Work Text:
“Are you sure it doesn’t matter to you?” Yoongi finds himself asking again, one night at 2AM, after the record they’ve been listening to has stopped playing but hasn’t stopped spinning, so that the only sounds in the dark are whir of the turntable, the gentle tapping of rain at the window and Taehyung’s soft breathing. “That we’re not soulmates?”
Taehyung blinks up at Yoongi, his eyelashes fluttering sleepily, and then he looks at his pinkie, almost absentmindedly. Yoongi pictures the red string that he can’t see but that Taehyung can. Imagines it neatly knotted around Taehyung’s finger in a tiny bow, trailing off the bed and onto the floor, where it winds around their discarded clothes towards the door, just as his own does.
Yoongi’s red string. The same colour as a ruby, slightly shimmery, and with Seokjin on the other end of it, somewhere else in Seoul. Probably working late at the restaurant, Yoongi thinks. As usual. Yoongi always wishes he were able to cut the string, to snip it with a good pair of scissors, but that’s not how it works.
It’s not that he hates Seokjin-hyung. On the contrary, they broke up quite amicably. It just seems unfair that they have to continue to be tethered together, for eternity, when they both made other choices.
“We’ve been through this, hyung,” Taehyung mutters softly, propping himself up in the bed with his elbows. The silvery light from the streetlamps outside slips in through the open blinds, painting shadowy stripes up his bare chest. “It’s my decision to make, not some stupid piece of thread’s. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. Etcetera, etcetera.”
“You know, for an art history kid, you don’t half enjoy quoting poetry at me,” Yoongi answers.
“Poetry is art, hyung.” Taehyung shuffles up onto his knees now, leaning over to nudge his nose against Yoongi’s. “And so are you, let’s be honest.”
Yoongi makes a breathy, hissy noise and pulls a face but he lets Taehyung entwine their hands on top of the blanket.
“But seriously-” Taehyung tilts his head to the side now, seeks out Yoongi’s gaze with an intense stare, all the while rubbing soothing circles into Yoongi’s knuckles with his thumbs. “You know I’m always here to listen to your worries but we have to stop having this conversation.”
Yoongi nods. He knows this.
He also knows the thrill of meeting your soulmate, the person destined for you (knows how emptying it feels for it to somehow not work out). He knows Taehyung is strong-willed and as loyal as an old dog, but there’s a part of him that’s scared, and that same, frightened part of him doesn’t understand how Taehyung will be able resist that sweet tug, that magical possibility of true love, when it finally comes.
“Hey. You love me and I love you, right?” Taehyung continues.
Yoongi swallows, his heart feeling syrupy and light in his chest. “Yes,” he manages to squeeze out.
“And I just agreed to move in with you, right?” Taehyung goes on, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile.
Yoongi’s insides buzz pleasantly at the reminder. “Right.”
“So there you have it,” Taehyung says. “I’ve chosen you. We’ve chosen each other.”
“Hmm. Screw destiny, yeah?”
“Screw destiny,” Taehyung agrees, pressing a firm promise of a kiss to Yoongi’s temple.
-
Here’s how they fell in love:
Yoongi is working on an album for an up-and-coming underground rapper. It’s his first time producing a full album. Until now, he’s only worked on individual tracks for friends in the music scene, a couple of album tracks for idol groups from smaller companies here and there, nothing major. This, however, is potentially major. Namjoon got him the gig, recommended him especially, and for the last few months, the album has been his entire life.
Individually, some of the tracks are great, he knows that, but altogether, they don’t seem to connect. He stays up late tweaking and rearranging, driving himself crazy. The thing is, his deadline is approaching and he wants to deliver perfection.
So, he’s been having trouble sleeping.
It’s 3AM. It’s raining. Again. The drops litter his window, shining prettily in the moonlight. He throws his headphones to the side and lies down with a sigh. He tries to sleep, listens to his chill playlist all the way through, listens to his night-time playlist all the way through twice. He even tries watching some of those ASMR videos on YouTube. Namjoon swears by them, said they basically cured his insomnia, but Yoongi is two minutes into a soap cutting video and he just doesn’t get it and his brain just won’t quieten down. It’s a mess of melodies and beats. They pinball around, growing in size like musical snowballs, and he grows anxious that if he doesn’t write everything down, he’ll miss something useful. Vital to the success of the album. Twitchy by now, he slams his laptop shut and sits up in bed. He’s going to pull an all-nighter, he can just feel it. He may as well go get some fresh air and coffee and approach the project afresh.
If Seokjin were still around, he’d scold him for overworking himself.
They were always scolding each other for the exact same thing.
Yoongi pulls on a hoodie and hides his hair under a cap. The mint green has grown out, exposing his dark roots, and has faded to a ghostly white with a greenish-blue tinge. He hasn’t had time to get it redone yet. After thinking it over, he slots his laptop, charger and headphones inside a backpack and slings it over his shoulder. Finally he toes on an old pair of sneakers and heads out of the apartment.
There’s a twenty-four hour café a couple of streets over from him. He and Namjoon and Hoseok used to go there a lot in their student days, always shoving their headphones at each other to get feedback on their assignments. It’s a pretty basic place: big, with plenty of tables, walls lined with bookshelves and string lights and a small stage in the window for live music performances or poetry readings. It’s cosy, familiar, and most importantly, it serves good coffee at 3:30 in the morning.
Yoongi is one of around three customers. He approaches the barista, who is slouched across the counter-top and yawning into his fist. Yoongi’s gaze catches on his nametag - Taehyung - when he straightens at Yoongi’s approach.
“Just an americano,” Yoongi orders.
Taehyung shoots him with finger guns before grabbing a takeaway cup. “Coming up. Name?”
“Yoongi, but-” Yoongi shakes his head. “I want to sit in.”
“No problem,” Taehyung smiles at him. It’s a pretty smile, warm like a late spring day. “Jeongguk, one americano. To have here,” he calls over his shoulder to his colleague.
Jeongguk nods dazedly and starts making the coffee.
“I can bring it over to you if you like,” Taehyung tells Yoongi brightly.
“I don’t mind waiting,” Yoongi replies.
“Please,” Taehyung insists. “I’m so bored. Working the graveyard shift is the worst. Just let me bring the coffee over.”
Yoongi shrugs and heads over to a window seat. The café is warm and the windows are steamy with condensation, making the lights from the street and traffic outside pale and blur. He boots up his laptop and feels a trickle of calm enter his bones. Maybe a change of scenery was all he needed. He’s about to plug in his headphones and get to work when Taehyung wanders over with the steaming coffee. He lets down the cup with a clack and tucks the tray under his arm before smiling at Yoongi.
“Thanks,” Yoongi says, wondering what Taehyung’s waiting around for.
“You’re welcome,” Taehyung says, showing no sign of moving. “What are you working on?”
“How do you know I’m working on something?” Yoongi asks.
“Because you're here in the middle of the night asking for coffee,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “Plus, you just kind of have that look in your eye. Like you’re trying to pin something down. I would recognise it anywhere.”
“You an artist?” Yoongi asks him.
“Kind of.” Taehyung laughs. It’s a little shy. “I mean, I dabble a bit in painting, photography, collage and stuff, but that’s not- I’m not- I mean to say I’m an art history student. Working on my thesis. I sometimes look like you do when I’ve got a deadline coming up.”
“You’re right about the deadline,” Yoongi says, half-hoping he’ll take the hint and leave him to his work, half-hoping he’ll sit there all night chatting to him because Taehyung is charming and all kinds of beautiful.
“Knew it,” Taehyung says smugly. “What is it?”
“Um. I’m producing an album,” Yoongi tells him. “Or at least, trying to.”
“No way,” Taehyung says, sounding stupidly impressed as he slides into the seat across from Yoongi’s. “You’re a music producer?”
“Not really,” Yoongi replies, feeling his neck flush with embarrassment. “I mean, it’s what I studied. It’s what I do, but-”
“Then you’re a music producer,” Taehyung tells him simply. “What kind of music?”
“Rap. Hip hop, mostly,” Yoongi says. “A little bit of pop music. Sometimes.”
“That’s so cool,” Taehyung gushes sincerely, his grin wide.
Yoongi gives a little shrug as if to say, it’s no big deal. Taehyung hums, looking at Yoongi with an intense, awe-struck kind of gaze that makes Yoongi want to look away, shy. Eventually, Taehyung seems to snap out of it, standing up.
“Well,” he says, still grinning. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“You like music?” Yoongi finds himself asking.
Taehyung catches himself before fully turning around.
“Oh,” he says dreamily, hugging the tray to his chest. “I love music.”
Yoongi can’t help but smile in response.
-
Over the next few weeks, Yoongi finishes the album in its entirety in the café. If he’s working during the day, Namjoon and Hoseok sometimes join him, and it’s exactly like the old days. If he’s pulling an all-nighter, though, it’s just him.
And Taehyung, of course.
Kim Taehyung, he finds out, is a Daegu boy like himself. His family owns a farm back there and while Taehyung misses the food, he loves being in the city and doesn’t want to leave anytime soon. He’s studying the history of art and his favourite artist is Mark Rothko.
“So, this was part of a series commissioned for murals by the Four Seasons Restaurant in New York,” Taehyung tells him, leaning in closely to Yoongi to show him the painting on his phone screen. “But like, Rothko eventually withheld them on the grounds that he didn’t want them to just be, I dunno, the backdrop for a bunch of fancy patrons eating at the restaurant. That’s pretty cool, right?”
Yoongi nods. It is pretty cool. Taehyung is pretty cool.
“I like it,” Yoongi says. “Thank you for showing me.”
Kim Taehyung, he learns, looks incredibly pretty when he’s blushing.
He’s also an incredibly hard worker. His family aren’t wealthy, so his place and university is funded by a handful of different scholarships, all of which depend on him getting consistently good grades. He supplements this money by working at the café, most often at night, which is, as Taehyung puts it, ‘headache-inducingly boring’.
He’s amazingly interesting, perpetually endearing, and, Hoseok insists, ‘totally whipped’ for Yoongi.
“He’s always flirting with you, hyung,” Hoseok whispers conspiratorially after Taehyung has left their table and is no longer in earshot.
Namjoon just nods sagely in agreement.
Yoongi is left to wonder.
He wonders a lot.
And so, one day, a couple of days after Yoongi has dropped off the completed album and is feeling delirious with relief and happiness that it’s finally done and that it’s perfect, he heads to the café. He happens to know that Tuesdays are when Taehyung works his rare daytime shift and he also happens to know that he gets off around 2PM, having started at 6AM.
Yoongi’s sleep deprived, and it makes him stupid, makes him brave.
“Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi greets Taehyung’s colleague with a short wave. “Is Taehyungie still here?”
Jeongguk quirks an eyebrow at the nickname but doesn’t tease. “He’s just changing out of his uniform.”
Yoongi drums his fingers against the counter and nods before going to wait at a nearby table.
Taehyung emerges from the back room a few minutes later looking impossibly gorgeous in a floor-length trench coat over wide-legged floral pants and a loose, white shirt. His hair is pushed out of his face by a sunflower-yellow beret secured by purple hair pins and his lips are shiny and pink with lip balm. He chats to Jeongguk for a moment or two before he notices Yoongi and then he stills momentarily before beaming at him.
Yoongi is sitting but he still feels himself go weak at the knees. He wills himself not to lose his nerve.
“You’re here,” Taehyung says happily as he bounds up next to him.
“I’m here,” Yoongi agrees idiotically.
“But you finished your CD, right?” Taehyung asks.
“I did,” Yoongi says. “I’m actually here to- um, I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee with me?”
Taehyung stops blinking, his mouth rounding into a soft, surprised ‘o’ for a moment or two before he pulls himself together. He tilts his head to the side. “That’s sweet, hyung, but I actually hate coffee.”
Yoongi’s mouth feels dry. He hopes he didn’t read the situation all wrong. Fucking Hoseok and his big mouth. “Oh?”
“Can’t stand the stuff,” Taehyung goes on, smirking. “I reek of it all the time too. Why don’t we do something else?”
“Something else?” Yoongi says, looking down at his shorts, which are literally pyjama-shorts, and hoping Taehyung doesn’t suggest they go to a fancy restaurant or something.
“I know a really cool record shop nearby,” Taehyung says, his deep voice as gentle as his gaze. “That sound good?”
“Yes,” Yoongi replies, breathing out. “It’s perfect,” he adds, because it is perfect.
“Great,” Taehyung says, reaching out a hand to pull Yoongi up. “Let’s go.”
“Lead the way,” Yoongi tells him, already knowing he’s falling, he’s falling, and he’d follow Kim Taehyung anywhere.
-
Taehyung’s fingers dance at the small of Yoongi’s back as he leans in to tell him to take his time and look around. Yoongi heads straight for the hip hop records and gets distracted from his own browsing watching Taehyung flit from section to section, from vintage rock to punk to pop and then all the way back round to classical. Yoongi shakes his head and focuses, letting his fingers trail across the records, flipping them carefully to read the titles. The record shop is quite new, used to be a boba tea place if he recalls correctly, and he hasn’t had a chance to visit it yet. Taehyung is right, though. It’s dingy and the walls are covered in old band posters, but it’s cool. The selection is good too. He grabs an old Jurassic 5 album he’d been looking for at a good price and then moves to the CD section to get Epik High’s latest EP, which he’d been meaning to pick up for weeks. Satisfied, he goes off in search of Taehyung.
He finds him at the OSTs, where he’s slotting the Call Me By Your Name and La La Land soundtracks back in the rack, tucking something else under his arm where he’s got three other records already.
Yoongi reaches out and tugs at his elbow. “What did you pick?”
Taehyung flashes the first record at Yoongi. It’s the soundtrack to the movie, Loving Vincent. “Have you seen it?”
“No.”
“Oh, it’s beautiful. Hand-painted like Van Gogh’s work and the score by Clint Mansell is just-” Taehyung makes a little ugh sound and waves his hand around vaguely. “To die for.”
Yoongi smiles at him fondly. He enjoys how passionately Taehyung talks about the things he loves, could listen to him talk for hours.
“Anyway, we should watch it sometime. Have you got Netflix?”
“I do.”
“Oh, yeah? Cool. What did you last watch?” Taehyung asks conversationally as he takes his haul to the counter.
Yoongi hums, not remembering at first. “Planet Earth,” he says eventually.
It was another of Namjoon’s recommendations. To help him sleep, apparently. It didn’t work. It was entirely too much. Sad in places, too. He doesn’t know how anyone could fall asleep to something like that.
“Oh, Blue Planet is my favourite,” Taehyung says, passing over his cash to the sales assistant and then moving aside for Yoongi to get served. “The sea is a crazy place, Yoongi-hyung.”
Yoongi quietly agrees and with that, they head outside.
“What else did you buy?” Yoongi asks, unable to hold in his curiosity any longer.
Taehyung pulls out an old Damien Rice album, O (one of Taehyung’s personal favourites and a birthday present for Jeongguk, he says), as well as a Fleetwood Mac album.
“Fleetwood Mac?” Yoongi asks. “Very retro.”
“You haven’t heard Rumours ?” Taehyung throws back. “It’s a classic.”
“I'll trust you,” Yoongi says, nodding his head. “And that last one?”
Taehyung puts the other albums back in the bag and pulls out a final record. The cover shows a man with a lantern on a rowboat upon a blue sea. Yoongi doesn’t recognise it.
“It’s by Explosions in the Sky,” Taehyung says, looking down at it. “I think you’d like it. Instrumental. Very intense. The kind of music we should listen to lying down on the floor in the dark, you know?”
They’ve walked to the end of the street and it has started to drizzle lightly. Taehyung is hinting, Yoongi can tell that much, his words quietly laced with the suggestion of more if Yoongi wants it. Yoongi presses his lips together and stares up at Taehyung.
“I have a turntable at my place,” he says.
His heart pendulum-swings in his chest at the way Taehyung’s entire face lights up at his words.
-
They know they aren’t soulmates. They’ve always known, of course, because their string isn’t the same string.
Yoongi tells Taehyung about Seokjin, about meeting him in the summer after his first year at university and about them being happy for a while and then not so much. Taehyung, in turn, tells Yoongi that he’s never met his soulmate, has never felt that tell-tale tug and hopes he never will.
“I don’t like it,” he confesses, late at night, in bed, his arms wound tightly around Yoongi’s middle and his lips catching against Yoongi’s neck. “I wanna make my own decisions, Yoongi-hyung. Wanna choose what’s good for me. Who’s good for me.”
“And me- I’m good for you?” Yoongi whispers.
“The best,” Taehyung replies.
They have different variations of this same conversation over the next few years, it only really stopping after Taehyung moves into Yoongi’s flat and things get a bit more serious. They talk about getting a dog, even talk about getting married at some point.
They’ve been together for five years and have lived together for two and a half when it happens. They’re out to dinner, celebrating the former. Yoongi is late, showing up ten minutes past seven for a six-thirty reservation Taehyung had made. He pulls Taehyung into a hug when he finally makes it, whispering his apologies in Taehyung’s ear.
“Don’t worry about it,” Taehyung says, waving his hand dismissively as they sit. “I know how busy you are right now. My musical genius. So proud of you.”
Yoongi’s heart softens, gratitude and love welling up inside of him, threatening to spill out and flood the entire restaurant.
“Anyway, I ordered wine,” Taehyung says. “Although they do have a whisky list. They even have that Balvenie 14 that you like. You know the one that-”
Yoongi is looking at the menu when Taehyung stops talking. When he looks up, he’s confused by the look on Taehyung’s face. He’d been bright and excited only a few seconds ago but now he looks shocked and stiff. His face has paled and his eyes look hazy, clouded over.
“Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi says gently. “What’s wrong?”
“I-” Taehyung looks down at the table and Yoongi follows his gaze to the plate, to the cutlery, to his hand resting on the table. He doesn’t get it, but his heart starts beating fast in his chest all the same.
“You look really-” Yoongi can’t find the words and then he trails off because Taehyung’s eyes are shining with tears and Yoongi is starting to panic.
He reaches over the table to put his hand on Taehyung’s arm. Taehyung startles at the touch and Yoongi draws away.
“Please tell me what’s upsetting you,” Yoongi tries, his voice wobbly. “If it’s because I was late, I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better in the future. I’ll be better in the future. Just-”
“No, hyung. It’s not that- I felt it,” Taehyung manages before he looks down at his hand again and then wildly around the restaurant. “I felt it.”
Felt what? Yoongi wants to ask. He still doesn’t get it. He follows Taehyung’s eyes as they scan the restaurant, finally settling on someone making their way towards them, and that’s when the pieces start to slot into place.
“Oh,” Taehyung says, a tear sliding down his cheek and plopping softly onto the tablecloth, and Yoongi understands now. He remembers the way he involuntarily burst into tears before he even saw Seokjin, how overwhelming it felt when they locked eyes for the first time, like his heart had caught fire in his chest, and Yoongi is afraid.
The man finally reaches their table and Taehyung and Yoongi both look up at him. It feels as if the world has slowed and stopped and become completely silent, feels as if they are the only three people on the entire planet right now. Except really, there are only two of them and Yoongi is merely a spectator.
The man smiles - it’s a beautiful smile - and he holds up his pinkie.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says to Taehyung, his voice honey-sweet, “but I’m Park Jimin and I think you’re my soulmate.”
-
Park Jimin, Yoongi comes to learn, is a dancer. An Expressionist dancer, to be more specific.
“Pina Bauch is my hero,” he tells Yoongi and Taehyung one night, his voice reverent. They’re watching this documentary showcasing her choreography that has Jimin and Taehyung moved to tears.
“Thanks for watching it with me, Taehyungie,” Jimin says, later, when the lights are on and it’s time for him to leave. “Yoongi-hyung.”
Yoongi nods and Taehyung hugs Jimin and then it’s just the two of them, the way it has always been. Nothing has changed.
Since that one dramatic night in the restaurant, Jimin and Taehyung have stayed in touch and have become close friends. That’s all. Nothing more.
Yoongi is aware he has nothing to worry about.
Park Jimin, Yoongi finds out, is from Busan. He studied dance in Germany and is fluent in the language. He has a cat called Ghost, a sweet tooth he tries hard to keep under control because he’s always on some wacky, strict diet or another, and a weakness for designer clothing. He’s Taehyung’s soulmate. He’s pretty, always looking like a model in dark, skinny jeans and Gucci sunglasses. He’s Taehyung’s soulmate and he’s pretty, the same way Taehyung is pretty. They would be so pretty together, Yoongi thinks for about the millionth time, hating himself for the thought.
Yoongi knows he has nothing to worry about, but sometimes he can’t help but worry.
“Smile, hyung,” Taehyung says, pulling Yoongi in for a selfie.
They’re at the bookstore. Taehyung is celebrating being hired at the university by buying himself an expensive art book.
(“I deserve something nice with the highest standard of glossy paper. Plus,” he’d said, when he’d invited Yoongi to go with him. “Bookstore dates are god tier. On the same level as fruit-picking dates or art gallery dates.”
“What about record store dates?” Yoongi had asked.
“Oh.” Taehyung put a finger to his mouth, feigning thoughtfulness. “I think those are on an entirely different tier, hyung.”)
Yoongi leans in and smiles, throwing up a peace sign at the last second. Taehyung mutters that he’s cute under his breath before tapping away at his phone.
“For Instagram?” Yoongi enquires.
“For Jimin,” Taehyung replies, grinning down at the screen.
Yoongi just nods, his heart sinking. They’re just friends, the rational part of his brain shouts. He wishes his heart would listen.
Taehyung slips his phone into his pocket and then potters around the art section for a bit before making his selection (a book on Japanese woodblock prints). Meanwhile, Yoongi looks at the new releases before heading off to the music section. He doesn’t see anything that takes his fancy so he makes his way back to Taehyung, finding him looking at books on dance.
“Do you think Jiminie will like this one?” Taehyung asks, holding up a small paperback about the history of ballet.
“I don’t know,” Yoongi replies in a quiet voice. “He doesn’t do ballet, right?”
“But he’s really interested in it,” Taehyung tells him. “I think I’ll get it for him.”
Yoongi watches as Taehyung wanders over to the counter to pay. He wishes he didn’t feel as affected as he did, but he just can’t help it. Jimin is Taehyung’s soulmate. It makes him feel small and inadequate, makes him fear that Taehyung will slowly slip away from him, makes him feel all kinds of ugly things he wishes he didn’t feel.
“Wanna pick up bagels?” Taehyung asks as they exit the bookstore. “There’s a place just down here that just opened. It’s supposed to be great-”
“I actually don’t have much of an appetite, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi says, rubbing his eyes. “Can we just head home?”
“Sure. Maybe we could go back to bed and look at some Japanese woodblock prints.” Taehyung is still smiling, but it’s frayed at the seams. Yoongi can tell he’s sensed that something’s wrong.
They wander home, not speaking, the silence pressing down on Yoongi like an oppressive, physical weight. He swallows against the lump in his throat, feeling terrible and guilty.
When they get home, Taehyung kicks off his boots and then turns to look at Yoongi.
“What’s wrong, hyung?” Taehyung asks. “You’re… off. And you look kind of tired. Are you having trouble sleeping again?”
“No,” Yoongi lies. The truth is his sleep has been patchy at best over the last few months. He’s working on too many projects and he’s trying to plan the best way to propose to Taehyung and he’s worried about Park fucking Jimin and the way he makes Taehyung laugh like he’s the funniest person in the world.
“Okay,” Taehyung says, sounding unconvinced. His jaw looks tense and his eyes look watery and glittery. He’s about to start crying and it’s all Yoongi’s fault.
“Don’t you want to-” Yoongi starts, not sure what he’s even trying to say.
“Don’t I want to what, hyung?” Taehyung prompts.
“With Jimin,” Yoongi tries again, his voice very small. “Don’t you want to try?”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “He’s my friend.”
“But he’s your soulmate.”
“And we’re together,” Taehyung replies. “Did you forget that we live together? That we talk about our hypothetical wedding all the time? That we’re, according to all our friends, ‘sickeningly’ in love?”
“But-”
“No buts,” Taehyung says, walking the few steps to close the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders. “I choose you. Always. Remember?”
Yoongi thinks back to the beginning, to the record spinning, to the rain knocking at the window and the light falling through the gaps in the blinds and to Taehyung, always Taehyung, squashing his worries with reassuring words and kisses. He does remember, and he has to stop this now. He has to stop this.
“And I choose you,” he murmurs, breathing in. “Always.”
-
“Congratulations, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin says, clinking their champagne flutes together.
Yoongi mumbles his thanks and looks around while Park Jimin watches him expectantly. Taehyung and Jeongguk are chatting near the bar and Namjoon and Hoseok are nowhere to be seen. It’s his own engagement party and it looks like he’s got to deal with Park Jimin on his own.
“I’m so happy you finally proposed,” Jimin goes on.
Yoongi hums.
“I’ve been preparing my best man speech for what feels like forever.”
“Oh, I bet,” Yoongi replies, taking a sip of champagne.
Jimin licks his lips and then smiles. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
Yoongi scoffs, taken aback. He hadn’t expected Jimin to be so straightforward. “I like you fine, Jimin-ah. You’re Taehyung’s best friend.”
“But not your friend, right?” Jimin asks, quirking his eyebrows.
Yoongi opens his mouth to respond but Jimin shakes his head.
“It’s because of this, isn’t it?” Jimin goes on, raising his pinkie. “Because we’re ‘soulmates’.”
Yoongi wants to protest but Jimin won’t let him get a word in.
“Can I ask you a personal question? What happened with your soulmate?”
Yoongi’s eyes flit to the sofas where Seokjin is sitting with his brother, his squeaky laugh carrying over the music.
“It didn’t work out.” Yoongi swirls the remaining inch of champagne in his glass before downing it.
“Then, what are you worried about me for?” Jimin snaps. “You should know better than anyone that ‘soulmate’ is just a word. It can mean anything. For me and for Taehyung it means we’re friends. Best friends.”
“I know that,” Yoongi insists. “I just- I wanna be enough for him.”
“Oh, Yoongi-hyung, you are more than enough.” Jimin’s expression softens. “You’re completely Taehyung’s and Taehyung is completely yours. Maybe what you have is more than- no, better than being each other’s soulmate. Because you’ve like, denied fate to be together or something.”
“Romantic,” Yoongi quips. “Is that going to be in your best man speech?”
“Maybe,” Jimin teases slyly.
“Thank you Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says, reaching out to pat Jimin’s shoulder and even though the gesture is a little awkward, Jimin visibly brightens. “I appreciate that.”
“Good,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes a little. “Pardon the pun, but I’m tired of us dancing around each other. I want to be your pal, too.”
“I’d like that too,” Yoongi admits.
“I’ll go get us more champagne, then,” Jimin says, winking before turning on his heel and heading for the bar.
-
“I saw you talking with Jiminie earlier,” Taehyung is saying, his voice slurry from the champagne. He’s leaning against Yoongi as they walk, resting his head on top of Yoongi’s own. He feels warm and Yoongi can smell his strawberry-scented shampoo and the stars are out and it’s perfect. Taehyung is perfect.
“So happy we’re engaged,” Yoongi mutters, feeling a bit champagne-tipsy himself.
“Cute,” Taehyung murmurs. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
“You didn’t ask a question,” Yoongi points out.
“Jiminie,” Taehyung says, lifting his head to turn and look at Yoongi. “You guys were talking. Hope you were bein’ nice.”
“Always nice,” Yoongi grumbles. “But yeah. We were. I- I think I actually like him a lot, Taehyung-ah.”
Taehyung’s eyebrows lift and his eyes widen. They’re night-sky dark, shimmering with the starlight. Yoongi leans over and plants a kiss on his shoulder, hoping it’ll shush him.
No such luck.
“Did I hear you correctly?” Taehyung squawks. “Are you saying Min Yoongi, the love of my life, and Park Jimin, my best friend and soulmate, are finally, impossibly, miraculously friends?”
“So dramatic,” Yoongi complains.
“This is the best thing that’s ever happened,” Taehyung protests.
Yoongi hums. They’re quiet for a while. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Taehyung mumbles dreamily. “Can’t wait to marry you.”
“Can’t wait to marry you,” Yoongi shoots back.
“Always you,” Taehyung reminds him. “Would choose you every time.”
Despite the cold, Yoongi warms at his words. He reaches down and hooks his pinkie around Taehyung’s own. Squeezes.
Taehyung hums happily and they turn the corner.
They’re home.