Work Text:
Yoongi is so engrossed in the wires under his fingers he doesn’t hear the door to his workshop open. He feels it open though, a gust of frigid air lowering the temperature of the room by a frankly unacceptable amount.
“Namjoon-ah!” he complains loudly. Their neighbours always knock first if they’re calling on Yoongi in his workshop, even the kids. “That’s cold.”
“I’m aware, hyung.” Yoongi still has his eyes focused on the wires in his hand but he can hear Namjoon moving around behind him, a gentle thud with a faint overtone of rattle, the heavy swish of waterproof fabric sliding over more waterproof fabric. From the sounds of things he’s set down something he was carrying and has moved on to taking off his ridiculously large, puffy coat. “I was all toasty warm before and now I’m not. And do you know why?”
Yoongi is still trying to feed the wires, which are small, into one of the clamps, which is even smaller, sitting on the amplifier board in front of him. It’s the last connection he thinks needs replacing before the amplifier will be ready to make proper music again. He’s so focused on his task that he hears the words Namjoon is saying and not the tone of voice he’s using for it. “No,” he says. “Why?”
“Because,” and that’s a tone strong enough that it can seep through even Yoongi’s concentrated focus. He jerks his head up and around to look at Namjoon, still standing beside the door. The only lights on in Yoongi’s workshop are the pair of bright lamps he has directed at the bench he’s currently working on. They’re directional enough that Namjoon is mostly a figure in shadow, but even as a figure who is mostly in shadow Yoongi can see the way Namjoon is looking pointedly at his watch. “It’s almost seven thirty.”
“What?”
“Seven thirty, hyung.”
“But it can’t be.” He sets his tools down, fishing his phone out from his pocket. Sure enough the display reads seven thirty seven in bright, white numbers. “But it was only four thirty the last time I checked!”
Gracious in his victory, Namjoon doesn’t do anything except raise his eyebrow. He’s very good at raising his eyebrow. Yoongi squirms on the high stool he’s been sitting on for, apparently, three hours and tries not to feel too guilty about missing their usual supper time.
Three nights running — no, four nights now, if he includes this one — he’s missed supper. Twice it was because work on a job site he’d been inspecting had gone long. Once was because he’d lost track of time reviewing drafts of plans for different clients, and now it’s because of the amplifier. Namjoon hadn’t really said anything about it at lunch, just asked when Yoongi thought he might be hungry for supper.
Yoongi had promised he’d be in the house by six.
He hates disappointing Namjoon.
“Okay,” he says, brushing his hands on his jeans as he goes to stand. “I’m so sorry Joon-ah, I’ll come in, this can wait until the morning.”
“What are you working on that’s more important than me?” It’s hard to tell without seeing Namjoon’s face, but from his tone of voice and the question itself Yoongi is fairly sure he’s being teased.
He sits back down. “That’s an unfair question and you know it.”
Even cast mostly in shadow as he is, Yoongi can see the way that Namjoon’s shoulders shift. It isn’t quite a sigh. His tone is more gentle when he asks again, “What’re you working on that’s so important?”
“Ilseo’s birthday is next week,” Yoongi says, which isn’t quite an answer, but Namjoon has a big enough soft-spot for their neighbours’ daughter that it’ll buy him a bit of good-will for his explanation. “I’m fixing up an amplifier for her.”
“An amplifier?”
Yoongi nods, fiddling with the phone in his hand. There’s still a strange tension to the air that he doesn’t like, but they aren’t sitting in stony silence, and they aren’t arguing, so things could be worse.
“Talked to her parents. Apparently she’s been on and on about a record player, ever since she saw ours. They were going to get her one of those record players with the speakers built in, but…” He makes a face. “So I said they should take that money and get her a better one, and I’d supply the rest.”
Namjoon does sigh this time, long and soft and only the faintest bit put-upon. “Of course you would. Only the best sound systems for your kids, eh?”
His kids. Yoongi groans and puts his head in his hands.
When they’d moved out to what Jungkook whined was the middle of nowhere and what Jimin called their lovers’ retreat, Yoongi had been tentatively excited about the space afforded by their very nice house, and nervous about how well they would integrate into a small, established community. In Seoul their social group had consisted primarily of their friends from school, and their friends from work, but not so much their neighbours, and definitely not the neighbours’ kids.
Early in the summer, he’d been driving home when he’d spotted a boy struggling to push his bike up the long gravel road that lead to their house. He hadn’t even thought before pulling over to help — which was how he met Ilseo’s older brother. By the end of the week he’d somehow earned enough of a reputation that two more kids had dropped by for bike help. By the end of the summer his reputation had grown from knowing how to fix bike problems to knowing how to fix everything and he found, to his bewilderment, he’d somehow been adopted by a small herd of children.
The adoption was formalized that winter, when giving Ilseo and her friends some tips on their snow forts had accidentally turned into a snow fort building workshop. This past winter, at the kids’ insistence, Yoongi had been the judge for a snow fort building contest.
Namjoon always referred to them as your kids when he was feeling affectionate, even though these days he was approached just as much as Yoongi: for help with English homework, or math homework, or identifying frogs, or as a confidant, if one was needed, and the kid didn’t want to talk to their family. Yoongi had taught Ilseo how to get the chain back on her bike. Namjoon was the one she’d dragged to the pond on their property weekly to investigate the growth of tadpoles.
“Only the best,” he agrees, face still in his hands. “I didn’t expect it to take this long, that’s all.”
“You never do.”
He’s definitely being teased now, he can hear the edge of it in Namjoon’s tone, but that doesn’t stop the faint pang of guilt at Namjoon’s words. “I really am sorry Joon-ah.”
“I know hyung, I know.” Namjoon’s smile is wide enough to see even in the dim light. Yoongi’s heart thumps painfully against his chest. “And it’s not like I couldn’t’ve come out to get you, if I’d really wanted to. Now, want to show me what you’re working on?”
Yoongi doesn’t think they’re quite done with the topic yet, but he doesn’t want to press the issue. Namjoon will bring it up later, if he wants to talk about it. “Yes,” he says instead of another apology, then gestures to where the amplifier and case sit on the workbench. “D’you recognize it?”
He’ll be surprised if Namjoon can — not only has Yoongi taken the case and most of the knobs off, taking away many of its distinguishing features, he’s got its side facing to the room to work on it more easily. Namjoon might be fluent in three languages and able to spot a spelling error from across the room, but identify an amplifier from its guts? Unlikely.
“Was it left abandoned on your doorstep?” Namjoon asks as he balances on one leg to toe off the other boot. “Did you find it in a cardboard box, with its name written on a piece of paper and the words ‘please take good care of it’?”
The amplifier was rescued, along with it’s speakers, from a consignment store clearance section sometime in October, while Namjoon had laughed and said another one hyung? really?. Yoongi had ignored him, because no amplifier should be relegated to a trash heap or recycling centre, and put it into the part of his workshop that Namjoon refers to (“Lovingly refers to,” Namjoon never fails to correct him, “I refer to it this way with love, hyung, stemming from my love for you.”) as Yoongi’s junkshop.
Namjoon’s guess is funnier.
“You’re a riot, you know that?” Yoongi says, keeping his face straight through sheer force of will as he turns back to his tools. This time the final wire goes in cleanly and smoothly, the connection secure when he gives it a faint tug. The universe will never cease to amaze him. “Want to try again?”
There’s a stumbling noise behind him, and he turns in time to see Namjoon catch himself on the wall before toeing off his other boot and starting the awkward dance of a person trying to avoid stepping on a pile of snow before finding their slippers. “Not especially.”
“You know you can turn on the overhead light, right?” Yoongi can feel the smile playing around his lips. Namjoon can be so stubborn about things sometimes, once he’s set his mind to it. “The switch is right there.”
“And admit defeat? Never! Ah!” Namjoon’s tone changes from vaguely petulant to triumphant. Yoongi is willing to bet that somewhere in the darkness Namjoon’s questing feet have found his slippers. The pair he keeps in Yoongi’s workshop look like they should belong to a grandfather, and Namjoon loves them unironically. “Besides, the mood lighting is nice. You, uh, you look good. Like that.”
Yoongi looks down. He’s wearing a thick flannel plaid shirt over a long-sleeved thermal layer (it’s the winter, so sue him), a pair of jeans that have definitely seen better days over more thermals (it’s the winter, so sue him). He’s also wearing the leather toolbelt Namjoon had given him for his birthday, and his workshop-slippers. His hair kept falling in his face earlier, so he’d found a bandana to roll flat and use as a headband. Sure, he’s got his sleeves rolled up, but beyond that he looks… “I just look like me.”
“Yeah,” Namjoon says thickly. “I know.”
They stare at each other for a long moment. Namjoon looks unlikely to break the stalemate. “Okay,” Yoongi says at last. “Um. Are you going to stand there all night? Or come take a look at this?”
Namjoon startles. “What? Oh. Right. Let me just…” He looks around frantically, patting his pockets in the way that means he’s trying to find something. Yoongi watches, his heart pulsing with a love that’s warm and smooth and sweet, familiar as the shell of Namjoon’s ear or the way he dimples when he smiles. He doesn’t bother trying to hide his smile.
It takes Namjoon another five seconds to apparently remember that the thing he’s looking for is on the table beside the door, a covered tray to judge from the size, shape, and the way he carries it across the workshop. As he gets closer to Yoongi and the light gets better Yoongi has time to confirm that yes, it is a tray, before he tilts his head up and just a hair to the left. Namjoon huffs a laugh but obligingly pauses as he passes Yoongi, tray still in hand, to catch him in a kiss. His lips are still chilled from the wind outside but his tongue and breath are hot.
“What’s that,” Yoongi asks, nodding at the tray, when they separate.
“Supper.” There’s definite pride in his voice that has Yoongi grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He can tell it isn’t going to be takeout.
“Kim Namjoon, did you cook for your hyung?”
“I did,” Namjoon says, chest puffing with pride as he removes the cover with a flourish worthy of any amateur dramatics program. The gesture reveals a collection of bowls, some with steam wafting off them. Yoongi’s mouth starts to water. “Just sundubu-jjigae, and some kimchi from the Jangs, and rice, but still. I figured you got sucked into some project out here when you didn’t come in.” His last words are hesitant, a bit too close to whatever it is he doesn’t want to say.
Yoongi feels his heart swell again. “I love you.”
“Aaah, hyung!” Namjoon sets the cover down and stares, hard, at the tray. In the dim light from the workbench Yoongi can watch as Namjoon’s cheeks and ears flush pink. “It’s just food. You cook for me all the time.”
“Still,” Yoongi says, reaching out to catch at Namjoon’s hands. They’re cold too, colder even than his lips, probably because Namjoon didn’t bother with mitts on his way from the house. Yoongi kisses them anyways. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now, are you going to eat before all my hard work gets cold?”
Yoongi’s stomach gurgles but he doesn’t move to get food, or even bother with a verbal answer. Instead he shifts his grip to Namjoon’s wrists so he can put Namjoon’s hands (cold, cold, cold) on the back of his neck. He hears Namjoon’s breath hitch, a heartbeat before he starts to run his thumbs (also cold) in twin circles over the join in Yoongi’s jaw. He can feel the goosebumps rolling across his skin, only a third from the cold. The other two thirds have to do with the way Namjoon is looking at him, as if he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
The moment stretches. Yoongi’s tempted to see how long it will last, Namjoon’s hands growing warmer on his neck, his fingers starting to knead the muscles there that have tensed over Yoongi’s work. Yoongi wants to wait until Namjoon’s hands are back up to normal-human but his stomach growls again, much louder this time. The moment breaks as they both giggle.
“Kiss me first? Then I’ll eat.”
“You drive a hard bargain, hyung.”
Yoongi waits patiently. Namjoon leans forward and obliges him.
When they’re finally settled, Namjoon sitting on the tall stool from Yoongi’s drafting table, dragged over for the purpose, each with a bowl and pair of chopsticks in hand, Yoongi starts explaining.
“Did the speakers first,” he says, pointing to where they’re sitting over by his record player, trailing thin sets of speaker wire. He’d spent the early afternoon on them, taking them apart with gentle fingers, laying the components on the table, inspecting them for flaws or defects and then giving them a thorough cleaning. The speaker casings had been okay, requiring little more than a quick wipe-down, but the interiors had been so full of dust he’d had to wonder if any of their previous owners had bothered to clean them.
He explains the steps between bites of food, in probably more detail than Namjoon strictly needs to know, but Namjoon isn’t voicing any objections and definitely doesn’t look bored. Eventually he runs out of an immediate supply of words to say about speakers, and in the pause where he’s racking his brain to think if he left anything out Namjoon, through a mouthful of rice and kimchi, asks, “So they work now?”
Of course he asks just after Yoongi’s taken a large bite of his own. “They worked before,” he answers, covering his mouth with his hand so he doesn’t have to worry about accidentally spewing stew everywhere if he gets enthusiastic about speaker repair again. “Just a bit dusty, and the wire was old enough there was some buzzing. Guess I forgot to say I fixed that too, but that’s hardly fixing.”
“Hm,” Namjoon hums, a skeptical sounding hum that Yoongi is sure is designed specifically to egg him on.
“It’s true!” Yoongi protests, unable to stop himself. “I almost saved it for Ilseo to help me with, it’s easy enough she could do it with guidance, but I figure for this one it’s okay if she takes a shortcut. It’ll be more fun for her if she can set it up right away.”
And, provided this last repair of his on the amplifier is successful, she will be able to set it up right away. Yoongi had been worried about that. He’d been so busy in the last week he’d hardly had time to finish all the work he was paid to do, let alone the work he wanted to do just for fun. Really he should have started this before the new year, but when had he ever been able to get himself to focus on a project with that much lead time?
“And the amplifier?” Namjoon asks, canting his head in its direction. “What surgery did you have to finish on it?” He looks more indulgent than interested. Much as he loves the sound systems produce, he’s never really shown an interest in how they work before.
“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks, hesitating with a piece of kimchi half-way to his mouth. It slips off his chopsticks and thankfully into the bowl he’s holding instead of onto the floor. “I mean, you know how I get about audio stuff, and it’s sort of late anyways, and-”
“Hyung,” Namjoon cuts him off, reaching out with one of his slippered feet to run the toes along the back of Yoongi’s calf. “I’m sure. I like watching you talk about this.”
The goosebumps are back, even though no one has let any cold winter breezes into the room in at least ten minutes and the food Namjoon cooked is warming him from the inside out. He shivers pleasantly even while he tries to stay focused on the simple things, like not dropping his bowl, continuing the conversation, and thinking up some way to retaliate.
“And besides,” Namjoon adds, with a faint laugh. “It’s a lot more interesting hearing you talk about it now that I don’t have to worry about getting everything tidied away before I can use our kitchen or living room for anything.”
“Upgrading from a junkcloset to a junkshop has really helped with that,” Yoongi laughs, shifting his feet so he can trap Namjoon’s leg where it is, extended in the air between them. “Can you imagine me trying to fix up an amplifier at the apartment?”
Namjoon doesn’t even try to pull his foot back, just reaches out to hook his other one behind Yoongi’s now crossed legs. Yoongi’s glad he went with the stools that have wheels on them — it’s easy to tug, just a bit, and slide forward until their knees are slotted together. Namjoon grins at him. He grins back.
“I can,” Namjoon says. “It would have ended in tears, I’m sure.” Yoongi has to think back to remember what they are supposed to be talking about. Up close Namjoon’s dimples, and the fan of his eyelashes on his cheek as looks down into his bowl, are very distracting. He’s expecting more, but all Namjoon says is “Open,” so he can feed Yoongi a large slice of mushroom. It’s a kind gesture. Yoongi retaliates by wrapping his fingers delicately around Namjoon’s wrist, brushing his thumb over Namjoon’s pulse point as he accepts the food. It’s fun to watch Namjoon swallow with him, then try, and fail, to shake himself out of his dazed state.
“Amplifier?” Namjoon says at last, and Yoongi takes pity on him.
“I started by cleaning the contact points,” he explains at last, brushing his mouth with the back of his hand. He can be kind, and give Namjoon a bit of time to catch his breath. Flipping his chopsticks around, he points with the food-free ends at them. “They can get corroded and-”
“Hyung no!” Yoongi stops, surprised by the interruption. Namjoon had just said- “Chopsticks are for eating, not sticking in dusty old amplifiers.”
“I’m using the ends I don’t eat with!” he protests. “And besides, it’s not like there’s anything else I could point with.”
It’s a bald faced lie. Yoongi can see at least twelve other suitable pointing tools from where he sits, from the a few pieces of stiff wire to his finger, not to mention the plethora of screwdrivers on the wall just off to his right. Part of the fun of bald faced lies is seeing how Namjoon will react to them.
In this case the reaction is to simply remove the chopsticks from Yoongi’s stunned fingers. It’s almost anticlimactic, considering how some of their teasing arguments can spiral out of control. He pouts, unrepentant. “But I was eating with those!”
“You can have them back when you’re done pointing,” Namjoon says sternly. “Until then, you can use something else.”
Yoongi tilts his head to the side, considering. He could try to steal his chopsticks back, but knowing Namjoon any real attempts in that direction run the risk of spilling food all through the recently cleaned amplifier. Something tells him spilling stew all over the electronics might not be good for them.
He gets a better idea.
His leather tool belt has more pockets for pens and screwdrivers than seem necessary, but his clients seem impressed when he wears it to build sites, and he does find it handy to carry around extra notebooks and tape measures. He fishes through the pockets until he finds a pair of normal 2B pencils and pulls them out. “As I was saying,” he says, as if nothing had happened, “Started by cleaning out the contact points,” and he taps them with the backs of the pencil, “because more often than not-”
Namjoon sees what he’s doing almost at once. His expression oscillates between annoyance and laughter. Laughter wins out, but only barely. “Hyung!”
“What?” Yoongi asks, the picture of innocence, pencils poised like chopsticks above his bowl. “I was pointing with these.”
“I hate you so much.” Namjoon holds out Yoongi’s original pair of chopsticks. “Please don’t eat with writing utensils, that’s so gross.”
Yoongi grins as he stows the pencils back in his belt pockets. “To the victor go the spoils.” He accepts the chopsticks with an incline of his head, flips them around so the unused ends are facing out, and keeps explaining.
In quick succession he walks Namjoon through the different components in the amplifier, how they work in concert to modify the input signal and to produce the output signal, and what steps he’d had to take to get everything working in harmony again. He gets so involved in his explanation he doesn’t notice the way Namjoon is crowded close against his shoulder until Namjoon brushes a feather soft kiss against the tip of his ear. It’s so unexpected he does a full-body shudder. He’s forgotten completely about the bowl of food in his left hand and almost loses his grip on it entirely.
“Namjoon-ah!” he protests, any vehemence he’d managed to inject in it undercut almost immediately by the way he lets out a breathy laugh at the follow-up kiss. “Joon-ah, what’re you doing?”
“Getting a better look,” Namjoon murmurs in Yoongi’s hair.
“Well stop that. If you make me spill food on this I-” He breaks off as Namjoon takes the half-full bowl out of his hand and sets it down on the workbench, far away from the amplifier. Namjoon’s bowl joins it shortly. “Well,” Yoongi swallows. “That’s one use for your wingspan, I guess.”
“Hmm. I can think of another one though.”
“If this is going to turn into a hug I-”
Namjoon pauses, his arms hovering on either side of Yoongi but not yet touching. “Yeah?” There’s a glint in his eye when Yoongi turns his head to look. “You’ll what, hyung?”
He could do a lot of things, but there’s only one thing he really wants to do.
“Turn around so it’s a better one,” Yoongi concedes, spinning his chair around so his shoulders and head are in alignment again. Namjoon laughs, leans forward, and hugs him.
There’s an awkward space between their chests given how they’re sitting, but they’re both committed to the bit and determined to make it work. Yoongi wraps his arms around Namjoon as best he can, even stretching out his chin just a bit so he can rest it on Namjoon’s shoulder. He’s wearing a deep green cashmere sweater today and it is soft under Yoongi’s chin and hands. He nuzzles into it. Namjoon presses a kiss into the top of his hair.
“You know, I was expecting more of a fight about the hugging thing,” Namjoon says just as Yoongi’s back is starting to ache from the position they’re holding. “Usually you’re very, um, goal oriented, shall we say, when you’re in the middle of a project. Would’ve thought you’d be all ‘no time for hugs, need both hands, can’t disappoint Ilseo’, that sort of thing.”
“I told you it was almost done,” Yoongi says, sitting up and then looking back at the guts of the amplifier so he can avoid meeting Namjoon’s teasing gaze. “And I mean. Hugs are nice.”
“They are,” Namjoon agrees. “You were talking about replacing the capacitors? That’s these little guys, right?”
He points into the guts of the amplifier.
He’s using the clean ends of his chopsticks.
“Sometimes you’re real annoying, do you know that?” Yoongi asks rhetorically, swatting the chopsticks away.
“Yeah, I do,” Namjoon giggles, because he might be a middle-aged, award-winning, best-selling author, but he’s also still a brat when he feels like it. “Now c’mon, do you want to explain capacitors to me or not.”
Yoongi pokes him firmly in the side, taking pleasure in the way it makes him squirm and giggle louder, then continues with his explanation.
He loses track of time the way he often does when he’s explaining audio equipment. He doesn’t lose track of the warmth of Namjoon’s body beside his, shoulders brushing as they talk, or of what he wants to say next, no matter how many times Namjoon blows in his ear. He’s dimly aware that the world still exists outside his workshop — he can hear the faint howl of the wind — but it seems distant, of no concern to him.
“And then I figured this wire needed replacing, and I was just about to do that when you came in with the food,” he says at last. “I really think that was the last thing I needed to fix to get it working properly, just have to plug it in to see.” He nods with his chin toward the set of shelves where his record player and the newly repaired speakers sit, dark shapes in the shadows near his drafting table. “Want to stick around for the big event?”
“Finish eating first,” Namjoon laughs, handing him back his bowl of food. Yoongi had been so caught up in his explanation he’d completely forgotten about it. “Even for you, you haven’t eaten enough yet. The records can wait.”
The food’s gone cold, and now that he isn’t distracted explaining his work to Namjoon he notices the flavours are definitely a bit off from what Yoongi would normally make. It’s still good though, just different, and he falls into it with an enthusiasm that surprises him. It’s been a long time since lunch.
While he eats Namjoon takes a turn talking, telling Yoongi about the short-film Jungkook worked on that’s been nominated for an award at some film festival or other, how he’d spotted a rabbit hopping through their backyard in the afternoon’s brief sunny period, how his parents were wondering when they’d be bringing Spot around to visit next.
“Didn’t we just see them?” Yoongi asks, passing his nearly-empty bowl and chopsticks to Namjoon.
Namjoon uses the chopsticks to pick up the last few bites, chewing and swallowing before he answers. “They start missing Spot as soon as we leave. I swear, I get more questions about how our dog is doing than how we’re doing.”
“Yeah, it’s the same with my parents,” Yoongi laughs. “‘Are you making sure to keep our boy warm?’, as if he doesn’t have more coats than either of us.”
“We could fix that, you know,” Namjoon says eagerly. “Taehyung was telling me about a sale that’s-”
“No!” Yoongi giggles. “No, Joon, that was not a challenge please do not try to own more coats than our dog.”
The problem with Namjoon’s pleading expression is that he uses it so infrequently Yoongi doesn’t even have preliminary defenses set up against it. His eyes go big, and round, his lips hanging open just a little, his eyebrows drawing just a hair up and in.
After a fashion Yoongi caves, resting his hand on the back of Namjoon’s neck and using it to bring their faces close enough together he can capture Namjoon’s mouth in a kiss. It isn’t a winter coat sale for Namjoon to shop at, but he thinks it might get the pleading expression off Namjoon’s face long enough he can form a coherent argument about why Namjoon doesn’t need twelve winter jackets.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Namjoon says, as Yoongi chases his mouth to deepen the kiss. “You’re trying to make me forget something.”
“Am I?” asks Yoongi as he switches to target the soft skin of Namjoon’s neck. His nose catches a bit on the stubble of Namjoon’s jaw, but he ignores it in favour of eliciting another of the helpless whimpers Namjoon is making today. “Hadn’t noticed.”
“I had. It was sort of hard to notice.”
Some time later, when Yoongi’s shirt is untucked, Namjoon’s hand warm on the skin of his waist, and his improvised headband has been tossed… somewhere, because Namjoon had wanted to run his fingers through Yoongi’s hair unencumbered, Namjoon pulls back.
“You know, I still haven’t heard the fruits of today’s labour.”
It takes Yoongi a while to collect himself enough to figure out what Namjoon is talking about. It doesn’t help that Namjoon’s thumb keeps dipping dangerously close to the waistband of Yoongi’s jeans.
“Is this a thinly veiled attempt to get me to put on a record?” Yoongi asks, eyebrows furrowed.
“Can’t be that thinly veiled, if you had to ask for clarification.” Namjoon kisses him again, slow and sweet. “Maybe this time it’s a thickly veiled reference.”
Yoongi groans and tips over until he can rest his forehead on Namjoon’s shoulder, which is shaking with suppressed laughter. Namjoon’s arm comes up to wrap around his shoulders and hold him in place.
“Just for that I’m going to make you carry the amp over.”
“Worth it,” laughs Namjoon. “It’s not like your workshop is big, or cold. Are you going to get off my shoulder so I can get up?”
Getting up is the last thing Yoongi wants to do. He’s comfortable, and Namjoon’s shoulder is comfortable, and he’s enjoying just being in close physical proximity. He can’t set up the amplifier without losing that, even if he knows he’ll be able to get it back before long.
“If I must,” he sighs. “D’you want to pick out a record then, while I’m setting it up? I’ve been using jazz piano for the testing, but-” He has to break off to laugh at Namjoon’s expression. “I know, I know, that’s why I asked if you wanted to pick a different record.”
“I definitely do. Up up up, who knows how long it will take me to find something that isn’t jazz piano in here?”
It takes a few minutes to make sure Namjoon has a solid grip on the amplifier and isn’t trailing any cords for the short walk across the workshop.Yoongi follows behind him, power cord in hand, and makes sure he puts the amplifier down close enough to the record and speakers that Yoongi won’t have any trouble plugging anything in. It’s a lot darker outside now than it was the last time he’d had everything plugged in for testing, and familiar as he is with all manner of audio equipment, even he can’t plug everything in properly without being able to see.
Rather than take the five steps needed to reach the lightswitch for the overhead lights, Yoongi flicks on the lamp attached to his drafting table, ready to swing it over to provide a light source, only to hear Namjoon gasp.
His heart stops.
“What’s this hyung?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’d forgotten the rocking chair.
One of the features of their house Namjoon had been most excited for when they moved to their house in the country was the covered patio out back. Tucked in a little corner formed by the kitchen and dining room, it’s paved with broad, flat riverstone in varying shades of blue-grey to light grey and offers a lovely view down their lawn. From a chair on the patio they can see the footpath clearly all the way to the edge of the forested area that backed onto the property, as well as the bridge spanning the width of the lazy river.
Their first summer had been so busy with renovations, and trying to integrate into the community, and Namjoon’s latest book, they’d hardly found time to sit there alone, let alone sit there together. On the few occasions they’d found the time, they’d dragged out chairs from their dining room, then dragged them back in again when they were done. It wasn’t exactly ideal.
Their second summer a neighbour had dropped off a pair of plastic lounge chairs which were infinitely better and suited Yoongi’s sensibilities fine: minimal maintenance, comfortable enough to have a nap in if desired, nice wide arms he could use to balance his drink or his book. But he could see that Namjoon had something else in mind, and that they were about to go on a mission.
They’d spent a decent amount of their free time that summer scouring furniture stores, looking for a rocking chair that could meet Namjoon’s specifications. Sometimes the back was at an odd angle, or the arms were too far apart, or the seat wasn’t long enough. By the time fall rolled around, Namjoon’s enthusiasm for the task had waned and Yoongi, after a conversation with their woodworking neighbour, Wongyu, had an idea.
If it worked out, he’d have the best anniversary present ever.
He’d been paying attention during their shopping excursions, and he had the measurements for Namjoon’s lanky body from the last suit he’d ordered. He took both to Wongyu, along with a few sketches he’d done up himself, and between the two of them they came up with what Yoongi was sure would be Namjoon’s perfect chair. Wongyu had finished it last weekend, dropping it off when Namjoon was in Seoul meeting with his publisher. Yoongi had tucked it away in his workshop in the certain knowledge that Namjoon respected his space here the same way Yoongi respected Namjoon’s office.
Tucked away in the shadows of his junkshop and hidden under the drape of its protective canvas it isn’t immediately apparent he’s got a rocking chair stashed away, but it definitely doesn’t look like the usual boxy things he acquires. Yoongi has to work hard not to look at the chair, to keep his eyes focused on the work he’s supposed to be doing, hooking the amplifier up. He doesn’t make a habit of lying to Namjoon, but in this case, if he has to, he’s going to at least try to make an exception.
“What’s what?” he asks, in as nonchalant a tone as he can manage.
“This,” Namjoon says, and Yoongi, heart in throat turns to look.
Namjoon isn’t staring into the shadows behind the drafting table, and the great hulking ghost of cream canvas. Namjoon is staring at the pages on the drafting table.
Normally he keeps his drafting table clear unless he’s working, but these aren’t plans for a building. They’re plans for a book, a children’s book, with a dog character who looks rather a lot like Spot might, if he was a cartoon.
“Ah,” says Yoongi, unsure really what to say next. “You, uh, you remember how Sungho made a joke, last time we were visiting, about how I should turn some of those stories I was telling his kids into actual books?”
“Yeah.” Namjoon looks between him and the pages, confused. Yoongi can see him using his big brain to put the pieces together, relieved that he doesn’t actually have to come out and explain what he’s doing. They can start from a point where they both already know what’s going on, and that will make things easier. “Oh. Um. Do you want me to stop looking?”
It’s been a while since Yoongi has tried to seriously draw anything that isn’t a building, for all he’s filled the margins of every notebook with doodles. These ones he’s already shown to Taehyung, when he was looking for feedback on whether or not he had a cohesive, consistent style. Showing them to Namjoon should be easier, if anything, Namjoon writes stories for a living after all, and yet...
“No, I don’t mind.”
Namjoon frowns. “You do.”
Yoongi should’ve known better than to try that. “Ha. Yeah. A little. But…” He fiddles with the speaker wire instead of looking at Namjoon. “It’s just the jitters that come with doing something new for the first time, and showing people. You know.”
“Yeah, yeah I do.”
It’s only sketches still, with a few notes down the side to fill in the plot details, but it’s the first part of something he thinks he’ll be able to do, and that’s both exciting and terrifying. He was going to show Namjoon eventually. There’s no reason for it to not be now.
“I was going to tell you soon, see what you thought, but I didn’t want to bother you with something new while you’re busy with the translation.”
“You’re never a bother.” Namjoon says it in such an offhand way that Yoongi can tell it’s an automatic response, one he’s given without putting a huge amount of thought into it. It’s both gratifying, because this is Namjoon’s first instinct, to reassure, and a bit frustrating, because it means that Namjoon hasn’t actually thought the words through.
“Can you say that again please?” asks Yoongi, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a smirk, “Only give me a minute first to turn on some recording gear? I’m sure something in here would be suitable.”
Namjoon is definitely thinking about his words now, pausing as he flips through of the sketches to catch Yoongi’s eye. “You’re rarely a bother unintentionally, and if you are you can trust that I’ll be sure to let you know about it.”
God Yoongi loves him.
To express his love he makes a face, wrinkling his nose and scrunching his eyes shut as if in great disappointment. “Ah, Joon-ah, can’t pull one past you can I?”
He can practically feel Namjoon’s amusement. “Not on your life.”
In the light from the desk lamp it’s easy enough to see where he needs to plug the record player in, where he has to attach the speakers. He’s gone through the motions so often tonight that he hardly has to think as he works. He waits until he gets everything set up before he speaks again. Namjoon is still looking at the sketches. “Let’s talk about those in the morning, okay?” His voice is just loud enough to be heard over the wind outside. “Not tonight. Tonight is for music.”
Namjoon sets the pages back on the drafting table with obvious reluctance. His fingers are gentle, like they’re something precious already, even if they’re just sketches. Yoongi feels his chest tighten, but his voice is steady as he says, “You really like them, eh?”
“Yeah,” says Namjoon, with a soft, quiet smile. “But we aren’t talking about them tonight, right?”
Yoongi nods. “Right. What do you feel like listening to? If you don’t find something soon it’ll be more jazz piano.” He’s got the record off, and back in its sleeve already, but it wouldn’t take him long to take it out again.
“Not… that. I will find us something that’s not that.”
Namjoon doesn’t bother with the main light either, flipping on the flashlight on his phone and using it to scan the ranks of Yoongi’s records. Unlike the collection in their house, he doesn’t keep the one in his workshop organized in any way, and he can feel Namjoon’s frustration levels mounting as he tries, and fails, to find what he’s looking for.
“Would it help if I turn on the main light?” Yoongi asks after a solid three minutes of watching Namjoon squinting at the slip cases. He doesn’t really want to — ever since Namjoon had mentioned mood lighting he’s been unable to stop seeing how it makes Namjoon’s profile look extra dramatic, and lent the evening something of a ethereal quality. Turning the main light on would wake them up. Yoongi isn’t sure he’s ready for that yet.
Thankfully it looks like Namjoon isn’t either, as he shakes his head vehemently. “Found it anyway. No peeking now, hyung, this is a surprise, and if I don’t know how to put a record on a record player-”
“Yeah, yeah, go on then.” Grinning, Yoongi backs away to let Namjoon work.
Namjoon puts the record on, using the pause before the needle catches in the groove to move into the empty centre of Namjoon’s workshop. Yoongi watches with interest as Namjoon strikes a pose, then smothers a laugh as the strains of a slow, smooth love ballad fills the air. The singer has a deep, rich voice, supported by a full orchestra, the measure definitely a waltz.
The balance is off though. Yoongi looks down at the amplifier, finding the treble, bass, and midrange dials more on instinct than anything else. The volume is okay at least, so that’s one less thing to fiddle with, but it still takes him a while to get things sounding the way he likes.
“There,” he says, standing up and stepping back to get a bit of sonic distance from his handiwork. “What d’you think-”
And that’s as far as he gets before he catches sight of Namjoon, arms up around an invisible dance partner in a way that does some very nice things for his shoulders, turning in a slow circle. His feet in their grandpa slippers are doing what Yoongi suspects is supposed to be a waltz step. He has his eyes closed, and he’s smiling, and Yoongi knows he’s seen things more beautiful in his life, he has to have, but just now he can’t think what they are.
It steals his breath away, as well as most of his mental faculties. He doesn’t even hear what Namjoon asks him the first time.
“Whazzat?”
“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon says, patiently extending a hand, “May I have this dance?”
Yoongi stares at the hand, then at Namjoon’s peaceful expression. He swallows. “I don’t dance well Namjoon-ah, you know that.”
“So?” Namjoon looks around the dimly lit workshop, the three points of light throwing deep shadows against the walls. Yoongi hopes he doesn’t look too closely at the corner where he’s hidden the rocking chair. “Do you see anyone watching?”
Namjoon is watching, with his wide, warm eyes, and Namjoon definitely counts as someone. The thing is, he’s also Namjoon, and Yoongi wants to dance with him.
“No,” Yoongi says with a sigh. “No, I guess I don’t.”
Namjoon’s hand is warm and dry in his as he draws him into the clear section of workshop floor between the work benches and tables and shelves. Yoongi follows, unsure exactly of what he’s supposed to be doing, even more so when Namjoon raises their joined hands above his head and pushes gently on his other shoulder.
“Wha-?”
Namjoon sighs. “I’m trying to twirl you, hyung. Please just go with it.”
Yoongi does, slipping under Namjoon’s arm and following as Namjoon arranges his arms in what feels like approximately the right position for waltzing. That lasts for all of three turns before Yoongi’s complaining, “My arms are tired,” and looping them around Namjoon’s neck instead. Namjoon smiles down at him in a way that feels indulgent again, his arms dropping to rest on Yoongi’s lower back. Yoongi decides the best course of action is to take advantage of his new position, run his fingers through Namjoon’s hair, and go up on his toes to kiss him.
They don’t kiss for long. Namjoon isn’t responding with his usual enthusiasm, which means that whatever was on his mind earlier in the evening is probably about ready to be talked about. Yoongi pulls away when he notices, tucking his face in against Namjoon’s chest instead, rewarded by Namjoon tightening his arms around his waist.
Yoongi squeezes back.
“Love you, hyung,” Namjoon says at last, and it’s on the tip of Yoongi’s tongue to respond but he bites it back. Namjoon isn’t done. “I really do. I also feel like I haven’t seen you all week, and I was looking forward to supper tonight, and maybe curling up in front of that fireplace with you, and not that I don’t also love listening to you talk about this kind of thing, or bringing you supper, but its…”
Under Yoongi’s fingertips Namjoon’s shoulders shake, just a little. Yoongi squeezes tighter.
“I’ve had a rough couple days, and I knew you were busy too, so I understand how it happened. I just don’t like it.”
The song changes, another variation on a waltz. Trust Namjoon to pick out what is probably the sappiest record in his collection.
Yoongi feels something sour thread its way through the buoyant joy of being held in Namjoon’s arms, but also relief. If they’re talking about it, it won’t fester, like some of their earlier hurts had. “I can’t promise I’ll never do it again,” Yoongi admits, because he knows himself, and knows how he gets when he gets wrapped up in a project, “but, well, how busy are you tomorrow?”
Namjoon’s shoulder shift in surprise. “How busy am I?”
“Yeah.” Standing this close together gives Yoongi a good excuse to talk to Namjoon’s shoulder instead of trying to make eye contact. “I got all my big time sensitive things done. Everything else can wait, except dropping this stuff off with Ilseo’s parents. We could do that in the morning, and spend the rest of the day doing whatever we want, if you want? Maybe take Spot on one of those long winter hikes you like? And it’s not like an apology thing, or anything,” he hastens to add. “You don’t have to worry that this is me doing penance or something. I missed you too.”
“A long winter hike isn’t a penance of some kind?”
He’s been caught. He hides his face in Namjoon’s chest. At least Namjoon is laughing, quiet and soft. “Okay maybe I’m feeling a little guilty. But! If it helps, and you really do want to do it, I can complain the whole time so it’ll feel just like normal?”
Namjoon’s arms tighten around Yoongi’s ribs again, and then he feels his feet lift off the ground. He tightens his arms instinctively around Namjoon’s neck as Namjoon spins the two of them once in a quick circle. The music swells behind them with disgustingly perfect timing.
When Yoongi’s feet are back on the ground he finds his head tipped back as Namjoon kisses him long, and slow, and deep. Yoongi kisses back, kisses back until he’s breathless with it, has to break for air and giddy laughter.
“Tell you what,” says Namjoon, ducking his head so he’s speaking into Yoongi’s neck in a low, pleasant rumble. “You’ve still got to put the casing on the amplifier, right?” Yoongi nods, confident that there’s no way Namjoon will miss it given how tightly they are pressed together. He can hear Namjoon’s heart beating in time with his own. “How about I hang out here while you do that, and then we walk up to the house together, and fall asleep together, and figure out what we’re doing with our free day tomorrow?”
It sounds really nice, especially the sleeping part. “Now that’s some good use of your big brain,” Yoongi says, ruffling Namjoon’s hair for emphasis. “Are you sure you don’t mind waiting around while I finish up?”
“Can we hook your amplifier back up? Keep the music going?”
Of course that is what he’d ask for. Yoongi gives him a kiss as an answer.
“Oh good. Then yes. It’s warm in here, and it’s cold outside, and I don’t think I trust you not to get distracted and leave me to crawl into our empty, empty bed all by myself.”
“Joon-ah!”
“Don’t worry, I know you’d never.” He catches Yoongi’s hands, kisses Yoongi’s knuckles, then asks, “You don’t need me to carry the amplifier back over to your workbench for you, do you? So you can get yours hooked up faster?”
“I can do both things,” Yoongi laughs. “You just keep out of my way, too many cooks in the kitchen and all that. Go… go look at the Spot sketches some more or something. I’ll let you know when it’s ready for you.”
This time Namjoon kisses him on the forehead, ignoring Yoongi’s mouth even though he tilted his mouth up hopefully. “Love you, mister brilliant.”
“You’re obnoxious,” Yoongi tells him seriously. “The longer you spend distracting me with your teasing the longer it will take me to finish.”
Namjoon grins. “Shutting up now. You hold up your end of the bargain and get to work.”
“I heard a lot of words after the ‘shutting up’ part of that sentence,” Yoongi points out, but Namjoon is already sidling over to the drafting table and retrieving Yoongi’s sketches.
Yoongi gives himself five seconds to stay where he is, admiring the long line of Namjoon’s leg, the solidity of his chest, the way the light gilds his features. Then he gives himself five more, because really, Namjoon is a work of art and should be admired. He keeps giving himself five more seconds (the way the light makes his fingers long and elegant, how he pinches his lower lip as he’s thinking), then five more seconds (his nose is just so cute? and the curve of his neck, damn) and five more, until at last Namjoon looks up and catches him staring.
“Right,” Yoongi says, clearing his throat. “Right. Getting to work now. Promise.”