing changes by much - they’re still the same. Yoongi still goes out of his way to buy milk and make sure Hoseok’s not getting food poisoning with all the expired crap in their fridge, and Hoseok still cooks breakfast. Still tells Yoongi that cereal is good for him and it clearly is not a problem for anybody to eat it for all three meals of the day.
For the most part, nothing’s changed. For the most part, they’re still the same - except, except now they kiss. Now Hoseok can put Yoongi to sleep simply by running his fingers through Yoongi’s hair and kissing the edge of his mouth every other five minutes, a steady smile on his face the entire time.
It’s nice. More than nice.
So nice that when Seokjin finally finds out, two weeks later, it’s to raise an eyebrow at Yoongi and withhold the coffee he’d brought for him.
“Did you do it on purpose?” Yoongi asks, successfully wrestling the iced coffee out of Seokjin’s hands.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seokjin muses, sliding onto the seat across from Yoongi. “Not a thing, nope,”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, “With Hoseok,”
Seokjin takes a careful sip of his coffee, letting that question hang in the air between them for a couple more seconds if only to antagonise Yoongi.
“If you mean, did I recommend Hoseok in the false pretence of trying to set the both of you up, then I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
“I’m going to kill you,” Yoongi groans, leaning against his chair.
“If you do that,” Seokjin smiles at him, and it’s the most angelic smile Yoongi’s ever seen, which only means one thing - he’s being a devious little piece of shit. Good old Kim Seokjin, really. “Then I’ll have no choice but to break the good news to Namjoon,”
And so this is how Yoongi’s friends find out.
How Hoseok’s friends find out is a different story altogether - one that involves a loud chorus of laughing and three other kids that Hoseok drags with him into the apartment, the four of them sprawled on the living room floor with at least five large pizzas stacked in the middle of their little circle. Or square.
When Yoongi walks through the door, he’s instantly pulled down, practically on Hoseok’s lap, with Hoseok’s arms winding around his waist, the boy nuzzling against the side of his neck, and smiling.
Jeongguk pretends to gag and Taehyung leans against Jimin as they both laugh, and.
And it’s great. Nice.
So nice that Yoongi jostles himself up at three in the morning, heading immediately for the paint and easel pushed against the wall. He starts painting, careless strokes that he’s not even sure of. It’s dark and he can’t see very well, but it’s almost like an instinct, now.
Yoongi paints the rest of the night and at eight in the morning, when he walks out of his room, hands splattered with paint, and his favourite pink shirt dirty with smudges of both paint and charcoal, Hoseok almost drops the spatula.
But he quickly composes himself and laughs into the eight o’clock morning sunshine, pulling Yoongi close to him and kissing him, a tentative brushing of their lips as they smile against each other.
They take it slow. They already live together, so the most they can do from here on out is take everything else slow. As slow as Hoseok’s kisses first thing in the morning are, waking up beside Yoongi with an arm thrown around his waist.
As slow as the kisses right before bed, Yoongi’s fingers cupping the side of Hoseok’s face, asking, imploring, wanting.
As slow as when they stumble into each other after a particularly cold afternoon, coats shrugged off of their shoulders but sweaters left on because the heater just isn’t doing it. They wind up on the couch, practically on top of each other, Hoseok pressing Yoongi into the cushions, his kisses slow but turning deeper, hungrier. They’ve never kissed like this before because - because Yoongi barely knows what they can do if they did, but here they are, Yoongi’s fingers tugging at the hair behind Yoongi’s nape, Hoseok licking into his mouth and grinding on top of him.
It takes a little bit more effort to slip out of their clothes, mainly because its cold and because neither of them want to take their shirts off. So they don’t, but they do strip out of their pants and boxers. Hoseok closes his hand around their cocks, tongue peeking out of his mouth as he tries to level himself, careful not to knee Yoongi in the gut as he works over on top of him.
And god, even with that ugly orange sweater on, he still manages to make it work.
“How the fuck is this possible,” Yoongi’s breath hitches as Hoseok tugs on their cocks, his smile turning into a smirk, now. Yoongi slides his fingers through Hoseok’s hair, drags him back down into a kiss, and breaks away to hiss out, “That sweater isn’t doing anyone but you any favours,”
Hoseok takes that lightly, but he does lean further away from Yoongi to - to wrap both hands around their cocks, and god, Yoongi is so close, just watching Hoseok work them both into orgasm. So much for taking it slow - all it had taken was a particularly cold afternoon for them to end up here, but then again. Then again, if neither of them had wanted this, then they wouldn’t have, but they do, and god, does Yoongi want him.
He comes first, moan particularly too high for him to even admit to doing five minutes later. Hoseok follows shortly after with a groan that has Yoongi seeing stars minutes after his own orgasm - it had sounded so fucking filthy, and seeing Hoseok’s hands splattered with a combination of their own mess has Yoongi’s stomach swopping.
When Hoseok turns to make for the bathroom, probably to grab wet tissues or a towel to clean himself up - and wipe at the stain on Yoongi’s shirt - Yoongi pulls him back down on top of him, fingers threading into his hair, brushing. Pulling.
Hoseok moans into the kiss, thumb pressing into Yoongi’s cheek. “You called my sweater ugly,”
They’re basking in post-orgasm glow and Hoseok takes this moment to rebut the claim against his sweater, something Yoongi isn’t going to be taking back. He rolls his eyes and pushes Hoseok off of him to sit on the couch, feeling particularly cold now that they’re both not grinding on top of each other, desperate for release.
“Yeah, but you’re cute,” Yoongi says, patting Hoseok’s cheek affectionately. “And didn’t I say you were working the ugly orange sweater look?”
Hoseok throws him his pants back and gets up from the couch, pouting. “Shouldn’t have done you any favours,” But it’s playful chiding, his grin making it obvious.
Yoongi laughs, surprised even at the sudden sound of it, and shakes his head. “You’re unbearable.” Is the only thing he says, because there’s only really fewer alternatives to saying I might really, really like you.
“So, about next semester,” if Namjoon wants to open up with this, then Yoongi will let him. He won’t let Namjoon try to steal his own cigarettes, though, because times are tough and didn’t Namjoon just say two weeks ago that he was trying to quit?
“Hands off,” Yoongi slaps Namjoon’s hand off of his box of smokes and snatches it away from him, eyebrow raised. “What happened to ‘I’m going to quit this time, hyung’?”
Namjoon shrugs, “People fail. They relapse. Regress. Or, to use the common man’s term, shit happens. Now stop being selfish,”
Yoongi doesn’t put much of a fight after that and just slides it back to Namjoon, who takes one cigarette with a cheeky little grin.
“Anyway, what’re your plans for next semester?” Namjoon asks, tapping the lighter against the steel edge of the table. It makes for an annoying noise, piercing to Yoongi’s ears. Makes Yoongi want to throw his own lighter at Namjoon’s head. His fingers close around the small lighter and he shakes his head no.
“Nothing,” Yoongi says rather matter of factly, uncrossing his legs from underneath the table. He takes the box back from Namjoon to light his own cigarette, letting the burn of the smoke linger in his mouth, the taste of it bitter and harsh the longer he doesn’t exhale. He eventually does, away from Namjoon’s face, because while there may be times all Yoongi wants to do is drag Namjoon by the tip of his ear, he still knows common courtesy.
Unlike Namjoon, who blows the smoke directly in his face.
“I’m going to kill you one of these days,” Yoongi says lazily, words coming out in a slow drawl the same time Namjoon asks,
“What do you mean, ‘nothing’? It’s going to be your last year, hyung,”
“There’s nothing to do next semester,” Yoongi hasn’t really said it out loud yet nor has he divulged his plans to anyone. Until of course today. Funny how it’s always Namjoon who knows about ultimately life changing decisions first. Funny how Namjoon can either steer him away from it or aid him in taking that leap. He becomes what Yoongi needs, whenever. Really, becomes what anyone of his friends needs, depending on.
“You’re dropping out?” Namjoon asks slowly, as if he’s still tasting the words on his mouth. Like he isn’t even sure if he’s saying the right words, but he is. The exact words Yoongi’s never said out loud until today. “I thought everything was going great with Hoseok,”
Yoongi snorts, “Yeah, but I’m not enrolled in Jung Hoseok 101, am I?”
“You’re terrible, hyung,” Namjoon blows a thick stream of smoke again, this time away from Yoongi’s face. “How come you never take anything seriously?”
Merely a matter of choice, shrugs Yoongi. He doesn’t say it, though. Doesn’t say that ever since that one morning several months ago, everything - every little thing Yoongi had done - had all led to this. At the end of their second semester, with barely half a month left, and no intention on enrolling for the next one.
His mom would be so proud of him.
“Does your mom know?”
“No,” Yoongi doubts she’s going to be disappointed, though. She’d called him the day his estranged father had died, asked him to be there for the burial, just a token gesture of respect. Yoongi had denied adamantly and hung up on her. There are far worse things, Yoongi thinks, to be disappointed over. “I’ll tell her after this term,”
“Do you even have intentions of finishing this term?” Namjoon puts out his cigarette, crushes it under his heel, and sighs. “I mean, sure, hyung, whatever you want. I’m on board, you know that, but. This is big,”
There’s a joke there that Yoongi wants to crack but doesn’t. Instead, he just smiles ruefully at Namjoon, who, try as he might to wrap that smart brain of his around this, fails.
“It’s fine.” Yoongi hears himself say - to either reassure Namjoon or himself, he’s not very sure. It’s a grey line at this point.
Namjoon smiles at him, more sheepish than anything, and finally gives in. “Eventually. That’s how this works.”
Yoongi doesn’t tell Hoseok or anyone other than Namjoon, for that matter. He’s known the boy for - what, nearly half of his life? Even more? But that’s beside the point because - because just the sight of Hoseok has whatever words Yoongi actually wants to say either lost or completely stuck in the base of his throat. He’s not very good, talking, and it only goes to show every time Hoseok so much as looks at him.
“Rough day?” Hoseok asks, dropping his heavy book bag on the kitchen counter. “Because my professor can jump off a building for all I care,”
Right, last two weeks of the semester stress, it apparently brings out even the worst in everyone.
Instead of responding to that, Yoongi just hooks his chin on Hoseok’s shoulder, both arms coming around Hoseok’s middle.
Hoseok settles one hand over both of Yoongi’s, humming an upbeat version of a haunting trill in one of the horror movies they’d just spent the entire night watching just a few weeks ago.
“Hey, you okay?” Hoseok asks, tilting his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Yoongi who doesn’t budge, just stays right there, practically clinging to Hoseok, hold around the boy tightening. “Fine, fine,” Hoseok sighs into the hug, giving up for now.
Yoongi likes this, likes how Hoseok gives as much as Yoongi gets. How Yoongi gives as much as Hoseok gets. Likes the both of them together. And it only comes to him then how late it is, how he hasn’t exactly said anything specific about it. How the only date they’ve ever really gone on are the various coffee runs and late night dinners they drag each other out of the apartment for.
This is a good as a time as any, Yoongi decides.
“Hey, astro boy,” Yoongi presses his smile into the exposed skin of Hoseok’s neck, the scarf previous wound loosely around it now discarded somewhere on the couch.
He hears Hoseok still humming, though Hoseok pinching the skin on the back of his hand is indication that he’s listening.
“Y’know I like you, right?”
Hoseok laughs. He actually laughs, and it’s a quiet one, though not less any melodic. It sounds a lot like the first notes of Yoongi’s favourite song.
“Yeah,” Hoseok smiles, turning in the circle of Yoongi’s arms until they’re faced across from each other, with Yoongi’s arms still around Hoseok, and Hoseok’s hands on either side of Yoongi’s face, holding his gaze steady. “I like you too, sunshine,”
The corners of Yoongi’s mouth tugs into a smile, Hoseok kissing it right off his face after a second, lips brushing tentatively against Yoongi’s at first before Yoongi leans in, too, returning it with as much enthusiasm. Kissing Hoseok has never felt this good - actually, kissing anybody has never felt as good as kissing Hoseok, because truth be told (and it might be a rather shitty day for Yoongi, but here is Hoseok, here is the both of them, together, so it makes up for it. Hoseok can probably make up for a hundred shitty days with just one smile.)
Yoongi can still hear the song long after Hoseok’s stopped laughing.
To say that Yoongi has a painful and depressing breakup with art is to say that the sun is cold and that one plus one is negative hundred and fifty. Or, to put it lightly: it would be a lie. Yoongi’s always been meaning to do this, it just took a little while to have it done and over with.
The moment the semester had started, he’d already been packing away his things. Throwing away paintings that had won him the recognition of his peers and the praise of his professors. What’s done is done and all Yoongi is left with now is the last few sketchbooks he keeps on his night stand. Art is expensive but so is maintaining the countless different materials he has.
(He gives it to Jimin and Jeongguk, who are more than happy to have something new to play with. They claim they want to paint the dorm, but Hoseok is afraid they’re going to end up vandalising the classroom of the one professor they both hate with a passion.).
Hoseok sits on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, flipping through one of Yoongi’s older sketchbooks. Nearly five years old and Yoongi still has it - not all the pages are filled. Some of them are sloppy work, most unfinished. There are some, even, that aren’t his - his mothers. He can never throw them away. Will never throw it away.
Yoongi flicks the ashes off the cigarette in a flower pot just by open windowsill.
“You know I have an ash tray,” Hoseok starts slowly, frowning at the poor flower pot. “And is that - that’s a fake plant,”
“Now do you feel bad for accusing me of negligence against this plant?” Yoongi puts it out against the stem of the fake plant, smile all too hallow when he finally turns to look at Hoseok.
Hoseok, who looks at him with a ghost of a smile on his face and hands already reached out for him, open. Hoseok, whose smile comes when Yoongi smiles at him, when Yoongi’s own heart softens at the very sight of him. Hoseok, who somehow manages to make Yoongi’s now empty room (it had been so messy before, an obstacle course whenever anyone decided to step into it) suddenly brighter. Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok.
“There’s two weeks left, hyung,” Hoseok toys with the hem of Yoongi’s shirt, one hand sliding under it to rest on the smooth skin of his hip. His hand is cold and Yoongi winces at it, but doesn’t draw away from him. Will probably never draw away from Hoseok, if he has a choice. “Are you sure?”
Yoongi lets his fingers trail down the length of Hoseok’s jaw, smiling fondly down at him. So fucking fond. So fucking endearing. Yoongi kind of hates him sometimes, hates how easy Hoseok makes this on him. Hates how whenever he’s not around, all Yoongi wants to be is where he is. Hands always wanting to touch him. Hates it.
But then again, he kinda doesn’t, because who can really hate Hoseok, anyway?
Certainly not Yoongi.
“Yeah. I’ve got two projects for finals I can still do. Will do, I promise,” His thumb brushes lightly at the edge of Hoseok’s mouth, earning a soft, content sigh from the other boy. “But after that, I’m done,”
“You’re gonna leave?” Hoseok cups his hand over Yoongi’s. This time, it’s much warmer.
“I’m gonna go home. Just a visit, I’ll be back,” Yoongi hears the softness in his own voice. Feels his heart constricting rather painfully at the sight of Hoseok’s eyes dimming, his shoulders slacking. “Hey, astro boy, it’s only for, like, six days. A few weeks after finals, yeah?”
“Can I come?”
And it comes as a surprise to Yoongi. So surprising that his breath hitches in his throat, his words lost, and his mind turning murky.
Hoseok gives Yoongi’s hand a squeeze, eyes turning downcast when he says, “I mean, it’s cool if you don’t want me to. Just thought you’d need company on the train ride,”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says under his breath, blinking blearily at Hoseok. Willing himself to focus on him. “Yeah - come with me,”
It’s one of those smiles again, Hoseok’s special smiles whenever he’s pleasantly surprised. Bright and warm, and just for Yoongi.
“But you have to pass all your classes,” Yoongi adds, grinning, now. He nudges their noses together before pressing a kiss briefly on Hoseok’s lips, fleeting and gone as quickly as Yoongi had leaned in. “If not, I’m leaving your dumb ass here.”
Hoseok’s rebuttal is so fucking lame that Yoongi has no other choice but to slide on his lap and kiss him quiet, his hands already locking behind Hoseok’s neck, pulling him closer against him, holding onto him because there’s no way he’s going to end up falling on his ass on the floor, because not only is that unsexy, it would also prove Hoseok right, and there’s no way Yoongi is having either of the two happen.
It’s the start of exams when Yoongi finds it. A small orange bottle left to the side of the sink. It’s filled with peach coloured pills, labelled on the outside with Hoseok’s name.
He looks at it for a long time, fingers closed around it. He recognises the brand, knows what it’s for, and. And he puts it back, feeling like he’d just been scorched. A quick glance at the clock tells him that Hoseok won’t be home until early in the evening. He’s got two exams and a brilliant date with the library.
Yoongi’s eyes constantly dart to the pill bottle while his other hand hovers over the call button on his phone. He gives up after a solid fifteen minutes and calls Seokjin, because there’s nobody else. Only ever Seokjin when it comes to this, really.
The phone rings for a while until Seokjin finally picks up, voice distracted when he says, “Hey, what’s up?”
Yoongi can hear the tinkle of a bell, which only means one thing - Seokjin is at work. “Hyung, hey, if you’re busy - “
Seokjin beats him to it, “No, it’s fine. I’ve got time. Is something wrong?”
Funny how Seokjin’s natural reaction to out-of-the-blue calls from Yoongi is to assume the worse. Well, he isn’t wrong most of the time, anyway.
“You’re pre-med,” Yoongi says slowly, knowing that he shouldn’t. That the only thing he should be doing right now is to end this call, because there’s no other way around it. “You know what - never mind,”
“Yoongi,” Seokjin says, this time voice much sterner. “What did you do?”
“I - I think,” And he’s not even sure what he wants to say. Hey, hyung, I just found my boyfriend’s bottle of Ambien. What now? Probably not a very good opening statement there. “Um, I found something,”
Quiet on the other end that’s only broken by the sound of paper being crumpled. But after that, nothing. A few more moments pass until Yoongi hears it - the closing of a heavy door and Seokjin’s sharp breath. “You found what?”
“Nothing,” But it’s far too late now, and Yoongi knows it.
Seokjin is smart. He catches on quickly.
“Put it back,” Seokjin’s voice is low and quiet but not any less stern, like he’s rushing Yoongi. “You have to put it back, Yoongi,”
“I didn’t - I didn’t open it or anything. I know what it is, I know what it’s for, I would -“ Here Yoongi swallows, heavy and thick, his very own words threatening to choke the air out of him. “I would never, hyung,”
“You didn’t know?” Seokjin says, much gentler, now. Carefully, too.
Yoongi shakes his head, realises that Seokjin isn’t able to see it, and says, “No. But - that’s not important. Hyung,”
And he doesn’t even know what he wants Seokjin to do. What he wants Seokjin to say, because there’s nothing to even talk about in the first place. This is shock taking Yoongi by the throat and lifting him off of his feet, suspending him a foot off the ground.
“I have to go,” Yoongi says, ending the call before he can even hear the rest of Seokjin’s question (“What are you going to -“). He slips the phone back into his pocket, grabs the nearest coat he can find - it’s Hoseok’s, a little bit too big on him, the sleeves slightly longer. It fits rather nicely, the coat. Feels almost as warm as Hoseok does, whenever the boy decides to koala-cling to him in the middle of the night.
In the middle of the night.
Yoongi cringes at the thought of that and slips out the door before he can decide to do anything else, or call anybody else. It’s a bad idea, he knows, but. But the apartment had suddenly been plunged in coldness and it might be even colder outside but Yoongi just needs air, needs the time to clear his head. Think.
And so he slips out of the apartment before Hoseok’s afternoon classes can end. The only thing he can think of the entire time he’s out is that he’s not running away, because there’s no running away from Hoseok. Not sweet, smile-always-so-damn-big Hoseok. Yoongi’s just running away from his own thoughts, because finals have just started.
And Yoongi might not be one to overanalyse or assume, but he thinks that something like this - something like this is news you break to somebody after they’ve stressed themselves out, not during. So he decides to bury it, for now, the same way he’s buried the truth about his father.
He’s done so well on the latter, surely this one he can do just as good, if not better.
Yoongi finds himself in the park, of all places. Everything is cold, the chilly air biting against his skin. He pulls the coat closer to him, revels in it’s own special warmth. In how it smells - just like Hoseok, the idiot.
He’s got at least an hour or so left before Hoseok comes home, expecting Yoongi to be curled in his own room, fast asleep, because finals for him had been over just last week, his last remaining projects submitted for evaluation. Whatever grade he gets on them, he doesn’t care, because he’s done.
Over the course of Yoongi’s own self proposed exile, his phone buzzes. Calls and messages from Seokjin, asking him if everything is okay. If he hasn’t done anything stupid, yet.
Yoongi refuses to answer on the base that Seokjin has the nerve to think he’d do something so stupid regarding this. He’s just out to think, is all.
Of course, being stuck outside when it’s near freezing makes for a very bad environment to think. Yoongi doesn’t end up thinking about much his entire time outside because he’s too busy trying not to freeze, hands constantly stuck in his pockets to keep them warm.
This is a bad idea, Yoongi thinks, as bad an idea as calling Seokjin. As finding the goddamn pill bottle in the first place.
His phone ringing all of a sudden jostles him so much he nearly jumps. His hand wraps around his phone the moment he sees Hoseok’s name flash on top of the screen.
“Hey,” Yoongi says, voice shaking.
He hears a long, drawn out breath on the other end; the sound of Hoseok smoking. “What do you want for dinner?” comes Hoseok’s voice shortly after, chirpy and all too happy. Unsuspecting. Yoongi feels a knife twist in his gut.
“Whatever you want,” Yoongi says all too quickly. He knows how weird he must sound - how alarming, and so he amends it with coughing, anything to get his voice back. To get his mind out of the fucking gutter. “Rice bowls? Pizza, whatever you want. How was your exam?”
If Hoseok suspects anything, then he doesn’t let him in on it, because.
Because how can he, when he’s still outside, unaware of the fact that he’d been in such a hurry earlier that day that he’d forgotten the pill bottle by the sink.
But now that Yoongi thinks about it, it could have been from last night, when he’d caught Hoseok by the sink, the water running. He’d nearly jumped out of his own skin when Yoongi had called to him from across the room - had it been from last night, then?
Yoongi shakes his head, trying to get the memory out of his head, because whenever it could have been from, for whatever reason, it’s for Hoseok to say. Hoseok to disclose. Yoongi just feels like a complete and utter dick, now, stumbling into it.
He listens as Hoseok talks about dinner - they’re getting tacos or burritos, whichever one Hoseok can think of ordering first. Or both, he’s hungry. Yoongi’s hungry, too. - and then about his exams, the first one he thinks he’d more than perfected, while the second - well, he hopes for the best on that one.
“I’ll be home in a while,” Hoseok almost sing-songs, ending the call with an overdrawn ‘bye’ that despite Yoongi’s own muddied mind and too-cold hands, leaves him smiling.
Well, there’s that.
Yoongi has to go home, eventually. Well, okay, hopefully soon because there’s no way he’s going to end up with frostbite.
It doesn’t take him that long to get back to the apartment - he’d literally just walked right out and to the park an hour or so ago, but somehow, the walk back is more daunting, knowing that Hoseok’s already home.
How is it going to play out, Yoongi wonders, because right now, he doesn’t have anything on him. Doesn’t know what to say - doesn’t even know what he feels, because of course Hoseok is entitled to his own secret, entitled to keeping that bit of him private, the same way Yoongi buries dirty secret after dirty secret. But.
But perhaps what’s really shaken him up is the mere thought of Hoseok pacing around the house, unable to sleep. Of Hoseok slipping out of bed the moment Yoongi’s gotten comfortable, muttering something like water or bathroom or some other excuse to pad out of the room. Of Yoongi just letting him go, unaware.
So fucking unaware it starts to rip at him from the inside out, now.
His eyes sting from the cold and only from the cold. Hands close around an empty pack of cigarettes before he discards it in a bin just to the side of their apartment. The walk back up to the floor and the few steps it takes to get from the landing to their room feels so fucking drawn out, so long, like Yoongi’s own consciousness is weighing him down.
The door is already unlocked. All he needs to do now is walk in. Walk right in, he thinks - pushes himself to do, more like.
He spots Hoseok immediately on the couch, boxes of takeout spread on the collapsable table in the living room. The sound of the door creaking open alerts him of Yoongi’s arrival, and he looks up from his book to nod at him.
“That’s my coat,” Hoseok points out, eyebrows quirking.
When Yoongi stays rooted in his spot, face drained of colour, Hoseok sits up straighter. Pats the space beside him on the couch, and smiles. It’s not an actual smile, per se - at least, it’s not one of Hoseok’s usual smiles. This time - this time it’s much sadder. Emptier, even.
“C’mere, hyung,” Hoseok’s voice is almost a whisper with how soft it is, but Yoongi hears him loud and clear.
Yoongi nods stiffly. Shrugs out of his coat and shuffles out of his shoes. Stumbles his way to the couch until his knees knock against Hoseok’s. Until he practically collapses on the couch. He isn’t even aware of how cold his hands are until Hoseok holds onto one, twining their fingers together. Hoseok’s hand is so warm. It’s not a surprise, at this point, really.
“Do you want to start with the elephant or do you want to eat first?” Trust Hoseok to keep his humour in this, especially now when he knows exactly what’s happened. What Yoongi had seen. He squeezes on Yoongi’s hand, gentle and reassuring. “Hyung, you’re not even looking at me,”
Yoongi looks at him. Blinks at him, unseeing at first, until Hoseok comes into view. Comes into focus - he’s always the focus, wherever they are. Whoever Yoongi’s with. Always, always the only focus, so fucking vivid and stark against whatever backdrop, so sharp in detail. The only one.
“You’re not talking,” Hoseok pulls on Yoongi’s hand, the smile on his face crumbling, and his lower lip trembling. This isn’t a chink in Hoseok’s armour - this isn’t even a rip or a gash, it’s a jagged and ugly opening in the breastplate, like a spear had just pierced through it. Repeatedly. “Yoongi, talk to me,”
It’s painful, hearing Hoseok’s voice break. Seeing him like this, pale. Uncertain. Shaken. All because Yoongi is at a loss for words, but he sees Hoseok. Hears him.
It takes a couple more tries until Yoongi can finally get an actual word out. Can even so much as shake his head. “Hoseok,”
Yoongi repeats himself. It’s just Hoseok’s name that he says again and again until Hoseok leans completely into his touch, his hold around Yoongi’s hand slacking, and his shoulders shaking.
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok murmurs against Yoongi’s throat, face buried in the crook of Yoongi’s neck. “I should’ve told you,”
It’s fine. It’s okay. Every other reassuring string of words Yoongi wants to say. Yoongi can say. But he doesn’t, because Hoseok is a quivering mess beside him and Yoongi feels even worst than he’d had earlier. He swallows, once, before he kisses the top of Hoseok’s head, tips of his hair tickling at his chin.
Enough to have Yoongi smile, if only slightly.
“Hey, astro boy,” Yoongi’s voice is hoarse but it’s much more levelled, now. “Look at me,”
How easy the roles are reversed. How easy it is with Hoseok.
Falling in and never out. Free falling together, fingers linked the entire time, and their laughter blown away with the rushing wind.
“Why are you apologising?” Hoseok lifts his head off of Yoongi’s shoulder and looks at him. He’s still so pale, his once warm hands now cold. “Hoseok - baby, come on, talk to me,”
Not fifteen minutes ago, Yoongi had been rooted to his spot, his mind unable to string together the right words, but now - now with Hoseok threatening to fall apart in his hands, there’s nothing else Yoongi can do but be strong. If this is what strong is. If strong is what Hoseok needs, then he’ll try.
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok grits out, stubborn, now. “I didn’t mean to hide it from you - I wanted to tell you,”
Yoongi smooths Hoseok’s hair out of his eyes, brushes the back of his hand gently against Hoseok’s cheek. Presses their foreheads together, draws a deep sigh, and closes his eyes.
“Why are you beating yourself up over this?” Gone is the croak in Yoongi’s voice. Gone is how frozen he’d felt moments earlier. “This isn’t something you apologise for,”
There is a time when someone will fall into your arms. Will lean completely against you for the sole purpose of relying on you, and only you. Today is that day for Yoongi and Hoseok. Yoongi falls into Hoseok and Hoseok leans against him, his shaking hands steady, now.
Now that Yoongi is here, now that they’re so close again. So, so close Yoongi can feel Hoseok’s pulse through his wrists. Probably through his chest, too, if he places his hand over it.
“I have two more,” The words tip out of Hoseok’s tongue, slowly at first until they all rush out of him. “I meant to tell you, I really did,”
Yoongi wants to head-butt him then and there, but instead, he cups at Hoseok’s cheek. Lets his fingers trace patterns on his smooth skin, and says, “It’s fine, it’s - I understand, okay? Hoseok, come on, look at me,”
Hoseok does just that, lifts his gaze to lock with Yoongi’s. Tightens his hold around Yoongi’s hand, their fingers lacing together. Twining. Holding on.
“You’re not mad?” Hoseok asks, tentative. Timid. “You - this is fine?”
Yoongi smiles, slow and soft, and nods. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be? I mean - Namjoon relies on those elitist books of his,” And Yoongi’s voice might crack in the middle of his bad attempt at a joke, but at least he’s trying - that’s something he’ll do, try. He pushes on, though, because it’s at least got the corners of Hoseok’s mouth twitching into an almost smile. “So I see no problem with this. We - we cope in different ways, yeah?”
It’s a terrible speech, terribly worded, terribly said, but this is all Yoongi knows - he knows that whatever Hoseok needs, he’s getting from those tiny little pills packed in those bright orange bottles. If that’s what Hoseok needs, then it’s fine. It’s more than okay, honestly. Yoongi has no qualms with it.
Hoseok lets go of his hand in favour of wrapping both his arms around Yoongi in a hug. Yoongi hears a hiccup that’s followed by Hoseok’s laugh, a breath of fresh air and a ray of sunshine, all packed in one. The next words out of Hoseok’s mouth are whispered, lips brushing against the side of Yoongi’s mouth, and they’re so close, it’s impossible for Yoongi not to have heard, especially because Hoseok had said -
“You help me get through the day, Yoongi,”
Morning comes and it finds them in the kitchen, Hoseok sat on top of the counter, hands cradling a cup of hot chocolate.
He looks so tired, like he hasn’t gotten any sleep but - but Yoongi had spent the night with him, the both of them curled on the couch. Hoseok’s breathing was the only thing that lulled Yoongi to sleep.
“Are you hungry?” Yoongi asks, giving up on trying to salvage anything from their fridge. “We can go get coffee,”
Hoseok grimaces at him, “We have coffee, you just don’t know how to make a good cup,”
“I’m going to push you off the counter, now,” Yoongi threatens, mild-mannered and without any inflection in his tone.
Hoseok’s smile is something between a grimace and an actual one, but for now, Yoongi will take it. He’ll take any kind of Hoseok’s smiles for anything, if he was being completely honest. Will probably take Hoseok’s smile even if a hundred different sunsets was offered to him.
Rain pelts the kitchen window, filling the apartment with the sound of soft rainfall. It’s almost enough to make Yoongi want to sleep again.
“Are we okay?” He asks, just as Hoseok tries to smother his yawn behind his hand.
Hoseok’s response to that is to fidget a little bit on the spot, placing his mug down, leaning back to try to open a kitchen cabinet. He manages, hand emerging from the supposedly empty cabinet to brandish the same orange bottle Yoongi had found last night. He gives it an experimental shake, his smile turning nervous. His eyes can say it all, Yoongi’s noticed.
“Hoseok, baby, come on,”
“No, I’m just - yeah, this is it,” Hoseok tosses it at Yoongi, who catches it with a surprise little yelp. “Helps with sleep, that one,”
Slender fingers curl around the entirety of the pill bottle. It’s nearly empty, now. Yoongi looks up from staring at the label at Hoseok, who makes to push off the counter, probably to get the other two from his room.
“Don’t, it’s enough. I get it, Hoseok, it’s fine. We’re okay,” Yoongi wants to hear that from him. Probably selfish but - but it’s true. Everything is okay. Everything will be okay. If not now, then eventually, but the truth of the matter is, everything has been okay from the start. There’s no other reason for it not to be. He just wants to hear the words out of Hoseok’s mouth.
Hoseok shakes his head, the look on his face one of awe as he stares at Yoongi. “Are you sure?”
The bottle is back on top of the kitchen counter, Yoongi abandoning it in favour of walking over to Hoseok. It feels awfully similar to a different day - when the sun shone bright orange outside and the skies reflected the calmest ocean waters Yoongi’s ever seen.
He steps between Hoseok’s legs, hands immediately slipping under Hoseok’s shirt to settle on his hip. On the small of his back. Yoongi leans in against him, just wanting this for the moment. Not wanting anything else but this, the both of them like this. In an apartment that’s too big for two people. In a city that’s so loud but - but it’s amazing, isn’t it, how Yoongi hears Hoseok so clearly. How vivid sharp he is against the mosaic background that is the rest of the world.
“Yeah,” Yoongi murmurs, head pillowed on Hoseok’s chest. He feels Hoseok’s arms wrap around him, holding him close. Steady. They’ve always done that, haven’t they - held each other close. Held each other steady against the shaking earth. “I’m sure about you, astro boy,”
Hoseok props his chin on top of Yoongi’s forehead, and Yoongi might not be able to see it, but he can feel it - can feel the smile on Hoseok’s face as easily as he can feel the beating of his heart through his shirt. Through his chest.
The sob that slips past Hoseok’s mouth is more strangled than anything, but Yoongi can’t pull away to look at him, not when Hoseok’s grip around him is tight. So Yoongi doesn’t try to fight it, because when has he ever pulled away from Hoseok - he’s surely not going to start now.
“I hate you,” Hoseok hiccups after a while, sounding sulky.
When Yoongi doesn’t reply, Hoseok digs his fingers into Yoongi’s side, and adds, “You know I was joking, right? Because I - really, really like you,”
This is fine, this here right now - Hoseok’s breathing and the beating of his heart a steady rhythm to Yoongi’s ear, a melody Yoongi doesn’t mind hearing again and again, day in and day out, for all the days ahead of them.
The sea is a scary place - massive and awful, but - but its beautiful, too, especially like this: after the storm, when the very waters that had raged against each other are calmed. When the sky is a rich blue and the ocean itself magic.
And Hoseok - well, Hoseok is a different matter altogether, and the sea might stir just from the slightest of smiles from him, and it might never have been smooth sailing - not for Yoongi, not for anyone - but if the ship does capsize, then there’s not much to worry about.
Yoongi’s had so much practice drowning in Hoseok’s laughter that he thinks he can fend off even the deepest part of the ocean.
“I like you, too, Hoseok,” Yoongi finally says, smiling. Knowing. His own heart full.
Yoongi dreams again that night, about the same little boy, drifting his entire life.
There is a boy that has been stranded in the middle of the ocean.
The boy sleeps in a raft.
The sound of the waves is the only lullaby he knows and the rocking of the dingy little sailboat he’s been stuck in is the only warm embrace he is aware of.
Yoongi dreams of red oceans and pink skies.
When he wakes up, it’s still dark outside. Hoseok is awake beside him, staring at him, fingers stilling in his hair.
“You’re being creepy,” Yoongi says, in lieu of an actual greeting.
“You’re always creepy,” Hoseok bites back, tugging on Yoongi’s hair. “I have an exam in two hours, you need to wake up because I’m hungry,”
Yoongi’s response to that is to promptly kick Hoseok off the bed. He hears the heavy thud on the other side of the room and he rolls on his side, smirking.
“Hey - “ Hoseok yelps, clawing his way back up the bed. “My second idea isn’t as bad, I promise,”
“Let’s hear it,”
“Get off your ass now and we have enough time for a shower,” Hoseok would look more menacing but he’s currently hanging on the edge of the bed, hair a mess, and grinning at him. Definitely not the sexiest thing Yoongi’s woken up to, but.
But he rolls over, anyway, and gets up on his feet. Amazing how he manages to do it in under ten minutes. Grabs Hoseok up by the shoulders and drags him to the bathroom (not the goddamn powder room, there isn’t a shower in there, even) and shuts the door to the sound of Hoseok’s laughter cut off in the middle as he moans, low and breathy.
It’s thirty past seven and they don’t even have two more hours until Hoseok’s first exam of the day. Yoongi isn’t in the business of rushing, either, so he takes his sweet, sweet time, hands sliding down Hoseok’s bare chest, and his teeth worrying on Hoseok’s lower lip.
“You said,” Hoseok manages to get out in between Yoongi’s teasing kisses and biting, “That if I didn’t pass all my exams, you wouldn’t take me with you,”
Yoongi responds by turning them around, Hoseok now directly under the spray of the water. What a sight that is, Hoseok naked, skin practically glowing and warm from the shower.
“And didn’t I tell you you were too smart for a business student?” Yoongi retaliates, slipping one knee between Hoseok’s leg and getting another moan in return.
Hoseok grinds down against him, hands scrabbling, trying to find purchase on anything - the railings, the goddamn bottle of shampoo to the side - until one of his hands settle on the curve of Yoongi’s spine and the other on his ass, fingers pressing, kneading.
A dirty trick, but Yoongi’s never taken Hoseok for anyone who isn’t willing to flip the whole table just to get the tides to turn in his favour.
“This kinda dirty talk is the best,” Hoseok gives his ass a particularly hard squeeze, bypasses Yoongi’s mouth entirely to suck a bruising kiss on the base of his jaw, teeth dragging across his collarbone. Yoongi can already feel the heat pooling in the bottom of his stomach, knows that time isn’t on their side now - and Yoongi might not want to rush this, but there’s only really so much he can do with Hoseok glowing like the fucking sun under the shower.
“Someone telling you you’re smart gets you off?” Yoongi responds, voice barely kept low because Hoseok is leaving another bruise, mouthing against the mark that Yoongi’s pretty sure will stand purple and blue against his pale skin.
Hoseok’s hand trails down between them, the back of his fingers grazing against Yoongi’s cock. It’s a deliberate move that has Yoongi arching into him, pressing even closer, wanting - always wanting.
“No,” And here Hoseok’s voice sounds much, much deeper, desires and wants, and needs threatening to colour his entire tone, flush his face a deep red. “You, specifically,”
Well, if that’s the case.
Very carefully, Yoongi kisses him, starting from his mouth. It’s very brief, chaste, even, until he travels lower. Kisses the edge of his jaw. Down his throat, pausing shortly to suck a bruise on the smooth skin of Hoseok’s throat, fingers tickling down Hoseok’s sides, almost like he’s playing the piano on his ribs, his touches feather light and soft.
Hoseok loses his grip on Yoongi’s hair when Yoongi ducks down away from him to slink down to his knees. The floor is wet and slippery and if Hoseok so much as tips forward or backward then Yoongi will be very sorry, sure, but it still won’t be his fault he’ll end up biting his boyfriend’s dick off so early in the morning.
Which is probably the wrong thing to be thinking about when he’s got one hand around the base of Hoseok’s cock and the other digging into Hoseok’s hip. Drips of water cling to his eyelashes, not helping at all with his already impaired vision.
“Yoongi,” How beautiful it is to hear Hoseok break in the middle of Yoongi’s name, hand twisting fistfuls in Yoongi’s hair, tugging too harshly when Yoongi licks a long stripe down the length of him, smile more than pleased at the reaction he’d gotten. “You’re - terrible,”
“No,” Yoongi says, looking up at Hoseok through his lashes - he can barely see Hoseok through the spray of water but he can hear him, and oh god is that spurring Yoongi on. It’s the only thing he says to Hoseok before he takes him in, hand experimentally pumping on Hoseok’s cock as Yoongi takes him in slowly, trying to find his rhythm, trying to pace himself.
They haven’t done this in a while and Yoongi isn’t even sure if he’s ready for Hoseok to fuck his mouth but - but then he shifts on his knees, tightens his grip on Hoseok’s hip, and hallows his cheeks.
The sound he hears from Hoseok is filthy, a breathy moan that he punctuates with a twist of Yoongi’s hair, his pleases stuttering out of his mouth like a mantra, again and again, wanting Yoongi to let him go, to bring him to a finish, because it’s too much.
Yoongi rocks back on his heels, feeling Hoseok’s blunt nails digging into his shoulders now that Yoongi is actively working around him, tongue swirling on the tip of his cock, and his hold around the base tightening, moving in synch, now.
A glance up at him, with Yoongi blinking back the water and cursing this brilliant idea of even doing it while the goddamn shower is running, has Yoongi moaning around Hoseok’s cock, his breathing suddenly turning sharp, because Hoseok is a mess looming over him, hair wet and splattered onto his forehead, and his cheeks so goddamn red, he looks like he might just pass out on him, then and there.
They’re both aware of time ticking the longer they take in the shower but Yoongi can’t help it - pausing for a second to admire Hoseok, who stays completely still, aware that the smallest of shifts is going to send one - if not - both of them tripping in the bathroom, and that honestly would cause more problems than being late to a final exam would.
Yoongi pulls back, mouth making the most obscene popping sound when he does, and starts to pump at Hoseok’s cock again, just for the sake of hearing him stutter out his name, moan after moan. It’s a glorious sound, that - has Yoongi reaching for his own cock, hard and slick, both from the water and from his own precum.
Hoseok makes to lift him up, probably to help get him off, but Yoongi doesn’t, and not even the sting of his knees is enough to have him give up on this, because if there’s anything Yoongi knows how to do, then it’s starting the morning right.
And so he kisses down the length of Hoseok’s cock again, starting from the base up until he reaches the head, and there his kisses are soft, still, already anticipating every little sound from Hoseok, every hitched breath, and every tightening on Yoongi’s shoulder. Bruises, finger shaped indent marks.
“Yoongi, I’m - “ Hoseok says, hips stuttering.
A hum, Yoongi rubbing his hand over Hoseok’s hip, before he takes him all in again, takes him as deep as he can, almost until Hoseok’s all the way in his mouth, dick almost hitting the back of Yoongi’s throat.
He’s going to sound completely fucked out and a mess after this, but. But it doesn’t matter, not when Hoseok is starting to move slowly, thrusting into his mouth. Fucking into his goddamn mouth, and god, it feels good - he tastes good, smells even better, too. Yoongi breathes him in and stays completely still, hallowing his cheeks in time with Hoseok’s thrusts.
His hand working on his own orgasm isn’t as coordinated, though, because Yoongi can only do so many things at once. It’s sloppy, a complete mess - but all he has to do is just imagine Hoseok’s hand around his, twisting. Pulling. And it’s enough to push him completely off the edge, his moan too goddamn loud so early in the morning as his orgasm rocks through him, as he spills on his hand.
“Yoongi - “ Is all Hoseok says, Yoongi’s name falling like a promise on his tongue and getting swept away by a mixture of the water and the suddenly unbearable warmth of the bathroom. He comes in Yoongi’s mouth, leaving Yoongi sputtering, eyes watering from how he’d almost choked (and he won’t say that he’d almost bitten down on Hoseok’s dick, because that leaves for very serious trust issues).
Before Yoongi lets Hoseok help him back up, he spits out what’s left of what he couldn’t swallow, smirking up at Hoseok when he hears him audibly gulp.
“Are you okay?” Hoseok asks, hauling Yoongi up by his shoulders and holding onto him as Yoongi almost trips, knees more than a bit weak. They’re absolutely jelly, now. “You did - wow, that was fucking beautiful,”
Relishing in the cool splash of water against his skin, and still coming down from his own high, Yoongi leans against Hoseok, one arm hooked around his neck, more to keep him standing on his own two feet than anything, really.
“You’re welcome,” Yoongi’s voice is hoarse and scratchy.
Hoseok, noticing that, gets a sheepish look on his face. He kisses Yoongi, though, before Yoongi can ruin the moment - because Yoongi always does, always finds a way to throw a firework into the goddamn ocean and make it go off, still - and sighs as he runs his tongue behind the back of Yoongi’s teeth, swallowing Yoongi’s weak and blissed out sigh.
“I think you have to carry me back outside, now,” Yoongi’s fingers find purchase on the tips of Hoseok’s hair and he tugs, gentle. Prodding. “After the work I put in for you,”
Being literally swept off his feet and cradled in Hoseok’s arms was the last thing Yoongi had expected from that empty taunt, but that’s exactly what he gets - he tries to struggle out of Hoseok’s hold, but he isn’t putting much of a fight, not when he’s already got his arms locked around Hoseok’s neck, holding on tight incase the boy decides that it’d be much, much funnier to drop him.
“If you drop me,” Yoongi grits out, voice weaker, still. He’ll probably sound like this for a while - like he’s coming down with a bad cough. Raspy and a little bit out of breath. All Hoseok’s handy work, that. “I’m going to evict you,”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Hoseok starts, brushing their noses together as he expertly makes his way across the apartment - still dripping with water (and won’t Yoongi have to mop their floors clean after?) - abruptly stopping by the open door to Yoongi’s room when he sees just what the time is. “Holy shit, hyung,”
“Hoseok, I swear to fucking god - ” Because there is no way in hell Yoongi’s going to allow himself to be dropped unceremoniously like this, and if Hoseok so much as thinks that he can, in favour of getting ready in under three minutes just to run to his first exam, then he’s got another thing coming. “I’m going to kick you out, I swear - ”
“I’m - late,” Hoseok groans, but he gets them to the bedroom, anyway, and before Yoongi can even thank him for a job well done, Hoseok tosses him on the bed, Yoongi scrabbling at the sheets - the headboard - to try to get a grip on anything, just so he won’t end up sprawled naked on the floor.
(And it would be fitting, too, given how he’d literally kicked Hoseok off the bed earlier in the morning, but.).
But Yoongi manages to stay on the bed, glowering at Hoseok from his spot in the middle. “You’re dead to me,”
A bark of laughter and then Hoseok rolling his eyes at him before the boy runs to his own room from across the hall, quickly slipping into his clothes, pulling on a sweater that falls too short on him (it’s Yoongi’s) and wrapping a scarf that’s a little bit too thick for his own liking (also Yoongi’s) around his neck.
“You look like you’ve been dressed by a blind man,” Yoongi points out, sitting with his legs crossed on the edge of the bed, tugging at the sleeves of a sweater twice his size. He’s got the blow dryer in his hands, eyes expectant as he looks up at Hoseok. “You’re going to get really, really sick if you go out with your hair wet,”
“No time, hyung,” Hoseok says, taking the long strides necessary to get to the bed. He cups Yoongi’s jaw in his hand and tilts his head up for a kiss, a much more innocent one, now, compared to what they’d just done in the bathroom. “Wish me luck,”
“Luck,” Yoongi calls, scooting off the bed to plug the hair dryer in. Just because Hoseok’s decided he’s ready to catch a cold during the worst time in the year doesn’t mean Yoongi’s getting on the same train. “And I was serious, you fail one class and you’re not coming to Daegu with me.”
Hoseok’s nervous laughter follows him all the way out of the apartment, leaving Yoongi by himself, knees sore, with the bruises all around his neck and shoulders blossoming.
A good morning, if ever there was any, decides Yoongi, dragging his fingers through his hair, a satisfied smile curving over his lips the entire time he dries his hair off.
A good morning, indeed.
It doesn’t change them, now that Yoongi knows.
Probably the only thing that’s changed is how Hoseok keeps his medication by Yoongi’s bed stand now, reaching across from him to take the single little pill he has to, right before bed time.
Other than that - and with Yoongi’s constant pestering, everything’s exactly the same.
They’re in bed this time, Hoseok practically on top of him, clinging to him, and nuzzling into his neck with the occasional kiss to the edge of his jaw. His throat. The base of his neck. Generally just being a very heavy pillow on top of Yoongi, humming as he trails butterfly kisses down the side of Yoongi’s throat, now.
Yoongi holds on to him, fingers running through his hair, and then down to the nape of Hoseok’s neck, until he settles it on the small of Hoseok’s back under his shirt. He rubs gentle circles on his skin, smiling as Hoseok lets out a sigh of contentment just under Yoongi’s ear.
“What are we doing tomorrow?” Hoseok asks, shifting a bit on top of Yoongi to look at him. “When are we leaving for Daegu, by the way?”
Tomorrow is the last day of finals. The second semester is over and Yoongi - well, this marks the end of his academic journey, for now.
“I don’t know, Namjoon’s probably got something planned. Unless,” Yoongi murmurs, fingernails dragging against Hoseok’s bare skin slowly. This time he elicits something closer to a moan than a sigh. He smiles, content, while Hoseok squirms on top of him, frowning. “And I haven’t seen your grades. You have to pass everything, astro boy,”
“Stop that,” Hoseok hisses, reaching behind him to try and smack Yoongi’s hand from drifting to the curve of his ass - to stop Yoongi from trying to ruin a perfectly good night of cuddling.
Yoongi does stop, though it’s not without a roll of his eyes that he quickly follows with a particularly firm squeeze of his ass.
Hoseok retaliates by biting on his shoulder, “No, not that. Go back to doing the other thing - “
“Mhhm,” Hums Yoongi, obliging easily this time because Hoseok smooths over the spot he’d bitten with at least ten kisses. The curve of his smile against Yoongi skin is obvious, and it’s enough for time to slow for the both of them. For the rest of the world to stop and focus on this one single moment.
“I’m going to get amazing grades and you know it,” Hoseok props himself up on his elbows, this time hovering over Yoongi, now. What an advantage. Or -
Not, because this makes it easier for Yoongi to kiss him, now that Hoseok isn’t trying to bury his face. Now that he’s not hiding anymore.
Yoongi lifts his head up and kisses Hoseok 0n the side of his mouth, getting a surprised smile from the boy. His hand is back under Hoseok’s shirt, nails dragging gently down Hoseok’s back, scratching. Hoseok loves it, if his sigh is any indication. That, and the almost too-content look on his face, too.
Collapsing on top of Yoongi was apparently his plan the entire time, because Hoseok does so with a grin and a laugh that escapes from him, breathy and high. A laugh that quickly turns into a pained yelp when their foreheads clash, Yoongi squirming underneath him, trying hard - and failing this time - to kick Hoseok off of him.
Pinching Hoseok’s side, Yoongi wheezes out, “Do that again and you’re sleeping on the couch,”
“You seem to have forgotten,” Hoseok’s voice is muffled, his face pressed against Yoongi’s chest now, and god, how is he even still breathing in this position is a wonder to everybody, honestly. “But I have my own room, it’s right across from yours,”
“Fine,” Yoongi says, making to move from under Hoseok, nails slowly dragging down the skin of his back. Yoongi makes no move to actually get away from him, because this is comfortable. This is nice. He wouldn’t mind sleeping like this if not for the cramps the next morning. That, and Hoseok might very well just crush him to death.
Hoseok’s apology comes when he gets up to straddle Yoongi, his free hand coming up to fist at the front of Yoongi’s shirt. He kisses him then, and this time it isn’t like any of the kisses they’d been trading the last hour, because this time he kisses him with purpose, first with a gentle pressing of their lips, and then with his tongue swiping at Yoongi’s bottom lip, asking.
Let it be known that Yoongi hadn’t gone down without a fight - he’d resisted for a good three seconds until he gave in, mouth open as he sighs. Hoseok swallows it all down and more when he sucks at Yoongi’s tongue. Takes in every breathy moan from Yoongi, too, and Yoongi lets him.
The kiss turns lazy and soft when Yoongi starts to rub Hoseok’s back again, almost encouragingly this time.
When Hoseok pulls away and straightens up, it’s with his mouth swollen from kissing and his cheeks flushed a pretty pink. He looks so pretty like this, his neck practically littered with kisses that would be alarming for anybody to see if they didn’t know.
But Hoseok knows and Yoongi knows, and really, that’s all that matters - that, and how fucking beautiful it looks, the purples and the blues against Hoseok’s smooth skin. How the boy looks right now, eyes wide and his kiss-bitten mouth slowly spreading into a smile, content. Happy.
This is what happy looks like, thinks Yoongi as he looks at Hoseok.
He finds Hoseok’s hand and slips his fingers through the spaces in his, holding on. Giving it a firm squeeze when he brings their joined hands together. Smiling when he presses a kiss against the back of Hoseok’s hand, holding it longer to his mouth for a few seconds more, because this - this is what contentment is, holding on to somebody’s hand and being completely and utterly happy, because -
Because when Yoongi closes his eyes to blink, he sees a flash of colour. Sees an explosion of brights and darks. Sees fireworks after fireworks of all the colours he’s ever known - sees them all against the backdrop of the night sky above the calm ocean.
When he opens his eyes, he sees Hoseok looking at him, the softest fucking look on his bright face. It’s amazing, how beautiful someone can be, because there are times when Yoongi has to remind himself to breathe just at the sight of Hoseok. When Yoongi has to tighten his hold on the rails because even the simple, slightest smile from Hoseok is enough to stir the ocean, waves upon waves causing the boat to rock. To sway.
But he holds steady, keeps afloat.
Hoseok is good at that, too, keeping Yoongi afloat. Keeping the both of them afloat. With his laugh and his song, and his smile that signals every good in good morning, and his eyes that promise the good in every good night.
“I’m ready to leave whenever you are, hyung,” Hoseok cups a hand on Yoongi’s cheek, fingers pressing gently onto his face, and Yoongi is aware of how warm his face is, aware of how fast his heart is beating, but he’s also aware of how Hoseok is the single truest thing he’s ever laid eyes on, and suddenly everything is all right.
“Okay,” Yoongi smiles, leaning into Hoseok’s touch. Wanting more. Always, always. And while Yoongi admits that he wants more, he also thinks that this is enough. Always, always, because.
Because Hoseok is always enough.
“You think we can leave next Saturday?”
“Sure, we can stay there the entire summer, if you want,” Hoseok murmurs, his smile this time turning much softer. Tender, even. So fucking tender that Yoongi doesn’t want to look away from him because this is - this is what intimacy is, looking the boy you’re so fucking gone for in the eyes and not wanting to miss a single second of him.
Yoongi brings their joined hands up to his mouth again, kissing Hoseok’s knuckle. Once, twice, thrice, until he laughs, loud and sudden, “You have school in the fall,”
Hoseok laughs with him, too, and it’s a beautiful sound, the combination of both their laughters. Probably Yoongi’s second favourite song, right after the soundtrack of Hoseok’s own laughter.
“Right,” His thumb traces small circles on Yoongi’s cheek, grin wider now that his laughter’s subsided. “Whatever, one week, two weeks, one month. I don’t mind. We can rent the apartment out to Tae,”
“You really think we’ll have an apartment to come back to after?”
“Good point. Well, whatever, we’ll figure it out later, then,” When Hoseok rolls off of him, he does so without letting go of Yoongi’s hand (and he almost rips Yoongi’s arm off, but, ah, the things one must endure), and lands with a huff beside him. “First, we pack, second, we leave, and third,”
“Third we go to sleep, but that would make your list stupid,” Yoongi murmurs, shifting on his side to turn towards Hoseok. “I mean, stupider,”
Hoseok rolls his eyes, “No. Whatever, fuck the sequence of events. We’ll go out tomorrow with Tae and the others and then we go on one, two, and three after,”
Yoongi muffles his yawn against Hoseok’s shoulder as he scoots closer to him, eyes steadily getting heavier. It’s late, now, but god if Yoongi wouldn’t spend all the other nights like this - taking their time. Kissing, laughing, and threatening to evict his own boyfriend in between everything else.
“Stop frowning and sleep,” Hoseok runs his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, and it’s a cheap trick and Hoseok knows it. Knows that this is the quickest way to lull Yoongi to sleep.
“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, burrowing closer to Hoseok’s side, arm slinging around Hoseok’s waist, and his one leg swung over Hoseok’s, their ankles locked like this. He’s practically clinging to him - and the nights are getting hotter, summer approaching like a car speeding down the highway at three in the morning - but Yoongi doesn’t mind, not when he can hear Hoseok’s steady breathing. Not when they’re so close like this.
“Good night,” Hoseok glides his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, garnering a pleasant little sigh from him.
It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to fall asleep, not when he’s practically pressed side to side with an already sleepy Hoseok, and especially not with Hoseok brushing through his hair.
Through the heavy weight of sleep, Yoongi manages to whisper his good night, but Hoseok doesn’t hear it, not when he’s already asleep - and it’s not very often that he falls asleep first, but Yoongi smiles all the same, anyway.
When he dreams about the boy, he’s asleep, too, the whistling wind and the sound of the waves lapping against the side of the boat his own personal melody.
They have something in common, now, Yoongi and the boy he dreams about - the boy under the bright lights in the middle of the ocean.
Tonight, they both fall asleep with smiles on their faces.
Gathering everybody together for a final blowout right before the summer had been a great idea. Yoongi’s only thankful that they weren’t hosting it, because that’s an awful mess that Yoongi really can’t be bothered to clean.
So they have the party at Taehyung and Jimin’s apartment, the first thing out of the hosts mouths when they open the door being, “So Jeongguk is moving in with us next semester,”
News that Yoongi could have really lived without, because he replies with, “I don’t care, where’s your drink station?”
Hoseok is too busy to try and apologise in behalf of him, Taehyung and Jimin engulfing him in hugs. Crushing him in a hug is a better description, and had Yoongi not been alcohol deprived for the better part of a month, then he would’ve worried. But it’s Taehyung and Jimin after all, so the worst they can do is break a rib.
That’s not too bad.
Namjoon is already behind the counter, offering Yoongi a cup the second he gets close enough to do so. “Taste this,”
Yoongi frowns at the murky brown concoction that Namjoon swears is really whiskey and a chocolate drink. He murmurs a very quiet excuse me, sidesteps Namjoon, and dumps the entire contents of the cup into the sink. When he walks back to where all the drinks are laid out in front of Namjoon, he slaps the boy’s hand away from trying to make another drink and says, “Don’t. I need a good drink, not poison,”
“I’m so fucking insulted,” Namjoon takes the bottle of gin away from Yoongi and pours a drink for himself, mumbling under his breath about how clearly not everyone has any appreciation for the fine arts. “Wait ’til Jin hyung tastes this,”
It looks awfully a lot like poison this time around again, only this time Namjoon’s artfully decorated it with half a piece of watermelon.
“You’re going to kill him,” Yoongi deadpans, taking his first swig from his drink (and it’s safe to say that it’s just vodka and sprite, nothing else, thank goodness). “I like Jin hyung, please don’t kill him,”
“Who’s planning my murder?” Seokjin laughs, amused. He walks over to them, probably with the intention of breaking up a fight before it even starts, but one look at Yoongi and Namjoon glaring at each other is enough to have him cracking up with laughter.
Some things truly never change.
Namjoon passes Seokjin his drink, grin wide, and Yoongi grimaces when Seokjin takes his first sip. His face turns sour immediately and Yoongi has to take the cup away from him lest he end up spilling everywhere.
“Jin hyung’s dying,” Yoongi announces, looking at the other three still stuck by the door. “I mean, sorry to disturb your conversation, but my oldest and greatest friend is dying,”
“I thought I was your best friend,” Is what Namjoon says, completely ignoring the fact that a mutual friend - a very good mutual friend of theirs is in the middle of a coughing fit, Seokjin white in the face and looking like he might actually end up coughing an entire lung out.
Really not a picture Yoongi wants to see, not when all he’d wanted from this evening was a drink.
“What’s going on?” Jimin’s voice is high, alarm colouring his tone as he looks from Namjoon to Yoongi, and then to Seokjin, who’s finally started to calm down.
Just in time, too, because Jeongguk walks in through the door, completely taking the rest of the attention (he’d gotten it for a measly five seconds, really, Yoongi sort of worries for these kids’ attention spans and sense of immediate danger) away from Seokjin.
Beside him, Namjoon pats weakly on Seokjin’s back, his apologies rushing under his breath.
“I’m okay,” Seokjin says, eyes watery. “I’ll just be pouring my own drinks for the rest of the night, okay?”
Trust Kim Seokjin to regain composure right after Namjoon had just tried to kill him.
Namjoon looks sheepish enough as he nods, “That’s a good idea,”
“What’s happening now?” Hoseok comes up from behind Yoongi, looking curiously at the three of them and raising an eyebrow at Seokjin’s condition - pale faced and eyes still tearing up. “I thought Seokjin hyung was a goner,”
Yoongi wraps an arm around Hoseok’s waist and drags him close to him until their hips bump, and says, voice very solemn and quiet, “That could’ve been you and I’m not prepared to lose you to Namjoon’s incompetence,”
To which Hoseok only barks out a laugh that he tries to smother in Yoongi’s shoulder.
When he calms down enough to talk, Hoseok says, “You would’ve probably throttled Namjoon to the ground before you’d let me have that drink,”
“You’re right,” Yoongi smiles this time, amusement so clear on his face. Fond so clear on his face that even the man on the moon notices. Like the Great Wall of China, that fucking obvious.
“I’m done,” Namjoon declares, stepping away from the drinks. “If it weren’t for how good you two looked together, then you’d be the worst couple, ever,”
“So you’re saying we look good together?” Hoseok says it with the most innocent smile ever, something that has Namjoon literally throwing his hands up in the air in surrender. “You find us hot, don’t you?”
“Fuck off,” Probably the wrong thing to say to the both of them judging by the look that Namjoon gets on his face when he catches the all too playful identical smirks on their faces. He quickly takes it back with a shake of his head, “Actually, don’t. Just - Jin hyung, do something,”
So this is how the night starts, with bickering and the possibility of alcohol poisoning (or maybe Seokjin had just swallowed that piece of watermelon, because now that Yoongi’s looked at the drink again, he doesn’t see it anymore), and laughter.
When Taehyung declares they do body shots, though, right before they’d actually done any shots to begin with, Yoongi backs away, dragging Hoseok with him.
“We’re leaving, now,”
“But you just got here - “ Taehyung pouts, wilting beside Jimin who laughs it off and says,
“No, Tae was joking. We’re not doing body shots,”
With the rest of them absorbed in their own conversation (and with Namjoon now pushed away from the drinks station, sulking in the centre of the living room with only a beer in his hand), Hoseok brings their foreheads together and whispers, “Body shots would be hot,”
“We heard that,” Taehyung’s face is bright and his grin wide, and beside him, Jeongguk looks as traumatised as Namjoon, who gives the both of them withering looks.
Yoongi is swept up by laughter, something that Hoseok cuts off right in the middle when he kisses him. They pull apart like they’ve both been singed because Hoseok bites a little bit too hard on Yoongi’s bottom lip, an accident brought about by the boy laughing halfway into it and - god, god, god, Yoongi is in love with him.
He loves him, he really does.
It’s a realisation that doesn’t come as a surprise, though. It comes as something expected. Something that he comes to terms with easily as he watches Hoseok laugh and laugh, face bright, and cheeks flushed with colour.
Yoongi loves him and - and it’s the most beautiful fucking feeling ever.
They leave for Daegu early on a Saturday morning, their bags packed enough for two weeks. Yoongi’s already spoken to his mother - told her just a couple of days ago that he’d be coming home for a while, that he’s bringing Hoseok with him.
And who’s Hoseok, she’d asked, voice taking on a suspicious tone.
Yoongi tells her then and there who Hoseok is. What Hoseok is to him, and he waits for it, waits for the bomb to drop, but instead of shock or even outrage, his mom just laughs, that tinkling, beautiful laugh of hers, and says okay, I’ll see you soon.
Of course, Yoongi tells Hoseok that they’ll both be coming home to an empty house - that his mother’s out travelling (and he’s not exactly lying because she will be travelling their first week back in town), that it’s all theirs for a while.
It’s like they’ve run away into a world of their own.
It feels like a getaway, of sorts, that Yoongi can’t help but smile just thinking about it - about his mother’s reaction, how she’d sounded hopeful. Happy. Proud.
Well, better proud and happy for now, for a while, because the next thing Yoongi’s going to drop on her is that her one and only son’s not going to pursue his final year in college because, well. Because there’s simply no energy left in him, the fire washed completely away by the rain, now.
He thinks that that news will be a harder pill to swallow.
“Hey, d’you mind if we make a quick stop before the house?” Yoongi asks, tugging on Hoseok’s hand. They’re just outside the train station, a couple cabs already lined up outside, waiting. “I mean - we’ll drop by the house first, leave our things, and then go,”
“Is it food?” Hoseok asks, dragging his gaze away from the buildings. From the view. It’s clear on his face that he’s never been to the town before.
Yoongi smiles at that, too, at how easily they’d both decided to just pack up and leave.
Almost finds himself laughing at the look on Hoseok’s face when he’d checked his grades online, how he’d yelled into the air and declared that they’re packing for Daegu right this minute because he’d passed all his exams (maybe not with flying colours exactly, but a pass is a pass, and an agreement is an agreement).
“We’ll eat after,” Yoongi gives his hand a squeeze before he lets go to hail a cab right off the side of the road.
The second the cab pulls up outside Yoongi’s home, Hoseok’s mouth drops open.
“Holy shit,” Hoseok says, a bit of in a daze as he stumbles out of the cab, dragging his bag behind him. “Is this even a house?”
Well - Yoongi can’t say that it’s big, per se, but he supposes that it’s bigger than average (and here is where he lies, where Yoongi tries to play the modesty card, because their house isn’t bigger than average. It’s huge, the huge brick wall blocking the rest of it from sight. It’s a gated community is the only excuse Yoongi has for their absurd gate.).
“And you’re an only child?” Hoseok asks, still staring up at the gates. “Who’s home right now?”
Yoongi shrugs, “Not my mom. And yes, I’m an only child, so when she kicks the bucket, this house is mine. So, y’know,” He shoots Hoseok a grin, playful as can be even with his nerves trying to burn a hole through him, and adds, “Good idea to stick with me,”
Hoseok smacks him - actually smacks him - on the arm. “Whatever, you’re impossible,”
With a little bit of jiggling and a lot of shoving from the smaller gate off to the side, Yoongi manages to get them inside - it’s been a while since Yoongi’s been home, and it shows. The flowers have started to bloom and the trees a vibrant green, now. Spring has come and spring has gone but the colours it’s drizzled across the whole world has stayed.
They leave their bags at the foot of the stairs and it takes a lot of willpower from him not to just drag Hoseok up and kiss him senseless - or kiss him senseless right here, right now, it’s not like anyone going to walk in on them - but he manages.
Also manages to drag Hoseok away from the kitchen, too, but that had always been easy - there’s barely anything in the fridge, the auntie they hire to come in to check a couple times a week not really leaving anything to spoil. The house is clean, though, which is something.
“Where are we going again?” Hoseok asks when they’re in the car, hand gripping tightly on the seatbelt. “And when did you say you last drove?”
Yoongi snorts, “Not since school started,”
Which means - almost a year. The look on Hoseok’s face is priceless at that realisation.
Before Yoongi starts driving, he leans across the gear shift to kiss Hoseok, soft and sweet, more to put him at ease than anything, really. He knows how Hoseok gets, now. Knows him better.
“Hey, you didn’t answer the first question,” They’re already back in the highway and so far, so good. Yoongi’s driving hasn’t gotten any better, but it hasn’t gotten worse, either, which makes it a very unenthusiastic win-win situation.
“Erm,” Yoongi starts, looking away from the road to chance a quick glance at Hoseok. “Visiting my dad,”
Before Hoseok can panic again (“What the fuck, you mentioned your mother, not your father, hyung,”), Yoongi closes his hand around Hoseok’s, giving it a firm squeeze. “Relax, astro boy. Nothing to panic about, you’ll see,”
And Hoseok does see, not fifteen minutes later, when they drive past the large gates of a cemetery.
The look on Hoseok’s face this time is one of complete and utter pain at the sudden realisation that this - this is where Yoongi’s father is.
Yoongi just looks unbothered. He hasn’t met the man at all - not for a second in his life - but.
But if he were that unbothered, then he wouldn’t be here, but here he is.
“It’s cool,” Yoongi hears himself say, though he does note that his voice sounds a little bit too far away.
They make their way out of the car and it takes a couple of minutes of Yoongi cursing his sheer stupidity (all he has is a name to go by and a picture of the place when his mother had been there, taken last year), because there’s no way he’s going to find that goddamn gravestone in the middle of this cemetery filled with maybe a thousand others, completely identical to the one next to them.
Hoseok holds his hand as they make their way across the grass, their only indication being the large lone tree right above it, as well as a bench under it.
It takes them a couple more minutes, but they find it, eventually.
Or, Hoseok finds it, because he’d taken Yoongi’s phone from him to try and piece the picture and the actual place together.
“You’re amazing,” Yoongi breathes out, actually relieved now that they’d found it.
It’s the only tree apart from all the others but it’s still quite a walk from where they’d parked.
Hoseok squeezes on Yoongi’s hand tighter when they finally reach the gravestone, his expression as if he’d just seen a ghost. Which is ironic, given that they are in the middle of a cemetery and all.
“Hey, stop with the face,” Yoongi says, shaking at their joined hands, trying. Trying to get Hoseok to snap out of it, because he’s turned pale. Like he isn’t sure what he should be doing right now, not when Yoongi had sprung this part of their trip up from out of the blue. “I told you, it’s cool,”
“When you mentioned your father, I didn’t think we’d be here,” Hoseok’s voice is small, quiet.
It’s weird, now that Yoongi thinks about it. Not him and Hoseok here, not even that he’s come to visit his father. What’s weird is how Yoongi can look down on the name inscribed in stone and think, that’s my father.
How long until he’s reached this very conclusion? The answer is really simple enough - for as long as Yoongi’s lived, he’s never once asked for his father, knew right away as a child that all he’d have, all he’s going to have is his mother.
But - but there are things you’re wrong at, thing you won’t mind admitting you’re wrong to, because as much as Yoongi had been right about only having his mother, now - now it’s not simply the case, because he has Hoseok.
“I never knew him,” Yoongi lets go of Hoseok’s hand to crouch down in front of the gravestone, hand dragging across the polished surface. “This is the first time I’m meeting him,” And he gets an almost cynical smile on his face, something that isn’t completely out of place, given the situation.
Hoseok plops down on the grass, knee knocking against Yoongi’s to bring him down beside him. He bumps their shoulders together and says, “Yoongi,”
That’s all he says, but then again, that’s all he really has to say.
Yoongi only ever needs Hoseok to call out to him and he’s back - grounded, rooted. No matter the storm. Not even if a fucking tidal wave threatened to capsize the dingy little sailboat.
“Pass me a light,”
They smoke in quiet for a while, Yoongi staring absentmindedly at the gravestone, and Hoseok looking at him. At the way the wind blows at his hair, how the dimming skies reflect in Yoongi’s eyes.
With each exhale, Yoongi starts to feel lighter. Starts to feel better, almost. He reaches his hand to trace over the name of his father, a man he doesn’t know. A man he didn’t know, and he shakes his head.
“What was the point of this?” Yoongi murmurs, drawing his hand back, and dragging his gaze to Hoseok, who slowly blinks at him. “I’m sorry I dragged you here,”
Instead of saying that it’s okay, instead of going into an excessive and overdrawn reel of how it doesn’t matter, Hoseok just snorts out a laugh, and god, Yoongi thinks if he wasn’t in love with him yet, then he would be. But he is already, so he just rolls his eyes and bumps their shoulders together.
“You’re tired, Yoongi,” Hoseok starts, voice so soft that if the wind blows any harder than this, then Yoongi wouldn’t be able to hear him. He strains his ears just trying to listen to him. “I’m tired, too,”
“You’re tired?” Yoongi repeats, breath stuttering.
“No, not like that,” Hoseok waves his concern away with a smile - and it’s that smile again, that bright, intense smile that Yoongi feels is just for him. Yoongi had worried once how many doors that smile hides behind it, how many locked doors he needs to jiggle open. But now he doesn’t, because when Hoseok smiles, he means it. When his eyes hold the setting sun in them, there’s no other way that he doesn’t mean it.
He’s smiling like that, now, with eyes that hold the secrets of the universe. With eyes like sunsets, always so warm, always so familiar, and always so soothing, breaking through all the doors, and all the locks, and finding him. Every single time, Hoseok finds him.
“But I’m better, now,” Hoseok continues, flicking the ashes off of his cigarette. “I’m tapering off. I’ve always thought about it, had always wanted to do it. And now I am, and it’s a slow and steady process,”
Slow and steady, Yoongi thinks.
“You know things get better,” Hoseok says it matter of fact and not a question, because he knows, and Yoongi knows, and everybody else knows. Hell, even Namjoon knows. “And this - this is how it’s better,”
Yoongi thinks back on his mother - on the life they’d built together, on the dances they’d danced, on the colours they’d painted with. He closes his eyes and sees every drop of colour she’d splattered on a canvas when he was much, much younger. When she’d dragged his hand down the blank canvas, when she’d laughed and said that this is how they go back - how they go back to the very beginning, with their hands paint splattered and their smiles bright orange, and red, and blue, and pink, and every other colour known to man.
By coming back.
“I left,” Yoongi puts out his cigarette in the grass, reaches for Hoseok’s hand, and shakes his head. “Mom called me last year to say he’d died, and I didn’t show up,
“You came back, didn’t you?” Hoseok twines their fingers, pressing their palms together. “Like I said, you’re better, now,”
A stretch of the word, but Yoongi takes it with a sheepish smile.
“I came back with you,”
He hears the hitch in Hoseok’s breath, sees the colouring in his cheeks, and feels the warmth from his hand.
“Hoseok,” Yoongi watches as the world goes by behind Hoseok, as the branches sway with the wind, as the leaves rustle, as the clouds go by above them, blues and greys, and oranges peeking through. “I’m pretty fucking convinced you make me better,”
“Please,” Hoseok snickers, his eyes half crescents now that he’s smiling in full, now that his whole face is flushed with colour and so, so bright, Yoongi thinks he should start squinting. “But, let’s just say that the feeling is mutual,”
Despite being in a graveyard, sitting around in front of the father he’d never had the chance to meet (and later in life, refused to meet), and with reason and understanding finally settling around Yoongi after two decades and more, he thinks that this isn’t their worst date.
They always did have a thing for unconventional dates.
In a town so far away from the city where they’d first meet, Yoongi finds himself perfectly at home here with Hoseok.
“Before you forget,” Yoongi passes the bottle to Hoseok, who locks gazes with him through the bathroom mirror. “I mean, after you rinse,”
Hoseok smiles with a mouthful of toothpaste and says, foam and all, “Aren’t you sweet?”
It’s routine, now. Yoongi fishing for what Hoseok needs for sleep before Hoseok can even ask for it, and Hoseok giving him that same smile with a quirked eyebrow, all the time.
Hoseok pops one into his mouth right before he literally jumps on the bed, knocking into Yoongi when he lands - or crashes, more rather.
“Did I ever tell you how insanely big your room is?” Hoseok asks, sitting up against the headboard.
Yoongi shifts on the other side, propping an open book against the lamp as he turns to look at Hoseok. Truth be told, he’s never noticed these things growing up. It’s only after he’d hit middle school that he realised that they had the things they had and the house they lived in because of his mother’s talents, because of who she was to the art community.
“You haven’t seen my mom’s room, then,” Yoongi pushes his reading glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, picking his book back up again when Hoseok finally settles beside him, Hoseok’s foot finding his under the sheets right after Hoseok almost - and Yoongi thinks about this rather painfully - knees him in the groin.
Perhaps they should turn more lights on.
“When are you going to give me the tour?” Hoseok hooks his leg around Yoongi’s and presses closer to him, his one hand creeping up under Yoongi’s shirt to rub at his stomach. “By the way, you’re so soft, hyung,”
Yoongi wants to slap Hoseok’s hand away but it actually feels nice, Hoseok alternating between rubbing on his belly to dragging his blunt fingernails down one side of his ribs. He decides on closing his book for good and turning off the light, settling back into the pillows with a content little sigh when he finally does so.
“Tomorrow, the next day. I don’t know,” Yoongi yawns, though a part of him wants to stay awake a little longer. This is their first night in Daegu - their first night in Yoongi’s old house. “You can wake up early tomorrow and have the tour yourself,”
Hoseok retaliates with a pinch, “I want a tour,”
“Fine, fine, fine, god,” Yoongi hisses, smacking Hoseok’s hand away, something that the other boy only laughs at. It’s a laugh too loud at ten in the evening. Too loud in a huge house with only the two of them. “I’ll give you the grand tour, we can fuck in every room if you want, too,”
At that, Hoseok groans, burying his face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck. “I want to sleep, I don’t want none of your dirty ideas,”
“Suit yourself,” Yoongi slips an arm from under Hoseok’s neck, his fingers now carding through the boy’s soft hair. They’re so soft they almost glide past Yoongi’s fingers like water.
“I’m trying to sleep,” Hoseok is whining, now, teeth grazing against the skin of Yoongi’s shoulder.
Yoongi hums out a song, a distant melody that he remembers hearing from the radio a couple of months ago. He can’t quite place a name on the song, even, but he knows the tune. Knows it enough to hum it to an idiot of a boyfriend who keeps wriggling beside him, shifting and turning, trying to find the perfect spot for bed.
“Baby,” Yoongi coos, still carding through Hoseok’s hair. “Go to sleep,”
“Knock me out,” He can hear the pout in Hoseok’s words, can most definitely make out the furrow of his brows, even in this dim lighting. Yoongi decides to kiss the pout off of his face, sucking on Hoseok’s tongue when Hoseok finally - finally - sighs in to the kiss, relaxed and content, and probably ready to pass out any moment now.
“Never mind, don’t knock me out,” Hoseok yawns this time, his eyes slowly fluttering to a close. It’s bringing him down - a combination of the travel, the time, and his medication. Yoongi predicts that he’s not very far away from sleep, not when he’s constantly yawning every other ten seconds.
“Sure I won’t,” Yoongi says, tugging gently on a few strands of Hoseok’s hair.
Silence for a few minutes, long enough for Yoongi to think that Hoseok might already be asleep, before Hoseok follows it with a quiet,
“I meant what I said earlier. I’m better, now,” And then with a short exhale of breath, “I’m really glad I met you.”
Yoongi’s fingers catch in Hoseok’s hair and he stills, his heartbeat surprisingly steady behind his rib cage. When he kisses Hoseok’s forehead, Yoongi smiles, his voice as tender as tender can be when he says, “The feeling’s mutual, astro boy.”
The next morning, Yoongi wakes up to the sound of the shower, of running water, and of Hoseok playing a song from his phone, propped on top of the sink.
Yoongi stirs slowly, eyes squinting when he realises that Hoseok’s pulled the curtains open. Great. A quick glance at the bed side clock tells him that it’s still early - a little past nine. There’s no need for them to rush, no reason at all because there’s nothing to do today and his mother won’t be back until next Friday.
Deliberating between getting out of bed to join Hoseok in the shower and yelling at him to close the goddamn blinds, Yoongi decides, after a minute of mulling over it, that he might as well just join him. So Yoongi strips, leaves a pile of his clothes by the open door, and carefully slips into the shower, sighing in content when Hoseok turns around to look at him, hair sudsy from the shampoo.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Hoseok grins, stepping aside to allow Yoongi access to the water.
Yoongi steps under the shower, eyes closing as he lets the tiny droplets trail down his skin, lets the warmth of it seep through. He even lets Hoseok hum along to the disastrous music he’s playing because Hoseok is lathering shampoo into his hair, fingers expertly kneading onto his scalp, tugging at tufts of his hair, and overall making Yoongi feel really, really sleepy.
This always happens when people play with his hair - when Hoseok plays with his hair. He doesn’t yawn, though, because that means a mouthful of water with maybe a sprinkle of shampoo.
He lets Hoseok wash his hair, even lets Hoseok slap some bath wash onto his skin. Hoseok playfully slaps at his ass, his laughter highly amused when all Yoongi can do is splash him, the entire motion halfhearted at best.
Yoongi is just content like this, under the warm spray of the water. Hoseok naked behind him is a totally different story, but Yoongi has a feeling they’re both far too lazy this morning to even do anything, yet.
They have the entire day, after all. Have the entire house, too.
Hoseok hooks his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder, arms winding around his waist, and hums, still to the tune of that terrible pop music. Yoongi just lets him do it, because it’s too early in the morning and also, because Hoseok sounds happy. Really, truly happy.
“What do you wanna do today?” Yoongi asks, turning his head to where Hoseok’s is, their noses brushing when he does. “We can go into town,” Have a couple drinks, eat too much, drive around. The whole shebang.
Hoseok dips his head down to drag his teeth across Yoongi’s shoulder, and god, that’s cold, Hoseok’s tongue lapping at his skin after he’s sucked a kiss on Yoongi’s skin. Early in the morning and this is what Yoongi gets - a hickey. He doesn’t think anything else can beat waking up to this.
“You can give me a tour of the house,” Hoseok’s stopped trying to kiss Yoongi’s side profile, but he hasn’t drawn away from him, either. Yoongi likes this - likes how close they are. Also, he appreciates a man’s sacrifice, because Hoseok’s been away from the water for the most of their little shower activity. If purposefully letting his boyfriend bask under the spray of warm water isn’t love, then Yoongi doesn’t know what is.
“You’re taking me up on my offer last night?” Yoongi snorts, remembering a few choice words from the other night. His cheeks are hot but he blames the water for it, it’s warm and foggy in the shower, after all.
Hoseok laughs, and it’s only because of their proximity that Yoongi can feel it. Literally feel the laughter erupt from Hoseok.
He hears Hoseok laugh the same time he feels the Earth rotating. It’s fitting enough - Hoseok’s always had a way to stop the rest of the world, so of course he damn well knows how to make it start spinning again.
“Depends, how many rooms does this house have?”
“Enough for it to be fun,” And perhaps exhausting, but, whatever.
“Maybe not every room, hyung. Your mother.” Hoseok contemplates, hold around Yoongi dropping. He pulls Yoongi out from under the spray of warm water, gives him a light peck on the nose, and grins. “My turn,”
Yoongi steps out of the shower to grab at his towel, a very bad image on his mind. “Right, bad idea. Not every room, then,”
Hoseok splashes him with water and Yoongi ducks, hiding behind a towel.
“Get out of the damn shower,” Yoongi says, carefully stepping over a pile of Hoseok’s clothes and successfully tearing his gaze away from the boy, naked and wet, and still having too much fun singing along to his atrocious taste in music.
“Five minutes. Go make coffee,”
“No, you go make coffee,” Yoongi hears himself mumble, but even as he does, he’s already shimmying into jeans and a shirt, halfway out the door when he calls to ask if Hoseok still knows the way to the kitchen.
“It’s a big room, I’ll find it,” Hoseok’s voice is muffled, now, but even so, Yoongi can still hear him call out his choice of coffee - “If the coffee isn’t five-star hotel rating, then we’re breaking up, and you’ve failed me,”
“I’m going to dump the entire pot on your head,” Yoongi yells back loud enough for Hoseok to hear, and Hoseok - Hoseok groans loud enough for Yoongi to hear, too.
Ten minutes later and Hoseok’s on top of a counter, legs kicking from under him, making numerous thudding noises with every contact he makes against the counter. Yoongi wants him to stop but also doesn’t, because it’s a very cute image, Hoseok sitting on top of the counter wearing a shirt two sizes too big on him (too fucking big that the neckline scoops low enough for him to get a very good view of his collarbones), and his hair wet, sticking to his forehead.
“I want food,” Hoseok hums from behind his mug of coffee. “Real, actual food. No heating of our leftovers,”
“You’re pretty damn demanding,” Yoongi says, sticking his head into the fridge. “Remind me not to get into a serious relationship with you,”
“I’m appalled you don’t think this isn’t serious,” Hoseok punctuates that statement with a resounding bump, his leg finding contact agains the base of the counter again. “I already have the rest of my life planned with you, so how dare you,”
Yoongi looks over his shoulder and catches the smile on Hoseok’s face - it’s not playful, not mischievous, and it clearly isn’t a smile that looks like he’s having too much fun joking around. It’s a fond smile that melts at Yoongi’s heart, and.
And Yoongi, well. Yoongi smiles at him, too, smiles because while he hasn’t planned so far ahead of his life just yet, he has seen him and Hoseok, the both of them, ways down the line, still laughing. And truth be told, Yoongi doesn’t mind waking up next to Hoseok every goddamn day of his life. He doesn’t mind at all - in fact, he insists on it. Won’t have it any other way.
“Stop looking at me like that and start cooking,” Hoseok murmurs, voice dropping, and his face flushing with a pretty, pretty pink blush that colours to the tips of his ears, too.
Yoongi’s smile turns into a grin and he looks away from him with a scoff, “Sure, water and bread sound good?”
Hoseok groans, “You are the worst, go heat the leftovers, then,”
Good, thinks Yoongi, because they don’t even have bread in the kitchen, just the leftovers.
Later, Yoongi finds himself pushed against the kitchen counter, Hoseok’s hands bracketing his hips on either side, and the boy kissing and licking into his mouth, tongue running along Yoongi’s teeth, and sucking on his tongue. Yoongi fists his hands on Hoseok’s shirt, effectively and quickly pulling it over his head, the both of them barely pausing as Hoseok tries to do the same for him - though this time, their foreheads bump in an almost painful way, but Hoseok is kissing him almost to the point of dizzy and Yoongi doesn’t feel anything but this, but the both of them.
“The tour,” Hoseok says, nipping at Yoongi’s bottom lip, and rubbing his thigh against Yoongi’s growing erection. “We’ll start here,”
Yoongi gasps when Hoseok doesn’t let up at all, kissing and teasing, and he barely has the sense to say but he manages, “This is the fucking kitchen, you fucking - “ before another moan stutters out his lips as Hoseok dips his head down to bite at Yoongi’s collarbone, sucking on a bruise to accompany the one from the shower earlier. He smooths it over with an alternate of his tongue lapping at the new, blossoming bruise, and his teeth grazing across Yoongi’s skin. “ - idiot,”
“Nice,” Hoseok laughs, one hand slipping into Yoongi’s back pocket, and squeezing through his jeans, kneading at his ass. Yoongi buckles on top of Hoseok and he’s so far beyond the point of caring that they’re still in the kitchen, their hair still wet from the shower, and Hoseok still tasting like grape juice, and grinds hard down on him, getting an illicit moan from Hoseok when he does so.
“Can I - “ Hoseok doesn’t need to ask that, but he does, and Yoongi wants to curse him out again for wanting to take his time (and Yoongi does understand that he said they had all the time in the world, but sometimes, rushed, quick fucking gets him off just as much, and if that’s where they’re going, then he sure as hell won’t put a stop to it).
They manage to pause just enough for Yoongi to rifle through their suitcases trying to find the bottle of lube - he also almost slips down the stairs trying to get back to the kitchen - but when he does, Hoseok pounces on him, pushing him up against the wall to kiss him, one hand stroking at Yoongi’s cock while Yoongi balls fists into Hoseok’s hair, gasping into a kiss when he feels the first wet, slick finger pushing into him.
Preparation doesn’t take much, not when the both of them are already rearing to go, and soon enough Yoongi is hissing at Hoseok, clawing at his back and outright just cursing, trying to get the boy to move, god fucking damn it, “You’re not going to fucking break me, so why don’t you - ”
Hoseok swallows the rest of that demand as he licks into Yoongi’s mouth again, pushing a little bit deeper into him until he’s all the way inside, and god, that’s a different feeling altogether.
“Turn around,” Hoseok manages, pressing blunt fingernails into the skin of Yoongi’s hip.
“Only if you decide to get a move on - “ Yoongi hisses back, but he turns around, anyway, turns until he finds himself practically laid against the kitchen counter, hands braced on the edge just as Hoseok starts to move, one hand on the small of Yoongi’s back and the other stroking the sore skin of Yoongi’s hip - all the marks he’d left, from the kisses to the indents of his finger nails.
Hoseok doesn’t need to be prompted a second time because he’s finally moving, shallow thrusts at first until they both get into the rhythm of it, until he’s fucking Yoongi up against the counter. Yoongi slips a hand between his legs, circles his fingers around his cock, and tries to get himself off, trying to keep the both of them in synch as he tries to match his strokes with Hoseok’s thrusts.
He’s about to come undone, Hoseok’s thrusts turning a little jerkier by the minute, and Yoongi wants him, Yoongi wants all of him, god - wants the rough kisses, the too tender kisses that make Yoongi’s feet curl. He wants the screaming orgasms and the soft, petting early in the morning. He wants to capture every laugh Hoseok has ever laughed, every laugh Hoseok will ever laugh, and keep it bottled up and safe, saving it for when it rains too hard on the both of them. He wants every little bit and more of Hoseok, and Hoseok -
Yoongi has a feeling that Hoseok wants him just as much, if his soothing words are anything to go by, a mantra of, You’re so fucking beautiful, and Come on, baby, we’re so close, whispered into Yoongi’s ear, again and again until Yoongi is coming in his hand, legs shaking from the intensity of his own orgasm. Until Hoseok rides through his own, the same time as he gentles Yoongi out of his, one hand stroking across Yoongi’s stomach, while the other grips at his waist, trying to keep him up and balanced.
Hoseok slips out of him, throwing the used condom into one of the many garbage bins in the kitchen. He pads across the room to grab at a paper towel, dampening it just so before he walks back over to Yoongi to wipe him down.
“Hands,” Yoongi lets him clean him up, wiping away at the mess Yoongi had made - on his hands, on his stomach, and some even on the kitchen counter. When that’s done and over with, with the both of them still basking in post coital glow, Hoseok lifts Yoongi up on the counter.
Too fucked out to even protest being manhandled like that, Yoongi instead just cups a hand on Hoseok’s jaw, tilting it up as he leans down to kiss him, much slower now, the rush brought about by the start of the day now gone that they’ve had their fill. Hoseok kisses him back, this time with less nipping and licking, and more brushing of their lips, soft and gentle.
Yoongi feels like his lips are too kiss swollen at this point, but there are really far worst things to worry about.
Hoseok smiles halfway into the kiss, thumb stroking at Yoongi’s cheek, and Yoongi, at the sight of the stupid grin on Hoseok’s face, just laughs, because obviously, it hadn’t just been him who’d felt too fucked out of his own mind.
“Next room?” Yoongi asks, hoping to god in the back of his mind that Hoseok says not yet, because his hips are still sore.
“Fuck, no,” Hoseok laughs into Yoongi’s shoulder, nose nuzzling against his skin, and winds his arms around Yoongi’s middle. He leans into Yoongi, head now pillowing against Yoongi’s chest. “You were great and everything, but I think I might die if we do it again so soon,”
Snickering, Yoongi pats at Hoseok’s hair, “Tell me you’re not serious,”
“Probably not die, but y’know what I mean, hyung,”
“Sure, astro boy,” Hoseok groans at the condescending tone but Yoongi just smiles, equal parts relieved and amused. And while he doesn’t mind a second round so soon, he also kind of just wants to spend the rest of the morning on the couch, shouting at the stupid programmes on television and laughing at the funny ones.
“Wanna play house?” Yoongi can feel the smile against his skin, can feel Hoseok’s arms tightening around him.
Yoongi props his chin on top of Hoseok’s head and closes his eyes, breathing in deep and smelling a mixture of strawberry from the shampoo and coffee.
“Sure, but only if it means you cook lunch later,”
It happens when they’re both sprawled on the couch, a quilt pulled up over the both of them, with Hoseok’s back pressed against him, and Hoseok’s hand tugging at Yoongi’s fingers.
It happens during a laundry detergent ad with Hoseok’s favourite idol stars.
It happens with the sun slowly setting from behind them, flushing the entire living room with orange and gold, and pink and purple, and all the wonderful colours of the most beautiful wonder of the world.
It happens when Yoongi sighs, nose nuzzling into the back of Hoseok’s head.
It happens simply enough, with Hoseok turning rather slowly in the circle of Yoongi’s arms just as the idol group on the television breaks into song. He lifts his gaze up to look at Yoongi, and Yoongi holds on tighter to him just in case Hoseok decides to roll right off the couch and drag Yoongi with him.
“Hey, wanna know something?” Hoseok asks.
Yoongi hums out his answer.
“I love you,” Hoseok says it like it’s the simplest, most obvious thing ever. Like he’s pointing out how beautiful the living room looks like this just as the sun is starting to set (and Yoongi would have humoured him and explained that this is exactly what his mother had intended, the sun’s rays bouncing across the glass from the ceiling, from the walls, from the modest and dainty chandelier hanging over their heads. It’s a spectacle of colours so beautiful it pulls a few strings at Yoongi’s heart).
“I know,” Yoongi grins at him, pinching at the skin of Hoseok’s hip playfully. “I love you, too,”
Hoseok’s smile isn’t wide or an ear splitting grin. It’s not even that huge of a smile, more like a soft curving of his lips accompanied by a tender look in his eyes that, had Yoongi been standing, sent his knees buckling.
Yoongi doesn’t say that he’d be more than happy to feel the world rotate with Hoseok, and Hoseok doesn’t say that he’d be more than happy to feel the world stop with Yoongi, because sometimes, I love you is more than enough, just like this.
And it’s been a long time since Yoongi’s ever admitted to it, since he’s ever said the words out to anyone - and has he really meant it then, too, because surely he’s never meant it like this, because.
Because this I love you feels a lot like a promise, and that’s something Hoseok can hold Yoongi to.
Three more days until Yoongi’s mother returns from her trip to join them. With each passing day, Hoseok is even more on edge, looking like he might finally just crack one of these days. Yoongi finds him pacing out in the garden one afternoon, a nearly empty box of cigarettes propped on top of an empty flower pot (except, of course, of all the cigarettes they’d dumped into it their first day back).
“Would you relax?” Yoongi huffs, throwing himself down on one of the recliners. It’s a good day outside, one people would refer to as perfect for an afternoon in the summer. Not too hot and certainly not too humid. The breeze is cool on their cheeks and the sun is warm and shining with enough mercy today. “She’s not going to eat you alive, and besides,”
“Besides, you’ve got a bigger bomb to drop on her?” Hoseok says, lips twitching up into a smile. “You never really explained that, hyung,”
Yoongi shrugs. Life happens. Shit happens. You learn to live with your decisions. Yoongi’s certainly not going to be back for university next year and it’s not just because he’s given up on art, because if it were up to him, then he wouldn’t, not ever. It’s just that - while there is a fire, it’s just not burning warm enough.
There are times, of course, whenever Yoongi looks at Hoseok that he feels the flames lap at his insides. Times when he feels too hot all of a sudden, the flames threatening to take him over from the inside out just because Hoseok is laughing, or Hoseok is touching him a certain way - and it’s always brought about by Hoseok, these spurts of creative energy.
Perhaps this is why they call it the muse. Yoongi can’t help but smile a little bit forlornly at that.
“It’s not that I don’t like art anymore,” He waves a hand distractedly, trying to get Hoseok to stop frowning at him. “It’s just - well, I don’t see myself pursuing it any further on an academic level,”
“So,” Hoseok quips, not at all sure of what Yoongi had said judging by the furrow in his eyebrows. “It’s like you’re just taking a gap year?”
As if, Yoongi’s already taken a gap year right after high school. This - this isn’t a gap year anymore, if he decides not to pursue his last year. This is just a choice, a choice that Namjoon tells him he’d regret. But there are far worst things to regret in life, and Yoongi thinks that an unattainable degree is too mundane a thing to regret and puzzle over.
And besides, it’s not like he needs it - no fancy educational title plastered onto an expensive piece of paper will help Yoongi advance, really, or so he thinks. But it’s not like he’s got art to back him up - he’s thrown the majority of them out, although he suspects that there might be a couple few hanging around in his friends’ places.
“Nah, I’m just done with university,” It’s the social pressures of attaining an educational degree that’s pushed him back. It’s all the pressure on him as a student, always expected to come out on top or to be able to knock everybody else’s art by a mile. It’s gotten a bit too taxing, a bit too burdensome. Gotten to the point where Yoongi’s merely just coming to class to pass and not because he’s actually interested anymore and that - that shouldn’t be what art is. “Being in school doesn’t feel right,” For his art, he adds.
Hoseok nods, a bit too sagely at that, and then stops in front of Yoongi to reach his hands out to him, fingers locking around the small circle of Yoongi’s wrists. “Well, come on, I know there’s still one room you haven’t showed me yet,”
Yoongi blinks at him, confused.
“I know you’ve got your own little studio somewhere in this goddamn house,” He hears the underlying words of too fucking big house somewhere in that sentence, and he sighs, shaking his head. “I know it’s there because I didn’t see anything but a sketchbook in your room and let’s face it, hyung, your mother’s practically world renowned, I’d be even more shocked if there was only one room,”
Again, it shocks Yoongi how much Hoseok can see into him, how easily Hoseok can read the lines. It’s both rather endearing and also something that makes Yoongi want to head-butt him, hard.
“There’s two,” Yoongi murmurs, allowing Hoseok to drag him back up on his feet.
Instead of asking Yoongi to lead the way, Hoseok just fits himself to Yoongi’s side with their hands held between them. Hoseok’s hand is oddly cold, probably a combination of nerves from the arrival of his mother and the cold breeze.
“It’s going to be messy,” Yoongi warns him as they make their way up the stairs. “And I’m not sure, but I think the room is - a bit too unfurnished,” And Yoongi doesn’t explain what he means any further, instead he just walks them down a hall that they’d already visited the previous day - there’s his mother’s study on one side and her room right across it, and behind the door at the end of the hall lies the studio that Yoongi had used since he could walk.
They’d skipped this yesterday, Yoongi pulling Hoseok back by the collar of his shirt and dragging him away just so he won’t notice that there’s a third room they’ve yet to step into. But here they are, standing in front of the door, and with Yoongi’s hand wrapped around the steel cold door knob.
“Any day now, sir,” Hoseok bumps their shoulders together, playful, and it’s all the encouragement Yoongi needs to turn the knob and push the door open, dragging Hoseok beside him as they step into what had been the centre of Yoongi’s entire life growing up.
It’s a wide room with high ceilings and large walls with drawn curtains. This is the best view for the sunset, Yoongi thinks. Two hours from now he’ll have to remember to draw the curtains back, and he’ll do it because he knows Hoseok will love it. Loves it as much as Yoongi loves sunrises, in a sense.
“Welcome, try not to break my hopes and dreams,” Yoongi announces, voice in a deadpan.
Hoseok’s dropped their joined hands and walked into the centre of the room, leaving Yoongi by the door, looking at numerous paint tubs lined up against the wall, at cabinets filled to the brim with a combination of pens, pencils, charcoals, and brushes. Of sketchpads scattered all across the room, some stacked on top of each other. It truly is a mess, but Yoongi can’t help but smile.
His mom’s framed a few of his earlier works, leaving them up on the wall. It’s a wall dedicated to some of Yoongi’s finer creations, mostly water colours from his time back in high school. He thinks that maybe he should meddle with water colour again, it’s always been fun for him, the result always something otherworldly in effect. It’s not as harsh as paint, it’s softer, somehow.
Yoongi catches Hoseok’s gaze from across the room and smiles.
Yes, definitely softer.
“Holy shit,” Yoongi hears Hoseok say. He finds Hoseok standing in front of a wall that’s splattered with paint, the floor in front of it plastered with newspaper, just to protect the hard wood his mother had always loved. That his mother still loves.
“That’s, erm, something of a final project, of sorts,” Yoongi says, joining Hoseok in front of the wall.
It’s definitely not much - just a few strokes of colour Yoongi had made over the years, adding to it as he saw fit. “That, or maybe I was just trying to paint the wall,”
Hoseok snorts out a laugh, now shaken out from his initial shock at seeing a mess of colours smeared across the wall, some with harsh brush strokes, others with softer, more delicate strokes. A lot are from Yoongi just dipping his hand into the paint tub and rubbing it on the wall. He remembers it to be relaxing. Cathartic, even.
The memory of it brings a smile to his face, one that Hoseok catches this time.
“Huh, some kind of paint job,” Hoseok muses, slinging a hand around Yoongi’s shoulder and dragging him closer to him. They fit good just like this, side by side, Yoongi and Hoseok slipping into place amidst their jagged and sharp edges. “How much for you to paint the walls of our kitchen?”
Yoongi makes a face at that and rolls his eyes, “Can’t pay me enough,”
“You sure? I think I can think of ways to pay you just fine,”
They stand like that for a minute. Or maybe it’s two minutes - three, four, five. Perhaps they stand looking at the wall of colours for an hour. Time is lost when they’re together - and they can’t tell from the sky, either, because the curtains are still drawn. Probably an hour more until the sunset. Probably.
When Yoongi tries to drag Hoseok away from the wall, Hoseok just shakes his head and drops his hold around Yoongi. Instead of heading for the door, he crouches down in front of a tower made out of unopened tubs of paint. He picks one up at random and grins at Yoongi, playful.
“Let’s finger paint,”
With an exasperated look on his face, Yoongi walks over to where Hoseok is, bending down beside him to swipe a tub off of the floor. He quirks an eyebrow at the boy, almost like a challenge - because does he really want to do this, make a mess on theirselves? Yoongi doesn’t fucking care about making a mess in the room, it’s messy enough as is. But washing paint off their clothes - and not to mention that Hoseok’s wearing a plain white shirt that Yoongi knows is his favourite? Yeah, good luck with that.
“Do you want to finger paint or do you want to play with paint?” Yoongi asks, the exasperated look on his face turning sheepish when he notices Hoseok’s face steadily lighting up, like there’s nothing else he’d rather do, no one else he’d rather make a mess with than Yoongi himself. “Because war is war, astro boy,”
Hoseok, with a little bit difficulty, manages to pry the top of the lid open. He’s got a tub of green paint with him and it makes him grin so hard, Yoongi wonders if that’s his favourite colour.
He doesn’t know that about Hoseok - and that realisation comes like a sucker punch to his gut. Here is a boy he’s so fucking drawn to, so fond over, and here is Yoongi, with talent for art that most people can only dream about, so goddamn unaware of his idiot of a boyfriend’s favourite colour.
Hoseok looking over into Yoongi’s own tub of red paint and laughing settles Yoongi’s own nerves and apprehension, though, because now it just seems like Hoseok is just, well. Genuinely happy and in love with all the colours he sets his eyes on.
And Yoongi swears that this green and this red aren’t supposed to be this bright but.
But then again, this is Hoseok, and Hoseok’s always had a knack for brightening things up without even trying. Yoongi can fully attest to that - the colours are much brighter, much more vivid, and over all just much more beautiful.
It’s that fire again, burning hot inside of him.
And in the middle of the ocean, the little boy stirs in his raft.
Hoseok looks at Yoongi, his smile all the colours of the sunset, all the warm undertones there is, and - and it’s all of Yoongi’s favourite colours in that smile of his.
Yoongi looks at Hoseok and sighs, sounding far too fucking fond for his own good. If Hoseok wants to use finger painting as an excuse to declare a paint war against Yoongi, then so be it.
They both wind up on top of all the newspapers spread across the floor, hands smeared with paint, and their faces - and quite possibly their hair, too - splattered with all sorts of different colours. Yoongi’s given up trying to get Hoseok back from slapping his ass not five minutes ago - he’s pretty sure Hoseok’s left a pink hand-mark on his jeans.
Laundry will be a pain the day after.
“There’s only one other place left,” Yoongi props himself up on his elbows, head tilted up to look at the unfinished wall of paint in front of them. It’s simply a hurricane of colours that Yoongi had decided upon so many years ago, either by hand or with a tool. It had been cathartic for him and now - now, as he stares looking up at it, with Hoseok trying to catch his breath by his side (dear, darling Hoseok, with his favourite white shirt a mess of neon colours that has Yoongi feeling just the slightest twinge of guilt in the pit of his gut), Yoongi is overtaken with the same kind of emotions that he’d felt so many years ago when he’d first stared up at the wall. When it had still been bare.
“Are you sure?” Hoseok asks, looking over at him. He looks pretty damn defeated. Just the sight of his own shirt has the poor boy pouting.
“Stop pouting, I’ll buy you another shirt,” Yoongi pushes himself up off the floor and makes the mistake of dusting at his jeans. There goes the only part of him that was clean - the front of his jeans. He grimaces. “Besides, you owe me a new pair of jeans, too,”
Hoseok slowly gathers himself up beside Yoongi, the amused, playful smile on his face replaced with one that is more suited for someone who’s trying to be careful. Someone treading lightly across a rickety bridge set on collapsing any minute now.
“Yeah, this was - this was a way out for me before,” Yoongi says, grabbing at Hoseok’s still-wet hands. Yoongi can feel the paint on their skin slowly drying (and he can also feel the pain of trying to scrub themselves clean later when they finally decide to get in the shower). “And it’s not like I’m looking for a way out, now, but - but it’s relaxing, believe me,”
Cathartic, is what he wants to say, but he holds off on it. Instead, Yoongi just levels his gaze with Hoseok and waits.
Waits until the cloud clears from his eyes and the smile is curving on his lips again, brightening his face.
And perhaps it’s true what they say about storms - they don’t last forever. The clouds have definitely cleared and the fog and mist lifted.
Even with his face and hair smeared with paint, even in a room of all of Yoongi’s earlier artwork, Yoongi still looks at Hoseok like he’s the single most beautiful person, ever. And he definitely is, he can bring life to all the colours that Yoongi sees, after all.
“Believe me,” Hoseok parrots back as he bridges the gap between them to kiss Yoongi, a careful sliding of their lips as Yoongi breathes out, one hand cupping at Hoseok’s jaw, his fingers feather-light to the touch as he steers Hoseok into the kiss.
First comes the taste of paint, but they both swallow through it to get to the second one - to the familiar taste of each other. Yoongi doesn’t want to ask more from this kiss because this is enough - this careful, tentative brushing of their lips is enough to tell him that there is love, and there is passion, and between the two of them, that is more than enough.
And Yoongi’s going to keep it to himself, but somehow, Hoseok’s kisses always taste like hello, hello, hello.
“I hate how you’re right most of the time,” Hoseok grumbles, throwing his second towel down onto the floor. His first isn’t even white anymore and Yoongi makes a mental note to either dispose of their destroyed clothes and towels or just throw them into the laundry before his mother finds out just the kind of fun they’d been having while she was away.
“Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m right about a lot of things, but what’s it about this time?” Yoongi shifts in his position in bed, leaning up on his elbows to watch as Hoseok pads out of the bathroom in boxers, his hair still wet and dripping. He’s got most of the paint out - except for a spot behind his ear that Yoongi points out with a snicker.
Minutes later, Hoseok is back, looking a little less like he’s on top of the world and more like he’s cranky at having suggested finger painting in the first place.
Yoongi feels the bed dip under Hoseok’s weight, Hoseok making his way to the middle with a huff as he throws himself up on Yoongi, head pillowing on Yoongi’s shoulder. Bony enough as he is, Hoseok looks to be comfortable there. He trails his fingers down Hoseok’s sides, thumb smoothing over a bruise he’d left the previous morning. There’s a lot there that won’t be too easy to hide, now that they’ve got no excuse for thick scarves and long sleeves.
So be it, Yoongi likes seeing the marks on Hoseok - and he likes seeing them on himself, too.
“That was nice, though,” Hoseok breathes out, sounding more content now that he’s finally gotten himself cleaned. Now that he’s smelling like a mixture of mint and berries. “Messy, but nice.”
“Sure it was,” Yoongi says, dipping his head down enough to kiss the top of Hoseok’s forehead. Strands of wet hair tickle at his nose as Yoongi pulls back, the sudden urge to sneeze on his boyfriend overwhelming. He manages to push it down, though, just as Hoseok rolls over on top of Yoongi, hoisting himself up with a hand planted on Yoongi’s chest, and his legs braced on either side of him.
This is a good view, too, Hoseok’s smooth skin under the sole dim light from the lamp by the side of the room. He’s glowing, even in this light. Yoongi, at this point, is most definitely convinced that Hoseok is a freak of nature - and he says that in the most endearing way possible, thanks very much.
Hoseok’s fingers curl over the collar of Yoongi’s shirt as he tugs, playful and without much intent, that is until he leans down to kiss Yoongi, pressing him against the sheets and swiping his tongue on Yoongi’s bottom lip, urging him to open up for him, to let him in.
Yoongi sighs into the kiss, wrapping one arm around Hoseok’s shoulder to bring him down more, to deepen the kiss.
They have all the time in the world, now.
They can take their time however way they want it.
So they kiss for what feels like a long time, Yoongi’s lips swollen and pink, and bitten, with Hoseok’s matching his. Yoongi’s got fresh hickeys sucked onto the line of his neck, Hoseok rubbing a thumb along a particularly big one with a look akin to awe and wonder on his face.
And it’s so convenient that Hoseok’s already stripped down to his boxers because Yoongi can enjoy him like this, too, as he lays back on the bed, eyes half-lidded from a mixture of sleep and want. Want overturns sleep and his hands turn wandering, skirting over Hoseok’s ribs to slide to his back, fingernails dragging sensuously down the smooth plain of his spine.
“We have to clean up tomorrow, hyung,” Hoseok reminds him, though he leans into the touch, back arching when Yoongi does it again, drags his fingernails down Hoseok’s back, slow and teasing, with enough buildup of what’s to come in the next short moments.
“She’ll be arriving the day after,” Yoongi murmurs, lips grazing past Hoseok’s cheek as he nips playfully at Hoseok’s earlobe. “Let’s just have this for tonight,”
Hoseok laughs at that, a breathy, high trill of laughter that has Yoongi smiling up at him.
“You have a point,” Hoseok slumps down on top of Yoongi, pressing the bare skin of his chest against Yoongi’s shirt. And even with just a layer between them, Yoongi still feels like it’s one too many. He wants to feel Hoseok on him, with him, around him. He needs to, now. “And besides, I want to cash in on our initial deal,”
A raised eyebrow prompts another kiss from Hoseok, their noses bumping as Hoseok dips back down, “I seem to remember something about a tour of the house and - ah,” A pause, Yoongi biting down on Hoseok’s lower lip in retaliation from earlier, swallowing the small, pleased little gasp from Hoseok when he does so.
“Sure, have your cake,” They’re so close that Yoongi can whisper under his breath with a thunderstorm outside and he’s still sure Hoseok would be able to hear him. He’s back to rubbing at the small of Hoseok’s back, and Hoseok’s back to sighing contentedly, and at this rate, they’ll both be asleep in the next five minutes.
The want for Hoseok overrides the glorious idea of sleep - besides, they’ll have plenty of time to sleep after. Time is all they have here, anyway.
Hoseok’s hand slips into Yoongi’s hair, his smile absolutely pleased when he finishes Yoongi’s sentence with, “And eat it, too, hyung?”
And they laugh into each other, falling over and kissing once more, Yoongi’s hands on either side of Hoseok’s face, and Hoseok is on top of him, languid and all too content to do this for the rest of the night, humming and smiling so much that their kisses turn playful, their noses bumping.
But it doesn’t take long for the kiss to turn heated, Yoongi suddenly feeling all too warm. He can feel Hoseok steadily getting hard against his leg, and even his own erection is starting to sting whenever Hoseok shifts on top of him, whenever Hoseok tests out the waters, grinding very slowly against Yoongi, his smile turning mischievous.
Hoseok pushes at Yoongi’s shirt and off it goes, thrown somewhere at the foot of the bed. The same thing goes with the rest of their clothes - Yoongi’s sweats and his boxers and Hoseok’s, and god, perhaps Yoongi should have taken a page out of Hoseok’s book and just jumped into bed with just boxers on. But it doesn’t matter because now they’re both naked, Yoongi’s hands running appreciatively down Hoseok’s sides, eyes blown wide with want and - and amazement, because,
“Holy shit, you’re beautiful,” Yoongi gasps out just as Hoseok teases at his cock, finger running down the length of it. Hoseok grins up on top of him, all too knowing of his effect, of what he’s doing. But the view from beneath him is beautiful and Yoongi doesn’t mind if the idiot wants to play like a brat tonight.
They’ve got time, they’ll always have time.
Hoseok swoops back down to cup at Yoongi’s jaw and kiss him, mouth licking into his mouth almost devilishly, so sinful in the way he kisses him that Yoongi can’t help but feel even more wound, wanting a release as soon as possible. Hoseok stills him, though, with a hand around the base of his cock, squeezing. Yoongi is pretty sure that if he tries to do that again, with just the right intervals in between, that he’ll start to see fireworks.
“Hmm,” Hoseok hums, sitting up again. He strokes a thumb against Yoongi’s chin, his smile almost ethereal like this - with the dim light from the lamp and what little they have from the large windows overhead. He’s glowing, if there was any other word for it. “You’re making me blush,”
Always one to play around even when they’re in bed. Yoongi just scoffs out a laugh as Hoseok grins at him, though the grin does turn into something else when he sticks his tongue out to swipe at his bottom lip, a movement Yoongi closely follows with his breath held.
Managing to grab hold of Hoseok’s hand, Yoongi twines their fingers together, bringing it against his mouth. He kisses the underside of Hoseok’s wrist and smiles against it, “Don’t be a tease, Hoseok,”
Hoseok responds with a roll of his hips and another tug at Yoongi’s cock, the both of them moaning at the added friction. They can come undone just like this, but there’s a look in Hoseok’s eyes that tell Yoongi otherwise.
And so it happens, Yoongi pushing up off the bed to fumble at his nightstand, his hand closing around the familiar bottle of lube. They trade spots, with Hoseok pushed up against the headboard, legs spread wide, and his eyes dark with want, need, for what’s to come. He even guides Yoongi’s first finger inside of him, his own fingers locked around the circle of Yoongi’s wrist, stealing him for a moment as he hisses at the sudden intrusion. It’s been a while for him but -
But the push doesn’t hurt and the stretch is one that he welcomes, and soon enough he’s practically begging Yoongi for more, even with three of his fingers inside, stretching him, curling inside of him.
Yoongi’s so painfully hard already that just the sight of Hoseok will be enough, but he steals himself, doesn’t even touch himself because Hoseok looks like he’s just about ready to come undone - and it’s always a magnificent, wonderful thing, to see someone break like glass, to be able to put them back together right after.
Before Yoongi even knows it, Hoseok is turning them around, pushing Yoongi back against the bed and straddling his hips. He takes one painful moment to wrap his hands around the both of them, giving their pressed cocks a squeeze that has Yoongi shivering, his vision starting to blur.
“Let me do this,” Hoseok murmurs, slicking Yoongi up himself. And it takes one, two, three - it takes all of three breaths until Hoseok sinks down on him, slow and careful. Another five breaths until Hoseok finally settles, his breathing still ragged and sharp. Yoongi strains his ears to listen to the sound Hoseok is making, to every sharp exhale and to every breathy little gasp as the boy makes a tentative move, circling his hips, and then grinding down on top of him. A stutter falls out of his mouth and Yoongi doesn’t really catch it but it sounds a lot like okay.
And this is more than fucking okay, thinks Yoongi - Hoseok wrapping him tight with warmth and an intensity that is all too new and familiar at once. Yoongi’s hands settle on either side of Hoseok’s just as the boy is starting to move, head thrown back, and one hand pressed against Yoongi’s chest, steadying himself.
He looks beautiful like this, too, moving on top of Yoongi with his eyes closed, and his throat littered with all the kisses and marks Yoongi had left bared. He always looks beautiful but this - this is something else, on a totally different level, and Yoongi supposes himself lucky enough to be able to see this.
Yoongi lets Hoseok set the pace, lets Hoseok do all the work for the first few minutes, because every time Yoongi so much as try to move with him, or even against him, Hoseok’s fingers curl into his shoulder, and his nails dig into his skin. “No, let me do it,” Hoseok hisses out, lifting himself off high enough that when he slams back down, they both moan, loud and without abandon, not when they’ve got the room to themselves, not when they’ve got an entire house all, no neighbours overhearing or an annoying land lady to worry about.
With an arm curled around Hoseok’s neck, Yoongi manages to drag him back down for a kiss, and this time, they don’t take their time with the kiss, not when Hoseok is all bites and moans, not when it’s one of the filthiest kisses Yoongi’s ever had. He kisses him back without abandon - kisses him for all he’s worth, because Yoongi’s always known to give as much as he gets, and with Hoseok, Yoongi always gets so, so much, that he sometimes has to wonder if what he gives is enough.
Hoseok straightens up again, one hand tangling in Yoongi’s hair, and the look on his face is one that Yoongi will remember for a long, long time. Hoseok looks positively wrecked, eyes half-lidded with arousal and a need for release, his cheeks flushed pink, and his mouth spit-slick and swollen.
It’s only when Hoseok’s rhythm falters, and the pleases start pouring out of his mouth that Yoongi takes the reins. Hoseok’s had his fun and while the ride had truly been great, it’s now Yoongi’s turn to give. He completely pushes himself up off the bed, one hand around Hoseok guiding him back down into the sheets, until Yoongi is hovering on top of him and Hoseok is a mess beneath him, writhing and panting out his name, again and again like a prayer he’s recited every damn day since.
Yoongi thrusts into him, shallow and slow at first, because Hoseok is a whimpering, shaking mess below him. He runs his fingertips down Hoseok’s ribcage, pausing when Hoseok sucks in a breath.
“Come on,” Hoseok bites out, hand slipping into Yoongi’s hair again, twisting, pulling harshly enough to hurt. He begs, and he begs, and he wants, and he wants, and Yoongi doesn’t really need to be told twice, especially if all Hoseok wants is to be fucked into the mattress, hard and fast. He gives as much as he gets, doesn’t he?
His vision tunnels to this one single moment, to Hoseok beneath him, around him. It’s so, so warm, and Hoseok is tight, gripping at him, and Yoongi’s thrusts turn harder, his one hand circling around Hoseok’s nearly untouched cock.
Hoseok gasps out at the sudden change of pace, at Yoongi suddenly touching him, jerking him off. He’s a mess of incoherent words and trembling legs, his one hand gripping at Yoongi, and the other clawing at the sheets, trying to find anything to anchor him down.
This is it, this is Hoseok breaking apart in front of him. He comes in Yoongi’s hand, his moan cutoff when Yoongi kisses him through it, swallowing every breathy exhale, every hiss, every little moan that Hoseok manages to slip past his lips. Yoongi kisses him through his orgasm, his own not far as he pumps into Hoseok, who whimpers from underneath him, fingernails now clawing at his back, gripping tightly onto him as Yoongi comes with a strangled moan of Hoseok’s name.
Catching their breaths, Yoongi lifts himself up off Hoseok and slides out of him, wincing when Hoseok groans at the sudden emptiness.
They’re a mess of come and sweat and spit, and Yoongi wishes they could just fall right asleep, but he knows that it’s going to be disgusting come the morning after. But he also knows that it can wait for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, so he collapses beside Hoseok, the boy instantly curling into him, Hoseok’s one arm slung across his waist, fingernails tracing up and down Yoongi’s side.
“How are you?” Yoongi asks, his voice coming out as a croak.
Hoseok cuddles in closer beside him, nose brushing against Yoongi’s cheek. He digs his fingernails gently onto the skin of Yoongi’s hip, more to get a reaction out of him than anything, and he smiles, right beside Yoongi, his eyes half-lidded this time with exhaustion and a visible relief. Hoseok looks too fucked out to even care about sleeping on dirty sheets. Looks too fucked out for anything, really.
Yoongi can’t help but laugh, Hoseok’s only reply to his question a hum.
“Please tell me you haven’t been fucked stupid,”
“Rude,” Hoseok says, and his voice - his voice sounds hoarse, too wrecked, still. Yoongi thinks - he thinks that he did that, and Hoseok - well, he’s pretty sure Hoseok’s left visual evidence of what he did to Yoongi, too. “And yes, I’m still alive, thanks for the concern,”
“Great,” Yoongi kisses him on the top of his lip, smiling halfway into it just as Hoseok is starting to kiss him back, slow and so goddamn lazy, Yoongi’s starting to think that post-sex kisses might just be the best, right up next to the type of kisses where they’re both just smiling too much, laughing too hard, and so goddamn playful and happy with each other that there isn’t much kissing accomplished. Okay, fine, so maybe it’s hard to beat that kind of kiss, but Yoongi figures that this comes as a very close second. “Ten minutes and then we have to clean up,”
Hoseok mouths at the edge of Yoongi’s jaw, his eyes slowly fluttering to a close. Yoongi is pretty sure he hears a mumbled, “Son of a bitch,” that’s quickly followed with, “Whatever.”
He muffles his laughter against the back of his own hand, Hoseok quickly following suit right after him, and this is it, this is how they put themselves back together after thoroughly getting themselves pulled apart by the seams. This is how they stitch each other back, with laughter and playful kisses that are really more like pecking at whatever area they find access to.
And this is how they fall asleep, with Hoseok’s head tucked in the crook between Yoongi’s neck and shoulder, and Hoseok’s arm thrown around his middle, holding him close. This is how they fall asleep - with Yoongi making do of the wet wipes he’d found in a drawer, with the both of them still sticky from a combination of sweat and residue come. They’ll both hate it in the morning and it’ll be another argument about how Hoseok needs to listen to him more, but for now, Yoongi indulges him, and they sleep, undisturbed, the rest of the world letting out a soft, gentle sigh of relief when they finally do.
They’re alerted of her arrival when they hear the sound of the gates dragging open. She steps through the doorway soon after that, a large suitcase propping against the door, leaving it open. A mix of shopping bags and bags filled with rolled up paper hang from one arm, while her other one is raised in a greeting.
Yoongi looks up from his seat on the couch just as his mother raises her eyebrow at him, expecting more from the son she hadn’t seen for nearly a good year, now.
Hoseok all but rolls her the red carpet, tripping over himself to stand up right and bow, asking if she needs help.
There is a short moment when his mother’s eyes gaze up at Hoseok, unreadable; when even Yoongi holds his breath, not knowing what she’s about to do or say next.
“Well, at least someone’s happy to see me,” She laughs, tinkling and soft, and Yoongi is instantly reminded of his childhood, of the one sweet voice that used to lull him to sleep, of her fingers carding gently through his hair until he finally slipped into the blissful relief that sleep often came with. “Come here, Hoseok,”
And she’s a small woman - tiny, even, standing at least a head shorter of Hoseok. Nevertheless, she commands all the attention in the room (and perhaps it helps that there’s only the two of them, but still). Instead of dumping all her bags in Hoseok’s outstretched arms, she wiggles them off of her hands and drops them on the floor, and quickly steps in between Hoseok’s arms to hug him.
Yoongi gets up from the couch and walks over to them, a bemused smile on his face.
Hoseok looks over at her shoulder at Yoongi, his eyes wide, and an awkward look on his face, clearly unaware of how to process the entire situation. Yoongi just shrugs his shoulders and gestures that now is maybe a good time to hug the single greatest woman on the Earth. Hoseok promptly hugs her back then, his smile turning stunned.
She gives his back a light tap and steps away from him, this time to grab Yoongi into a bone-crushing hug - and she’s always like this, always with crushing hugs that Yoongi is always astounded at, for a woman her size.
(And he makes a mental note to apologise on her behalf to Hoseok, because god, the woman can hug.).
“Well, it’s great to see you too, Yoongi,” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, the truly unappeased look on her face too hilarious Yoongi can’t help but laugh.
“So,” Yoongi cuts her off before she can even segue the conversation somewhere else, before she gets the urge to usher them both into the car for a long, overdrawn dinner (and Yoongi won’t mind that, but first thing’s first.). “This is Hoseok,” He fumbles in the air for a while until he finds Hoseok, his fingers curling on his arm, and dragging him close to him.
Yoongi’s mother just smiles at Hoseok, bright and too big for her small stature, and says, “We’ve met, we’ve hugged, I think I love him already,”
And it might have taken a good ten minutes of Hoseok being subjected to his mother’s terrible way of introducing herself, but Hoseok finally barks out a laugh, warm and tinkling. Yoongi leans against him, a smile that’s too damn fond - too damn obvious - on his face and basks in it, in Hoseok’s laughter - the sweetest fucking melody Yoongi’s ever heard.
Deciding to tell his mother that he’s not going to be going back to school for his final year during dinner is probably the wrong timing, because she almost chokes on her chicken. Hoseok quickly passes her a glass of water, shooting Yoongi a look that clearly says he should have thought that through before dropping a bomb like that in the middle of the goddamn dinner.
Yoongi only winces, feeling just a twinge of guilt tug at his gut. She’s used to this - used to her only son picking the worst timings, ever.
Before she can even react to the news, Yoongi adds, “Hoseok and I went to visit dad,” He only says the word dad because that’s how his mother had used when she’d told Yoongi he’d passed. Your father, she’d said, and Yoongi had replied, my what, now?
“Good,” She finally manages to say, after a glass of water and a lot of glaring at him. “I mean, good that you visited, although I’m still trying to wrap my head around the quitting school part,”
Yoongi lets his spoon scrape at the bottom of the bowl, knowing full well how much his mother hates it when he does it - terrible eating habits, she used to say (the same exact words he’d heard from Hoseok only two weeks after the boy had first moved in). Yoongi smiles at that, at how goddamn hilarious life is sometimes.
“Sure, you have the rest of dinner to get it,” Yoongi hums, dragging his gaze away from her to look at Hoseok from across the table, who can only grimace at him - there’s only so much the boy can do when all Yoongi wants is to just get this done and over with.
His mother shakes her head and mumbles, “You know damn well I’m not going to stop you,”
“Yeah, but it would be great if you gave me your ‘okay’,” Yoongi counters back quickly, the look on his face turning serious, his shoulders stiff, now. Yoongi had known all along that it wasn’t his mother’s approval that would be hard to get - because, she doesn’t have to approve of anything. Doesn’t even have to disapprove of any of Yoongi’s dubious life choices (that are far behind him, now). It’s the acceptance that Yoongi is after, the smile on her face and that little nod she does that means that it’s okay.
Her saying yes is clearly not in the same field as her saying okay.
Okay is when she’d nodded at Yoongi’s decision to study in the city, to rebuild his life by himself this time. Okay is when she’d let Yoongi handle the news of his father’s passing the only way Yoongi could: by sitting on it long enough until he’d gotten to a conclusion, a complete turn around. Okay is how she’d pulled Hoseok into a hug the second she’d walked through the doors and smiled at him.
She gets up from the table, the sound of her heels clicking against the marbled floor as she makes her way to Yoongi’s side. He feels the weight of her dainty hand on top of his head, can hear her exasperated sigh when she ruffles his hair into a mess and says, “Okay, Yoongi, I have faith in you,”
And she leaves the dining room before Yoongi can even say thank you, leaving just the two of them with too much food between them, their stomachs already too full for another bite.
“You look like a ten-thousand pound weight has just been lifted off of you,” Hoseok says, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile.
Yoongi reaches across the table to grab at Hoseok’s hand, fingers slipping into the spaces between, fitting perfectly enough. “Maybe,”
“Great,” Hoseok smiles, tugging on Yoongi’s hand. “Because now I won’t have to feel so guilty leaving you to do all the dishes,”
It’s when they’re both taking a break from packing for their trip back to Seoul that Hoseok looks at him with a question in his eyes that he holds himself back from asking.
It’s when Yoongi finally puts out his cigarette on the back of his shoe that he meets Hoseok’s gaze, a question for a question.
They’re out in the garden again, the afternoon breeze warmer than usual. It truly is summer, after all.
“Come on, say it,” Yoongi says, playing with the lighter, twirling it between his fingers. “You’ve got something to say, so,”
Hoseok takes a deep breath. Holds it longer than normal, and then lets it out in a sharp exhale. His words come out just as quick, though his voice is faint, barely above a whisper. “Are you going to move out of the city?”
Yoongi blinks at him.
Gives him a second to realise his own question, and when Hoseok doesn’t, he says, “What do you mean?”
“Are you going back home?” Hoseok asks, this time with a little bit more strength in his voice.
They’ve been doing so well during the entire trip. Yoongi’s own mother is as fond as one can be at the first boy her son’s ever dragged home. Everything about this whole trip has been right, has been great, but the look on Hoseok’s face is almost like he’s scared, standing between the brink of something beautiful and - and an expanse of land that he can fall back on, just in case he wouldn’t take the leap.
Hoseok looks at him with a ghost of a smile dancing across his face.
“C’mere, you idiot,” Yoongi lifts his hands up to frame at either side of Hoseok’s face, holding him still and steady as Yoongi looks up at him and says, voice as soft as his smile, as tender as the look in his eyes, “I already am, okay?”
“What?” Hoseok blurts out, surprised.
“I said,” And here Yoongi strokes at Hoseok’s cheek, still with a fond smile that’s slowly turning playful with every passing second as he starts to notice the blush creeping up on Hoseok’s cheeks, dusting his cheeks a pretty, pretty pink. “I’m already home,” Yoongi doesn’t add with you, because he’s pretty damn sure Hoseok’s already gotten the message when the boy wraps his arms around Yoongi’s middle, dragging him even closer to him, until their foreheads are pressed together, until the last shred of doubt is wiped from Hoseok’s face, and shaken off of his anxious bones.
“That’s so cheesy,” Hoseok laughs into Yoongi’s touch, laughs into Yoongi’s hug, laughs into the kiss that Yoongi presses on his lips. “God, I fucking love you, yeah?”
Yoongi is unable to pinch Hoseok for that comment, so instead, he just strokes his cheek with his thumb.
Hoseok’s eyes flutter to a close, that same smile still on his face. It’s a beautiful smile, that - a smile that Yoongi will keep in a clenched fist against his heart. A smile that he’ll remember for all the days to come, for as long a time as they’ll have.
Yoongi’s own I love you, too is muffled by a kiss, and it’s that kind of kiss again - silly pecks on Yoongi’s nose, on his cupid’s bow, on his mouth, and on his jaw. Silly, playful, with Hoseok smiling too big, too wide, and Yoongi smiling back, his heart full, beating a familiar rhythm that sounds a lot like Hoseok’s name, again and again.
Much, much later, when they’re both tucked into bed, and half of Yoongi’s weight practically on top of Hoseok, he asks if they should move in together.
“We already live together,” Hoseok scrunches his nose at the question, confused. “Are you imagining things right now?”
Yoongi nuzzles into the crook of Hoseok’s neck as his fingers trace patterns on his chest, almost dazedly. “You know what I fucking mean. We can get rid of your room and just - I don’t know, use it for something else,”
Hoseok kisses the top of Yoongi’s head, chuckling low as he pulls back, “Why are you assuming that I’ll be willing to surrender my room?”
“Because you haven’t slept in your room the past few months,” Yoongi punctuates his statement by dragging his teeth against the base of Hoseok’s neck. Hoseok shivers from underneath him and Yoongi smiles, smoothing the damage with a kiss that starts from the base of Hoseok’s throat, and goes up to the corner of his mouth, pausing. “That’s the first thing we’re doing when we get back, we’re renovating your room,”
Hoseok brushes his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, something that Yoongi almost purrs at, given just how tired he is, how close he is to falling asleep. He presses against Hoseok’s touch, wanting more, and more, and more until he finally falls asleep.
“Okay,” Hoseok’s fingers drag down from Yoongi’s hair and to the side of his face, skirting over his skin, soft and feather-light. “That’s a plan.”
It’s Yoongi’s turn to hum out his approval, and - and he’s content, he really is. It’s a plan for tomorrow, that. And the day after that - well, who knows, but if there’s one thing Yoongi knows, then it’s that Hoseok’s smile is enough to paint every sunrise and sunset; his laughter a song that Yoongi doesn’t mind hearing on replay, again and again; and not to mention how the colours are suddenly brighter, how everything comes alive under Hoseok’s touches.
Yoongi kisses Hoseok one last time before he settles back into bed and murmurs, “Good night, astro boy,”
Still brushing his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, Hoseok smiles, voice as content as Yoongi feels, with just a hint of sleepiness that Yoongi knows will sweep him over and drag him under soon enough.
Hoseok’s words are clear as day, though, when he says, “Shut up and go to bed,” something that he unapologetically follows with a laugh and a good night that comes in the form of a kiss to Yoongi’s forehead.
In a world apart from this comes a new day.
The morning is a flurry of colours and a rush of sound; of the waves, gentle; of the wind, the most beautiful symphony the boy has ever known.
The boy in the raft wakes up only to find himself finally washed ashore.
And when he looks up at the sky, it’s to see the most mesmerising array of colours, white fluffy clouds drifting across a backdrop of oranges, and yellows, and blues - the colours so soft, as if they’re trying to be quiet, tiptoeing after everybody else, and whispering, good morning, good morning, good morning to the rest of the world.
And Yoongi stirs slowly awake, then, with fingers carding at his hair, Hoseok’s fingers easily gliding through the strands. He wakes up to a series of kisses that Hoseok trails down the side of his face, starting from Yoongi’s temple to the edge of his jaw.
“Good morning,” Hoseok murmurs quietly.
“G’morning.” Yoongi curls his fingers over Hoseok’s bare hip, and lifts his head up to brush their noses together, smiling.
When Hoseok smiles, he floods the entire room with the soft colours of the morning.