Archive of Our Own

jeongguk asks after their third whiskey—neat for yoongi, on the rocks for jeongguk. later, yoongi will realize that immediately attributing the question to the whiskey was a foolish choice, because it has been a very long time since either of them has done or said anything because of the alcohol. it has been a very long time since either of them has drunk for anything other than socializing, or to celebrate birthdays, or because it’s what they do—yoongi taught jeongguk how to drink when they were barely more than kids, so.

they’re sitting in yoongi’s study, yoongi tracing the spines of the books that line the room, bookshelves upon bookshelves, and jeongguk sitting in the leather armchair that he hates because it makes noises when he moves. later, yoongi will realize that jeongguk had been watching him the entire evening—a different sort of watching than yoongi is used to, because he and jeongguk are very good at simply existing together without need for words. it was a careful sort of watching, a calculating sort of watching. he had been waiting for the right moment, and decided that this, the moment after which yoongi finished his third whiskey, was it.

he asks—“hyung, what if we get married?”

yoongi stops, the empty glass in his hand and his eyes trained on the how to read literature like a professor book namjoon had gotten him as a gag congratulatory gift after yoongi had gotten his first professor position—fake it until you make it, hyung, he’d laughed. yoongi read it back to front four times, and never told namjoon. strangely, it’s this detail that sticks in his mind from that moment, and then he turns to look at jeongguk—jeongguk slumped just slightly in that stupid leather armchair, empty glass dangling in his hand.

“you’re drunk,” says yoongi, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

jeongguk almost almost almost grins at that, but then he leans forward and sets his glass on yoongi’s desk. again he asks, “what if we get married?”

the truth is—the truth is.

yoongi has thought about it. he’d thought about it when he was fresh out of university with a bachelor’s degree and a promise to never come back, and jeongguk was the bright-eyed kid tagging along with he and namjoon on their summer bender to celebrate. the first time they met, yoongi was drunk. maybe this is ironic—and anyway, he’d thought about it not because he wanted to marry jeongguk, but because jeongguk was annoying and he wondered what it would be like to marry someone like that, someone who was always so open and wanting and asking for his attention in all of the big ways, and all of the small ones, too.

the truth is—he’s thought about it. he’d thought about it when he inevitably went back to university for his master’s degree and then his ph.d and jeongguk would bring him take out when yoongi was studying at odd hours of the morning and tearing his hair out over his thesis. he’d thought about it because he wondered what it would be like to have someone take care of him like that, and maybe he was a little in love with jeongguk back then, anyway. maybe it was always a little hard not to fall in love with jeongguk—with his soft smile and his gentle presence and the way he’d pull at yoongi’s fingers with a, cuddle me, hyung? hyung, please? cuddle? hyung?

the truth is—he’s thought about it. vaguely, once in a while, over the years. but the truth is that he hasn’t thought about it for a very long time, and now jeongguk is leaning forward in his chair and looking at yoongi so earnestly, and yoongi knows, without having to ask, that jeongguk is entirely serious. it used to be a game of theirs—the what ifs. they’d throw out hypothetical situations in the middle of conversations, as greetings, over texts. he used to call jeongguk in the middle of the night after a particularly strange dream, not even bothering for jeongguk to wake up fully before he’d ask, what if i was made entirely of marshmallows and we went camping and we ran out of actual marshmallows so you started pulling bits of me apart and roasting me and you ate me, guk-ah, what if you ate me, does that count as vore, are you into vore, guk-ah, what if you were into vore? what if i was into vore?

they don’t do that anymore, though. somewhere along the lines, the what ifs became less silly, became questions they genuinely needed answering—what if i’m not happy, hyung? what if i’m not happy here, with him, what if i want something more, what if i’m not okay like i thought i was?

this is one of those. this is one of those, with jeongguk’s careful, determined eyes, and his wiggling knee. yoongi knows because of the wiggling knee. so he turns around fully, leaning against the bookshelf, and he asks, “what if we get married?”

“because i’ve been thinking,” says jeongguk, like he was just waiting for an opportunity, because he knows yoongi will always, always hear him out—“we used to joke about it all the time. like, if we got to a certain age and neither of us were married by then, then we’d totally marry each other. safety net.”

“safety net,” murmurs yoongi. “jeongguk-ah, that was just a joke.”

“i know,” says jeongguk, chewing on his bottom lip. he’s nervous—he’s serious. he really wants yoongi to say yes, for reasons that he has yet to really get to. “but i was thinking about it the other day. what age did we say?”

yoongi purses his lips just slightly, and then moves over to the desk as well. he sets his glass down beside jeongguk’s, sitting on the edge as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching. it seems almost like a trap when he replies, “forty.” because he is forty now—turned forty three months ago, and some of his students found out, and they made a massive deal out of it in class. baked a cake and everything, and it was touching. of course it was touching. “jeongguk—”

“i’m not saying we have to because of that,” jeongguk says quickly, “but that’s why i was thinking about it. and it got me thinking about other stuff. like—you being forty. i’ll be thirty-six in a few months. it’s not weird for people to be unmarried at those ages, but there are other things that come with it. benefits.”

“benefits,” repeats yoongi.

“there are tax benefits. and financial benefits, and other legal benefits. like legal decision-making benefits, if one of us ends up in the hospital and we can put the other as the next-of-kin. or inheritance benefits.” jeongguk’s voice is too loud, just a little, like he’s rushing it get it all out, to convince yoongi that this is a good idea. “also health and employment benefits. health insurance, consumer stuff. and—” he practically shouts this, “and being married can have a bunch of emotional benefits, too, like living a longer life, having less of a chance of developing depression, and increased serotonin levels. people are meant to be together.”

yoongi looks at him for a few long moments, examining the way jeongguk is looking right back at him. they’ve been best friends for a very long time, something like seventeen years. he knows every nuance of that face, every tic and tally. but he’s never seen jeongguk look at him quite like this. finally, yoongi says, “it sounds like you memorized some self-help website about the benefits of marriage.”

“but it’s true,” says jeongguk, and yoongi swears he sees him flush. “all of that stuff is true. i know we’re both really secure in our careers and don’t necessarily need all of those benefits, but they’re still nice to have. i mean, the financial benefits alone are great. spouses don’t have to pay estate tax,” he holds up his fingers, counting off the reasons on them, “and they can save on their taxes by filing them jointly, and they can transfer social security, medicare, or disability benefits to each other, and you can have a single health plan for insurance so it’s cheaper, and you can get more savings if you have joint ownership of investment accounts.”

“jeongguk.”

“there are visiting rights in jail,” continues jeongguk, “immigration and residency benefits—”

“that doesn’t even apply to us.”

“studies have shown that married people are happy, healthier, and wealthier than unmarried people.”

“jeongguk.” finally, he stops, mid-inhale as though he was going to continue rambling about the legal and emotional benefits of marriage—things that yoongi is already well-aware of. things that are always there in the back of his mind anyway, every time he sees namjoon and hoseok, or sees his parents, or sees his brother and his wife. he stops the train of thought that begins with his mother asking when he’s going to finally find someone—

“i just want you to know that there are benefits,” says jeongguk quietly, a little sheepishly.

and yoongi knows him. yoongi has known him for a long time. yoongi lived with him for four years in his mid-twenties, has seen him through crises and important life decisions, has cried with him and laughed with him and now he’s sitting right here. he’s sitting here and he knows that it’s not about the fucking benefits.

so he says, “i know it’s not about the fucking benefits.”

jeongguk exhales, slow and long. he leans back in his chair, slumping against it. he holds yoongi’s gaze—dark in the low lighting of the study. he must have looked a true masterpiece today, with that suit; now he’s ditched the jacket, the tie. his sleeves are rolled to the elbow, first few buttons undone. yoongi thinks about it now—what if they get married? anyone would be jealous, if only for that face, that jawline. jeongguk ages like fine wine. (but yoongi has never cared about the physical aspect of it, and hasn’t that been his problem anyway—)

“what’s this really about?” asks yoongi. “what if we get married, jeongguk?”

and jeongguk looks at him, and jeongguk gives him this pathetic, wobbly little grin, and jeongguk says, “i’m lonely, hyung.”

when they were younger, still so unsure about the world and their place in it, jeongguk used to crawl into his bed when yoongi was just about to fall asleep, in that strange state between here and there. he’d wrap his gangly limbs around yoongi or curl into his chest, fists in yoongi’s sleep shirt. yoongi would always wake, just a little, confused, and jeongguk would pet his face, would say, go back to sleep hyung, it’s okay, it’s okay, i’m just a little lonely. at twenty-two and twenty-six it looked like: sleeping in the same bed, holding hands at the cinema during the scary parts of the movie, squishing jeongguk into the couch and, over the shrieking giggles, shouting, you can’t be lonely when i’m here, guk-ah, i forbid it! forbid it, i say!

now, at thirty-six and forty, it’s—looking at jeongguk across his study, a little whiskey-drunk but not nearly enough. he doesn’t remember the last time they held hands, not like that. not because anyone didn’t need it, but because jeongguk has gotten very good at hiding his loneliness.

yoongi has always been good at it.

“i’m lonely,” repeats jeongguk quietly, right to the root of it. there’s a slight tremble in his voice as he says it. “and i know you are, too. and—neither of us has had much luck, have we?” yoongi thinks of holding jeongguk after his divorce was finalized, and how jeongguk cried even though he had been separated from his husband for over a year by then, and how he wouldn’t stop asking if yoongi was going to stop loving him, too, like they used to, but worse—what if you stop loving me, too, hyung, what if you want to leave, too, what if i’m not good enough for you, too?

he doesn’t think about himself, though. it’s not his fault. but no one stays—most times, he hasn’t even bothered to try, because maybe there’s no point. maybe he’s convinced himself that no one is going to want to stay if they know he’s not going to sleep with them.

yoongi says, “and?”

“hyung,” whispers jeongguk. “i don’t want to be lonely anymore. and i’ve tried—you’ve tried. we both have our problems, our baggage. no one knows mine better than you, and no one knows yours better than me. and we’re still here, after this many years.”

“we haven’t been married this whole time,” says yoongi. “that’s different. we haven’t been living together or dealing with each other or sleeping in the same bed.”

“we used to.”

“it’s different,” yoongi insists.

“okay,” says jeongguk. “okay, hyung, it’s different. but i don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. and i don’t want to keep feeling disappointed with people, and i’m tired. hyung, i’m just tired. i want—stability, and support, and someone to wake up to. someone i love, someone i know loves me, even if it’s not the way other married couples love each other. you make me happy, hyung. isn’t that enough?”

the worst part, yoongi thinks, is that jeongguk is right. they do make each other happy—and they do love each other. they know how well they work together, how well they fit. yoongi isn’t going to place his bets on finding anyone else. at this point—maybe it’s always just been jeongguk, even if it’s never been romantic.

“how would it work?” asks yoongi, and jeongguk’s eyes light up, just a little.

“well, we’d have to go to the courthouse—”

“i know how a marriage ceremony works, jeongguk-ah. i meant the actual marriage. if this is for our emotional benefit and not just on paper, how would it work?”

“i’ll move in with you,” says jeongguk immediately, which means he’s thought about it, which means he’s been thinking about it, which means he probably has a pros and cons list somewhere on his phone and now he’s proposing to yoongi, just like that—“i mean, i assume you wouldn’t want to leave. this house is fantastic. and i don’t mind commuting longer to get to work, so that’s fine. we… don’t have to sleep in the same bed, obviously, if that makes you uncomfortable or anything. we’ll be roommates, like we used to be. just… married roommates.”

“are we gonna change our names?”

“not unless you want to. but i figure at this point in both of our careers, it’s not beneficial to change anything.”

“and all of those legal benefits—those would go into effect immediately?”

“as immediately as possible, yeah,” nods jeongguk. “it might be some work to do paperwork and change life insurance and stuff like that, but it’s worth it. that’s the whole point, mostly. not much has to change. we don’t have to change, hyung. it’ll be the same friendship we’ve always had, just… legally, we’ll be married.”

yoongi narrows his eyes. he watches jeongguk, and realizes, with some panic, that he doesn’t have any other pressing questions. doesn’t have any other concerns, and he doesn’t want to say yes. he doesn’t want to, because it seems too easy. there has to be another way, surely—has to be something that’s going to unravel jeongguk’s brilliant plan for both of them to be happy and stable and secure for the rest of their lives. there has to be something. he just has to find it.

so instead of answering the ever present question, yoongi just says, “i need another drink,” and then makes a beeline for the liquor cabinet on the other side of the room. he grabs a new glass, not wanting to go back and get his old one—not wanting to see that look on jeongguk’s face again—and busies himself with pouring another whiskey. not looking at jeongguk, not looking at jeongguk.

jeongguk’s voice comes quietly, anyway—“you can think about it, if you want. and… you can say no. i just thought—” here, his voice catches, just slightly. “i just thought i’d suggest it.” he says it as though he just thought of it this evening, after their third whiskey, when he was watching yoongi examine his books. like the thought simply occurred to him here, as though, as yoongi knows he has, he hasn’t been thinking about it for what might be weeks, even months. jeongguk is no longer the foolish sort of courageous, the brave sort of reckless. when they first met, jeongguk would just say things. now, he’s older, more mature—he takes his time.

yoongi knows that he took his time.

and still, yoongi doesn’t look at him, feeling an uncomfortable flush all the way down his neck. “sure,” he says. “let me sleep on it, okay?”

“okay, hyung,” says jeongguk, quiet, quiet. then—“i should go home.”

later, after jeongguk has gone home and yoongi has finished his fourth, fifth glass of whiskey, and he’s under the covers of a bed that suddenly feels too big, he thinks—i’m lonely, hyung. and i know you are, too. now, finally, he lets himself think about it—lets himself think about just how fucking lonely he is, and how he’s pushed it down down down so that he doesn’t have to think about it. and how this house is too big and empty with only yoongi to fill it, and how he’s happy but there’s always something missing. how he’s never needed the physical part of a relationship, and how that has come to ruin at least one of his relationships. how sometimes he’s felt like he’s broken because of it, and how jeongguk looked at him and said we’re still here, after this many years.

yoongi doesn’t care about the legal benefits, or the financial benefits, or the health benefits. he doesn’t even care about living longer, living healthier. what he cares about is—when he was twenty-five, and thirty, and thirty-five, he promised that he would take care of jeongguk to the best of his ability. when jeongguk got divorced, when he ended yet another hopeful relationship that he’d put so much of himself into, he promised. what he cares about is—jeongguk makes him happy. he makes jeongguk happy. and isn’t that enough?

in the morning, he calls jeongguk. it’s five thirty, because yoongi hasn’t slept, and he knows jeongguk gets up this early to work out during the summer. when jeongguk picks up, out of breath, he says, “hyung?”

and yoongi says, “okay.”

“what? hold on, i’m just—”

“okay, jeongguk-ah,” says yoongi, needing to barrel on, afraid that he’ll chicken out if he doesn’t say it now. “okay. let’s get married.”

the music in the background, tinny through the phone, cuts out. it’s just jeongguk’s heavy breathing for long moments, and yoongi doesn’t want to repeat it.

then—“yeah?” asks jeongguk, surprisingly small and wet. “yeah, hyung?”

“yeah, guk-ah,” whispers yoongi. “yeah.”

they get married a week later, at san francisco city hall.

yoongi wears his fanciest suit, and a flower that jeongguk plucked from the flowerbox outside of his kitchen window when yoongi picked him up at eight thirty sharp. jeongguk holds his hand over the console of yoongi’s car, and yoongi can see him smiling in the reflection of the passenger window, and it makes him grin, too. because they haven’t told anyone—not yet, at least, because it’s easier, because it makes it exciting, somehow, when it’s a secret—they go to starbucks first and ask, at large, if anyone wants to be their witness.

after, when they get back in the car and there are rings on their fingers and they’ve signed the papers, yoongi kind of just—stares out the window. it’s like jeongguk said: it’s not a different relationship between them, at least not for now. they can worry about the legal bits, the logistics of it later.

“what now?” he asks, turning to look at jeongguk in the passenger seat.

and jeongguk says, “honeymoon?”

yoongi agrees, on one condition: that jeongguk doesn’t ever refer to it again as a honeymoon. this is merely logical, merely for support. there is nothing romantic about this marriage, and who says he can’t marry his best friend anyway? but he doesn’t want to get confused—doesn’t want jeongguk to get confused. he has too many memories of jeongguk coming home from parties or school or work with that wistful look on his face, collapsing on top of yoongi on the couch and whispering, i think i’m in love, hyung. and he never was—but jeongguk’s heart is like that. jeongguk’s heart is reckless and wanting and irresponsible, and he knows that heartbreak has taught it well. a divorce has taught it well, taught it about expectations and hope and how to hide.

but it hasn’t taught jeongguk’s heart those things about yoongi. so he doesn’t let jeongguk call it a honeymoon, because it’s not. it’s just two best friends on this side of middle-aged going on a road trip down the coast of california for a few days, because it’s something they’ve always wanted to do. they pile into yoongi’s car, leaving their suits and work laptops behind, load the seats full of snacks and maps and jeongguk’s polaroid camera, and they just go. they go, and for the first time in a very long time, it feels like yoongi is finally leaving everything else behind: the loneliness and the heartache and the disappointments of his life. on the open road, it’s just he and jeongguk and the promise of a good meal when they want it. it’s just—security. just warmth.

they spend the first few days lazily making their way down the coast, stopping whenever they feel like it—at beaches and diners, crappy motels that have yoongi complaining about bed bugs and jeongguk giggling at him, reminding him of when they were both broke college students and would gladly have slept with bed bugs if it meant having a bed at all. yoongi stupidly agrees to go on a hike with jeongguk and regrets it after approximately ten minutes. jeongguk lets yoongi drag him into a bar for whiskey and pool and arguments over what song to put on the jukebox.

for those days, it’s just—carefree, and fun. yoongi doesn’t remember the last time he actually had fun. and all it took was being with jeongguk—who even at the age of thirty-six is still a child at heart, who always knew how to get under the layers that yoongi has built over his heart to protect himself. life has been busy enough for both of them, keeping them apart—but now, finally, they have an excuse to just exist like this. jeongguk laughs loud and fey, and yoongi doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows that jeongguk is right: that this is the best thing for them.

it’s on the third day when they’re messing around in the retro arcade of some little town they drove through, watching jeongguk shout at the machine as his pac-man gets eaten yet again, that yoongi realizes—he’s not lonely. not here, not with jeongguk. his heart feels full, and warm, and well taken care of.

and that’s more than he could ever ask for.

“i know we’re trying to like, rough it or whatever,” says yoongi as he slams the trunk closed, swinging his bag over his shoulder, “but would it kill us to sleep somewhere that costs more than the shirt i’m wearing?”

jeongguk grins, hiking his own bag over his shoulder and leading the way toward the little hotel they’ve stopped at. yoongi had watched in dismay as jeongguk drove by all of the four-star hotels, all of the regular ones we wanted to stay in after spending almost a week sleeping in dives for the experience, hyung, don’t be a snobby literature professor. yoongi had muttered, but i am a snobby literature professor, although it did no good. now they’re approaching something called the heritage inn, which doesn’t look promising, but he’d promised to let jeongguk choose, so—

“unfortunately, we only have one room available,” says the receptionist, apologies all over her face. “it’s the honeymoon suite.”

and that’s—just fucking ironic, isn’t it?

“oh,” chirps jeongguk, beaming as he immediately grabs yoongi’s hand and tugs him over until they’re plastered side to side. “that’s perfect, actually, because we’re on our honeymoon!” he holds up his left hand—linked with yoongi’s right—to show off the ring on his finger, and yoongi bites his tongue to keep himself from saying something he’ll likely regret.

the receptionist, of course, loves it. “what a coincidence!” she beams. “i’ll be happy to set you up in the honeymoon suite, then. we have complimentary breakfast starting at six o’clock every morning, and room service for a charge if you’re interested. i’ll let the other staff know it’s your honeymoon and i’m sure they’ll be happy to give you the best of service. now, for payment…”

yoongi doesn’t say anything—not while jeongguk chats to the receptionist, getting everything set up. not while the maid who happens to be walking by mentions that she overheard the conversation and congratulates them, and jeongguk looks all too thrilled to recount the story of their marriage—sans the fact that it’s not actually a romantic one. yoongi lets jeongguk hold his hand, lets him smile at him, lets him drag him all the way to the top floor, where the honeymoon suite is stuffed into a tower with a massive wooden door and plenty of privacy.

he doesn’t say anything when they finally get into the room, and jeongguk tosses his bag on the nearest chair, and he flops down onto the bed—the one bed, of course, queen size. yoongi just follows him, setting his own bag down much more gently beside the bed, and observes jeongguk where he’s starfished on the bed with that stupid smile on his lips.

“isn’t this great, hyung?” he asks. “this room is probably so much better than every other one in this hotel, so you got your wish.”

“i thought i told you not to call it a honeymoon,” says yoongi, crossing his arms over his chest. jeongguk looks up from the bed, smile frozen on his lips like he isn’t sure if yoongi is actually serious about it—but he is. he doesn’t want to blur the lines here, doesn’t want to make this something that it isn’t. and maybe the lines shouldn’t matter so much when a marriage is a marriage regardless of how the couple feels about each other.

and yet—“it’s not that big of a deal,” says jeongguk. “i just thought it was funny.”

“everyone is going to think we’re a couple.”

“aren’t we?” and now yoongi sees something that he saw when jeongguk first suggested it—that something more, that something yoongi has always been afraid of acknowledging. he knew jeongguk used to be in love with him, properly. it was ten years ago. but it was still there. and yoongi thinks of how he’s never going to have something else like this—never going to have a honeymoon with someone he actually loves romantically, and maybe he should take the opportunity. maybe jeongguk just wants a do-over, just wants to make this marriage better than the last.

but yoongi just fishes his phone out of his pocket, turning to leave. “i have some emails to reply to,” he says by way of explanation, and he’s not—annoyed. shouldn’t be. but there’s just a twinge of satisfaction in seeing the upset look on jeongguk’s face when yoongi glances over his shoulder before the door closes behind him.

it’s fine, anyway, for the most part. they go to explore the beach after settling in, having lunch at some seaside café. when they get back to the hotel, they’re offered a couples spa package and jeongguk doesn’t jump at it immediately, not the way he’s been so enthusiastic about everything else on the road trip—and yoongi feels guilty about it. feels like he took a wrong step, feels like this was supposed to be something good and now he’s tainted it. so he accepts the offer for the both of them, and he bumps his shoulder against jeongguk’s as they walk over to the spa on the other side of the street, and jeongguk grins at him, and that’s—enough.

that evening, they go for dinner in the hotel’s restaurant—low lighting, a live jazz band playing in the corner, and it doesn’t fit at all, but yoongi loves it anyway. loves it because it’s jeongguk who is sitting across from him, sipping at wine and tapping his feet to the beat of the music, and it feels a bit like a date. probably is, since they’re married. and that’s okay, too.

when yoongi finishes his third glass of wine—because they seem to be brave after three, seem to do things that might propel them into more, into less—and the jazz has mellowed out into something softer, something warmer, yoongi holds his hand out over the table.

“jeon jeongguk,” he says, and jeongguk’s eyes are bright even with the lack of light, and yoongi can’t help thinking that he holds the whole universe in them.

“min yoongi,” replies jeongguk, taking his hand. it occurs to yoongi that jeongguk would follow him anywhere. and isn’t that dangerous? and doesn’t it make him feel too small and too big all at once, and shouldn’t it terrify him? but he trusts himself—trusts himself with jeongguk, with his heart. for the first time, he realizes this might be about more than just taxes. more than just not wanting to be lonely, more than just being best friends for this long and not being afraid of the skeletons in each other’s closets.

the song is slow. yoongi never really learned how to dance—he remembers making a fool of himself at jeongguk’s wedding, the first one, because he was drunk, remembers stepping on someone’s dress and almost throwing up on the ice sculpture and jeongguk laughing instead of being angry. remembers jeongguk finally wrangling him up, and holding his hand, and letting yoongi sway back and forth with him on the dance floor, hiccupping through his drunkenness as he said, if he doesn’t make you happy, come back to me. you deserve to be happy, guk-ah. you always deserve to be happy.

and now he thinks—here jeongguk is. here they are.

“can i have this dance?” asks yoongi, bowing his head a little.

jeongguk grins at him. if they had gotten married ten years ago—out of love and not desperation—yoongi thinks it would have looked something like this: three hundred guests and floating lanterns and dancing lessons. yoongi’s mother would have planned the whole thing, so proud of her youngest son for finding someone who would make him happy, even if that was person was another man. they would have danced to a slow song, something that meant the most to them—a song that yoongi put on the first mixtape he ever gave to jeongguk when he asked him out on their first date, or the one that jeongguk always sings to him in the morning, when yoongi doesn’t want to get up and go to work.

it would be like that, he thinks. but it’s not. because life didn’t quite work out like that—instead, this isn’t their wedding reception, but it is their first dance. and the song is something a little jazzy, something neither of them has heard before. but it’s still good, yoongi thinks. it’s still good as jeongguk takes his hand properly, and they get up from their chairs, and they make their way to the little dance floor in the middle of the room, already dotted with other couples—mostly elderly, mostly in love.

somehow, it’s easy to blend in. jeongguk would say it’s because yoongi is old—yoongi would say it’s because jeongguk has a way of looking at people like he’s loved them for a very long time. maybe with yoongi, it’s less about the fact that jeongguk looks at everyone like that, more about truth.

and that’s dangerous, too.

yoongi is just tipsy enough to pull jeongguk close, chest to chest with their hands clasped together. there are things they could say—they’ve been joking for a week now, having fun, laughing. they’ve reminisced about their friendship, about their humble beginnings. but for right now—yoongi doesn’t want to say any of that. he just wants to be.

that’s what jeongguk does for him—he lets yoongi be. carves enough space around the two of them to give yoongi room to just exist without limitations, without expectations. that’s what this marriage is: a chance for yoongi to just be, without worry, without wonder. with jeongguk, he doesn’t have to pretend. jeongguk knows him, knows his heart. and as terrifying as it should be, he feels free in that truth.

he leans his head against jeongguk’s shoulder as he thinks about it, the two of them swaying side to side more than dancing—but he doesn’t mind. jeongguk’s hand is warm in his. jeongguk’s body is warm against his, breath coasting down the side of yoongi’s face. he likes it here, he thinks—he’d like to stay.

“hyung,” whispers jeongguk eventually. “hyung, this is our first dance.” and yoongi grins—despite his aversion to talk of honeymoons and husbands and romance, he can’t be upset at it because it’s exactly what he thought minutes ago.

“not much of a dance,” yoongi says instead, and grins even more at the breathy laugh that jeongguk lets out. “you know, i always wondered what people talk about during their first dance. it’s so awkward when everyone is watching you.”

“no one is watching us,” jeongguk tells him, but yoongi closes his eyes anyway—because maybe he wants to pretend. it’s not the same, but just for a moment, a moment—“you probably think they’re talking about romantic things and how much they love each other, but most of the time, it’s probably just how uncomfortable their spanx are.”

“you’re wearing spanx?”

“wouldn’t you like to find out?”

yoongi—giggles. maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s how ridiculous it is. maybe it’s the fact that never once did yoongi think he would be here, but now he realizes that there’s nowhere else he would rather be. with jeongguk—he’d go anywhere. he’d be anything. because he knows that if he’s with jeongguk, he’s going to be happy, no matter what.

so—“i wanna go to beach,” he murmurs, realizing now that they’ve stopped moving altogether, just standing in the middle of the dance floor while a slow jazz song plays overhead. “guk-ah, can we go to the beach?”

“yeah, hyung,” says jeongguk, and yoongi feels the barest of kisses pressed to the top of his head. “we can go to the beach.”

they do—they grab a bottle of wine from one of the tables first, and let the presumptions of the employees keep them from needing to explain, and they run out of the hotel to the beach. it’s just across the road, just there in the moonlight as the waves crash onto the sand, and yoongi feels—something as he kicks off his shoes and drinks some of the wine and plops down in the sand, right where the water can’t reach him. it’s not cold but jeongguk sits pressed against him anyway, and they pass the bottle back and forth, and yoongi doesn’t even like white wine, but it’s okay. everything about this is okay.

eventually, when the wine is finished and yoongi just wants to stare at the moon, he asks, “remember when we met?”

beside him, jeongguk hums a little. “i was so scared of you,” he says, and yoongi turns to look at him, surprised; he’s never heard that before. like jeongguk knows, he grins a little at the sky. “not the very first time—that time i just thought you were a massive dork. you were trying to rap straight outta compton but you were so drunk that you couldn’t remember the words. but you were so determined.” yoongi snorts, too drunk now to feel shame for it. “but after that—” jeongguk continues. “after that, you were… everything i wanted, i think. in a friend, or in life. and it scared me, how much i liked you instantly. i wasn’t intimidated by you. i was scared of how i loved you.”

sometimes, when jeongguk talks about him, yoongi can’t tell if he’s in love or not—jeongguk, that is. maybe yoongi, too. there have always been blurred lines between them, always maybes or what-ifs. but right now, maybe it doesn’t have to matter. they’re married, aren’t they?

“i’m really glad you’re my best friend, guk-ah,” says yoongi quietly, leaning his head against jeongguk’s shoulder. “it’s been a really long time. and life fucking sucks, you know? but you make it suck less. and i don’t think i tell you enough, but i’m really grateful for you. for everything.”

“i know, hyung,” says jeongguk. “you know i’m grateful, too, right? i think you’re the only thing that has gotten me through most of the shit in my life. especially relationship-wise.” yoongi hums, closing his eyes. he thinks back on all of it—there has been too much in the past seventeen years to compact it all into one memory, but so much jumps out, so many of the bad times: all of jeongguk’s break-ups, and let downs. his divorce. sometimes, it felt like yoongi was the one going through it instead, because he took on so much of jeongguk’s pain without even realizing—but he would do it again. he would do it every time.

“i’m sorry it hasn’t worked out,” says yoongi. “i’m sorry you have to settle for me instead.”

“it’s not settling,” says jeongguk. “hyung, i’d—i’d choose you over most people in this world to be my husband. i really would.”

“but it’s not the same,” he sighs. “you know it’s not.”

“that’s okay,” says jeongguk. “i tried to have a real marriage and it didn’t work. i’ve tried so many times to have real, honest relationships, but something always goes wrong, except—you. yoongi-hyung, you are the only thing in my life that has never gone wrong.”

yoongi almost laughs—not because it’s funny, but because it was never meant to happen like this. he knows this marriage is for stability and security, but suddenly it almost feels like a cop-out. they’re tired. but yoongi feels like maybe there could have been something more for jeongguk, even if there was never going to be anything more for yoongi.

he doesn’t say that, though. what he does say is—“you have too much faith in me, jeon jeongguk.”

“you’ve never given me a reason not to have faith in you.”

and yoongi thinks about it—thinks about how in some ways, it might have always come to this. in sickness and health, for better or worse: he and jeongguk were always meant to be together, somehow. they’ve used to word soulmate before, and maybe that’s what this is. maybe that’s what this always was. yoongi is forty years old and has married his best friend and this is his life now—it’s not perfect, but it’s good. he’s going to make it good.

“what happens after this?” he asks quietly, opening his eyes again and looking up at the sky—the moon full and bright above them, the waves gently reaching out to say hello. “when we go home, what do we do?”

“probably what we’ve always done,” says jeongguk. “wake up and go to work and come home. except now, we’ll get to come home to each other.”

“what if i don’t want to hang out with you all the time?” jeongguk laughs—except it’s not a joke. “i’m serious, though. we’re both introverts, guk-ah, you know how it is.”

“you don’t have to spend every waking hour of the day with me, hyung,” says jeongguk. “i know we’re not a conventional married couple. we don’t have to do everything together. but it would be nice if we could do some things together. eat meals, go out to the movies… i dunno. just be together.”

yoongi nestles his head a little more into jeongguk’s shoulder, looping their arms together. when they lived together, it wasn’t often that they got to spend time with each other—school and work and other friends constantly tore them apart. sometimes yoongi found something being lonelier living with jeongguk than when he wasn’t. but those days are long gone, and yoongi’s social life has sadly become nothing to write home about. so maybe he needs jeongguk—and maybe just having his laughter in the house will be enough.

“okay,” he says. “how do you see us in five years?”

jeongguk makes a humming noise, thinking. after a moment, yoongi turns his head to look up at him, at the moonlight playing across jeongguk’s face, his eyelashes. he was always so devastatingly beautiful. even now, yoongi hates himself for not falling in love with jeongguk when he had the chance.

“we’re happy,” says jeongguk. “and we’re not lonely anymore. when we go to work christmas parties, everyone knows that we’re going to bring desserts that are infused with too much alcohol, but that’s just because i beg you to let me bake them but i’m not very good at baking and the alcohol has to make up for too much baking soda. maybe we have a cat. my brother picks up the phone when i call.”

“guk-ah,” begins yoongi.

“i don’t know, hyung,” says jeongguk. “i don’t know, because—i’m happy right here. i don’t even want to think about the future. i’m just happy that we got married at all.”

“how long had you been wanting to ask me?”

jeongguk doesn’t answer, not at first. yoongi looks at him and waits, and jeongguk just stares at the moon—and maybe that’s enough of an answer. yoongi lifts his head, looks at jeongguk properly and wonders and wonders and thinks about how it’s been a long time since jeongguk was last in a relationship. maybe he gave up years ago, maybe he had been thinking about it back then, but he wasn’t sure how to ask. didn’t know how to prove to yoongi that it was a good idea.

yoongi would have said yes five years ago, ten. but it still makes him wonder.

“yoongi-hyung,” begins jeongguk gently, finally looking at him—there’s so much shining in those eyes, those eyes that yoongi always loved. there’s something about jeongguk’s eyes. “if i asked you to kiss me, would you?”

and yoongi says—“no.”

(it wouldn’t be the first time, is the thing. it would hardly be the first. yoongi knows that jeongguk was once in love with him because it wouldn’t be the first time they kissed.)

he doesn’t expect the hurt that flashes across jeongguk’s face at the answer, taken aback—and yoongi would give jeongguk anything. but he can’t give him that—can’t blur those lines even further, can’t turn this into something it’s not.

“why not?” asks jeongguk. “we’re married now, aren’t we? isn’t that what married couples do?”

“we’re not a normal married couple, jeongguk,” says yoongi. “you said so yourself. this is completely platonic.”

“you said you were lonely,” says jeongguk. “and i’m lonely, too, and it’s not just about—being alone. hyung, i—i want—” he struggles for words, coming up short. yoongi doesn’t know what he wants. he can’t finish the sentence for him.

yoongi takes a deep breath. “i can’t love you the way that you want me to,” he says quietly.

“you don’t have to love me to kiss me,” says jeongguk.

and it’s true. it’s true, but yoongi won’t. he won’t, even if jeongguk begs him to. “this isn’t that kind of marriage,” he says. “i’m not blurring the lines like that.”

“marriage is marriage, hyung,” says jeongguk. “what difference does it make? we’re still going home together, we’re still sharing a bed if we want. we have rings and we made vows and we’re going to tell people that we’re married, so why does it matter?”

“because i don’t want you to fall in love with me again,” says yoongi, and it’s harsh and too loud in the silence of the night, and jeongguk—stares at him. and it’s in that stare that yoongi realizes—he’s too late. he can’t stop it, because it’s already happened. and the longer they stare, the more a vague sense of panic fills yoongi, makes him realize that this might have been a mistake, and maybe—maybe jeongguk is still a little in love with him, maybe he’s a lot in love with him, and that doesn’t change anything, but it’s going to make this painful as hell. it’s going to make every damn day impossible.

“i just don’t want to be alone anymore, hyung,” mumbles jeongguk, and it sounds angry. he untangles their limbs, pushing himself to his feet and leaving yoongi sitting in the sand. “but if you’re so goddamn adamant about never letting our relationship grow or change, then—whatever. i don’t even care anymore.” it’s childish, sounds like the sort of argument that they would have had when they were still practically kids. but yoongi doesn’t know what else to say, so he lets jeongguk stomp down the beach, away from him and back to the hotel.

for a long time after jeongguk leaves, yoongi sits on the beach and watches the waves crash onto the sand. he’s not entirely sure what went wrong—and he doesn’t know why jeongguk is mad at him for trying to keep boundaries, but. but. he knows they can’t start like this. the simple fact of the matter is that even if jeongguk isn’t in love with him, it’s clear that he’s okay with the possibility of it happening, and yoongi isn’t. but yoongi can’t control jeongguk’s feelings—can’t control his own. he still doesn’t want to kiss jeongguk, but he’s been so adamant about keeping this strictly platonic, not even calling this their honeymoon and trying to avoid calling jeongguk his husband. maybe there’s some growing on both sides. maybe yoongi needs to learn.

(the first time they kissed—jeongguk had been divorced for two years and had gotten stood up on a blind date a colleague had tried to set up for him. yoongi came home to find that jeongguk had used the spare key to let himself in, had raided yoongi’s liquor cabinet and was lying underneath the kitchen table. yoongi joined him, because it seemed like the right thing to do. when jeongguk kissed him, yoongi let it happen—because he promised to take care of jeongguk, and at the time, letting jeongguk kiss him seemed like the right way to do it, but then jeongguk mumbled something about how yoongi had promised that if he couldn’t find someone who treated him right, then yoongi would. and yoongi hadn’t meant it like that—but it felt like jeongguk was trying to take him up on an offer he had never really made. jeongguk passed out before yoongi could say anything about it.

and it’s strange, maybe, that these things always happen when they’re drunk. there’s something about inhibitions, or honesty, or the truth. back then, maybe yoongi wanted to kiss him back. back then, maybe it was less about wanting to take care of him, more about wanting this—but it was ten years ago. and time has a funny way of dealing with desire.)

when yoongi finally gets back to the hotel, it’s almost midnight. the woman at the reception desk doesn’t say anything, and for that, yoongi is grateful. he makes his way up all of those stairs and lets himself into the room—lights off. jeongguk is already asleep on the bed, taking up only half and curled toward the wall. for a time, yoongi just looks at his sleeping form, chest rising and falling with his breath, and yoongi thinks—it would have just been easier to kiss him.

but it wouldn’t have been right—not to let jeongguk do that to himself, to the both of them. but yoongi changes into his sleeping clothes anyway, and he slips into the bed beside jeongguk. and it feels, for the first time, like something has shifted between them—something that can’t be shifted back. but he doesn’t like the distance, never did.

so yoongi rolls over, moving until he’s pressed up against jeongguk’s back, the way they used to cuddle when they were living together and jeongguk was sad or lonely or needed him. that’s all—yoongi just wants jeongguk to need him. slowly, he presses his nose into the back of jeongguk’s neck, slipping an arm around his stomach and holding on. it takes a minute or two, but—eventually, he feels jeongguk take his hand, and that’s how he knows that they’ll be okay.

jeongguk is his best friend—jeongguk is the only thing that has ever gone right. and maybe yoongi can’t give jeongguk what he wants, but he can give everything that he knows how to give, and hope that it comes close to being enough.

when yoongi wakes next, the other side of the bed is empty and cold. strangely, the first thing he’s coherent enough to do is panic, thinking that maybe jeongguk has left—that jeongguk has decided all of this was a mistake and none of this is worth it. but when yoongi actually sits up in bed, he sees: jeongguk’s bag on the floor across the room, and his toiletries on the desk next to the window, and the sweater he was wearing last night draped over the desk chair.

it calms yoongi somewhat, but not enough—but the morning has brought no solace, no clarity to their situation. when yoongi sits in the pool of bedsheets and looks at all of the evidence that jeongguk has left—not just in this hotel room, but in shell of yoongi’s heart—he realizes that there is so much unsaid, so much that neither of them knows how to say.

he waits until jeongguk comes back—from the gym, as it were, freshly showered. it’s only seven in the morning. there’s a moment of uncertainty, panic again when he hears the keycard in the door, when he hears it open and close and then jeongguk gingerly makes his way into view. it wasn’t a fight so much as an argument, a misunderstanding—and even though they’re not the kids they were, yoongi remembers all too well how they used to deal with those.

but jeongguk just drops his gym clothes into his bag and looks up at yoongi, almost sheepish through the wet fringe of his hair. “hi,” he says.

“good morning,” says yoongi softly. he’s aware, of course, that jeongguk likes to work out for his fitness and health—it’s always been his thing, but even moreso, he works out when he’s stressed. when he’s upset, when he needs to escape. it’s the first time since they started their road trip that jeongguk has gone to the gym, so—yoongi can only assume.

it’s not surprising, then, when jeongguk moves to the end of the bed, sitting down carefully beside yoongi. when he says, eyes trained on the little tv in front of them—“i’d like to apologize.” and yoongi’s instinctual reaction is to reach out, fingers already carding through jeongguk’s hair with the dismissal on the tip of his tongue; he was always so eager to placate jeongguk, to keep him from feeling upset or guilty.

but he bites the words before they can get out. even with his hand in jeongguk’s hair, yoongi just makes himself listen.

“i shouldn’t have gotten angry at you last night,” continues jeongguk. “i would blame it on the alcohol, but we both know it wasn’t because of that. i think—hyung, i think we might be on different pages about all of this and that’s my fault. so i think we should get on the same page.” he turns his head a little, peering at yoongi hopefully—and yoongi’s chest swells and swells, so fond of this wonderful man he has in his life, husband or not.

“i think that’s a good idea,” agrees yoongi. “and i’d like to apologize, too. i got angry at you when i shouldn’t have. i was just… caught off-guard, i guess.”

“you don’t have to kiss me,” says jeongguk quickly, cheeks colouring. “it was an irrational request, considering our situation.”

“i don’t mind kissing you,” says yoongi, “but i meant what i said—i don’t want to blur the lines. right now, the lines are: this is a platonic marriage and we’re doing this so we don’t have to be lonely and so we can make each other happy. and maybe the lines will shift in the future, but right now… they’re there.”

“but are you okay with them shifting?” asks jeongguk, looking at him again. “i don’t want to force you into anything, hyung, you know i’d never—”

“i know,” says yoongi. “i trust you. and as much as i’m… not in love with you right now, of course i can’t say i never will be. but i can’t force myself to be, jeongguk. i want you to know that.”

he sees jeongguk’s lips twitch a little, like he’s trying not to frown. “i’m not in love with you, either,” says jeongguk quietly, stubbornly—sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, and yoongi drops his hand to the back of jeongguk’s neck and squeezes assuredly. “i mean, i don’t… think i am. would you hate me if i was?”

“of course not,” says yoongi. “i love you, jeongguk-ah. you’re my best friend and my fucking soulmate and now—you’re my husband. and if you’re in love with me, then you’re in love with me. but i don’t want to break your heart or lead you on by making you think that i’m definitely going to reciprocate those feelings.”

“i wouldn’t expect that from you,” says jeongguk. “i would never want to force you into that. i’m just—i just want to know that if that’s how things go, you’re not going to get scared and run away because we said originally this was just going to be platonic.”

and that’s—almost a low blow, except it’s not. because jeongguk knows him better than anyone else, better than even yoongi himself—and jeongguk knows that that’s always been the problem with yoongi. he hides behind his sexuality, claiming that there’s no point in trying when he doesn’t believe that someone will want to be with him when he won’t put out, but the truth is that yoongi doesn’t know how to hold someone else’s feelings like that, doesn’t know how to trust himself with someone else’s heart.

it’s not so much that he’s run away, moreso not giving himself the chance. and jeongguk knows that if yoongi gets scared, he will run—in the same way that yoongi knows that if jeongguk gets scared, he’ll cling even harder. maybe, for once, that’s going to be good for the both of them.

so he just—grins a little, dropping his hand onto the bed between them. “i’m not going to run,” says yoongi. “i’m okay with whatever happens, jeongguk. and i know it’s not going to be easy—this isn’t some business partnership or anything. it’s our lives, and our hearts. but it’s not so scary when it’s you, because i already know you love me. i already know you.”

maybe that’s all that yoongi ever really wanted—someone who knows him, someone he knows in return. he hasn’t let himself try because he’s convinced that everyone will leave when they do know him, and he’s convinced that he’ll be too horrified by the truth of everyone else. but here is jeongguk—and they know each other. and they’re still here. and it has to count for something.

he feels jeongguk take his hand, the one between them—just gentle, soft. he threads their fingers together and yoongi looks down at them, grinning a little more before a new sad thought enters his head. “you know,” he adds. “you can leave me, if you want. if—you’re not satisfied with just emotional stuff. or if you want to be with someone else when we’re together, or, you know… do whatever you need to do. i’m okay with it.” he keeps his eyes trained on their hands, not wanting to see jeongguk’s face. “i really understand.”

“hyung,” begins jeongguk.

“it’s not—i mean, it’s not off the table for us either, i guess, if our relationship were to go there, because you know i’m not repulsed by sex, i just need a romantic connection and we just don’t have that ri—“

“hyung,” says jeongguk, more forceful this time; he lifts yoongi’s chin with his free hand, forcing them to look at each other. yoongi doesn’t realize he’s trembling until then, until jeongguk is holding his face and looking him in the eye. until he says, “you are more than enough for me.” and it’s not romantic—and neither of them would blame each other if another opportunity came along, but there’s that extra layer here. yoongi knows it.

“but if you wanted to,” whispers yoongi. “it’s okay, jeongguk-ah.”

“okay,” says jeongguk. “but i don’t want to. you being asexual doesn’t change anything about this marriage. i’m not going anywhere.”

and that’s the root of it, for him, isn’t it—jeongguk is going to stay, even though yoongi might not be able to give him exactly what he needs: love, or sex, or something more. but jeongguk knew that when he decided to ask yoongi to marry him in the first place. he knew that it wasn’t going to be easy, and he knew it wasn’t going to be romantic or sexual—because that wasn’t the point.

so maybe yoongi needs to give him a little more credit.

“okay,” says yoongi. “thank you.”

“are we good?” asks jeongguk. “we’re on the same page now?”

“i think so.” and they are—this is their marriage. it might be something else in a year or two or ten. maybe they’ll fall in love. maybe they’ll divorce because it turns out that the world wasn’t done with them yet. but right now—right now is what matters. this fullness of his heart, and the security of having someone who knows him and is going to stay anyway. is going to stay because he knows him.

yoongi lets out a little sigh, leaning over and planting his face into jeongguk’s chest, waiting for the inevitable hug, which does come—and the rumble of jeongguk chuckling laughter against him, and the soft kiss pressed to the top of his head. “love you, hyung,” whispers jeongguk.

“love you, too, bun,” whispers yoongi. and he does, and they do—and that’s enough.

it’s four days later, on their way back home after a much softer and more serious end to their trip, that jeongguk spots a sign on the side of the road while passing through a little town on the coast. they’re listening to some podcast about politics and yoongi thinks jeongguk is asleep in the passenger seat, and then he practically shouts, “hyung, stop!”

yoongi, startled, slams on the breaks in the middle of the road. there’s no one behind them to cause a collision, but yoongi is spooked anyway, staring out at the road and searching for whatever jeongguk needed him to stop for—a dead animal, or a small child crossing the street. but jeongguk just points out the passenger window. “look,” he says. and when yoongi does look, he sees it: a dog shelter. there’s a sign out front advertising something about how it’s the perfect time to adopt a dog, and yoongi thinks—oh no.

but jeongguk looks at him, all bright smiles and bright eyes.

so they go in.

when they come out, they’re in the possession of an abandoned toy poodle—a little thing with curly brown fur and a face to die for. he’s friendly already. jeongguk holds him in his lap as they keep driving, cooing. and yoongi isn’t entirely sure how he’s just done something so spontaneous, but it’s something about jeongguk. has to be.

“what’s his name, then?” asks yoongi, glancing over at the furball in jeongguk’s lap.

“i don’t know yet,” says jeongguk. “but you know, hyung… he’s basically our kid.”

“we already have a kid and we’ve only been married for two weeks,” sighs yoongi. “don’t you think we’re moving a little fast?”

“it did take us seventeen years to get married in the first place,” says jeongguk. “we’re just trying to catch up on all of the stuff we missed in the first place. besides, it’s never too early to start a family.”

and that’s—strange, maybe. even if they’re mostly joking, yoongi can’t help looking over at jeongguk petting the dog and grinning happily. and yoongi realizes—jeongguk is right. this is his family. jeongguk was always his family, but now it’s something more concrete. now they have a dog. it’s real married couple things, and yoongi finds that he doesn’t mind. finds that he actually quite likes it—the domesticity of it. maybe this marriage is never going to be conventional, but he and jeongguk were never ones to play by the rules anyway.

as long as they’re happy, who cares what that happiness looks like?

and this is what it looks like—jeongguk clutching the dog as they get out of the car in yoongi’s driveway, and yoongi shouldering both of their bags so that jeongguk doesn’t have to worry about it. and jeongguk beaming up at yoongi’s house, his new home now, too, and looking over at yoongi with that same smile—his home. this is his home.

yoongi pauses at the front door, the keys in his hand. jeongguk is beside him, making little noises at the dog like it’s a baby, and yoongi turns to look at him: his husband. this is his husband. he wouldn’t want to have anyone else.

briefly, he fists his hand in jeongguk’s shirt and tugs him down, pressing a kiss against his cheek before letting go and opening the door. “what was that for?” asks jeongguk, and yoongi has an even better idea as he scoops the dog out of jeongguk’s hands.

“you’re my husband, jeongguk,” he says, and then—“carry me bridal style into our house like we’re newlyweds in the movies. i’ve always wanted to do that.” and it’s ridiculous—because they’re not kids, and this isn’t their new house, and he’s not wearing a wedding dress. but he has something much better: a dog, and jeongguk, and a life that he’s already happy to have. it just made sense to combine a few things: his house with his home, his life with his love.

and as jeongguk does scoop him up bridal style, laughing as they squeeze through the door and he almost whacks yoongi’s head on the doorframe—well. yoongi knows they’re going to be just fine, he and his husband.