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jungkook doesn’t consider how strange it feels to be back at yoongi’s apartment after their explosive relationship reveal. there are magazines, tabloids, and every news source that has access to the general internet screaming about yoongi’s very public coming out. jungkook avoids sns, avoids his phone, avoids the general public, avoids everything. his tactic toward dealing with unwanted advances is pure if i can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.
it works for both of them. yoongi, in general, has always cared a little less than jungkook about his own image. he would rather tear it to the ground than to give up some part of himself. different from what most idols say they’ll do. well - they say they’ll stay true to who they are, never give up their ideals, but it’s all bubblegum pop shit and withering lies. it’s impossible not to change. yoongi admits that he refuses to change the way they want to.
the door closes behind him. immediately, jungkook feels a chill in the air, nervousness crackling across his skin. he crosses his arms in front of him, lips tingling from the kiss that he and yoongi had shared on the train; the excitement of it, even though their car had been mostly empty save for a sleeping man on the other end, is enough to keep him wide awake. and now he’s in yoongi’s apartment. the outline of the place is familiar, for how different it seems.
“want a drink?” yoongi asks, throwing his coat on the sofa. jungkook follows after it, throwing himself into the soft plush pillows. he grabs onto yoongi’s coat and lies it over himself, burrowing in the warmth.
“no, i’m good,” he replies, still easily buzzed from their evening in the bar together, a little too close to each other’s space for comfort.
despite that, yoongi makes them both a cup of coffee. jungkook’s has two sugars, the way he likes it, and a bit of soy milk. yoongi’s is black with a splash of creamer. he sets the cups down on the coffee table in front of them and takes the space that’s remaining from where jungkook has curled up his legs, half asleep.
“you’re a sleepy drunk,” yoongi sighs, but his hand reaches over to grasp jungkook’s ankle. “and you’re in my jacket.”
“i’m cold.”
“you could sleep on the bed?”
“mmh,” jungkook says, shuffling in closer and hiding his face by smushing his nose against the backseat. yoongi’s finger starts to rub thin, soft circles on his ankle bone. jungkook’s posture relaxes. he hadn’t realized how tense he had been.
“alright,” yoongi agrees, voice low and soothing. “you don’t want to sleep?”
“no.”
“don’t sleep, then.”
huffing, jungkook wiggles his foot a little to express displeasure. “i feel like you’re making fun of me.”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
“you’re uncomfortable,” yoongi observes, and jungkook’s fingers clench over the lapels of yoongi’s coat. he doesn’t reply. “i can take you back to your apartment if that’s what you want.”
it is what jungkook wants. and he’s annoyed that he wants it. “no,” he mumbles, tone a little too sharp.
yoongi sighs, “jungkook - “
“stop trying to accommodate me,” he says, face hidden. if he looks yoongi in the eye, he’ll never muster up the courage to do what he’s doing now. “yes, i’m uncomfortable. no, it’s not your fault. i like you. i want to be around you. i’m just struggling to try to come to terms with that, and i know you are too, and it’d be easier if you’d just - stop acting like i need to be coddled. i’ll never feel comfortable if i’m never here except to - “ fuck, he doesn’t say, lips pressing shut. with his voice getting slowly louder and louder throughout the entire spiel, the abrupt silence now seems haunting. yoongi’s hand rests warmly on his ankle. all of jungkook’s memories here involve late-night escapades and too-short morning afters, a strange limbo in between them. how odd to think that it was almost easier, then, when both of them had no idea what they were to each other.
the next minute, yoongi’s hand disappears, only to be replaced by his entire body. he’s heavier, pressing down against jungkook’s chest and his hips. despite that, there’s nothing forward about it. just - intimacy. warm skin to skin, yoongi’s breath against his ear, his fingers trailing up to brush away hair from jungkook’s forehead.
“i don’t really know what i’m doing,” yoongi says, his lips close to the shell of jungkook’s ear. “you make me feel weird and young. i like it, but i’m afraid of hurting you.”
turning his head slightly, jungkook blows gently at yoongi’s face. it makes his silver bangs flutter away for a moment, revealing a shade of vulnerability in his dimly lit expression.
“dumb ass,” jungkook says fondly, “like it matters.” what he doesn’t say is: you’ll hurt me anyway, and i’ll be here regardless. what they’ve been through has left them inexplicably tied to each other. even with their relationship under the public eye, jungkook knows that he’ll end up finding his way back to yoongi regardless. so what does it matter? they’ll hurt each other and love each other in ways no one else can compare.
yoongi’s breath is steady against his ear, and his weight is comforting. it reminds jungkook of how they would crowd up close against each other in bed, naked and insistent.
“let’s get you into a real bed, then,” yoongi says, kissing his ear briefly before hauling himself up.
“i’m too tired,” jungkook mumbles.
“no sex, promise. just sleep.”
and it sounds nice. it sounds - couple-like. jungkook lets himself get pulled into the bedroom, yoongi gripping onto his shirt sleeve. when they reach the foot of his admittedly comfortable bed and yoongi releases him to turn around, jungkook grips the back of his shirt so hard that his knuckles turn red.
yoongi’s eyes flicker down to his hands. “i’m getting changed,” he explains quietly, reaching over to extract jungkook’s hands away, bringing them up to kiss his palm briefly. they fall back to his side listlessly as yoongi disappears into the bathroom.
jungkook kicks off his pants and removes his first shirt so he can sleep in the thin white shirt he has underneath. it’s one of his nicer ones since he had wanted to look snazzy for his date with his boyfriend, but the bar had been cold enough that he ended up wearing his cardigan the entire time. a nice breeze raises goosebumps on his arms. with his socks still on (yoongi’s feet get cold at night, jungkook is taking no chances) he climbs into yoongi’s bed and sinks into the pillows, already turning on his side. yoongi joins him after, sliding behind jungkook and wrapping an arm around him. his hand rests at the base of jungkook’s stomach, at his navel, where he begins those same soothing patterns.
yoongi really likes doing that, jungkook thinks with a muddled head.
“i’m sorry the world did this to you,” he hears distantly, when the alcohol and exhaustion are starting to drag jungkook down to the throes of sleep. he doesn’t know what yoongi is sorry for, exactly: his lost chance at being a star, the state of his body after he’s overworked it, or the way everyone seems to pinpoint every failure and criticize every aspect of his life now that he’s labeled as yoongi’s man, but jungkook knows one thing for sure at this moment: he wouldn’t trade any of it.
and as if to prove that, he turns around in yoongi’s arms and fondly bumps their noses together. when yoongi hisses in slight pain, pinching jungkook’s side, he smiles and lets himself drift.
/
jungkook taps the top of the table nervously. it’s a strange kind of anxiety that almost makes him feel like he wants to pee. crossing his legs, jungkook takes another sip of the coffee in front of him before setting it down on the makeshift napkin table cozy that he’s also fashioned for himself out of pure anxiety.
“you would think we’re hiding weapons under the table to hold his boy at gunpoint,” taehyung says, amused.
jimin shrugs. he looks far too blasé for jungkook’s liking. “well, i thought about it.”
“hyung,” jungkook starts, before taking another sip of his coffee. taehyung reaches over to grip his wrist and forcefully remove the straw from jungkook’s mouth, splashing a little bit of his iced drink over the front of his shirt.
“fuck,” he mumbles, before busying himself with wiping away the stain. there’s a detergent pen in his bookbag somewhere, he’s sure of it -
“i shouldn’t have expected anything different,” jimin sighs when jungkook pulls it out triumphantly.
alright, sue him. he wants to look nice whenever he’s in yoongi’s general vicinity, despite being naked and in less than flattering clothes multiple times in front of the man. jungkook rubs at the stain with a certain vigor of rage, only stopping when it has disappeared completely.
“don’t touch my drink,” he glares at taehyung. “i swear - “
“we’re not going to murder your boyfriend,” taehyung tells him earnestly. “at least i’m not. i think he’s truly turned himself around - “
“i’ll murder him,” jimin offers, raising his hand.
“ - and i think that with the amount of public backlash he’s been getting, we should give him a chance - “
“this is funny, coming from the guy who ripped an entire pillow in half that night jungkook cried over him and said it was a ‘stand-in model of min yoongi’s head’.”
“ - jimin, if you don’t shut up, i’ll smack you,” taehyung finishes in the same coaxing tone.
both of them have complicated feelings toward yoongi, jungkook knows. for one thing, his very public outing and subsequent popularity have shot yoongi across the board as an lgbtq+ member and ally, distorting the stereotypes and views people have on “people like him”. one win is everyone’s win, the jimin of jungkook’s memory echoes in his head. and jungkook agrees - it’s great, how yoongi is able to turn the vitriol and the misunderstandings into slow acceptance and critical review of people and their own beliefs. jungkook can’t be more proud of him since he knows that’s part of yoongi’s entire being - how he’ll say what he wants, when he fucks, fuck the rest of them. and while yoongi’s own sexuality has always been a tricky thing to deal with - a mishmash of who needs to know and screw you all, take me as i am, he’s been stuck in a public lingo between his words and his body for far too long.
but - but. like all people, like all relationships, theirs is rocky and uncomfortable and amazing and stupid. jungkook knows that his mental breakdowns and already shitty self-esteem had taken multiple hits through the entire debacle. above all, jimin and taehyung love him; that’s why they’re so critical of yoongi when it matters, and supportive of him when it’s needed.
“hey,” yoongi slides into the seat next to jungkook, his hair tucked into a black baseball cap and decked head to toe in nondescript, shadowed colors. he doesn’t kiss jungkook on the cheek or anything, but reaches over to squeeze his knee. “am i late?”
“perfectly on time,” jungkook reassures him. after all, the rest of them had been unnecessarily early. jungkook dislikes how anxious he feels, but doesn’t mind the comforting weight of yoongi’s palm on his knee.
“it’s nice to meet you guys,” yoongi shifts his focus to jungkook’s friends. “gguk talks a lot about you.”
“gguk,” jimin intones. it doesn’t inspire confidence in this first meeting.
“that’s great!” taehyung chirps. “i mean, yes, nice to meet you too. great to meet you!” that also doesn’t inspire confidence in this first meeting.
jungkook groans and hides his face in his arms.
“did i say something?” he hears taehyung ask, bewildered.
“you’re all so embarrassing,” he wails quietly, and that - strangely - is what breaks the ice.
“he’s talking about you,” jimin tells yoongi gleefully, “because me and tae always embarrass jungkook, so he’s already used to us.”
“jesus,” yoongi says, but he’s fond rather than scared off.
later that night, while they’re in jungkook’s apartment after fighting off the terrible two following them back, yoongi runs his hands through jungkook’s hair and hums, “they’re good friends. like how hobi and namjoon are to me.”
“yeah,” jungkook acknowledges. “yeah, i wouldn’t have gone through half the shit i have without them.”
yoongi tugs a little bit on his hair so jungkook is forced to lazily turn his head, looking up at the man beside him. “are they ever going to get together?”
oh boy. “don’t even start with me.”
/
a year into their relationship (or a year and seven months, if they’re counting that drama filled beginning) jungkook finally feels like things are settling down. the uglier parts of society have taken over yoongi’s scandalous (seriously? seriously?) love life, no one really gives him odd looks at work anymore (maybe they never have and it’s jungkook’s paranoia talking) and jungkook is...happy.
he and yoongi share an easier relationship now. it’s what jungkook had thought it could be, had dreamed of wanting, except - except it’s real, it’s imperfect, but it’s there and he doesn’t have to hide and that’s what matters. nonetheless terrifying to tell someone in person, his own family hasn’t talked to him since he’d entered college for music after dropping out of his previous idol company and losing both his father’s respect and his money.
so it comes as a shock when he’s hanging out with taehyung and jimin on a friday night, enjoying some video games and beer, that the doorbell rings and his father is standing right behind the door.
they’ve always looked alike. jungkook gets his general features from his father - their shared eye shape, bone structure, and nose, whereas the tiny details have always been his mother. but at a glance, it’s impossible to tell that they’re not related. as if sensing the sudden dredging atmosphere, the noise level produced by his two closest friends quiets to a halt.
“jungkook,” his father starts, halting for a moment of precious uncertainty before something shifts in his eyes. he spots taehyung peering over the couch in interest. “if you’re busy, i can go,” he says, and this time he doesn’t sound as friendly.
jungkook wants to say, go and take whatever you have to say with you, but there’s something that stops him at the last moment. this is his father, after all. the indecision leaves jungkook at a standstill at his own door, dumbstruck and speechless.
“i didn’t realize your - your partner would be here,” his father says again, this time shifting into himself a little bit more. the words, without the bite jungkook has come to expect, jars him out of his reverie.
“yoongi isn’t here. he’s at work.” the studio. “do you want to come inside? jimin-hyung is here too.”
his father knows jimin. their mothers had met in the past when jungkook was still under a label - friend of a friend of a friend. jungkook closes the door softly behind him. when they reach his tiny living room, his friends have already cleaned up most of the junk around the coffee table they keep when in the middle of one of their games. even the sofa looks immaculate, which is strange since he had seen taehyung peering from the top of the arm just a few moments ago. it makes him look more...put together, more adult. as if he’s not in some shabby place in the middle of seoul at the highest floor just to save money.
jimin greets jungkook’s dad formally; taehyung introduces himself a moment after, and jungkook feels grateful that taehyung isn’t wearing the things that he usually does when he comes back from a job - sequins, glitter, dark eyed makeup - and a split second later, jungkook wants to smack himself over the head. who cares? who cares if he does? (jungkook does, somewhere deep inside, where it’s instilled in him to care.) he twists the end of his hoodie in his right palm, digging his nails into skin, before heading to the kitchen.
he sets up a pot of a tea the way he knows his dad will like it, quickly composing himself while jimin and taehyung speak to his father. there’s been such a strange lag of time in between them that jungkook simply can’t come to terms with. of course he’s seen and loved his father his entire life, but their abrupt separation in the most trying time of jungkook’s adolescence has left them sour strangers, almost. like best friends that have grown apart over a long-forgotten, but still aching argument.
despite that, jungkook still remembers how his dad likes his tea.
he sets the cup down in front of his father and sits across from him, far enough that their feet can’t accidentally touch. jimin grabs taehyung’s elbow, and his quiet “we’ll be in the other room” goes unnoticed.
with their departure brings a heavy silence. jungkook almost wants to beg them to come back.
“you look like you’re doing well,” his father starts, not having touched his cup of tea yet. “have you been eating okay?”
oh god, jungkook thinks with a lurch of his stomach, he has no idea.
after all, his father had cut him off after he had gotten kicked out of the label, hadn’t he? there had been no time to explain what had happened to his body. what he had done to himself in the struggle to become the best. his father had seen his failure and cut his losses.
minute by minute, jungkook only feels worse.
“dad,” he starts, weary, “why are you here?”
that’s the real question, isn’t it? his parents haven’t talked to him in years. jungkook has long numbed himself to the hurt of that fact. his brother sometimes calls, but junghyun is also bad at communication in general, with a touch more sense. he doesn’t bring up things that jungkook doesn’t want him to bring up, so they end up never discussing what’s important.
his dad clears his throat. “we hadn’t seen you in so long,” he starts, a bit awkwardly. “and then - then your mom saw one of these magazines with you and some boy on the cover, but.”
they knew.
it’s been almost a year. jungkook’s fingers twist in the hem of his hoodie again.
“it made me realize that we hadn’t talked to you in a long time,” his dad finishes. jungkook misses that accent, the way he tilts his words, and how easy and familiar it sounds. almost like being engulfed in a warm hug. it’s strange. he’s come to realize how much he depends on that fragile connection of touch. for the longest time, he’s tricked himself into believing that he doesn’t need it at all.
“i’m doing fine,” jungkook says, tone automatically reassuring and smooth. it’s the same voice he uses on his friends to convince them that he’s completely okay, please stop bothering him, there’s nothing to see here. “i’ve been working well, and eating fine, and everything is okay. thanks for dropping by.”
he meets his father’s eyes, and they both understand how audaciously fake jungkook sounds in that very moment. yet... he won’t go out and say it outright. the gap between him and his father have grown enormously large and continues to grow larger with every passing second.
and his dad - his dad just stares at jungkook, with the same eyes that he has seen in the mirror for all his life. “just wanted to drop by,” he says. “i - i’ll write down my number. we changed it recently, you know...”
no, i don’t.
“i’ll be in seoul for a couple more weeks,” his dad puts out. “if you wanted to meet up with your old man, or anything.” a pause. “i’ll show myself out.”
jungkook supposes that he’s grateful for that, at least. he doesn’t know whether he’s happy or disappointed that his dad doesn’t swipe a fond hand over his head as he used to when jungkook was a child, but the insistent hands on his arms and the ring of his name reminds jungkook to breathe long after his dad is gone.
/
“that’s good, right?” yoongi asks hesitantly, “that your dad wants to see you again?”
he’s making a stew or something. jungkook can’t tell from the angle that he’s currently sitting at, pushing at random apps on his phone.
“i don’t really know,” he states, and he really doesn’t. and then, because obviously jungkook is a glutton for his own pain and self-anxiety, he says, “can you come with me the next friday?”
next friday being the day that jungkook had agreed to meet his father for coffee. the moment is still fresh in jungkook’s mind, down to the painful tete-a-tete stare over yoongi’s pot of something-stew. “you sure?” the elder had asked, and jungkook remembers, like an idiot, nodding minutely.
he doesn’t quite know if he regrets that moment now or not. there’s something to say about having yoongi beside him, holding his hand under the table. they’re out in the open but at the same time, they’re not out in the open. jungkook likes to think that in the year that they’ve been together, they’ve grown from being two people to a single unit. being with yoongi assuages some base fears that jungkook doesn’t really want to consider.
his dad is there before he is. of course - of course, jungkook does the same exact thing. get there before the other person, right, that means that you’ve gotten yourself settled and ready and it’ll be easier on yourself.
yoongi brushes a thumb against the back of jungkook’s hand, over his knuckles and heads to the counter to order. “text me what your dad would like,” he mumbles.
“okay,” jungkook breathes, before heading to the table his father is sitting at - only ready for two. jungkook pauses. he meets his father’s eyes and is struck by the realization that this man has grown very, very old. it’s almost difficult to imagine a time when jungkook would marvel at his dark hair and strong arms; the superhero of his childhood.
“son,” his dad starts, already getting up; he has to hold onto the back of his chair. “my baby boy.”
“oh,” jungkook says, and he forgets to text yoongi while helping his dad sit back down in the chair, preventing a backlog of tears from pooling at the corner of his eyes. yoongi never comes to join them, but it’s okay. it’s enough.
/
yoongi had left an hour later, after seeing jungkook settled and okay. jungkook leaves the coffee shop three hours later feeling fragile but free just to read yoongi’s really proud of you, love.
/
quietly, jungkook tiptoes into yoongi’s kitchen to make himself a cup of warm honey milk. he’s been having issues sleeping recently - for no reason at all, honestly - and the internet thinks it’s a good idea, so why not? the last thing he expects after his quick rendezvous is yoongi standing at the edge of their bed, the low lit lamp shining a golden glow over their warm blankets.
jungkook wipes at his mouth, feeling a little guilty, making sure there’s no evidence of his little theft. yoongi shakes his head, amused. he looks unbearably good in his black sleeping shirt and shorts.
“you should just move in if you’re going to raid my fridge,” yoongi says while jungkook is fluffing up his pillow for maximum softness. there’s a moment where he pauses, his sleep addled brain yelling at him that this is important jungkook pay attention!!! but his mouth going, “yeah, okay, but i’m not paying rent - “ just before his head hits the pillow and he sighs in comfort. yoongi always buys the best quality sheets.
/
“in hindsight,” jungkook says while watching hoseok and namjoon argue over how to bring jungkook’s boxes through yoongi’s surprisingly small doorway like they’re four years old instead of grown men in the public eye, “asking this time went better than last time.”
/
by the time it reaches their second year anniversary, jungkook feels like they’re already well on their way to being the ugly old couples that are disgustingly romantic and domestic with each other in serial dramas. no one, especially not jungkook and yoongi, expected them to last this long; namjoon and hoseok sometimes prod yoongi for being a married man while jimin and taehyung constantly bemoan at how they can’t get a date for themselves. yoongi always shoots back with a sympathetic simper that it must be difficult, living as lonely bachelors, and jungkook tells his friends to date each other. it goes as well as they both expect from either party.
“if this isn’t going to woo me, i’ll be very upset,” jungkook tells his boyfriend quite seriously, pushing back a little when yoongi tries to force him forward with a hand at the small of his back. “i’m serious, i’ll sleep on the couch. or you can sleep on the couch.”
“if we both sleep on the couch, that defeats the purpose of the couch,” yoongi replies, unimpressed. “just close your eyes, you brat.”
“i’m not a brat,” jungkook grumbles, but closes his eyes regardless. “i thought we talked about kinks, too, and i’m not a fan of being blindfolded - “
“jesus, jungkook,” yoongi chokes, and jungkook laughs, which makes yoongi laugh. “just close your eyes. it’s hard enough to get one up on you that i’ve given up completely.”
“as you should,” jungkook says smugly. he keeps his eyes closed, though, and clutches yoongi’s hand with no small amount of trust. it’s one thing to be beside yoongi when they’re together, going through stores or coffee shops or bookstores or internet cafes, but it’s another thing to close his eyes willingly and let himself be led by a string. it’s easier to imagine that someone is looking at him while still feeling as though he’s the only person in the world. jungkook isn’t sure he really likes the dichotomy.
“okay, open ‘em,” yoongi’s voice is quiet and breathy in his ear. jungkook’s eyelashes flutter, trying to get used to the sudden influx of light. in front of him is a lovely, empty restaurant. it’s a korean place, from what jungkook can tell of the interior decoration. numerous servers wait at the side, all decked in silk shirts and black plants.
“oh, you spent money on me,” jungkook says, baffled.
yoongi pinches his side. lovingly.
he holds out an arm for jungkook to take. it’s what they usually do when they’re outside; while the world may know he’s yoongi’s man, they prefer to keep their private lives just that - private. filled with an inordinate amount of affection for this man, jungkook reaches down to interlock their fingers together.
yoongi is his man, too.
“i didn’t wear anything proper enough for this,” jungkook says, looking down at his black jeans and navy blue shirt. yoongi at least as a blazer, but he’s also cheating, so. jungkook finally notices that he’s wearing the earrings jungkook gave him for their first anniversary, and he almost wants to kiss him in public now, too.
“table for two,” yoongi tells the girl who rushes up to greet them. “and a nice red wine for me and my date.”
it’s almost surreal. the girl nods, a smile flickering on her face for a brief moment.
“hyung,” jungkook hisses under his breath, and yoongi just laughs. “you better not drink more than four glasses. that’s your limit.”
“i can handle my wine,” yoongi says, offended. “what are you talking about?”
a flash of all of yoongi’s poor life choices while drunk runs across jungkook’s mind. he grimaces. yoongi knows exactly what his expression is portraying because he nods and agrees to four glasses for the night regardless. they order right away - the wait being nonexistent, really - and wait for their food.
“this is really cliche,” jungkook tells him. “going out for dinner, candle-lit place, booking the whole restaurant. really cliche.” but he loves it: he loves it because it’s not something they can do all the time, because it’s the kind of thing that happens in movies and in real life and in stories, but almost never for them. he loves it because it’s their moment now, jungkook and yoongi, after ages of fighting and hiding. because it’s normal, it’s what couples do, and they’re a couple.
“you love it,” yoongi says mildly. “i like to think it makes you happy to do random, pointless shit like this. and i like making you happy.”
jungkook squeezes his hand. yoongi’s palm engulfs his, warm and comforting. jungkook has memorized the path of all of his veins, the dips of his fingers. it does make him happy, that’s the thing. he’s happier than he’s been for the past few years - happier than his misconstrued, broken teenage dreams, than the gritty work life of his twenties, the endless self-flagellation and pity. jungkook is just...happy. something likes, with yoongi, can’t ever feel wrong. he wonders what’s changed, in the last two years, to make him feel less...dark. glancing at yoongi as their food comes by platter by platter, side dish by side dish, jungkook realizes that it’s only been his heart.
a thought comes up to him suddenly, jungkook waits while the food comes in, slowly, and begins humming underneath his breath. an old, familiar tune that he’s been unable to forget.
yoongi recognizes it immediately, shaking his head when the waitress asks if they need anything else. he meets jungkook’s eyes, and they’re the only two people in the world.
“when do you think your next album will be out?” jungkook asks, a smile playing across his lips. he picks up his chopsticks to immediately place pickled radish on yoongi’s plate. “and don’t ignore the cucumbers, they’re good for you.”
“i don’t like cucumbers,” yoongi says, exasperated. “i don’t know, namjoon’s been talking about doing another solo album, and i think it’s a good idea for him... hoseok also has that dance company going on, so he’s been busy with that business. we might do a really short mixtape - the three of us, together, maybe?”
“cypher back again with the bars,” jungkook intones, straight-faced, before breaking down in snickers.
“damn straight,” yoongi says. smiling.
their free hands remain intertwined on the table.