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The sound of evening traffic was the sole and distant background he had while setting up for his movie night, and the only light shining in the living room was the one of the headlights, peaking gently thought the windows like fairylights from a house that wasn’t his. He sat the bowl of chips and a hot mug of boiling tea on the coffee table, sitting on the couch, a fluffy purple blanket thrown on his shoulders and the computer set on his crossed legs. He was searching around the internet, scrolling down some websites to find a good and interesting movie too watch, until his eyes landed on a new horror, something that was still being projected at the local cinema, but that had already been uploaded online. It was the perfect movie to watch on this perfect nigh, with his perfect snacks and his perfect tea and…
“Yoongi!” Hoseok shouted while swinging the door open with such force that, if the other could bother to see anything past his blinding annoyance, would have concerned Yoongi. Hoseok walked into the living room, as if his best friend’s house was his own.
“Why is it so dark in here?” he asked, switching the lights on while toeing off his shoes at the same time. Yoongi, in response, groaned loudly from his comfortable but disturbed place on the couch.
“Hobi, what the hell do you want? Also how did you even walk in? I thought I had locked the door,” he asked, his low voice stained with frustration.
“Yeah, you did, but I made a copy of the keys. Anyway, are you bu-”
“You did what?! Dude, why the hell did you duplicate my keys?”
“That’s not important now! What’s important is that there’s this new horror movie at the cinema and I know just how much you adore horrors! So I came here to bring you out, hurry up and get dressed!” Yoongi stared at him with what he hoped looked like a deadly expression, even though his friend didn’t even seem to notice, let alone being affected by it. He groaned again, frustrated for his perfect movie night already ruined.
“Hobi, I was literally about to watch it before you would barge inside my house uninvited. So you can either leave or sit down next to me and-”
“Yoongs-” Hoseok started, getting interrupted by a groaning and raspy voice.
“I already told you to stop calling me like that.”
“Yoongs,” Hoseok continued, completely unphased by his friends remarks, “you cannot stay home when you can enjoy the pleasure of watching it from the big cinema screen! With a big ass portion
popcorn and that nice atmosphere and…” he went on, unaware of being ignored.
“I don’t see why I should bother when I can watch it from the comfort of my couch and have more fun. Where’s the point in spending money to see something that you can watch from home without having to leave? Cinemas are a stupid idea. Moreover the snacks there are too expensive.” Yoongi said, his tone plain and absolutely disinterested. Hoseok looked over him, his eyes widening impossibly in fake, or not completely so, shock and disgust.
“You cannot really think that way! Give me the opportunity to show you just how damn wrong you are about this!” Hoseok exclaimed, his eyes glistening with hope and excitement. Sometimes the lit sparkles in his eyes would remind Yoongi of a puppy, an overexcited pup dancing in between his legs, making him lose balance. Yoongi sighed loudly, mentally surrendering, perfectly knowing that Hoseok could be the most insisting and stubborn person on the planet, and that Yoongi couldn’t really say no to him. Under the facade of his own grumpy stubbornness he had a soft spot for his friend and his shining puppy eyes.
“You pay,” he finally said, turning his laptop off and ignoring the way his best friend started rambling enthusiastically about the many beauties of a night spent at the cinema.
-
That, Yoongi thought, was probably one of the beauties.
They had arrived there just a few minutes ago, Hoseok clinging on Yoongi’s arm as if he could the other’s mind, telepathically reading his friend’s thoughts consisting of finding a plan to get Hoseok distracted so that he could return to the peace of his apartment. But Hoseok’s grip had been marble firm around his arm, until he had to let go to get snacks at the bar, somehow convincing a grumpy Yoongi to go get the tickets.
So here he was, standing in line behind an unnecessarily touchy couple, some bills his friend had given him in a hand, and gaze stuck on the honey-like features of the box office employee. The smile he was giving the couple, despite being solely professional, was making every inch of his skin glow, as if the corners of his lips were holding small reflections of rays of sunshine. When it finally was Yoongi’s turn and he found himself right in front of the pretty boy, something inside of him wavered slightly, his annoyance cracking like broken glass, tiny and shy rays spilling from the chinks, strangely resembling the ones swirling at the corner’s of the boy’s mouth.
“Good evening! What would you like to see?” the boy asked and oh, his voice felt like little fires dancing on Yoongi’s skin, lightly pricking his senses. For a moment, as brief as a single missed heartbeat, Yoongi forgot how to talk.
“Uh, I- The Wailing. Two tickets for The Wailing,” he replied and, for some reason, something about his answer made the boy just smile a bit wider, his cheeks tint a bit brighter.
“You’re a fan of horrors then?” the employee asked while typing on the computer, getting the tickets ready. “Did you come here with your girlfriend too? Like the couple just before you?”
At that, Yoongi’s ability to think and speak properly had come back completely, allowing him to snort loudly at the idea.
“No girlfriend, I’m gay and single. It was my best friend, I told him cinemas were stupid so he practically dragged me here-” he started, interrupting himself at the loud and overly dramatic gasp escaping the boy’s pretty lips. Very pretty lips, Yoongi thought, before shaking his head in a vain attempt to dismiss the uninvited thought.
“You can’t really believe what you just said!” the boy exclaimed softly. An odd yet endearing contrast that brought Yoongi’s lips to unconsciously curl upwards. He handed him the tickets but, when Yoongi’s hand reached them, the boy grabbed it tenderly but with a certain sort of urgency, long and slim fingers curling around his wrist. His fingers are pretty too, Yoongi thought, unsure as per why his mind was being interrupted by such thoughts. “Promise me you’ll come back again,” he said, a tasty shade of pink tainting his cheeks.
It might have been the serious tone of his voice clashing with the ridiculousness of the moment, words dancing playfully yet stoutly on the tip of his tongue, or maybe the way his caramel colored hair was falling in his eyes like a curtain, but something made Yoongi nod, slowly and a bit confusedly. At that, the boy finally let go of his hand, a trace of embarrassment ghosting over his glimmering pupils, smiling again, professional and collected but so, so warm.
“Enjoy the movie!” he said.
Yoongi mumbled a thanks, tickets in his hand and brows furrowed in a confused expression. Hoseok, who was walking towards him with a gigantic portion of popcorn in his arms, mistook it for annoyance, so he quickly shoved the snacks in his friend’s hands, grabbing his arm again and at all effects literally dragging him towards the screening room.
They found their seats quickly, walking through and elbowing a handful of people. The room wasn’t completely full, bu it was definitely too packed for Yoongi’s liking. After sitting down, his first instinct was to grieve the loss of his soft blanket, his scalding mug of tea, and the tranquility of his peaceful apartment. Yet, the train of his thoughts took a strange and fascinating turn, bringing him to the oddly warm smile of the employee. Yoongi shook his head yet again, the words “What a weird guy” lingering on his lips, the same way the boy’s mellow and sugary touch was lingering onto his questioning skin.
-
With the credits still rolling on the screen, dark enveloping them, Hoseok had turned his head to Yoongi in a movement so sharp the other was surprised didn’t make a comical cartoonish sound.
“This was absolutely great, wasn’t it?” he had asked, childlike hope tinting the question. To which Yoongi had nodded, remembered the lights weren’t on yet and that therefore the other might hadn’t seen, and replied.
“Yeah, amazing movie. I loved the way the director-”
“Have you changed your mind already?” Hoseok had then asked, cutting his friend off impatiently. This time Yoongi had simply sighed in response, forcing himself to articulate.
“It would have looked the exact same if I had watched it home. The atmosphere or whatever, I can have that at home too.” Clearly these weren’t the words the other had been expecting, judging from light punch Yoongi had received alongside a long and long and long list as per why he was so wrong and so insufferable and so boring, a list that had lasted until they were finally home, Yoongi’s home. As always Hoseok had acted as if those walls were his as much as Yoongi’s, inviting himself to stay for the night. A night followed by another and then another and that’s how he would always end up staying more at his friend’s place than his own. Also, that’s why they were eating dinner together, sprawled on their couch and eating ramen disgustingly loudly, an unvoicedly proclaimed competition to make the most obscene sounds. As per habit, Hoseok proclaimed himself the winner and decided that the price for his incredible performance was the remote. Yoongi didn’t mind to let the other choose what to watch, despite it being masked by stream of complains.
Five minutes into whatever Hoseok had chosen to watch and Yoongi was already fidgeting in his place, restless and bored and with his mind elsewhere.
“This movie sucks,” he finally exclaimed, somehow relief washing over him when he saw his friend nodding.
“Yeah, it does, but there ain’t anything else to see…” Yoongi let the seconds fall around them for a bit, before speaking again, hoping to hide the crimson of his cheeks with the fake nonchalance in his voice.
“How about we go at the cinema then? There’s this new horror called The Midnight something, I don’t remember, the trailer looked pretty cool-” He halted himself after sparing a glance to his friend, who was looking at him with eyes impossibly wide and mouth agape. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Do you have a fever? Are you sick?” Hoseok asked, the edges of his words somehow both teasing and concerned and soft ad the same time, as if he was playing but not completely kicking aside the possibility that Yoongi could be actually sick.
“What? What are you talking about, I’m perfectly fine you idiot.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong but someone in this room, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me, said that cinemas are stupid and a waste of money. Did you finally changed your mind then?” He wiggled his eyebrows as to say See? I was right, making Yoongi pout unconsciously, annoyed and already regretting his decision.
“I did not! I just remembered that you paid last time and I was feeling guilty, so I wanted to return the favor. That’s it.”
“Sure, whatever makes you sleep at night,” Hoseok said before standing up and stretching his limbs, quickly fishing for his wallet and phone all but elegantly resting on the coffee table. “So? Are we going or are you planning to melt into the couch, Yoongs?” In response, a groan.
“You know what? Never mind, I’m going alone, you stay here idiot.”
-
Ridiculous. Yoongi felt absolutely ridiculous stepping into the cinema, his legs itching and urging him to turn around and ran away. The ridiculous part about it was that he was feeling nervous. It made absolutely no sense to feel nervous about going to the cinema with his best-friend, no excuse for his heart thumping wildly in his chest and begging to be set free. But Hoseok was already tugging at his arm, just like the other day, throwing excited comments about the movie and the trailer and the poster and popcorn and literally whatever his childlike thoughts would land on. Sighing, Yoongi shushed Hoseok, telling him to go buy snacks, while he would wait in line for the tickets. As soon as his friend left him alone, Yoongi searched in front of him, past the groups of teens and right behind the counter. His eyes met with the sight a detail at the time, as if watching at him at once could blind him: first the light color of the boy’s messy hair falling into his smiley eyes, then the corners on his mouth twisting in small smiles and cordial words, lips curling and dancing around words, then his gracious fingers handing tickets, playing with his hair, tugging it behind his ear. Ridiculous. Yoongi felt absolutely ridiculous looking at the employee, his thoughts wandering in weird places and wishing he could buy a ticket to sit and watch the boy’s face instead. Ridiculous.
It took him a beat too much to realize that it was his turn and to remember how to put his limbs in motion. The sun. It felt like a scene from a movie, him walking slowly almost at slow-motion, his heart beating a song too fast with every inch between them closed, and then the boy finally looked at him and smiled like he was the sun. Yoongi shook his head, laughing at himself for the cliché comparison, nevertheless his mind couldn’t form other words to describe the halo of happiness adorning the boy’s features.
“You came back! You kept the promise!” the employee exclaimed cheerfully, words falling out of his mouth with all the excitement of a roller-coaster.
Right. The promise. That stupid and childish and odd and meaningless promise that Yoongi had kept in the back of his mind nonetheless, tangled somewhere in the pits of his heart, and apparently kept. Not that he had wasted his time trying to reminisce details of a certain cinema employee, or trying to find a song that sounded like the gold sparkling in the lows of said employee’s voice. Or maybe he did, absentmindedly, and then caught himself each time and blushed terribly terribly terribly. The same way he was doing right now, his cheeks betraying him terribly terribly terribly but, for some reason, matching the boy’s in such a pretty pretty pretty way.
“Thought I must keep this super important promise I made with a complete stranger,” he managed.
“Taehyung.”
“Uh?” Yoongi looked at him confused, witnessing the boy’s cheeks deepen in color even more, azaleas blooming on his skin and spring veiling his features.
“Taehyung, that’s my name. And now that you know it I’m not a stranger anymore.” And how can someone sound so bold and shy at the same time?
“Taehyung,” he repeated, testing and tasting the name on his tongue, rolling the letters and swallowing them down deep deep. He didn’t quite miss though the way the boy was looking at him expectantly, eyes glistening. “I’m Yoongi.” Smile. First Taehyung’s, nice and warm and contagious, and then Yoongi’s, shy and small. A nice moment, a few instants to want to impress in back of the eyelids and keep there forever.
“So, what did you come to watch? The new horror?” His fingers were already typing on the computer, as if he didn’t even need for Yoongi to reply, as if he had all of him already figured out, nowhere to hide.
“Uh, yeah. Two tickets, please.” Taehyung hummed, handing him the tickets and a content smile. At that moment Hoseok had walked over, popcorn and coca cola in his hands, puppy eyes at display.
“Have fun, Yoongs!” Taehyung exclaimed when the two walked away from the counter. Yoongi didn’t turn back, but his hand raised in a sort of weird wave that meant thank you and I want to see you again.
“Hey! Who is that and why did he call you Yoongs? You never let me call you like that!”
“That’s ‘cause you’re annoying as fuck while he isn’t.”
-
Two hours and a half if including the ads and trailers played before the beginning of the movie. Two hours and a half to sit back, relax and have fun. Two hours and a half of Hoseok munching his pop corn illegally loudly and pestering the other with comments and questions and “constructive criticism” as if the director was right there to listen to him. Two hours and a half of Yoongi trying to focus on whatever was going on on the screen, but failing miserably because, no matter how interesting the movie was, something – someone- was a magnet for all his thoughts and attention. Cinematography was one of his favorite hobbies, considering that he was a scriptwriter, and nothing had ever been able to advert his attention so much that, by the time the credits were rolling on the screen, Yoongi could barely remember what the plot was about.
Ridiculous. He was feeling absolutely and utterly ridiculous while leaving the screening room, Hoseok blabbing at his side but his mind unable to come up with something, anything really, to say.
Walking towards the exit, Yoongi stopped all of a sudden, not wanting, not wanting at all but wanting so much, turning around to search for Taehyung. The boy was still behind the counter, customer service smile plastered on his pretty face. Their eyes met for a fragment of a second, a true smile cracking in pieces the boy’s professional one and making Yoongi’s insides twist funnily.
“See you next time!” Yoongi shouted, but quietly. Wanting but unsure, still feeling ridiculous for just as ridiculous reasons.
“It’s a promise!” Taehyung shouted back but loudly and lively and happy as if seeing Yoongi was the most exciting thing he had to look forward to.
It’s a promise, Yoongi thought even quieter, butterflies flapping their wings inside his chest.
-
He had tried, he really did, to ignore the weight of that single word swirling unpleasantly in his chest for a couple of days. He had tried, he really did, to work on the new script, but perhaps the deadline was too far away to give him motivation, perhaps he didn’t have enough inspiration or attention to focus. He had tried, he really did, to not think about golden strand of hair and pretty lips and even prettier smiles. Days later though, when a new movie that could prick his interest was being projected, Yoongi didn’t really try to lie to himself, nor to stay away from the cinema.
It was a Thursday, not too late to be filled with too many people, too early for the first evening screening though and therefore a small excuse to take his time to walk over the counter, to talk a bit slower, to force his heart to slow down.
“Hey, Yoongi! You kept the promise again!” Taehyung exclaimed, words dancing on his lips, snowflakes in winter wind. Ridiculous, making Yoongi feel all warm and giddy and absolutely ridiculous.
“Hi, Taehyung.” From outside they probably looked like sun and moon, Taehyung shining as if he was hiding the secrets of the universe in his palms, Yoongi shy and grumpy, a bit like a cat not used to being around shining people. It would usually have a bad impression on people, Yoongi’s reservation and apparent coldness, and he never really tried to explain that he wasn’t cold or unfriendly. Someone would see through him, someone had learn to, someone like Hoseok. Someone like Taehyung, who was bleeding happiness as if seeing Yoongi’s pouty lips and frowned brows was the absolute highlight of his day.
“Two tickets for The Truth Beneath?”
“No, only one this- Wait, how did you know?”
“How did I know what?” Taehyung asked, tilting his head on the side and making a strand of hair fall directly onto his eyes like a see-through curtain. And making Yoongi yearn to lean in closer to brush the hair away. Absolutely ridiculous, Yoongi told himself, as if to condemn his own thoughts.
“The movie, how did you know which one I came to watch?” The boy’s mouth fell to form a perfect o shape, looking all kinds of surprised and endearing, like a child caught doing something prohibited. A timid shade of pink crippled on his cheeks and all over on the tip of his nose. And Yoongi wondered for a fraction of a second how wrong would it be to lean in and kiss the blush away. Absolutely fucking ridiculous.
“I don’t know? I just- I don’t know, I just thought about the other ones you saw and this is the only one that would fit your taste,” he replied, stumbling on his words, stuttering here and there and looking all vulnerable and soft. Yoongi let his thoughts wander again, asking himself if the boy was as soft as he looked. Absolutely, utterly fucking ridiculous.
“So you guessed my taste includes kidnapping and the corruption of society?”
“You do look like the type, yeah.” He said it in all seriousness, tone firm accompanied by an energetic nodding, yet here they were again, those blinding rays sparkling all around him, as if happiness had decided to embody itself into this very boy.
“And what is it that makes me look like the type? Is it because I’m grumpy and intimidating?” And for a second Yoongi thought, stupidly and impossibly, that suddenly the day had crumbled all together and that it was night and that the two in front of him weren’t eyes but moons. Taehyung’s eyes widened comically, his expression turning into something surprised and almost hurt.
“No, because you seem like a thinker, a quiet observer. You look smart, the type of person that would rather spend two hours trying to resolve a murder case rather than watching some sappy melodrama.” This time it was Yoongi’s turn to look surprised, completely taken aback by the string of compliments and the fact that yes, Taehyung had seen him not even a handful of times but had all of him figured out already. As if the reason the boy’s eyes had stars engraved into them was that he could look at people and see them. “Moreover, you’re not grumpy at all, you’re… Warm.” The words had gotten quieter one by one, voice barely even there. One, two, three. Exactly three. Three the beats Yoongi’s heart missed. Also three layers of blush painted on his face, neck and even the tips of his ears. He wanted to say so much, too much, he wanted to tell him you look like you’ve eaten the sun and now it lives inside of you and then your hair looks like gold but also soft so I want to ruffle it and know how it feels against my fingers and then I made a stupid promise but I can’t stop thinking about it so now it’s just a stupid excuse to come see you and then you make me feel absolutely fucking ridiculous and I hate it because I like it. But none of things felt appropriate enough, fitting enough. So he didn’t say any.
“Thank you,” his choking throat managed. And he didn’t say any of the things that were dancing in between his fuzzed thoughts, but Taehyung looked like he heard every single one nevertheless, looked like swallowing the sun hadn’t been enough so he decided to cage the entire universe inside of him.
“No pop corn today?” Taehyung asked him while handing him the single ticket.
“I don’t really like it, I only get it because my friend loves it.” It was such a simple thing to say, such a small and white truth to lay down in front of him, but it was enough to stir something hot in Taehyung’s chest.
“Like I said, warm.” The comment was just as small, words with edges all smooth and careful, as if afraid to be too much. And maybe the fact Yoongi felt deafeningly ridiculous again while walking towards the screening room meant that they were indeed too much. Or maybe Taehyung himself was simply too much, too much of everything, too kind, too nice, too lively, too pretty, too heartwarming, too I’m-going-to-make-myself-a-home-into-your-heart.
-
The movie was interesting, Yoongi loved it. Well, he loved the pieces he managed to follow without having to scold himself for letting his thoughts drift away, fixate themselves on caramel and honey and Sunday mornings and peaches and azaleas and the way all these things reminded him of Taehyung. By the time the darkness in the room disappeared again he had managed to figure out the general plot of the movie and maybe the villain, but he still made sure to make a mental note to remember to search it online and watch it again, properly this time.
He stood up from his seat, his left leg asleep and his right ventricle stuffed with images of golden strands and wide eyes that were adorned one by a double eyelid and the other by a mono eyelid, too dangerously similar to the eyes of a certain cinema employee. He shook his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts but only managing to throw away his impressions of the movie, before stepping out of the room. The evening was darkening profusely and people were flowing inside of the cinema. Which meant the counter was busy and Taehyung busier. Which meant no chance to chat before leaving. As if sensing Yoongi’s presence from far apart, Taehyung’s eyes suddenly shot towards his direction, sparkling that tiny bit more than for the other customers, and his mouth parted in a silent question.
“Come again? Promise?”
“Yeah, promise.”
-
After the fifth visit, not that any of the two was counting them, Yoongi stopped searching for an excuse, stopped trying to tell himself that it was movies he was coming for, stopped pretending his heart was yearning for any work of art that wasn’t Taehyung. And maybe the boy knew, maybe he had realized it even before Yoongi could, maybe his smiles were just a tiny bit brighter, his heart just a tiny bit lighter.
They had fallen into a routine, Yoongi would come at the cinema everyday, buying tickets for whatever random movie they were projecting, arriving just a bit earlier than the beginning of the screening – sometimes a handful of minutes, sometimes a couple of hours on the days he felt braver. Taehyung would always be there, his elegant fingers playing with the few strands of hair falling into his eyes, the corners of his lips dancing timidly and his heart lied down in front of him for Yoongi to take it. Yoongi, on his side, would leave traces of his own heart right before leaving, when their eyes would meet for a last time, words sometimes spilled, sometimes just mouthed shyly, the constant “Come again? Promise?” and the following, always following, “Yeah, promise.” Yoongi’s heart was right there, entangled into those few letters, a promise that was always like a prayer, like an invitation.
Taehyung was younger than him and a student, Yoongi had found out, going to the city’s college and majoring in psychology. Pretty fitting, if you were to ask Yoongi, for him to study people with his attentive starry eyes, his way to have all of you figured out with only a mere glance. Taehyung, Yoongi had found out, had the habit to touch the right corner of his lips from time to time, a small gesture all endearing endearing endearing that would make Yoongi’s heart soar and ache in a pain that was all beautiful beautiful beautiful. Taehyung, Yoongi had found out, started reserving Yoongi tickets, always knowing in advance what he would end up watching. Taehyung, Yoongi had found out, was pretty and kind and smelled like caramel and vanilla and looked at Yoongi like had been the one to hang the stars in his eyes.
Yoongi, Taehyung had found out, was a bit older than him and already a scriptwriter, even though he hadn’t had the chance to work on anything renowned yet. Yoongi, Taehyung had found out, talked with small words sometimes, laid there and regretted immediately after, other times with loud and sarcastic ones that would make everyone grimace in annoyance. Everyone but Taehyung, who would chuckle softly and then blush, caught in act, caught falling and falling and falling but not caring. Yoongi, Taehyung had found out, had the habit to move his fingertips on the counter as if writing something, as if his entire life was a script waiting to be filled with strings of words. Yoongi, Taehyung had found out, was warm and caring and gentle oh so gentle it would make his chest sting and sing.
-
Ridiculous. It was absolutely ridiculous how oblivious they both were. Ridiculous how they both had their feelings written all over their blushing faces but neither seemed to remember how to read. Ridiculous how everyone else around them was able to see it.
“Are you going to the cinema again?” Hoseok asked on a Friday evening, sprawled on Yoongi’s couch like it was his own, eating leftovers like they were his own, and having full control on the remote like it was his own. Yoongi would ask himself often, too often for his liking, whether he was actually living alone or not.
“Yeah, there’s this movie about a kidnapping and-” He interrupted himself offended when Hoseok snorted loudly. “Excuse me? What the fuck was that about?”
“What? Nothing, absolutely nothing.” A pause. Then, careful but teasing at the same time, “Have fun with Taehyung,” he said, stuffing his mouth with an ungodly amount of food. In all response the other threw a cushion right into his face, before taking wallet and phone, and leaving.
-
The cinema was only a ten minutes walk distant from his apartment, but Yoongi made it into five, walking faster almost unconsciously, trying to catch the image of Taehyung’s eyes glistening like comets. But once he stepped inside what he was met instead was the tall figure of a guy with dimples adorning his smile. Yoongi’s heart dropped somewhere low low low in the pits of his stomach, disappointment breaking his features. He considered turning around and going back home, but maybe this was finally a chance to watch a movie and actually paying attention to it.
“Good evening,” the employee greeted him once he had reached the counter.
“Good evening, a ticket for-” Yoongi interrupted himself when he realized he didn’t even know what movies were being screened. It had become a habit for him to accept the tickets Taehyung would reserve for him, trusting him to find something fitting to his taste, even though he could never pay full attention to whatever was on the screen. “I don’t know, whatever. Some random movie will be okay.” The employee arched a brow in an unvoiced question but proceeded to type on the computer anyway. “Is Taehyung not working today?” At that question the other’s eyes widened comically, mouth dropping in a perfect o almost dramatically.
“Wait, are you Yoongi? The Yoongi?”
“I- Yeah? I mean, yeah that’s my name but… What does the Yoongi mean?” The other seemed pleased with the answer, the idea of finally meeting the Yoongi, whatever that meant, widening his smile and deepening his dimples.
“It’s just that Taehyung talks so much about you! You are literally the main subject of all his conversations, everything is always about how smart you are, how interesting the things that you say are, how pretty you are when you smile. He literally never shuts up about you. You’re the highlight of his day.” And he said all of it like that, so simple and casual like he was conversing about the weather and not gripping Yoongi’s heart fragile fragile heart in his hands. Starstruck. Puzzled and surprised and warm in all the right ways and right places, struck by the star that was Taehyung. Taehyung with his hair the color of gold and his heart the size of the moon and his smile the warmth of the sun. Taehyung with his voice deep and low like an ocean abyss but careful and measured like spring. Yoongi knew his entire face was lighting up like a Christmas tree.
“He talks about… me?” The guy snorted.
“Too much for his friends’ liking. But now that I finally met you I think I can see why. I’m Namjoon by the way, nice to meet you.”
“Oh.” Because that was the only thing he could come up with. Oh, meaning Oh, Taehyung talks about me, meaning Oh, Taehyung thinks so many pretty things of me. For some reason he felt undeserving, because the boy was everything ethereal and lovable and honey-like, while he felt plain and so so undeserving of being even a passing thought in his mind. “Nice to meet you too, I’m Yoongi.”
“Yeah,” Namjoon said while chuckling, “I know that.” And Yoongi just blushed again, sure that sooner or later pink would become his natural skin tone. “Do you want me to say hi to him from you? He had to skip work to study for an exam today.” Yoongi nodded eagerly, infinite other things he would have wanted to ask Namjoon to refer to Taehyung but not daring. So he just took the ticket, scrunching his nose at the sight of the title of some comedy movie on it, and waved at Namjoon.
-
Taehyung, on his side, was just as helplessly oblivious. After skipping one work day and so regretting his missed date-that-wasn’t-a-date-at-all-except-in-his-little-heart with Yoongi, he had come back to work the next day, counting the seconds till the man’s arrival. Much to his disappointment though, he never came. He recognized someone else though, someone with bright red hair and sharp cheekbones, someone with a portion of pop corn too big for him, someone that was definitely the guy he had seen Yoongi with.
“Good evening!”
“Good evening! One ticket for The Last Princess, please.” Taehyung, busy typing, didn’t noticed the way the other was looking at him, as if he had been put on display under a microscope for him only.
“He was right.”
“Uh? Excuse me?”
“Yoongi,” Hoseok simply said, as if that single word was enough to be a sentence, an explanation on its own. Considering the fireflies of confusion dancing in the boy’s eyes, it was not. “Yoongi was right, you really do look like you’re breathing the sun, whatever that’s supposed to mean.” The possibility that it was a dream whispered at Taehyung, his widening ventricles dismissing the possibility that Yoongi, Yoongi, could think anything like that of him. That Yoongi, Yoongi, would occupy his mind with thoughts of him, that Yoongi, Yoongi, would put his name on his lips and let it fall around other people, like Taehyung was something he deemed worth of conversation, of carefully selected nice words; this idea couldn’t really exist outside of a daydream for Taehyung.
“He talks about me?” he therefore asked, purposefully not saying his name, fearing that the sole way Yoongi’s name flows out of his lips could betray him. Because it would, when he would mention him to someone they would always ask why that name, Yoongi, felt like cotton candy and pomegranate. And Taehyung would blush, always and deep and embarrassed, saying he didn’t know what they meant. He always knew what they meant, because that name would always taste so special on his tongue, so Yoongi, like peppermint chocolate and bittersweet raspberry tea, like lazy mornings in bed and late night talks, like something careful and precious and sweet just the right amount.
“He does, but most of the time I can’t figure out what he means. He talks in a very weird way when it’s about you, he says stuff like his palms hold the secrets of the universe and sometimes the stars in his pupils are too bright and make me blind and he looks like gold and Sunday mornings and in all honesty I have no idea what that means. It’s nice though, listen to him talk about you, he sounds as happy as he is when working on a script he really likes.” He talks about you like you’re art it meant, and maybe Taehyung wanted to cry. If this was a dream it was a pretty one, one of those dreams that linger on your skin even after you wake up and follow you like a shadow for the rest of the day, tangled in between the locks of your hair. Taehyung suddenly wanted to say so many things, to spill all of his secretes, all of his meticulously hidden dreams. Wanted for Yoongi to hold his hands and wanted for Yoongi to take the stars from his eyes and wear them like a necklace. It took him a loud and fake cough from Hoseok to realize he was like frozen, a marble statue on the outside but all fluid warm gold on the inside, eyes opened wide and cheeks betraying all the warmth he was swimming in. And then his face broke, features all messed up and rearranged and pretty in a smile that was all happy and fond fond fond.
Hoseok sighed, finally kinda understanding what Yoongi meant when he said that Taehyung smiles like he had swallowed the sun.
-
Taehyung wasn’t good at this feelings and talking and being an adult thing. Sometimes he was bold, incredibly straightforward and too much, other times he was quiet and shy and out of place in his own skin. The next time he saw Yoongi though he told himself that he would swallow the bees in his throat and ask him out. Easier said than done.
“Hi, Tae.” That. A nickname and a gummy smile and Taehyung was already gone, heart all fluttering and serenading, using his ribs like a xylophone.
“Hey, Yoongs! I didn’t know what ticket to reserve you this time, nothing seemed to fit your taste,” he said, looking sincerely disappointed and guilty, as if he himself could chose which movies to screen. If he could though, it would be an infinite string of those horrors and thrillers Yoongi loved so much.
“It’s okay,” Yoongi said, letting the words fall and making them sound as if there was more, something stuck in the back of his throat waiting to be said. “I can just watch you instead.”
Yoongi decided he liked Taehyung. He already knew it, but it hit him all over again. He liked the way he was blushing right now, strawberries and cherries all accurately displayed on his soft cheeks, making him wonder if kissing them would taste of strawberries and cherries too. He liked the way his eyes were glistening right now, abyssless pools of stars, making him wonder if Yoongi too looked like pretty like a star when watched by those eyes. He liked the way he was playing with his hands right now, covering his face and then touching his hair and then the right corner of his lips like he would so often do, making him wonder how would it feel to hold those pretty hands in his.
Taehyung decided he liked Yoongi. He already knew it, but it hit him all over again. He liked the way he talked, either carefully putting each word down in front of him like they were made of glass or throwing them around for the other to catch, all funny and careless and playful, making him wonder how would his words taste on his tongue. He liked the way he was blushing, afraid of having said the wrong thing, and looking nothing but soft, making him wonder if hugging him would feel just as soft. He liked the way he was looking at him and everywhere but him at the same time, making him wonder how could he have lived until now without being watched by those eyes.
And then they both felt ridiculous, incredibly and absolutely ridiculous, their hearts doing funny tricks, insides twisting pleasingly and weirdly, and every vein in their body whispering love love love so loudly. Love you softly, love you carefully, love you delicately, love you love you love you.
Yoongi looked all kinds of vulnerable and scared and fragile when he spoke again, a kid ice skating for the first time and being afraid of falling, of hurting.
“This might be a really stupid idea and you’re free to say no but would you like to see the movie with me today? When your shift ends, of course! And only if you want to… Do you want to?”
Taehyung thought once again that he was dreaming, a cruelly pretty dream that would make his chest and fingertips all warm and sugary but would hurt after waking up, the cold reality settling in. But Yoongi was there, standing in front of him with his lips in a preoccupied pout, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, weighting the damage that it would do to get rejected. Cheeks of a deep cheery blush, his button nose scrunched in a funny way and with the tip all red red red in embarrassment. And Taehyung really wanted to lean in, to kiss the red away, to taste the cherries of his cheeks, to savor the cotton candy of his pout. Taehyung decided he didn’t want this to be a dream. He smiled wide and warm, all his feelings spilling everywhere right from his lips.
“I’d love to, Yoongi.” And Yoongi smiled just as wide and just as warm, all gummy and relieved and happy happy happy, traces of relief along the edges.
-
Taehyung’s shift was supposed to end at exactly 11.30pm. Yoongi’s current inner breakdown was supposed to end at exactly 11.30pm. He’d been allowed behind the counter so he could keep the boy company like they both wanted. Their lively chatting had been interrupted only by the few customers and Yoongi’s nervousness. He couldn’t help it, being so close to his sunshine boy made him tremble in fear. Fear of ruining everything, fear of the other realizing that he had nothing as glorious to offer.
Yoongi’s inner breakdown was supposed to end at exactly 11.30pm. Taehyung’s inner breakdown was supposed to start at exactly 11.30pm. Because right now, right now it was perfect. The two of them talking about their little nothings, trying to fight the shyness to look at each other in the eyes before turning away too afraid to drown. It was perfect. But then his shift would have ended and the two of them were supposed to- to what exactly? Is this a date? Does he just want to be friends? Platonic hangout? Date? I want it to be a date, does he want it to be a date? Is this a date? I’ve never been on one before, what if I mess up? I don’t want to mess up, I like you too much to be able to live afterwards. The thoughts in Taehyung’s head were exploding like worn out stars. But for now, this little safe space in their fragile hourglass, everything was perfect.
-
11.20pm Min Yoongi thought he was going to have a heart attack.
11.23pm Min Yoongi swore he could feel the seconds choking him, a sign that he was definitely going to faint.
11.25pm Min Yoongi gathered all the gracious elegance that he had mastered over the years and thought fuck this shit I’m going to fucking die.
11.28pm Min Yoongi started writing his will in his head. He was ready to leave everything in his possess to Hoseok.
11.29pm Min Yoongi was positive this was his end.
11.30pm I think I love him.
It was a wriggling little thought, like a piece of paper set on fire that dances and curls on itself until the sparkles disappear in the dark. Almost silly how a world changing thought like that can bloom from such a small gesture. When the tickets of the clock silently indicated the end of the boy’s shift, the entirety of Taehyung seemed to implode, tiny little personal universe ending and creating itself anew behind the caramel of his eyes. Once he looked at Yoongi again, merely a couple of seconds later, all the loud sun was replaced by the timid hues of a sunrise, when the sky isn’t sure whether to be the sky or to sleep a bit more. He looked endearing. So endearing that Yoongi felt the ridiculous desire to lean in and find out if the peach of his shy cheeks actually tasted like peaches, or if it tastes of something sweeter, something purely Taehyung. And then the boy carefully moved his hand to brush it hesitantly against Yoongi’s, wanting but unsure if it was okay, and gasped. A barely there sound, so faint that it almost was a memory from a dream Yoongi had never had. So Yoongi’s heart decided to whisper, without permission, against all laws and pacts, I think I love him.
His hands are so soft and warm. It feels like touching love. It was this to make Taehyung’s lips part in a pretty gasp. The fact that Yoongi was made like this, like he was love, like his soul didn’t know anything else. He was about to retract his hand though, suddenly all kinds of afraid. It was in that moment that Yoongi decided to invent courage, the one he didn’t quite have anywhere in himself, to make it up like it was a never heard before concept, and take Taehyung’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers.
I think I love him, he thought again, again but like it was the first time, when Taehyung gasped a bit louder this time. The boy looked down at their intertwined fingers like he didn’t quite understand them, like he was watching a star being born in front of his eyes but he couldn’t grasp the physics about it, like all the scientific laws had stopped working all together and their hands were suddenly forced to make up for the loss. When he looked up, Yoongi was smiling at him.
“Is this a date?” Taehyung asked, his tiny voice a shy whisper.
“Yeah, our first one.”
“First?” Yoongi thought that the hopeful and saccharine hope entangled in Taehyung’s lips was too endearing to be left to die. He leaned in and kissed it away. If you asked him, Yoongi would still say that he only did it for scientific reasons, something like I wanted to know if his lips tasted of vanilla and caramel or I wanted to know of it by kissing him my lips would turn gold and even I wanted to know what it feels like to steal the sun. All very scientific reasons, according to him. I wanted to know what love tastes like. If you asked him what does love taste like, Yoongi would stop his fingers from tattooing words on the air around him, would try and then miserably fail to bite a smile down, would put it all in a single word, the entirety on love in a single word, would say Taehyung.
Once they parted, Taehyung was smiling in his sunny way of his, like he had just swallowed the spring and was trying to make Yoongi bloom with his lips.
“Again? Promise?” Not sure himself whether he was referring to the kiss or to the date. Or maybe something entirely different, something they were both too afraid to voice but where tasting on the tip of their tongue in the form of a four lettered word.
“Yeah, promise.”