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Yoongi and Taehyung are cuddled together on the couch. Yoongi sits with his legs drawn up beneath him, a pen in one hand. His notebook rests on the arm of the couch, his pen hurrying across the page to scribble down lyrics. With his other hand, he’s combing Taehyung’s hair, as Taehyung’s head is pillowed on his lap.
Every once in awhile, Yoongi will stop writing and gaze down at Taehyung, who’s scrolling through Twitter and giggling obnoxiously at any memes he comes across. He’ll continue to run his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, and as if Taehyung can feel his stares, the younger will look up at him and grin. His boxy smile makes Yoongi’s lips quirk up in one of his own, and his heart leaps and bounds around in his chest.
Taehyung’s beauty is elegant—exquisite, really; ethereal—and Yoongi knows he could stare at Taehyung all day. He never grows tired of his boyfriend’s tanned skin, his beauty marks, or his square grin. He never grows tired of his laugh, his strange remarks, or how he turns into a sleepy, cuddly koala after one a.m. He never grows tired of his personability—how he can comfort anyone, especially his best friends Jimin and Jeongguk—or his spontaneity—how he often tries out new things to see if they interest him. He never grows tired of his expressivity, like how his eyes always convey his emotions, or—
“Tae-yah,” Seokjin calls from the kitchen.
Seokjin’s voice breaks whatever spell Yoongi is under, and Yoongi returns to scrawling lyrics in his notebook. He lazily scrapes his nails over Taehyung’s scalp, and Taehyung practically purrs.
“What would you like in your tea?” Seokjin asks. The cupboard door opens, creaking, and almost masks what he says next. “Cream? Matcha? Cinnamon? There’s a bit of lemon left, or do you want some honey? What about some Su—”
Yoongi interrupts gruffly, “Don’t finish that thought, hyung.” He fiercely crosses out a phrase on the page and glares down at his notebook. “I hate that nickname.”
Taehyung giggles below him, placing his phone on his chest. “But you like it when I call you Suga-Bear! Why’s Jin-hyung’s nickname any different?”
Yoongi snorts, looking at Taehyung with a raised brow. “‘S not the same. Jin-hyung isn’t my boyfriend.”
Taehyung beams. “No, I am! And you’re my Suga-Bear!” he squeals, rolling on his side to nuzzle into the juncture of Yoongi’s hip. When he rolls over, his phone falls to the cushions.
Yoongi rolls his eyes and sets his pen on his notebook. “Yes, I’m your Suga-Bear.” When Taehyung looks up at him again, innocently blinking his big eyes, Yoongi’s hand sweeps gently across Taehyung’s forehead and brushes Taehyung’s bangs back. “And you’re my Koala, TaeTae,” he whispers. “Always so clingy,” he murmurs, smiling.
Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s hand and hides his face near Yoongi’s hip while Yoongi laughs. “I’ll come get my tea, Jin-hyung!” Taehyung yells, the words slightly muffled by the fabric of Yoongi’s hoodie. “Yoongi-hyung’s being mushy again!”
“No need,” Seokjin says, suddenly appearing from the kitchen. He’s got two saucers in his hand, and matching cups sit atop them. He places them on the wooden table in front of the couch and moseys over to the armchair beside the sofa. “I put matcha and—” Yoongi squints, daring Seokjin to complete his sentence, and he does. “—sugar in it. Yoongi’s is black and bitter, like his soul,” Seokjin says, huffing. He sits down and crosses his legs.
Yoongi snorts. “Only toward you, hyung. You should feel special.” He reaches for the cup and hears Taehyung whine at being moved. “Well, you and your boyfriend, actually, ” Yoongi adds, frowning. He stares as his distorted reflection in the dark liquid, his breath causing little ripples to fan across its surface. “He broke another pair of my headphones yesterday. I don’t know why I gave them to him when they cost more than anything he owns in the first place, but I did, and now they’re broken,” he grumbles. He brings the teacup to his lips and takes a drink. The hot liquid scalds his tongue, and he hisses, almost sloshing some tea on Taehyung in his haste to put the cup back on the table.
“Aw,” Taehyung coos. He sits up and rubs comfortingly at Yoongi’s thigh.
Meanwhile, Yoongi tugs at his own ear to get rid of the overwhelming stinging sensation on several of his tastebuds.
“Don’t be sad, hyung,” Taehyung says. “I’m sure Namjoonie-hyung didn’t mean to. And you forgot to blow on your tea, silly.” He reaches for his own cup. “Jin-hyung just made it, so it’s hot.” He brings his cup to his lips, making a show of blowing on the tea before lightly sipping it. He sighs, satisfied, and sticks his pinkie in the air as he takes another sip.
“Dually noted,” Yoongi rasps. He sticks his tongue out, panting, and Seokjin laughs.
“Maybe putting some Suga in his Tae would have made it not so hot,” Seokjin jests behind a hand, and both men groan.
Several seconds later, Taehyung says seriously, “Jin-hyung, your jokes Seok.”