Work Text:
it's november, and the oncoming winter tugs at the last remaining leaves, washes the colour from the reddened foliage.
they sing a quiet melody, the leaves, rubbing against each other on the concrete, in tune with the whispers of the wind. yoongi doesn't have time to appreciate the symphonies around him. it's too early — his coffee machine had decided to stop working and he'd slept through his alarm, so he's sluggish, unwashed, and definitely not caffeinated enough to face the day. he wishes he'd stayed in bed.
"cheer up, hyung."
hoseok's nudging him, tone bordering on reassuring, but he looks just as exhausted as yoongi feels, and his yawn doesn't match the sentiment he's trying to go for. it's early, but it's not early enough to miss the hustle and bustle of seoul rush hour, so the drive to the airport is long and painful. hoseok falls asleep on his shoulder, when he grows tired of vlogging the whole experience for their fans (which consists mostly of trying to garner yoongi's attention with little success). yoongi wishes he could do the same, but they're already at the airport by the time he borders unconsciousness.
yoongi shrugs his left shoulder, perhaps a little more violently than he should have. hoseok is resilient, barely stirring.
"come on, we have to go— you fucking drooled on me, move."
hoseok just shrugs, stretching. he uses the movement as an opportunity to envelop jimin in a side hug. taehyung laughs. namjoon startles awake. yoongi decides there are too many people in the car, and exits first.
after that, things go fairly smoothly, as far as yoongi is concerned. their fans don't get close enough for it to be considered a security threat, and no one gets grabbed, which is a victory on its own. their managers get them coffees, and yoongi downs his double shot iced americano at record speed. somehow, he still manages to fall asleep for the duration of the flight.
they're promoting in japan, this time of year, which leaves a near constant displeased curve on yoongi's lips — as much as he loves japan, loves tokyo, he'd much rather be elsewhere, right now. anywhere else but here, wearing someone else's clothes and speaking someone else's words, waving and greeting fans with enthusiasm he'd lost in a practice room not long after their debut.
"shower and meet downstairs in half an hour," their manager says (they're shooting some show or other, something pre-recorded, which yoongi is more than thankful for). "put on a sheet mask and drink another coffee. the makeup artists don't do miracles."
the words aren't malicious, playful and light, but there's something distinctly saccharine to them, coated in sugar, unpleasant. yoongi makes a face, but doesn't say anything, does as he's told.
twelve minutes later, there's a knock on his door. the door opens before yoongi can wrap a towel around his hips.
"what's the point of knocking if you're not gonna wait for a response?"
taehyung just shrugs, says: "i brought you food."
yoongi swears his heart skips a beat.
taehyung, for his part, just grins, dropping his (too expensive) bag on the bed, before heading towards the bathroom, (too expensive) shirt discarded on the floor.
"i'm using your shower."
"whatever," yoongi's too busy unwrapping his kimbap to care. as an afterthought, he adds: "there's sheet masks in my toiletries bag."
taehyung makes a sound of acknowledgement as he closes the door.
the thing about taehyung is, he's always been lovely and extroverted, has always made the effort to learn staff's names and befriend them, so it's only obvious they'd let him get away with more, away from their manager's unforgiving eye. he's also stupidly broad and stupidly gorgeous, had grown into himself better than anyone could've ever expected him to, so it's easy for everyone to cast a blind eye on the snacks he always has hidden in his bag.
by the time he's out of the bathroom, dripping on the carpeted floor, yoongi's dressed and fed, sprawled on his bed, phone in hand. taehyung's sheet mask is still in place as he digs through his handbag for a change of clothes — it reminds yoongi of when they were younger, of when they'd lie together after a long day of practice, cheap sheet masks keeping their teenage acne at bay.
taehyung takes a breath. yoongi looks at him.
he's smiling, a little suggestive.
"an informant of mine," one of the assistants, then. "told me there's a new stylist on the team."
"okay," yoongi raises an eyebrow, returning to his twitter feed. his disinterest couldn't be any more obviously written on his face. "what? are you gonna ask her out? good luck."
taehyung bristles slightly, but doesn't falter. "he," there's enough emphasis on the word to make yoongi pause, just for a second. "is gonna be with us for the whole promotion period. maybe even the tour."
yoongi doesn't need to hear any more. "no."
"but, hyung—"
"i said no. this is why i didn't want to come out to you. haven't you done enough with the kim seokjin incident?"
the kim seokjin incident, aptly named after their head stylist, refers to the last time taehyung tried to set yoongi up with someone. it had gone just about as well as the word implies — it had been nothing but an incident, and yoongi's not particularly eager for a repeat.
that seems to quieten taehyung, if only for a moment. his drying sheet mask is thrown haphazardly onto yoongi's bedside table, and he pats the moisture into his skin with gentle hands. there's something vaguely coquettish to the movement.
then: "but hyung, hear me out—"
yoongi's glare speaks for itself. taehyung seems completely unaffected by it (yoongi remembers a time where he would have cowered at the sight, and he takes a moment to marvel at just how much their relationship has changed, over the years. right now, though, he wishes taehyung were still as scared of him as he'd been back then).
"can you at least make an effort to be nice to him? you've been scaring away every new male staff member—"
"—because you keep trying to set me up with them—"
"—hush. anyway, he apparently got scouted through instagram? which, i'm not surprised, his instagram page is beautiful. like, beautiful, hyung. if you don't hit on him i might hit on him myself."
"you're straight."
"on tuesdays, wednesdays and thursdays."
"that's gonna make for an interesting relationship when you meet someone."
taehyung ignores him. "anyway, what i meant to say is, this job clearly means a lot to this guy, so i'm offering you an ultimatum," he climbs the bed, only to straddle yoongi's legs. "i promise not to try and set you up with him if you make an effort to be nice."
the thirty minute alarm on yoongi's phone goes off, and he bends his knee to kick taehyung away. when taehyung clamps his thighs around yoongi's legs, refusing to move, yoongi sighs, looks at the ceiling, nods.
taehyung grins. "good."
the backstage area before any sort of event tends to be nothing short of a battlefield, and this is no different. the moment they enter the room, taehyung is wrestled into a corner, the hand he'd loosely slung around yoongi's shoulders helplessly dragged away by a young woman half his size. when yoongi looks towards him, he's already shirtless, at the mercy of two female assistants.
yoongi takes a deep breath.
his own welcome is a lot calmer, and comes in the form of a large but gentle hand guiding him to one side.
"you've been using the masks i recommended, haven't you?"
seokjin's voice is even and light, but yoongi can make out the faint edge of stress beneath the placid exterior. still, he's beautiful, so much so that yoongi wonders how it's not him in one of those chairs, being shoved into designer clothes and done up like a doll.
yoongi shrugs. "they smell nice."
"you look like coconut mochi, so soft," he pinches one of his cheeks. the comment draws jimin's attention, who frowns from a nearby chair at the hand on his face, but doesn't say anything. "now strip."
if yoongi's ears flush bright red, that's his own business. he complies, but not without murmuring a quiet complaint under his breath. "you don't have to say it in that tone."
(the kim seokjin incident refers to how yoongi and seokjin had gotten on like a house on fire, to how they'd gone on a date in the quietest café tucked away in a corner of hongdae, to how yoongi had taken him to bed only to later be told they were better off as friends. yoongi is over it, he is, but it doesn't make things any easier.)
when yoongi's stripped down to his underwear, a boy appears behind seokjin. yoongi can't make him out, at first, not behind the mountain of clothes and accessories he's carrying.
"hyung-nim! —ah, these are for yoongi-ssi."
the sheer amount of formality in the sentence would normally be enough for yoongi to roll his eyes, to say something snarky and watch the newbie fidget under his heavy gaze. he doesn't, though, doesn't do either of those things.
the boy's voice is melodic, gentle and youthful but not young, not excessively so. the way he says his name is what catches his attention — he doesn't slur it, doesn't blur the syllables together as if eager to rid himself of them, but savours them on his tongue, wraps them in a warm busan accent. yoon-gi.
"oh. oh! perfect— actually, you take care of yoongi, hoseok looks like he's struggling with his contacts."
there's hesitance written in the boy's stance, and he passes yoongi a pair of black slacks with a bowed head.
be nice, taehyung had told him. yoongi slips into the clothes handed to him without a word of complaint (they've got him in something bohemian that's definitely not suited to the cooling autumn weather, but the fans had loved the choker and wide brimmed hat combination, so it's out of his control).
it doesn't seem like the boy is going to speak anytime soon, so yoongi starts, says: "what's your name?"
the boy startles at that, looking at yoongi with wide eyes. they're a warm shade of brown, unassuming and soft, reminiscent of a doe. there's a shimmer in there, too, something yoongi can't quite pinpoint but draws him right in.
"i'm jungkook. jeon! jeon jungkook, i meant—"
he cuts himself off, bowing his head. it's so endearing yoongi has to look away, which is a mistake — the moment he glances at the mirror beside him, he makes eye contact with taehyung, who, in turn, narrows his eyes at him as mo of warning. yoongi narrows his eyes back at him.
he turns back to jungkook. "it's okay. you don't need to be so formal. let's work well together."
jungkook, again, looks taken aback, but nods, bowing right after. "please sit down, yoongi-ssi. i'll be doing your makeup."
yoon-gi. yoongi has half a mind to wave a dismissive hand at him, tell him to call me hyung, it's fine, but he quite likes the way his name sounds on jungkook's lips, the way they shape around every sound, careful and practiced.
the conversation ends there, because yoongi can't exactly focus when jungkook is so close to his face, the barely-there touch of experienced fingertips and expensive brushes raising goosebumps on his skin. there's something so very therapeutic to the feeling, and yoongi dozes off for a minute or two or five, shoulders loose, relaxed. when namjoon shakes him awake, the stylists are being ushered out of the room, so yoongi doesn't get a chance to see jungkook again.
later, he thinks he remembers a whispered so soft in an unfamiliar, melodic voice.
promotion season weighs heavy on yoongi's shoulders, on his lungs (though, that may be the cigarettes he'd promised to stop smoking, but couldn't bring himself to yet). they've only endured two events so far, a tv show appearance and an interview, but they'd come back to back, within six hours of each other, and the busy schedule has already begun to suffocate him.
after their first encounter, jungkook had become a shadow in his life, a ghost, haunting yoongi's thoughts into the early hours of the night. they don't speak again — yoongi had been entirely asleep, when one of the assistants had all but thrown him into jungkook's work station, and jungkook had painted life into his deathly pallor and promptly disappeared without a word by the time someone shoved a coffee shot into yoongi's shaking hand.
the wind whispers unwritten songs against yoongi's cold-reddened skin.
yoon-gi.
"yoongi hyung."
yoongi almost drops his cigarette, smacking his head against the railings of his hotel room balcony. jimin looks amused, sitting beside him without shame, cross-legged. the balcony is barely wide enough for the both of them, and jimin's knee rests atop yoongi's own. he's wearing ripped jeans, so yoongi takes that as an opportunity to flick his bare skin with his free hand.
jimin doesn't look perturbed, looking at the tokyo horizon.
"i thought you said you'd stopped smoking."
a shrug. "i thought you said you were going to sleep."
it's not nearly late enough to sleep, the sun barely setting, but they haven't exactly had the time for a full night's sleep.
he doesn't get a reply. instead, jimin leans over, grabbing the cigarette from yoongi's cold hands. yoongi follows the movement with his eyes, but there's no surprise written on his face — it's far from the first time he's shared a cigarette with him, as much as jimin claims not to smoke.
"someone asked me about you."
yoongi raises an eyebrow. jimin blows white smoke into the sunset (the sun illuminates the blonde highlights in his hair just so, and he looks nothing short of an angel. yoongi knows better than that, though, because he's seen jimin crush a surprising amount of beer cans with those small hands of his, had held him the first time he'd gotten drunk and had proceeded to throw up the contents of his stomach into their shared toilet).
"a boy."
"you're gonna have to be more specific than that."
"the new stylist. jungkook," his grin reminds yoongi of a fox, but nowhere near as threatening. his eyes disappear into two crescent moons, and yoongi has half a mind to pinch his cheek, but he wants to hear what he has to say. "i spoke to him in the lobby. he's nice. he wanted to know if you were okay."
"i wish you'd stop talking to taehyung."
jimin makes a sound of disgust, as if repulsed by the very thought. "impossible. but— hyung, you know tae is just worried for you, hyung."
"you said hyung twice."
"hyung."
"thrice."
jimin takes another drag of the cigarette, only to blow the smoke in yoongi's face. yoongi flinches away, unamused. "why are you even here?"
teeth come to gnaw at a plump lip, not nervous but not entirely comfortable either. "i don't know. what jungkook-ssi said made me think— which reminds me, just so you know, tae hasn't given up on setting you guys up. i think he managed to involve hyung— seokjin hyung, in this," a pause. "are you okay, hyung?"
"the word hyung has stopped sounding real," is all yoongi says, at first, letting the silence weigh heavy between them. in the distance, children play in a nearby park, distant laughter in the air. it tastes of peaches, of honey, of the sweet things yoongi isn't allowed to taste during promotions.
after a long moment: "im fine, jimin. i just feel— trapped, i guess."
from the corner of his eyes, a nod. yoongi's breaths are shallow, slow, calculated. the world around them smells of cigarette smoke and the earth before it rains. his fingers itch for the comforting feeling of pen against paper, of skin against the worn plastic of his midi keyboard.
jimin looks like he wants to say something, but he's interrupted by a knock at yoongi's door. he'd almost forgotten about room service.
he looks at jimin, shrugs. "there's enough for two."
jimin smiles, blows white smoke into the wind.
when he sees jungkook the next morning, he's visibly more well-rested, and jungkook quietly points it out.
"oh, yoongi-ssi— you don't look as tired today."
yoon-gi.
they're shooting an ad, today. yoongi is more than a little thankful for that — there's less rushing around involved, less smiling and answering questions for extended periods of time. yoongi doesn't even have any lines, gets away with a smile and a thumbs up after tasting whatever snack they're supposed to be promoting (they all taste the same, in the end, taste of the restricted portion of chicken breast they'll all be forced to eat for lunch and dinner to make up for the additional calories).
it just so happens that makeup for commercials tends to take a little longer.
yoongi hums. "i've already had coffee."
a quiet laugh escapes jungkook, muted by a hesitant hand. yoongi's lips flatten into a thin line, but there's a slight quirk to them he can't hide.
he gets to work quickly and without further comments, which makes yoongi yearn for more. he doesn't look nearly as terrified as he had the first time they'd met, jungkook — there's a confidence to his movements, now, and he lets his fingers rest on yoongi's cheek for a few moments as he studies his own handiwork, no longer ripping his hand away as if each touch scalded him. he looks better, too, more casual, the sleeves of his navy button down rolled to his elbows, two buttons undone. when he calls seokjin over to ask something or other, he's no longer hyung-nim, but hyung.
yoongi's always been a good judge of character, but he can't quite figure jungkook out. there's an elegance to him, something practiced and effortless, mixed with fidgeting hands and hesitant smiles. he looks out of place amidst the other stylists, broad and muscular, toned — yoongi would have a far easier time picturing him beside hoseok and jimin, with powerful arms and even more powerful thighs, bodies shaped from marble and gold, born to dance. despite that, he's never more at ease than when he's guiding yoongi into an outfit, choosing between silver and golden earrings, dotting gloss over his lips.
(taehyung hadn't been exaggerating when he'd talked about his instagram. he'd gone through every liked post on their company account until he'd found jungkook's, ever too proud to ask taehyung for his username, let alone jungkook himself — if there's one thing yoongi respects most in a person, it's their passion, and jungkook's overflows in everything he does.)
the silence between them isn't uncomfortable, but yoongi doesn't know when he'll next get the chance to speak to jungkook like this, so he shifts his gaze from his own reflection to warm brown eyes.
"how long have you been a stylist?"
jungkook doesn't seem to have expected the question, and he pauses, a dot of pale foundation running over the back of his hand.
his pause doesn't last long. "uh— a year? two, almost, i guess. only freelance, though. i guess i also did some unpaid work to build my portfolio before college, so, yeah. a while, but not that long."
"what did you study?"
"fashion design, with a minor in fine art. i did this— short course sorta thing? to get better at makeup, but that's mostly self taught."
yoongi blinks. jungkook doesn't meet his gaze, but yoongi notes a dusting of pink across his cheeks.
"your work is really impressive."
another pause, almost imperceptible. "oh. thank— thanks, yoongi-ssi."
yoon-gi.
for a long moment, neither of them speak, but it's no longer a comfortable silence — it's not uncomfortable, either, but it's charged with something yoongi can't name.
then, it's jungkook speaking. "i don't know if i'm allowed to say, but i really like your work too, yoongi-ssi. i just— your lyrics are really powerful? from your mixtape, i mean, but also in general. sorry if i'm overstepping."
it's yoongi's turn to be surprised. where jungkook had blossomed like a flower, before, open and comfortable and so, so endearing, yoongi sees him retreat into a quiet bud, occupying as little space as possible, closing in on himself. somehow, it's just as endearing.
"no it's— fine. you're not overstepping, it's more comfortable for all of us if we can have normal conversations with the stylists, you know?" yoongi bites his lip, then remembers he should keep his face neutral and relaxed for jungkook. "thanks though, that means a lot."
jungkook nods, smiling to himself — blossoms anew.
it's hard to think of anything else for the rest of the day.
three days and seven interviews later, they're given two days to rest (even hoseok's exhaustion is beginning to show, despite his calculated smiles and faultless facade).
the wind's touch isn't harsh, more of a caress than a slap, but yoongi shivers nonetheless, cheeks painted pretty pink, a pleasant contrast against the dark blue of his (again, too expensive) scarf. the fallen leaves shimmer with moisture, fresh from a morning shower, glistening — the wind chime breeze rustles them to and fro, singing foreign ballads that remind yoongi of chamomile tea and holding someone's hand in his pocket.
the world is quiescent at this hour on a sunday morning. tokyo is never quiet, always in motion, bustling with activity, but they'd taken a flight to osaka the night before, so yoongi enjoys the newfound peace. he wanders through backstreets until he finds the smallest café, greets the barista in his basic japanese, then orders an americano (not iced, not this time — his tolerance for the cold has never been particularly high).
for a while, he just writes — about his exhaustion, about the cigarette he'd shared with jimin, about laughter like peaches and honey, warm brown eyes, a soft busan accent.
"yoongi-ssi!"
yoongi doesn't answer, not instantly, far too taken with his own writing and not expecting anyone to call his name in this unfamiliar place. then, he sees the shadow of a presence from the corner of his eyes, and, oh.
peaches and honey, warm brown eyes, a soft busan accent. yoon-gi.
jungkook smiles, and there's something refreshing about it, morning dew on bright green foliage — spring has come again. "do you mind if i sit with you?"
"no, no, of course not," he tries not to sound too eager, but he hasn't finished his coffee yet, so his emotional control is near to nonexistent. "not at all."
jungkook slides in the seat in front of him easily, the rustic chair creaking as he does so. there's something about him that distinctly matches his surroundings, a certain quiet warmth yoongi can only associate with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, fresh flowers, warm bread.
it's the first time yoongi sees him outside of his work outfits (the stylists don't have a uniform, but they tend to wear black, non-descript clothes, anything they wouldn't mind smearing with powders and foundation). he's wearing a beige hoodie, too large for his frame, fabric bunching at his hips when he sits. there's a camera swung around his neck, not too bulky but definitely professional, expensive.
it's difficult not to stare, but jungkook doesn't seem to notice. theres a japanese crepe in his hands, beautifully wrapped, drowned in just the right amount of chocolate sauce and topped with fresh fruit. jungkook pops a strawberry right into his mouth, and yoongi takes a breath.
"it's your free day, right?"
yoongi nods. "yeah. finally. i was thinking of spending the day exploring— we didn't get any free time, last time we were in japan."
"oh, same. i mean, not that i've been to japan before, but— you know what i mean."
his laugh is a little nervous, but yoongi is glad when he doesn't cover it with his hand.
"you haven't? we can explore together, if you want."
even yoongi is surprised by his own words. he looks back down at his notebook, pretending to be suddenly interested in the dog ear at the corner of the page to avoid looking at jungkook. jungkook, for his part, just stares at his crepe for a long moment.
"are you sure, yoongi-ssi?"
"yeah," a pause. "i— i've actually been meaning to ask if you wanted to hang out, at some point. i didn't know if i'd have any free time, though, so."
theres another long pause between them, but yoongi looks up at jungkook, this time. his ears are painted red, and he holds the crepe in both hands like a lifeline, uncertainty written in bold letters across his features. he looks a lot younger than he had a moment ago, yoongi thinks.
after another beat, jungkook finally answers: "i'd love to hang out with you, yoongi-ssi."
yoongi takes a breath. "you know, you can just call me hyung."
"yeah?" the word shakes with hesitation, but there's something warm in the way he says it, something hopeful — happy, even. yoongi almost kicks himself for not giving him permission earlier, just so he could have heard that tone sooner. "yeah, okay, hyung."
after a moment, jungkook extends his arm towards him. yoongi stares at the crepe, an unspoken question in his eyes.
jungkook is smiling again. "would you like some? it's really good."
yoongi's never loved sweet things, not that much, but there's no universe in which he could ever refuse jungkook anything, not when he's smiling so earnestly. he leans forward a little, careful, wrapping his hand over jungkook's to steady the crepe — he doesn't feel the spark every drama, every movie seems to talk about, but jungkook's skin is warm, soft, and yoongi doesn't want to let go, letting his hand linger for a few seconds after he's taken a bite.
he hums. "okay, that's better than i expected."
the smile on jungkook's face brightens up the whole room. spring has come again.
at midday, yoongi makes a decision.
the air is warm, warmer than you'd expect on a mid-november day, and yoongi sheds his leather jacket, draping it over his shoulders instead. jungkook, for his part, doesn't show any signs of discomfort, stopping yoongi with a rushed "hyung!" every so often to take a picture of the osaka architecture. yoongi takes some pictures with his phone, too, but focuses on dark brown hair mussed by the pleasant breeze, on brown eyes turned to crescent moons when yoongi buys them both street food, of a broad silhouette in the middle of a narrow street.
"hey, jungkook, let's go to kobe."
jungkook lowers his camera, turning to yoongi with wide eyes. "sorry?"
yoongi doesn't falter. "let's go to kobe."
it's not exactly what their manager had meant, when he'd told them to rest, but, in yoongi's defense, he hadn't specified what they could and couldn't do. yoongi can see jungkook recounting the terms of his contract behind his eyes, gaze blank, a frown tarnishing his features. he lets his camera fall back against his chest.
"kobe? is that allowed, hyung?"
he shrugs. jungkook hums, still frowning. " i mean— i'd like to, but, hyung—"
yoongi doesn't let him finish the sentence. instead, he smiles, bright and mischievous, and jungkook quietens down, just watching him. his lips are parted slightly, and yoongi can't help but let his gaze wonder to them.
then: "we're going."
"jungkook, i can't— i can't. just go, just—"
the sound of a camera shutter, of bright laughter. jungkook stands on a rock slightly ahead, looking down at yoongi — yoongi, who pants and heaves from exhaustion, on his hands and knees on the cool mountain earth.
jungkook had wanted to hike, to see the waterfall they'd caught a passing glimpse of on a travel guide. yoongi'd known it would have been a bad idea, a terrible idea, but jungkook has dimples, and he'd needed to see him smile again (and again, and again).
"yes you can, hyung. where's your idol stamina?"
"i don't know— a practice room, probably?"
more laughter. there aren't any people around, not in this part of the trail, so yoongi takes the opportunity to sit on the ground, cross-legged, face betraying no emotion as he stares at jungkook.
jungkook stares back for a long moment. "hyung."
no reply.
"hyung."
again, yoongi just stares, completely silent if not for his slightly laboured breathing. a few leaves rustle around him, sibilant in their wandering, whirling to their own tune like clumsy dancers. somewhere nearby, a squirrel darts across the trail and up a tree, heralded only by the sound of a breaking twig and the rustling of dry leaves.
"yoongi hyung."
yoon-gi.
he stands. "you're buying me another one of those crepes for making me do this."
jungkook beams, and flowers bloom under the radiance of his smile.
the rest of the day is uneventful, but yoongi feels more refreshed than he has in a long time.
the waterfall is nothing short of beautiful — ethereal, even, so much better than those background noises yoongi plays on his phone every night to sleep. it's a muted shade of emerald, under the november sun, dark but resplendant nevertheless, glistening under the faint sunshine. the leaves from nearby trees cast flickering shadows into the water, drawing patterns no artist could hope to replicate. it's heaven on earth, yoongi thinks, but looking at it isn't nearly as captivating as watching jungkook.
jungkook, for his part, shines with an energy yoongi's never seen on anyone else, lips a little parted as he brings his camera to his face time and time again, as if trying to capture every minute detail of the shimmer of the satin water.
they sit short of the trail for a long time, listening to the faint hissing of water against rock ahead of them, shoulders pressed together. it feels more intimate than it should, but neither make an effort to move apart until yoongi shudders, the wind's clawed fingertips running down the length of his neck. jungkook turns to him, a little alarmed.
"hyung, are you cold?"
yoongi shrugs, feigning nonchalance, but he takes the opportunity to shrug his leather jacket back on. "not particularly," he looks at his watch, frowns. "it's getting a bit late, though."
jungkook frowns, too, and yoongi feels a spark of something come alight in his chest. he thinks it's hope, but he's not so sure what he's hoping for, exactly (he's become most aquainted with lying to himself). "ah, does that mean we should go back?"
"probably."
neither of them move for a long moment.
jungkook looks down at his hands. "would it be— would it be bad if i said i didn't want to?"
"yeah," a pause. "but i don't want to go back either, so."
they sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, an unspoken question hanging like a loose thread between them, waiting to be cut. yoongi lies down, using jungkook's backpack as a pillow, closes his eyes to avoid looking at the thread. he feels nothing at first, nothing but the scathing touch of the wind, but then something moves beside him — a body, shifting closer to share the makeshift pillow.
the waterfall whistles at them, sings them a tune.
by the time they stand, shaking the dirt clinging to their clothes, yoongi's learned everything there is to know about jungkook.
he learns that his dream had been to be a singer, when he was little, but his parents couldn't afford singing lessons. he learns that he has an older brother, that he plays with his fingers when he's nervous, that he considers himself to be a good cook. he learns that he speaks good japanese, that he owns a dog that he loves with all his heart, and that he plays the same videogame taehyung had gotten yoongi a little addicted to.
most importantly, yoongi learns about the way his own heart beats a little faster when jungkook's eyes turn to crescent moons, clumsy and out of rhythm — truth be told, yoongi likes the new melody it creates a little more than its previous metronome beat.
the sun is setting when they reach the top ropeway, turning the sky into the perfect watercolour canvas, but yoongi's too busy choking on his own lungs to appreciate it.
jungkook's laughing again. "i can't believe how unfit you are."
yoongi flips him off. there's more laughter, the kind that tastes like pink lemonade and a fresh shower at the end of a long summer day.
when he's recovered enough to enter the station, jungkook's already paid for the both of them — as annoyed as he is, yoongi can't help but marvel at jungkook's japanese, the way he makes the elderly woman behind the counter blush with his raw charm. it's not easy, balancing charming and respectful, but jungkook does it so well and so effortlessly, smiling with his eyes as he bows again in thank you after collecting the tickets.
when jungkook walks towards him, holding out a ticket, yoongi says: "you should've let me pay."
he'd meant to thank jungkook, to accept the ticket with a warm smile and a warmer hand, but the thought had been too much too soon. still, jungkook seems to see right past him, grinning despite the accusation lacing yoongi's words.
"treat me next time."
yoongi doesn't need to look at jungkook to know he's chewing the corner of his lower lip, a small nervous habit yoongi'd noted the very first time they met. his voice doesn't waver as he speaks, confident and clear, but there's an unspoken question weighing on those few words, confidence cracked at the edges. next time.
it takes yoongi a few moments to process the implications of the sentence, staring at his ticket with a blank gaze. then, he melts like a snowman at first sun, shoulders falling alongside a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"i will."
jungkook's head is on yoongi's shoulder.
it's not a big deal — yoongi's learned over the course of the day that jungkook is an affectionate person, sweeter than the spoonful of sugar yoongi's mother would pour medicine on in his childhood. it doesn't mean anything, shouldn't mean anything, but yoongi's heart stands en pointe in his chest, leaping left and right in an uneven staccato.
around them, kobe shines with unnatural brilliance, the sun's fading fingers tracing the glass and metal buildings, a stark contrast from the muted radiance of the dying trees.
everything about this moment screams autumn: the reddening leaves, rushing through the air as if late for their evening appointments, panicked and disorganised. the reddening sky, bright but calm all the same, miles from the gaudy summer sunshine. the distant smell of chestnuts roasting over charcoal, which yoongi had always been too poor to afford but would make an effort to get for his mother anyway, back in daegu.
everything is autumn apart from jungkook, whose very being screams spring spring spring, from the scent of his honeysuckle and rose shampoo to the way he blossoms under yoongi's careful touch as he wraps a hesitant arm around his shoulders.
"hyung."
his voice is meek, quiet, but shakes through jungkook as he speaks, pressing further into yoongi's shoulder. yoongi turns his head with a quiet sound of acknowledgement, counting jungkook's eyelashes as they flutter gently against his cheekbones.
when he doesn't say anything, yoongi speaks up. "yeah?"
finally: "thank you."
"for what?"
"for today," a pause. "i can't remember the last time i had this much fun."
a breath crests through yoongi like a tsunami, a quiet gasp leaving yoongi's lips as he breathes. it's a simple admission, jungkook's, no more than a passing comment, but the words wrap around yoongi's lungs and spread like ivy through his ribcage — it's not an unpleasant feeling, not in the slightest, but it's not something yoongi's experienced before. the earnesty in jungkook's voice makes the air around them a little stuffier, but yoongi's long forgotten how to breathe anyway.
after a moment, he lets the hand wrapped around jungkook fall. it alarms jungkook, who pulls back to look at yoongi with a million questions in his eyes. his nose is dusted pink from the cool evening breeze, and his hair drips into his eyes much like a waterfall, wild and untameable but endearing nevertheless, captivating. he's beautiful, yoongi thinks.
yoongi's voice is a little strained when he speaks, the ivy tightening in his chest. "i had fun too."
he means more than what he says, and jungkook's eyes sparkle at the words, wide and bright and hopeful, warming yoongi up to the very core. he shifts closer with a slow movement, deliberate, only jolting slightly when the cable car shakes around them. he licks his lips.
"yoongi hyung— could i kiss you?"
yoon-gi.
a barely there nod. the sound of shifting fabric, of hands pressing against a metal seat for balance, of fireworks in yoongi's chest as lips meet in the middle. jungkook's lips are so much softer than he could have ever anticipated, slow and hesitant but eager, setting the pace of their silent tango. he's one shift away from sitting entirely on yoongi's lap — yoongi can't seem to pull him close enough.
(he tastes of peaches and honey and careless laughter in the stifling summer air, of hope that's been tried and tested more than one could count but persists nonetheless. he tastes of spring and yoongi doesn't ever want to face winter again.)
(it's impossibly late, by the time they get back to the hotel, and yoongi's in trouble. he knows he's in trouble because it's not namjoon waiting for him in his room, but jimin, the mediator, which only means namjoon is too angry to face him himself. jimin takes one look at him, at the hand interwoven with jungkook's, then smiles, impossibly warm. he leaves instantly, says: "i'll cover for you, hyung. goodnight.")