Chapter Text
Another year, another break up. You would think that after Break Up Number Four you would feel a little less shitty about the same, damn conversation happening at the same, damn place.
It always happens at a coffee shop.
You want to line up your exes and ask them one by one why they always picked coffee shops to dump you. Was there some sort of national shortage of public venues that you should be aware of? Because it has come to the unfortunate point where you now associate coffee with heartbreak and abandonment, which is a terrible shame given that you are an addict who needs a large cup of caffeine tar every morning before 9AM to function.
It never gets easier.
Namjoon is direct and to-the-point, not wasting words on sparing your feelings, but not going out of his way to be cruel to you. He’s going for the clean break. No, the two of you will not remain friends; he’s just aiming for a definite end with as little bitterness as possible. He’s not trying to hurt you out of malice, but this is still painful and mortifying all the same.
“Stay warm,” Namjoon says after a short pause. The two of you have now agreed to call it quits, and with all your past experience as "dumpee," you have gotten pretty skilled at pretending it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. “Don’t get sick.” And he gets up and leaves. What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon.
Six hours later as you lay in your bed, you wish that you had the strength to be the one to leave first. At least you didn’t have to change your facebook status to read “single” again. Namjoon was the type to be blasé, near ambivalent, about SMDA (Social Media Displays of Affection), and as much as it irked you when you were in a relationship with him, you’re a little grateful for it now. There is less mess, less fallout. You could quietly break up and cut ties without having to go through the break-up equivalent of the walk of shame.
You reach for your phone on the side table, thumb ghosting over the lockscreen from muscle memory. You ignore the red 300+ notification from your messenger app because the people in your College Buddies group chat never shut the hell up. It's always the same three people talking anyway. Instead, you browse through restaurant listings and reviews because you have a need to gorge away the upset. Unfortunately, your mood worsens because every place with a decent rating is advertising a couple special or deal.
As recently un-coupled, seeing the deals is akin to getting salt rubbed on your wounds.
“Fuck this,” you mutter, lips curving upwards into a bitter smile because Namjoon disliked it when you cursed. “I hate how we’re so fucking obsessed with shitty-ass couple aesthetics. Give me a fucking break.” It feels good to say it even though no one is listening. “Fuck.”
It’s with ire and not a little hunger that you end up in tent for some street food. You couldn’t bear to go to a restaurant right now, by yourself, and have to eat dinner while couples canoodled with each other.
“I’ll have one of everything,” you tell the middle-aged woman manning the shop while she eyes your artful ensemble of pajamas crossed with a leather jacket. “And a bottle of soju please.”
“You’re going to eat one of everything?” she repeats, blinking away the skepticism. “You don’t get a refund just because you can’t finish something.”
“I know, I know,” you sigh, “but I got dumped today, and I’m hungry. I was on a constant diet while dating that bastard, and I just want to eat.” You’re oversharing, and if it were any other day you’d probably be embarrassed.
The woman just shrugs and hands you a bottle of soju. “Pick a spot.” There are many. “I’ll bring over your food.”
You’re not kidding in the slightest when you said you were on a constant diet while dating Namjoon. He never said anything about it, and you could have been projecting, but the inferiority complex had hit you hard when you saw what his exes looked like. There wasn’t much you could do about your face without going under the knife, but weight was one thing you could control. And for months you oscillated between eating clean for week and then relapsing into your regularly scheduled carbs.
Despite periods where you truly feasted, you could remember how hungry you felt all the time, hungry for food and for affection, neither of which you could comfortably find with Namjoon.
You crack open the bottle of soju and thank the lady as she brings over bowls of food and shot glass.
“When you throw up, make sure to do it outside,” she tells you matter-of-factly.
“I will…thank you for the concern,” you respond.
“I’m not concerned.”
Harsh. It’s fine though because you dig into Bowl Number One, and it tastes like salt, carbohydrates, and artificial flavoring, a.k.a. Heaven. Your mouth is alive from the heat and the spices, and it feels like a near religious experience when each gulp is better than the last. You wash it down with half a shot of soju, and, fuck yes that’s the stuff. That’s the Good Stuff.
And you’re in such a good mood from being fed and watered that even your intense desire to die after the break up feels less pronounced. You open up a kitschy camera app and choose a ridiculous filter, one that would hide the ugly acne marks on your face and resize your eyes comedically. One selfie collage and Instagram story update later, you inform your followers, a mix of real friends and spam bots, through caption that you’re done dieting.
One shot of soju turns into two, which turns into three and four and five, until you’re calling for another bottle of glorified rubbing alcohol mixed with aspartame. Soju is objectively bad, but on terrible days it has a way of going down nicely. Street Food Auntie hands you a bottle because it’s money, but she sincerely hopes your puking will happen outside of her establishment.
“Fucking hell…” A familiar voice calls your name after a while, distracting you from digging into the rest of the food splayed around the cramped table. You look up mid-chew, cheeks puffed from stuffing your mouth too full of food.
“Yoongi,” you greet, your cheeks warming up from the shots. Because your mouth is full, his name ends up sounding more like “nnn-gi” when you wave. You swallow, uncaring of how the food was not chewed enough. You simply wash it down with a little more alcohol. “Come here, come here!!”
And you actually get up, take his hand, and drag him to sit down at the table on the chair in front of you.
“What the hell- Are you eating all of this?” he asks, face scrunched in mild confusion.
“Yup!” you answer, lips popping over the syllables because you’re on your way to drunkenness. “Did you see my Instagram story?” you ask in rapid-fire, “Is that why you’re here? To check on me? You’re such a good friend. Are you hungry? Do you want some-”
Yoongi can’t get in a word edgewise, and it’s not until a whole group of your mutual friends from the same graduating university class pour into the tent that you realize, that no, he wasn’t here for you. It was probably a group meeting you skipped out on because you didn’t read your messages.
“Oh…”
Eunji spots you and waves excitedly. “I thought you weren’t coming! Guys let’s just eat here for old time’s sake!" - Old time’s sake meaning back when all of you were broke college kids.
Your face falls because you’re not in the mood, and they’re going to pry about why you’re eating like a pig and drinking all alone while dressed in your Ryan pajamas. And then you’d have to tell them about being dumped, and then they’d try setting you up with Loser Woohyuk who’s also here with the same, beady little eyes and suspicious intentions. The last thing you want is to be smothered by fake concern.
Before you can prepare to put on your Happy Face, Yoongi gets up from the chair abruptly, letting the plastic drag across the floor in a loud, screeching sound. “Are you crazy? I suffered for four years in college eating street food and ramyeon, and I’m not eating a single bite willingly if I have to. Can we please just get meat like normal people with jobs?”
He chances a glance at the Lady of the Tent, who doesn’t look offended at all. There are murmurs of agreement, and it’s with relief that the entire group plus Yoongi leave. Thank heavens for solitude.
“Ahjumma, one more?” you ask, holding up your empty soju bottle. This would be your last bottle because you know your limits. “Pretty please?”
“Don’t act cute,” she deadpans, handing you bottle number three.
“Of course not,” you chirp, acting cute anyway. Your stomach feels like it is three seconds away from bursting. You pick at the rest of your food with a little bit of regret because you did order way too much to handle by yourself. And you couldn’t even take it with you.
“I cannot believe you.” You look up to see Yoongi is back again, and this time without the whole crew. He’s frowning as he takes in your glassy eyes and attire, and plops back down to sit in the spot he vacated just a few moments ago. “I had to lie that I had diarrhea in front of Sooyoung-noona to get them off my back for ditching.”
It’s not your stomach that’s about to burst, it’s your tear ducts. As soon as Yoongi gives you one of his looks trying to figure out what’s wrong with you, you feel your eyes well up. You’re not even embarrassed about the tears because you think you did a pretty good fucking job of holding back the upset this whole day.
“I got dumped,” is your watery response. You’re just about to crack open the new soju bottle, but Yoongi confiscates it.
“You okay?” he asks, knowing full well that you’re the furthest thing from okay, but having the emotional insight to know that maybe, just maybe, you might want to rant.
You wipe your tears away and try breathing through your nose to calm down. It wasn’t a lot of tears so you’re able to control your breathing and find your chill. And when you open your mouth to vent, Yoongi listens to one hour of Post-Break-Up Rant. He’s a good friend.
*
“I should have dumped him first,” you grumble again for the third time because you’re running out of things to say.
Yoongi has eaten all of whatever you couldn’t finish, and the table is a lot less cramped without all the bowls spread out. He’s stacked them to the side neatly so that the older woman could come collect it later.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snorts. Yoongi has done his duty as friend and listened to your rant, and in his humble opinion, it was getting to be too late in the evening to continue Namjoon-bashing.
“For once I would like to be the one doing the dumping,” you huff, “And how am I being ridiculous?”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows and plays with the cap of the unopened soju bottle. “You could never be the one to dump someone first. It’s not in your nature.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh because you know me so well.” The moment you say this, it doesn’t escape you how dumb you sound because…
“Yeah. Yeah, actually I do know you that well.” He cracks open the soju with a smug look. The older woman wordlessly brings him a shot glass, and he thanks her with a little bit of the charm that keeps him popular. Min Yoongi probably knows you the best out of anyone that’s not you at this point. Despite having met him later in life during year two in university, you had discovered that a friend you purposely kept in touch with during adulthood somehow meant more than the friends you grew up with. And Yoongi had been there for all of the momentous, important things in your adult life, and you had shared in his moments as well.
“Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t dump anyone,” you concede, holding out your own shot glass so that he fills it. “But then, what is wrong with me? Why do people always leave me? What the hell is the problem? No, not the problem, My Problem? It’s because I’m fat and ugly-” Yoongi glares at you, and you reign in your self-hatred after a sip of alcohol. “Okay, okay. I know I’m pretty above-average when it comes to looks, and I’m just saying this because I’m mad and I want validation. But seriously, what the hell?”
He sighs, and you know you’re not going to hear what you want to hear.
“The problem has nothing to do with how you look. None of that really matters- well actually it does kind of matter, but you don’t have to worry about the looks portion, seriously…” Yoongi pauses, eyeing you cautiously as if you’d explode at his words. “You’re too easy.”
Your kneejerk reaction of incredulous disbelief blooms into heated indignation on your face, and Yoongi holds up his hand to stop you from releasing a seventy-two-words-per-minute rebuttal. You are, probably, the purest form of Extra Virgin Olive Oil at your age; and you haven’t even gotten to the point of kissing someone horizontally on a bed let alone sex (“At Your Age! At Your Age!” your brain likes to shout at you), so how Yoongi can call you “easy” is beyond logic – if anyone was asking you.
“I mean,” he clarifies, with a tired sigh, “You are way too easy with your heart.”
Well. There is that. He’s not wrong.
“I can’t help it,” you reply bitterly, “I’m a fucking softie.”
Yoongi nods. “It’s not a bad thing though.”
You scoff because a fat lot of good it’s done you. “I wish I could be cool like you. So that I can, like, break people’s hearts and not feel bad about it.”
“Don’t. You’re perfect as you are.” And you physically let out a raucous laugh at that piss-poor attempt to cheer you up. Yoongi kicks your chair because he’s being serious, and here you are taking him lightly. “Also, I would never break someone’s heart and not feel bad about it. I’d feel very bad.” He looks like a liar.
“But you’d still break their heart,” you quip, “and I wanna do that.”
“It’s a lot less fun than you think,” Yoongi lectures. “All of a sudden they’re crying in front of you because you said you didn’t like the way they chewed. And then three weeks later they send you an essay about how they’re perfect for you.”
You purse your lips. “Um, don’t eat bread in front of the hungry. I’m still mad over Namjoon, and it sounds like the fucking dream to have him cry in front of me and send me emo texts after I crush his heart and ruin him for all women in his future.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond to you this time. Instead he refills your glass and his. “Let’s drink this and get you home. You look embarrassing.”
“That’s because these are his pajamas,” you tell him, refusing to use Namjoon’s name again. “Cheers.” You clink glasses and throw back the bitter alcohol.
*
Yoongi takes you home when you’re a staggering mess after five bottles (yes, count them: one, two, three, four, FIVE), and you wake up the next morning with a pretty mild hangover because you never drink this much even though your tolerance is pretty good.
“Morning sunshine,” he yawns when you stumble out of your bedroom and see Yoongi hovering over the coffeemaker.
You nearly freak out when you feel your face and realize that you never washed your face before passing out. “Who told you you could stay over?”
“You did. You even held onto my leg when I tried to leave.”
You have zero recollection of any of this, but you’d take Yoongi’s word for it. After all, people have told you in the past that you get affectionate when drunk.
“Thanks for listening to the wishes of a drunk girl then. Hey did you make coffee?”
It feels good not to be alone, and you’re secretly grateful beyond measure that Yoongi stayed over. Having to deal with a Sunday morning hangover while obsessing over the dumping would not have been fun to tackle all by yourself.
“No offense but… you need a shower,” Yoongi tells you in a bland tone, as if commenting on the weather. “You smell like depression.”
“Shut. Up.” Despite the way you roll your eyes and glare at him half-heartedly, you do as he says because he’s right. You needed to shampoo your day four hair anyway.
In the shower you cry some more. You only got to cry a little yesterday, so you let yourself draw in deep, shaky breaths as the hoarse sounds of your weeping echo against the bathroom walls. You let the water run over your hair and face while your head is slumped over, and despite the tears that leak out you can see the whorls of water filtering down the drain the clogged bits of hair you’ll need to scoop out later. The tile feels cool when you lean against it, and you promise yourself that you’ll try your hardest not to wallow too much.
Yoongi hands you a glass of water wordlessly when you come out of your bedroom after the longer-than-normal shower.
“You didn’t leave?” you croak, wincing at the post-ugly-cry voice of yours.
His eyes soften as you gulp down the water. “What and leave you to drown in the shower? I don’t think so.”
It’s precisely these moments in which you marvel at the pure luck you had for fate to pave your way towards meeting and befriending Min Yoongi. And while you know that first impressions weren’t everything, you’d never forget his cool way of handling disrespect from the first boy who dumped you prior to even knowing you at all.
(Sometime Ago In Those Distant College Years: It was only four days after Joonyoung kicked you to the curb, so to speak, and he was already hitting on every single girl around you during one of the mandatory department mixers. No one had the guts to speak up about his abhorrent behavior except for Yoongi, a newcomer to the department, and therefore, wholly unaware of all the nasty, complicated particulars. It felt so damn good to watch him chew out your ex with only a few words.)
“You’re a really good guy, Min Yoongi. You know that?”
“Of course I do.”
*
Getting over Namjoon doesn’t happen overnight.
Yoongi eventually leaves you on that Sunday morning post-breakup, having been called to an emergency at work. (”Sucks to work at a start-up,” he had sighed.) But you feel at peace in the solitude because his company had already lifted a large weight off your shoulders.
Still, there are many days when you find yourself functioning on autopilot, body and mind moving in rote memory. Wake up, wash, work, drink, home; it felt like an endless, monotonous cycle. Some days you miss Namjoon; other days you miss being in a relationship with anyone at all.
You’re not as young as you used to be, so daily drunkenness takes a toll on your body. Your skin suffers, and adult acne makes a comeback. There are three angry pimples lining the fine lines on your cheek, one smack in the middle of your forehead, and another at the border between your neck and chin. This breakup is a disaster.
But you’re not yet out of your destructive mood, and Yoongi reluctantly agrees to come meet you out for drinks. He’s not keen on seeing you drink away your liver, but he’d much rather you do it under his supervision than alone. And you’re not without a conscious, so you feel horrible, downright awful, that you monopolize Yoongi’s time like this. He still meets you for drinks at least a couple of times during the week and always on Fridays, without complaint.
“I’m lonely, but I don’t know why or what I even want,” you sigh on another Friday evening at the Tent, frowning at the shot glass with the logo of a beer company fading away. You’ve been to other bars and restaurants, but you like the anonymity and casual comfort the street food tent gives you. Plus, now that you’re a “regular” the older woman supplies you with a plate that’s a little more full than other people’s bowls.
Yoongi nods, sympathizing but not egging you on. “That’s normal,” he tells you, “Every one of us on the cusp of thirty is going through an existential crisis right now.”
“I’m moping here,” you huff, and Yoongi’s laughter is enough to make you consider closing up shop for the Misery Brigade for this evening.
Yoongi feeds you a piece of hot rice cake without you asking for it. “Then by all means,” he tells you, the laughter still not out of his voice, “Mope away.”
“At first I thought it was because I wanted friends. But you’re here with me all the time, and I participate in the group meetings - sometimes, and nothing’s changed,” you start, emboldened by his permission. “And then I thought it was because I wanted to be in love, but that was so not it. Nothing I do leads me anywhere, and it’s frustrating because I still want so bad not be feel this way….”
Somewhere along the lines, the break up with Namjoon had dug up old fears, old regrets. You are at a point where you don’t know if all of the crying and raging is because of Namjoon, or because of the fact that you wanted something to fill the growing void in your life, and nobody wanted in. Your rational mind tells you it’s the latter because the notion that you are unwanted is enough to get you gulping down half a bottle of soju real quick.
“Maybe,” Yoongi starts, “Maybe you should stop focusing on where you’re going to end up. You don’t need to get to any place.” This is said gently, tactfully, and accompanied with a soft “cheers” and a toast.
“What does that even mean?” You have a guess, but you’d rather him tell you because Yoongi’s voice was always a ten out of ten.
He sets down his glass. “Did you love Namjoon?”
“No,” you answer immediately.
“Do you want to be with him again? Start over?” he continues, not quite explaining his point.
“Fuck no,” you answer even quicker than the last response.
Yoongi gestures as if to say “there you go”. “If you didn’t love him, and if you don’t want to get back together with him, then he’s not important. You may not know what you want right at this very second, but at least you know it’s not him.”
“That’s a start,” you murmur. Maybe. “Process of elimination.”
Yoongi smiles. “That’s my girl.”
You smile back, and yours is considerably faker than his. “Would Sooyoung-unni like to hear you call me that? Hmm?”
Much to your disappointment, Yoongi neither blushes or deflects. “Probably not considering she wants to date me, but I’ll risk it.”
Your mouth falls open from the sheer confidence behind his words. “Min Yoongi,” you hiss, lips edging upwards into an admiring smile, “You’re bad. Have you been…?”
“Have I been texting her? Yeah.”
You lean closer to him, intrigued. “Like dirty stuff?”
“No, you giant pervert. Just talking about normal shit, jeez.” Yoongi is more conservative than he lets on, and you love that about him. It makes teasing him all the more fun.
You tap your glass, signalling him to pour another for you. “I’m impressed. Wasn’t she like the most popular upperclassman among the guys?” Her legs were, and are still, legendary.
Yoongi nods, “Yoona-noona was a close second though. She texted me too, by the way.”
“And? What did you even talk about?” You lived for other people’s drama.
He smirks in shy, happy cockiness. “I told her I’d love to go her gallery opening and that Sooyoung-noona had already invited me as her plus-one. She left me on read.”
“You’re so unexpectedly popular,” you muse, picking up your chopsticks to play at the small bits of vegetables floating around in the spicy sauce. The rice cakes are all gone now, and neither one of you likes the vegetables too much.
He rolls his eyes, not the slightest bit offended because he’s had the same thoughts as you. Sooyoung and Yoona (and Eunji, and Joohyun, and Chaeyoung, and few others more) were impressive, beautiful women, and he had no idea what they saw in him.
“You know… I used to have the biggest crush on you,” you chuckle all of a sudden, interrupting his thoughts. You recall the short period in time where you nursed heart eyes for Yoongi after he so viciously and satisfyingly ruined your first ex-boyfriend. You down your shot with a satisfying cringe and hiss. “Did you know by any chance?”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Of course I did. You’re really obvious. Do yourself a favor and never play poker unless you feel like giving money away.” You cover your face with your hands at his response, mortified for your early-twenty-something year old self but finding the whole situation hilarious in all its uncomfortable glory.
“Oh my god…” You pull yourself out of your Five Second Pity Party when a thought hits you. “Hold on. I call bullshit!”
“What the hell are you yapping about now?”
You narrow your eyes. “There’s no way you knew I liked you.”
“Oh trust me, I knew,” Yoongi snorts.
“But you were so… so… so… normal with me. You didn’t act any different or treat me like I was weird.” Yoongi had always been your good friend, a near constant in your life.
“And why should I? Yeah, I knew you liked me. So what? You were still my friend.”
You blink in surprise. “But weren’t you weirded out by it?”
“At first, yeah, a little,” he admits, “But who you like is your choice, your business. And you never confessed to me, so I figured that was my answer.”
“It wasn’t a burden?”
“Nope.” Yoongi’s answer is easy because it’s truthful. “Not once. Listen, none of us choose who we like. Our hearts are wholly ours to deal with. Since we have to take responsibility for how we express our feelings, we have the right to feel however the hell we want for whomever or whatever.”
Well damn. Here was Exhibit A of why you liked him so much back then. Min Yoongi was, and still is, so fucking cool. You could definitely see why Sooyoung would spend her time texting him when she’s had literal celebrities asking her out.
“And I didn’t want to be That Guy,” Yoongi continues quietly. He pours himself a shot and downs it quickly. “I didn’t want to be a piece of shit that abandoned a friend because of something outside of anyone’s control. What is so wrong about having feelings for a friend? Is it a crime? Is it a sin?”
“But what if I did confess to you?” you ask, burning with curiosity for what might have been.
Yoongi smiles and shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Maybe we would have dated.”
You gape at his flippant answer. “Y-you… You can’t just-” You make a choked noise of frustration and yank the bottle of soju out of his hands. “I can’t believe you,” you mutter and dump the rest of the alcohol into your shot glass.
Yoongi laughs openly at your flustered annoyance and orders another bottle of soju as you shakily tip the contents down your throat. “Don’t get so worked up. I said maybe. Don’t tell me you still have lingering feelings…”
You shoot him a look. “I’m being serious, Yoongi.”
“So am I,” he responds, thanking the older woman who brings over a fresh bottle of soju. “A lot of things could have happened. Truth is…I don’t know what I would have done. Everything is a maybe.”
“You are so lame,” you groan because Of Course he would give you a complete non-answer. That is so like him. “You think you’re being all deep or some shit, but you’re just so, so, so, so lame, Min Yoongi. I take back everything good I said about you. Sooyoung-unni deserves better.”
You mean none of this. He’s still the Coolest in your book.
“But you love me,” he replies in a sing-song voice while smiling ear to ear. You don’t trust that smile one bit.
“Don’t push it,” you snort, your heart beating just the slightest bit faster. You reason that it’s the alcohol and trip down memory lane.
*
And that is how you get over Namjoon and your existential crisis bit by bit.
You are big enough to admit that this reliance on Yoongi’s company may look weird to outsiders entrenched in the belief that there was no such thing as friendship between men and women, a grossly heteronormative, stone-age assumption. If you liked Yoongi as more than just a friend, would you have encouraged him to go on a few dates with his long-time crush from university? You’d say Hell Fucking No given your propensity towards possessiveness and insecurity.
You give him your blessing to continue talking to Sooyoung, even giving him tips on how to respond.
Yet when Yoongi cancels a Friday drinking session with you in favor of going to the movies with Sooyoung, there is an uncomfortable sensation that swirls around your gut. You spend the rest of the night uneasy and sober. (And maybe, you think, maybe it’s because suddenly it’s Real that he’s out there not giving a damn about you that has you feeling wonky and out of sorts. This is the ugliest feeling, and you try your hardest to wipe it from existence.)
He still meets up with you for the regularly-scheduled lunch date on Saturday, and he tells you all about the movie, and nothing about her.
Yoongi speaks, and you hear him loud and clear, but your gaze drifts down to his lips – something that hasn’t happened in a long, long time. You find yourself distracted by the shape and the color, blinking softly at how sensuous Yoongi’s lips look when he speaks in that slow, soothing drawl. It’s the small hitch of your breath that catches at the back of your throat like a cough and the warmth that bubbles up from your chest up to your neck that alerts you to the fact that you’re fantasizing about your friend.
The pieces fall into place almost too perfectly once you’ve identified that nagging feeling you’ve had for a while every time you looked at Yoongi or saw him text Sooyoung. Denial is a powerful tool for crushing feelings, but it can only go so far. With a racing heart and a sickening sense of déjà vu, you realize history is repeating itself, and you’ve already fallen again for Min Yoongi. You might be moving on from Namjoon, but he’s just getting started with Sooyoung. The timing is absolute shit, and you hate how fucking easy it is for you to fall into someone after they’ve been nice to you.
You make the decision that you need to distance yourself as you watch him slurp ramyeon noodles happily. What was it that he told you before? Men don’t eat messily in front of girls they want to date? Flecks of soup stain his shirt as the noodles snap from his chopsticks to mouth, and you are so, so fucked.
Yoongi takes a breather from his noodles to ask you a question. “No but seriously… should I even be doing this?” His face looks too serious for you to make any jokes.
“What do you mean? Doing what?”
“Dating Sooyoung-noona. We’ve met a few times, but should I really start something serious with her?” Yoongi asks, and your whole body freezes up.
Without thinking, as if some demon came around and possessed your body for ten seconds, you actually nod and answer, “I think you should. She’d be good for you.”
Yoongi blinks at your quick response.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
*
Stupid. It’s not okay. It’s the furthest thing from okay.
Sooyoung posts a picture on instagram of Yoongi sipping coffee, and you want to physically hurt something. It’s a visceral reaction of jealousy that feels so ugly and wrong. You know you have no right to be feeling this way when it was your own fault to begin with, but that doesn’t stop you from ignoring Yoongi’s texts and telling him that you’re too busy to see him these days.
He’s a man of action and consideration, so you don’t know why you’re so surprised to see him fuming in front of your apartment door one evening.
“Are you dead or dying?” he inquires when you let him in. “No, scratch that. Have you been fully incapacitated with no access to any communication devices for the past two weeks?”
“What the fuck are you on about?” you shut the door slowly to buy yourself time for the inevitable, ugly confrontation.
“Can you cut the bullshit and just tell me why you’re avoiding me?” Yoongi snaps, neck red with anger. When you open your mouth to answer, he cuts you off, “And don’t say you’re busy with work! Because we both know that’s a lie.”
“It’s not,” you argue, trying your hardest to stick to your story. “I’ve been getting slammed with projects.”
Yoongi’s jaw clenches as he just stares at you after hearing your lame excuse.
“This is about Sooyoung,” he says, hitting the nail on the head. Five hundred points to whatever the fuck his pottermore house was. “You’ve been acting weird ever since I started dating her. I’m not a fucking idiot. Spill. Why? Is she a psycho or something? Do you know something about her that I dont?”
If mortification was turned into a human being, she would take on your form because that’s all of what you’re feeling at this very second.
“I,” you swallow, “I don’t kn-”
“Tell me.” Yoongi rarely demands anything from you, but he is adamant at getting honesty. He has a feeling as to what you think of his potential girlfriend. Being friends for more than ten years during adulthood would do that to a person.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” You have no idea why you chose to say that, and you kick yourself from the stupidity. You should have just made something up and moved on instead of alerting Yoongi that you had some Serious Opinions when all it was was you pining over him.
Yoongi reacts with predictable curiosity. “I’ll deal with the hurt. I just want to know.” His heart pounds heavily, and he finds it hard to push down the anxiousness mixed with hope that bubbles up from his chest.
“I…” You falter when Yoongi stares you down with so much sincerity. You worry over his heart, and you worry over your own heart too while you consider what to tell him. “I don’t think she’s right for you.”
“Bullshit,” Yoongi grinds out through his teeth. “Try the fuck again – with a little more honesty this time.”
You despise the position he’s put you in – this vulnerable, awkward, contentious position where you’re forced to show your hand or fold. It is a terrifying feeling to realize you are on the cusp of being caught red-handed over unrequited love by the object of your affections. And there was no way Yoongi hadn’t noticed; he wouldn’t act this way at all if he didn’t have evidence to support his suspicions. You recall your tipsy late night conversations with him and how he let you manage your youthful, collegiate crush over him by yourself so that you wouldn’t have to risk humiliation.
But he’s not doing that now. Yoongi stands before you with eyes boring into your own as if to hypnotize the truth out of you.
“You already know,” you mumble, wishing you could look away from his piercing stare. “Don’t make me say it.” Don’t ruin this, is what you’re really saying.
And for a tense seven seconds all you can hear is the sound of quiet breathing.
“You really know how to give a guy mixed signals,” he finally says with a scoff. “Do I have to remind you that you were the one who suggested I give her a chance?”
No, he really didn’t need to remind you of that painful fact because you had regretted it every day since the words left your mouth. You had already kicked yourself more times than you could count. You had also fantasized a great deal about what it would have been like had you understood your feelings and confessed to him instead of being buried in feelings of inadequacy and fear. It was an exercise of masochistic self-flagellation, but you liked to imagine that maybe things would have been different if you were a different person altogether.
“I thought you weren’t into me when you told me to go after her,” Yoongi continues. “I thought I was losing my goddamn mind because I thought- fucking hell…” he trails off and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.
Your heart feels like it’s being compressed, and suddenly it becomes very difficult to breathe properly.
“Of course I’m into you,” you whisper, wishing your voice was louder, but whispering is all that you can manage right now. Your throat feels clogged and tired.
“Then why the fuck would you even-”
“Because I thought you would reject me.” The words sound ugly and pathetic to your ears, but it’s probably the most blatantly honest thing you’ve said to him today. It also sounds like an excuse. You see the muscles in his jaw tick as he grits his teeth together, his face an unreadable mask of “Min Yoongi Has Entered Thinking Mode, Everyone Fuck Off For A Second.”
He could curse you out right now, and you wouldn’t blame him. Thinking about it now, you’ve probably played with his feelings just as much, and you had been too obsessed with protecting yourself that you had hurt him in the process. Or maybe that was some sort of projection of your own selfish desire to remain relevant to him by thinking you had some sort of emotional hold over his thoughts. Maybe he didn’t care at all.
“You said that you’re into me,” Yoongi repeats, and you nod. “So, that means you’re still into me. Not past tense.” You nod again because nodding is easier than saying yes. He exhales loudly, and it’s more than a sigh. It’s like he deflates, and Yoongi looks tired beyond measure.
“I’m sorry,” you finally say after a pause. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your words. You acknowledge that it sounds ridiculous at this point, but you really are sorry. “Listen, you can… you can reject me, or cut me out, or whatever. But just know that I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what I want.” That has never been what he wanted.
Yoongi takes one step towards you, but one step is enough to cross the line between safe, polite distance and invading your personal space – not that you minded. He places one hand on top of your head, the weight a familiar feeling from when he’d mess up your hair from time to time. Your heart aches from how fast it’s beating, and try as you might, you cannot kill the hope that grows.
He is right there in front of you.
“What do you want?” you ask.
Yoongi smiles because that is the right fucking question. He takes another step towards you, and the two of you are almost touching from the proximity. He moves his hand from your hair to cup your face, and you can feel your temperature skyrocket from the touch. Fuck your insecurity. Because there’s no way you’re misreading him when he’s bending his head slowly to kiss you just like how it happens in those goddamn romance movies he loves to tease you about. You can feel him breathing; you can see him blink as he maintains eye-contact with you.
Your eyes widen when he pauses just short of actually kissing you, and it’s because he wants you to do that stupid percentage thing you went on and on about months ago. He’s already come more than halfway. Before you overthink this, you close your eyes quickly and press your lips on top of his in a manner that’s surprisingly graceful and, dare you say it, perfect. Your heart beats too fast and too hard for you to enjoy the kiss properly, and it’s really more of just one pair of lips smushed on another pair of lips than any sort of passionate display of emotions. But inside you are flying. And it’s not even a dream.
Yoongi pulls away first, his face much more relaxed than before.
“Don’t make me do everything myself,” Yoongi says in an exasperated plea. You see the corners of his eyes crinkle while the ire continues to fade from his face. It’s hard to pay attention to what he’s saying exactly because you’re still reeling from the knowledge that your feelings are, in fact, reciprocated. Yoongi’s lips move like slow motion as a smile spreads across his face while he continues to talk, and you think you catch some words about liking you for a long time (or something).
This is real. This is actually real, and it is happening.
You don’t let yourself think too much anymore. With a thumping heart and a surprisingly clear head, you cup his cheek, mimicking his actions from just a moment ago. Yoongi pauses mid-sentence, eyebrows flitting upwards for a millisecond in mild surprise before his expression evens out again. You allow yourself to run your eyes over the gentle arch of his nose down to his lips – the same lips you’ve kissed so many times in your dreams, but only once in real life. It feels thrillingly voyeuristic to look at him without fearing that you’ll be caught. (He’s already caught on, and he’s into it – into you.)
Don’t make me do everything myself.
You slide your hand over from his cheek to cradle the back of his neck and pull him gently towards you, not that he needs much encouragement. You see Yoongi’s lips tilt into a smile disguised as a smirk, and you smirk right back when you feel those pretty lips press against your own in a soft touch, waiting for you to act.
Try the fuck again – with a little more honesty this time.
You smirk because you’re going to kiss that look right off his face. You feel the boldness spurring you to action, and you realize that you can’t wait to kiss him senseless. He won’t know what hit him.
“I really, really, really like you, Yoongi,” you murmur, letting your lips drag the indentations of the words straight onto his lips. “But you know that, right?”
You take the moment when it presents itself, and you nip at his lips as he parts them in true surprise this time.
“I-You-I-” he stutters, eyes fluttering shut when you suck on his lower lip and place a hand on his chest.
There’s little response after that other than the way he circles his hands around your waist and holds on because that is the only thing he can manage. You own the kiss; he did tell you not to let him do all of the work himself. You move slowly, pressing against him with purpose and deliberation in each glide of your tongue inside of his mouth. It’s the type of kiss you’d give a guy when you wanted to go further, and you could truly count on one hand the number of times this has happened.
But this is your first kiss with Yoongi, and it already feels like you’ve kissed him enough times to know what would make him lose it. There’s a sound that bubbles up from his throat, something like a cross between a groan and a sigh. Yoongi presses his thumbs down hard on the dips of your waist when you let your mouth pull away only to settle on his neck. His pants are like music to your ears, and you’re near giddy with excitement to know that you have effectively reduced Min Yoongi to a hot mess with one kiss.
You go easy on him, pressing baby kisses up and down the column of his neck to calm him down more than anything.
“I’ll be more honest with what I want,” you tell him, kissing his jawline. “Just be patient with me?”
Yoongi gulps, lips feeling numb with pleasure. His face is a mask of incredulity and bemusement. “You have me in your pocket.”
“I am the luckiest girl in the world,” you hum after he takes his turn to kiss you senseless. Your body is thrumming with exhilaration and heat.
Yoongi snorts quietly, smugly. “Happy?”
“I’m fucking elated,” you answer with hooded eyes before pulling his head down to meet your lips once more.
Yoongi is pretty fucking elated too.
*
*
*
(Way Later: Sooyoung’s not surprised when she gets an essay from Yoongi apologizing profusely regarding some recent developments. She tells him not to worry, and to send over a bottle of wine if he’s that set on repenting.)