Archive of Our Own ^beta

The announcement of one month break is sudden and unexpected. It has all seven of them frozen in their seats, in different stages of disarray due to the early morning hour just a day after their return from the world tour. Yoongi is blinking slowly at the ceiling where he’s curled up on the armchair in the corner, Seokjin’s eyebrows furrowed under the bright fabricated lights, Namjoon’s lips pursed and arms crossed in the office chair he’s sitting in, Jimin and Taehyhung sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch and sleepily staring at Bang as if he just said something in French, and Hoseok nodding with a blank face where he’s standing by the door.

It’s a weird sight, to see them all so speechless after working together for five years, when they’re usually full of loud complaints and groaning whenever something new is suggested, speaking their mind with little to no filter.

But it’s a good deal this time, something they’ve all been talking about and wishing for for a while. Jeongguk is sitting in the corner of the room and looking at his band members, at his roommates, at his hyungs, and all he can think about is: they deserve this.

It’s a one month break they need. It’s the break they’ve been waiting for.

“So - one month,” Namjoon is the first one to speak, his lips still pursed and eyebrows pulled together in thought, “one month of no activities, no filming, no management? That’s what’s on the table here, right?”

“Right,” Bang replies, fingers clasped on the table.

“No limits? We’re free to do whatever?”

“It’s your month,” one of the managers says, nodding her head. “Your choice.”

An hour later they’re back in the lobby, heading for the vans waiting in front of the company building. It’s still quiet, like the news haven’t properly sunk in yet, like they can’t quite believe it.

By the time they get back to the apartment, Hoseok is smiling a little, furiously typing away at his phone. Taehyung is still sleepily staring in front of him, but he seems to be deep in thought, like he’s already planning something. Jimin is the first one who speaks, as soon as the door is shut and their shoes pulled off, everyone pouring into the living area.

“Paris, here I come,” he smiles, pulling his feet onto the dining chair, phone in hand. His face reflects the blue light from the screen, first sun rays making their way into the apartment and drawing shapes on the wall as well as Seokjin’s body, who joins Jimin at the table.

“I thought you were planning on going to Japan?”

“Yeah,” Jimin nods, eyes flicking to Seokjin’s face. Jeongguk can’t stop staring, brain still jet-lagged and sleep-deprived and in shock from the news. “Yeah, but then we were in France, and Joonie-hyung dragged me from the hotel and down some sketchy streets in Paris-,”

“They were so not sketchy, can you stop saying that,” Namjoon mutters as he disappears down the hall and behind the door of his room. Jeongguk looks back at the pair at the dining table, at Hoseok who heads to the kitchen and starts going through the cabinets, humming to himself.

It’s Boy with Luv. It’s Halsey’s part, and all of it still seems a little surreal, even after all this time.

Jeongguk has struggled with comprehending it all during the past few months, too much happening and time passing too quickly for it to properly sink in. For him to realise that this is their reality now, American shows and Grammys and Yoongi’s happy smile and pretty American celebrities they get to talk to and shake hands with as if they’ve been friends for years, all while Namjoon translates things for them because he’s always been amazing like that.

Taehyung has been learning the language, too, working hard to be able to communicate at least the basics, and Jeongguk admired him so much he decided to do the same. He’s slow with languages and he’s still lacking, but he’s trying and working hard, and Namjoon has been helping him, too, explaining things when he asks.

Explaining now that Jimin is full of bullshit and that they were only walking through the centre of Paris, frowning while Jimin laughs and laughs and laughs, head thrown back and eyes closed from the force of his smile.

Hoseok joins them at the table with a big mug of coffee, scent spreading through the kitchen like wildfire. It has Yoongi slowly wobbling to the kitchen, clearing his throat before he croaks, “Anyone else want coffee?” and five hands fly into the air. Without looking back, Yoongi mutters, “All of you do, right? Knew I made a mistake asking.” Seokjin laughs, but still gets from his chair to join Yoongi in the kitchen, both of them busy with the machine.

“Jiminie’s going to Paris, then,” Hoseok says, carefully sipping on his caffeine free coffee. “What are some other plans?”

“I might fly to France, too,” Namjoon rubs behind an ear, squinting his eyes behind the thick rimmed glasses and staring at his phone as he scrolls through something. “If I can organise it, I wanna visit a few cities in Europe.”

Jimin leans over the table. One elbow on the tabletop as his fingers brush over Namjoon’s wrist, smiling up at him, he says, “Hyung, shall we go together?”

Which has Taehyung whining with jealousy, pouting as he tells Jimin he thought they were best friends, then laughing once Jimin turns his way and tells him he loves him, Hoseok laughing the entire time and Namjoon smiling even while staring at the screen of his phone.

Jeongguk is going to miss them.

It’s just a one month break, which means only four weeks apart. It’s only one month, which is barely enough to rest, but more than enough to start missing the other six, who have become a key part of his everyday life, six pieces that make his heart whole.

It’s almost like a preparation of what’s to come in a year. It’s almost like the management is giving them their last break before they enlist and scatter all over the country.

Jeongguk is going to miss them like crazy.

“Hey, Guk-ah,” Yoongi says, suddenly standing in front of him, offering him a big mug, “coffee, sit down.”

Yoongi’s eyes are still swollen and laced with sleep, eye bags dark against his pale skin, barely tanned even after weeks spent on the road, working and seeing places, but it’s no wonder with his all-black getup, with bucket hats covering half of his face and face masks doing the rest. He looks so soft up close like this, but he also looks tired, worn from overworking and stress, which Jeongguk deeply relates to.

“Thanks, hyung.”

“You know it,” comes quietly, Yoongi’s voice as gentle as his eyes, fixed on Jeongguk’s. “You gonna travel, too?”

“I think - I think I need to rest,” Jeongguk tells him, without really thinking about it. He hasn’t even considered what he wants to do, but these words feel right, they feel real. “It’s been a busy few months.”

“You’ve worked hard,” Yoongi nods, nibbling on his lip, nodding his head as he stares at the ground. “You deserve to rest and do nothing.”

The back of his neck is red when he sits down at the table, holding his mug with both hands. The others are already listing all the places they want to visit, worried about not having enough time for them all, but Yoongi keeps quiet.

He keeps quiet even after Jeongguk drops into the chair next to them.

He keeps quiet even after Taehyung mentions his actor-hyungs, even after Jimin reveals he’s always wanted to visit Russia and might actually have a chance to do it this time.

“Who holds the record for playing games the longest?” Seokjin asks once they all quiet down, wicked smile on his face. Jimin launches in his direction, holding onto him as he laughs.

“Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of breaking it,” Hoseok says around a laugh as Taehyung mutters, “I think it’s ten days for Jeongguk-ah, and only because he had an mv to film.”

And so it goes, back and forth, those familiar voices and unexpected words, their dreams and wishes all laid out on the dining table they rarely eat at anymore thanks to packed days and international schedules. The comfortable and homey vibe surrounds them, a bubble of trust wrapped around them as everyone tells their plans honestly and without caution, because they’ve been in this together for a long time, and have known each other for even longer, shared secrets tying them together.

“I think I’m gonna go home,” Seokjin says, his smile giving him away.

“He’s seeing Kyungri-noona,” Jimin claims easily, face cupped in one hand, elbow on the table as he smiles up at him, fondly. “Happiness is giving you away, hyung.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying,” Jimin pokes his face, laughing as he gets his hand slapped away.

“Is hyung gonna go through museums across Europe?” Taehyung asks Namjoon, fingers brushing over his hand to get his attention. “Art galleries?”

Namjoon nods and says, “That’s the plan. I want to start in the south and make my way up, see as many cities and visit all the galleries I can muster.”

“Art education,” Seokjin mutters, pulling a face, but they all know he’s just teasing. “You deserve it, Joon-ah.”

In the end, it’s just him and Yoongi who haven’t said a thing. When asked about it, Yoongi shrugs and says, “Don’t have any plans yet. I’ll see how things go and decide.”

“As expected of our cool hyung,” Hoseok says with a teasing smile, arms crossed over his chest. “Heading home?”

“Probably gonna stay here for at least a few days,” Yoongi shrugs, nodding his head. He smacks his lips. “Yeah, sleep in.”

“Good plan.”

But unlike Yoongi, Jeongguk hasn’t even decided on that. He shrugs, ruffles his hair, and nearly suffocates on coffee when trying to busy himself with it. Hoseok laughs at him and calls him an idiot, Namjoon hitting his back until he coughs it out, hand left to linger, warmth appreciated.

“I might game for a while,” he says and shrugs again, to make it clear he isn’t sure about anything yet. “Maybe I’ll call the 97 gang, see what they’re up to.”

“Aren’t Got7 in the middle of their promotions?” Jimin asks with a raised eyebrow. “I think Mark-hyung wasn’t free for drinks because they were practising the choreo or something.”

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk tells him honestly, because he has nothing to hide. He blushes a little due to the very apparent lack of plans, rubbing at his forehead. “I haven’t really thought about what I want to do. I’ll see my family and rest, those are the main things for now.”

“Not having plans is good, too,” Namjoon says, his palm still warmly pressed to Jeongguk’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Going by intuition is the best thing, sometimes - just do what you need the most in a certain moment.”

Deep down, Jeongguk is longing for something.

He doesn’t know what he needs yet, but he tells himself he’s got a whole month to figure it out.

--

The first few days of the announced break are noisy, chaotic, and unorganised. The apartment is bustling with life, all of them running around as they pack and look for things they put away somewhere, but can’t find now. Hoseok turns the living room upside down, sure he placed a gift for his mother on one of the shelves above the tv, no trace of it anywhere.

“It’s here, I’m sure,” he says, going through the drawers for the third time, dancing in front of the tv as Jeongguk attempts to find something to watch, but essentially just clicking through the programs, reading info about different dramas currently airing.

“Does Jang Kiyong have a new drama?” he asks, cheek squished against the pillow.

“I don’t know,” Hoseok mutters, quietly, then yells, “Hyung!” so suddenly Jeongguk jerks a little.

“What?” comes from the kitchen and from down the hall at the same time, Jimin’s laughter ringing through the apartment. Jeongguk sits up as he shuts the tv off, losing interest as well as patience with Hoseok still obstructing his view after more than an hour of searching.

“What do you want?” Seokjin asks around a kimbap in his mouth, chewing loudly.

“Have you seen the present for my mum?”

“Which one?”

“The one I put here,” Hoseok motions at the shelf, the other hand on his hip. “I got it in England, it was this little figurine, I put it here, I’m sure, but it’s nowhere to be found now-,”

“I don’t know,” Seokjin interrupts. “Don’t know which one you’re talking about.”

Jeongguk observes the interaction with parted mouth, barely paying attention. He’s exhausted from playing games for three days in a row, only squeezing short naps in between. 97 gang is mostly busy, but they all made time for a few matches during the night, so Jeongguk went to bed late and planned to sleep in, but a certain hyung came into his room too early in the morning to borrow a suitcase.

He is long gone by now, off to go sailing with his actor-hyungs.

But here Jeongguk is, sleep-deprived, tired, and cranky, stuck with his hyungs yelling in his face.

As he gets from the couch to head back to his room, he half runs into Yoongi. Stopping just in time, one of his hands comes up to rest on Yoongi’s shoulder, bodies close enough to feel the warmth radiating through Yoongi’s thin, almost see-through, white shirt.

“Hyung,” he rasps, voice still rough from screaming into the microphone the entire night. “Sorry.”

“‘S fine, Guk-ah,” Yoongi says, coffee on his breath. “No worries, hyung’s fine.”

Hyung sure is fine, wearing an oversized white shirt that reaches the tops of his fingers. Jeongguk is pretty sure it’s Namjoon’s, judging both from its size and style, and it looks good on Yoongi’s much narrower frame. He’s only wearing a pair of black boxers underneath, collarbones exposed thanks to the first few buttons of the shirt being undone. It’s crumpled, probably from sleep that still laces Yoongi’s face and sticks to his long eyelashes, making him look even softer.

His skin is smooth where Jeongguk’s fingers run over the inside of his wrist. Then he pulls back and nods, muttering apologies under his breath as he walks down the hall, hearing Yoongi say, “What,” most probably to Hoseok.

The apartment remains noisy for a couple more days, but then Jimin and Namjoon leave for the airport, and then Hoseok is off to the train station, and Seokjin’s parents are there to pick him up, and things quiet down.

Things get quiet and they slow down and Jeongguk is stuck in his room playing games, losing the grip on time until there’s a knock on his door.

“Yes?” he calls out, voice raspy from keeping quiet for the past few hours. There’s calm indie music coming from the speakers as he edits another video, enough content from their tour to make a full movie at this point, and when he turns in his chair to glance in the direction of the door he realises his eyes hurt from the light coming from the screen, bright in comparison to the otherwise dark room, curtains drawn and lights off.

Yoongi’s head pops in between the door, small eyes blinking at Jeongguk. It’s been days since they last talked, occasionally passing each other in the hallway when heading to the kitchen or the bathroom.

Jeongguk might not have been talking to Yoongi, but he’s been thinking about him. Heard music coming from his room at the end of the hall, accidentally caught a part of a conversation Yoongi had with his mother, missing his voice, missing his presence. So close, yet so far. Only rooms apart, but with thick walls separating them.

His heart squeezes at the sight of Yoongi, eye bags still there but less visible, face swollen from sleep.

“Jeongguk-ah,” he rasps, “you’re still up?”

Confused, he turns back to the computer to check the time. It’s just past seven in the morning and Yoongi is already up. Was he being too loud?

“Hyung, did I wake you?” he asks, looking back to the door, back at Yoongi in his pyjamas. “I’m sorry if I was too loud, I’ll-,”

“Jeongguk-ah.”

He swallows, staring at Yoongi’s sharp eyes, and says, “Yeah?”

“Have you slept at all?”

“Not yet. I’m still working on this video and-,”

“Jeongguk-ah.”

“Yeah?”

They stare at each other, no one moving for a second. Then Yoongi pushes the door open, his pale legs bare of clothes, feet smacking against the wood as he pads over the room all the way to Jeongguk’s chair, reaching for him.

Jeongguk stares as long fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging. Tugging and tugging until he gets up, tugging until they’re out in the hallway, tiles cold against Jeongguk’s feet, soon replaced by wooden flooring as they enter Yoongi’s room, pitch black aside from a thin strip of light where heavy curtains meet. Fingers still hold on when Yoongi sits to his bed, still tug when Yoongi lays down, still warm when Yoongi rolls onto his hip.

Standing there, blonde mop of hair in the middle of Yoongi’s bed, Jeongguk mutters, “Hyung?”

Yoongi groans and doesn’t let go. “Hyung, what - what is this?”

“Sleep.”

“What?”

Another tug, much stronger this time, making Jeongguk’s knees hit the edge of the bed. Yoongi rolls to the other side of the bed, pulling Jeongguk towards himself.

“It’s time to sleep, Jeongguk-ah.”

Jeongguk swallows and stares at Yoongi’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He bites his lip, “Here?”

This time Yoongi tugs him hard enough to have him falling over, knees hitting the mattress as one palm presses against the middle of the bed to keep himself upright. The material of Yoongi’s sheets is soft, smooth, silky. It smells faintly of lavender and citrus, inviting with how calming and familiar it is, reminding Jeongguk of sleepless nights and warm hugs, encouraging words telling him he was going to do great.

“Come sleep,” Yoongi says, and this time Jeongguk doesn’t find the energy to fight him, going easily. He turns to his side, readjusting until he’s comfortable, duvet pulled from underneath his body and thrown over them both.

He sighs against the pillow, inhaling deeply.

Fingers are still holding his wrist when there’s something warm against his cheek, “Night, Guk-ah,” registering just before he falls asleep.

--

During the upcoming days, it quiets down even further, hours passingly slowly and calmly, as if the world outside has stopped turning. After that morning, when they woke up in Yoongi’s bed long after midday with faces swollen but content smiles thanks to the new ball of energy in their bodies, things shift a little. Broken is the invisible line they’ve established over the week of being alone, when neither of them was too eager to walk into each other’s place and interrupt whatever it was they were working on.

Now, Yoongi easily opens the door to Jeongguk’s room to speak a few words, not closing it after he leaves.

Now, Jeongguk dares to climb into Yoongi’s bed at the end of a long night, pressing up against peaceful-looking Yoongi who’s snoring quietly, rearranging the duvet until they’re both covered.

Now, they’re not merely co-existing in the same space, but living together again.

It’s almost like they’re falling back into their normal routines, slowly getting used to being at home after months spent isolated in pristine clean hotel rooms, the company of their mobile phones and room service replaced by another person, living and breathing and going through similar things.

It’s almost like they’re learning about each other again, some knowledge having faded over time.

Like the fact that Yoongi is a pretty good cook who can prepare a fair amount of quite complicated meals, smell of which easily spreads through the entire apartment until it reaches Jeongguk’s room, luring him out.

Following his nose and the loud rumble of his stomach, he finds himself standing in the kitchen, staring at the back of Yoongi’s head, dark roots growing out. His hair is held back by a black headband, a loose shirt hanging on his narrow frame, old mustard shorts underneath it, and he looks like he knows what he’s doing, moving around the kitchen effortlessly, flipping the pan as if it’s no big deal, humming under his breath as he goes.

Homey, is what he looks like. Homey, is what Jeongguk feels, looking at him.

Home, something that’s lost its meaning after so many nights on the road, many beds in different hotels and several countries, a variation of sheets and fabric softeners, nights going from lonely to lonelier to drunk.

Looking at Yoongi, Jeongguk thinks he can remember the feeling again, nostalgic about the warmth that spreads through his chest, so simple yet unfamiliar. Forgotten so many years from debut.

Suddenly there’s nothing he wants to do more than wrap his arms around the boy who has held his hand through the years. He’s twenty-two going on twenty-three, an adult now, but he feels much like a lost child, fingers itchy with the need to be closer, longing for the warmth that comes with a supportive and intimate touch, something that’s become a commodity with their rising fame and quickly increasing paychecks.

“Hyung,” he dares, voice almost as vulnerable as he feels. It sounds a little needy to his own ears, but maybe he can notice it more due to the tension in his chest that tastes a lot like want.

It throws Yoongi off. Shoulders going rigid as he jumps back from the stove, turning his head around to glance at Jeongguk with wide eyes.

“Jeongguk-ah,” it comes, breathless from shock, “when did you get here?”

“Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck, fingers cold against his skin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“‘S fine,” Yoongi says easily, always reassuring him. Words are followed by a gentle touch as he takes a step closer, those warm fingertips brushing over Jeongguk’s wrist, tugging, pulling him closer. “‘S fine, I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“Smelled good,” Jeongguk gives in a way of explanation, giving in, walking closer to where Yoongi was standing. There are three pans on the stove: one of them full of boiling spaghetti, tomato sauce in the other one, and two steaks in the third.

Jeongguk’s stomach growls again, his heart giving a tug at the sight of all the food. Hopeful that maybe it was made with him in mind, despite Yoongi last cooking for him months ago due to their busy schedule and the amount of sleepless nights.

“I’m glad.” Yoongi pokes the steak, moving the garlic sizzling in the oil. He looks well slept now, not as exhausted as he seemed once they wrapped up their tour, eyes curving as he glances at Jeongguk. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

“Hyung’s always been a good cook.”

“Or maybe you’ve always been a starving, growing teenager,” Yoongi replies, smiling. “Sometimes I thought you’d eat a whole whale if we served it to you.”

Jeongguk sees stars in those deep eyes. He says, “Sometimes I thought I could.”

Yoongi’s chuckle is a quiet, gentle thing. He shrugs it off, bumping his shoulder with Jeongguk’s, and goes back to cooking. He checks if the pasta is done, washing some of it under cold water, offering it to Jeongguk to try.

“Is it done?”

“Al dente,” Jeongguk says, breaking into a goofy smile as soon as Yoongi narrows his eyebrows.

“What is this.”

“Did hyung think he was the only one who learned things during Run?” Jeongguk teases, earning himself a glare from Yoongi that’s thrown over his shoulder as he pours water from the cooked spaghetti. Jeongguk laughs and Yoongi shakes his head and, in a way, it feels exactly how it did before they’ve grown distant thanks to the exhausting days on tour.

Run episodes or not, Yoongi has learned a lot.

He decorates the plates like a pro, making the simple dish look better than some they’ve eaten in the world's best hotels and restaurants, his fingers wrapped around the spoon working effortlessly. His eyebrows are pulled together in concentration as he works, resembling the look he gets when he works on music, absolute focus and no room for mistakes or distractions.

When he looks up, he grimaces.

“What?”

Jeongguk shrugs and repeats, “What,” back at him.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“You totally are,” Yoongi accuses, turning back to the plates. Jeongguk’s traces over his lips, feeling the smile under his fingertips. Curious and a little suspicious, but he pushes it to the back of his head. “Hey, you wanna eat out on the balcony?”

“You want to eat with me?”

“No, I’d like it if you called Sejin-hyung to come over,” Yoongi deadpans, then turns to him to pull a face. “Yeah, I want to eat with you. Who do you think all this food is for.”

The balcony is one of the best features of the apartment aside from its size, but they’ve barely used it, rarely getting a chance to chill and do nothing, which it is the best for. Seokjin bought a big bean bag and stuffed it into a corner, often working on his computer from there. There are potted plants lined by the railing which Namjoon was enthusiastic about growing but has mostly forgotten about as soon as another tour was announced.

There are cigarette butts in the ashtray, a hoodie thrown over the wooden chair by the small table, headphones placed on it. There’s a cigarette pack on the floor, but there’s no knowing who left it behind.

Jeongguk thinks it doesn’t really matter. A pack is always there, no matter what, for anyone who needs it. One of the ‘less self-destructive ways to blow off steam’ as Namjoon thoughtfully put it months back, when the management caught Taehyung with smokes in his backpack and demanded an explanation, Namjoon taking his side.

The balcony is mostly used for that, Jeongguk thinks. Blowing off steam, one by one, because despite relying on each other they rarely bother each other with that burdening bullshit.

Yoongi kicks the pack aside as he places the plates on the table, grabbing the ashtray to put it on the floor next to the pack.

He motions at the chair. “Sit down, come on.”

It doesn’t leave him much choice, so he does as instructed, but Yoongi turns around and heads back to the apartment. Jeongguk stares after him, then stares at the food in front of him, then stares at the lively city below him, people rushing left and right even though it still feels like a pause has been pressed on life, time passing slowly.

Yoongi greets him with a small smile, bare feet hitting the tiled balcony floor. A bottle of wine and two fancy glasses are set on the table next to the plates, fingers barely holding onto two pairs of chopsticks, one of which is passed to Jeongguk as Yoongi sits down.

He looks well in the summer, warm, yellow light. He looks good with cheeks soft pink from the heat inside, skin finally earning back that healthy shade, eyes less tired.

He seems happy. Maybe it’s having the time to cook for himself again, maybe it’s the sunny day in Seoul, maybe it’s sitting on the balcony and sharing a meal.

Face twisting, he points at the plates between them. “Dig in.”

“I’ll enjoy the meal,” Jeongguk says with a nod, finally looking away from his hyung who he’s gotten so used to staring through the camera lens rather than face to face, watching videos of him more often than talking.

It’s another downside of being famous and busy, he guesses. Everything takes its toll, every good thing having a bitter aftertaste.

The seven of them used to be so close, Jeongguk thinks.

They’re still close, but in a different way now. Where used to be pranking and playing games during every free minute they got, no matter how exhausted and sleep-deprived, is now quiet scrolling through their phones or catching some of that very expensive, very treasured rest. Where used to be no personal space because they shared a single room and had almost no secrets is now at least a couple doors that separates them from each other, assuring a space no one interrupts.

Where used to be warm hands holding Jeongguk’s is now an emptiness that was never truly filled. He simply got used to that void, eventually.

Which doesn’t mean Jeongguk doesn’t appreciate what they have now. He’s not a fool and he knows the relationship he has with his hyungs is to be treasured, the closeness not something all groups have. Trust and support comes before everything else, and every business deal is discussed before agreed on, because they’ve always been a loyal seven and refuse to be broken up, even with Seokjin’s enlistment just around the corner.

He’s thankful to his hyungs, grateful for everything they’ve given him, for all the patience wasted on his hormonal, teenage ass.

It’s no different now, in a way.

There’s a pair of chopsticks in front of his face, a piece of steak held between them. An exact medium rare, because Yoongi is an expert when it comes to steaks, all six of them happy whenever he goes out of his way to buy the best meat he can get, treating them to a good meal he prepares himself.

Jeongguk is the only one who’s being treated this time, the two of them sitting in silence on the balcony high above the city that made them, busy streets of Seoul seeming so far away with no one to bother this calm they’ve established over the past few days, slowly getting used to being around each other again.

A chopstick pokes him in the bottom lip as he chews. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t looked away, still staring at Yoongi’s lidded eyes.

He swallows. “What?”

“Open up,” Yoongi instructs, which Jeongguk does because he’s no fool. The meat is warm and tender where it meets his tongue, Yoongi’s glare attentive as he observes. For some reason it sends a weird wave of fire through Jeongguk’s body, challenging him to maintain eye contact.

“It’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m enjoying it,” Jeongguk says, nodding, staring at the spark in Yoongi’s eyes. “I’m enjoying it, a lot.”

Jeongguk remembers a quote from Charlie Brown - about three things people like to stare at. The list is either wrong or incomplete, because Min Yoongi was not mentioned as one of the three, and yet Jeongguk is sitting there, unable to look away.

--

Even if not paying attention, a week passes by quicker than he ever thought possible.

Playing games gets repetitive and with that too boring to continue, editing videos suddenly seems like too much work, and he regrets not going home sooner once he realises he has nothing to do, laying in his bed long past midday, staring at the ceiling.

Yoongi’s voice is coming from somewhere in the apartment. He’s loud, as if talking to someone, but too quiet for Jeongguk to make out what he’s saying.

He dozes off to the even tone of Yoongi’s voice, and the next time he comes to it, it’s dead silent. He blinks at the white walls for a while longer, then gets up and walks out of his room, eyes still glued together and brain slow at processing things.

Which is why he freezes when he spots Yoongi behind a counter, smiling at him, slow at reacting.

“Ah, you’re here,” Yoongi’s smile says, warm and pleasant. Jeongguk smacks his lips, mouth incredibly dry. Raising a hand in greeting, he scratches at his head and walks closer to the counter.

“What’chu makin’?” he slurs, leaning closer to squint at the cups lined on the counter. He pulls a face at the strong smell. “Is that-,”

“Kimbap, yeah.”

He feels his eyes widen, mouth falling open in shock. Pasta and steak is one thing, but kimbap is something he’s always associated with his mother and grandma, something that smells and tastes of home, store triangle kimbap coming close but not quite.

His stomach growls loud enough for them both to hear.

A second passes before Yoongi giggles, covering his mouth with one hand, eyes curving beautifully. Jeongguk tells himself he’s looking at the afternoon light dancing on Yoongi’s skin, gracing his cheeks, but truthfully he isn’t sure.

It’s a lovely smile. “Hungry, huh?”

“I guess,” Jeongguk shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “I had ramyeon before going to bed yesterday.”

Yoongi hums, eyes focused on the bowl of rice in front of him. Jeongguk goes to make coffee, slowly waking with the gentle melody that plays in the background, the song Yoongi was humming a few days ago. It’s new, not one he’s heard before. “What’s this?”

“What?” Yoongi asks, looking over his shoulder. Jeongguk points at the ceiling, stirring a teaspoon of sugar into his mug.

“This - this song.”

“Ah.” Yoongi looks to the ground, using the inside of his forearm to rub at his cheek. Long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, dusted soft pink.

“You were humming it the other day,” Jeongguk says before he can stop himself, before he can consider it might be weird that he remembers, that he was paying attention to it.

But Yoongi’s eyes snap up, a bit wider now. The attentive stare makes Jeongguk clear his throat, turning warmer under the attention.

“I was.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk rubs behind an ear, fingers running over the hair on the side of his head, “it sounded pretty, but I was just guessing it was something you were working on.”

“I was,” Yoongi repeats, still looking at him. Jeongguk drops the spoon into the sink with a loud clunk, walking around the counter Yoongi is standing behind to sit on one of the barstools. They’re much closer like this, Yoongi’s eyes still on him. “I was, yeah, it’s - this is the first version.”

Jeongguk is the one whose eyes snap up this time as he nearly chokes on coffee.

“Hyung did - hyung made this?”

“Yeah.” A breath, then two, neither of them looking away. “What do you think?”

What do you think instead of Do you like it , because Yoongi doesn’t like pressuring people or putting them into awkward positions, his words always carefully selected and thought through. In a way, his music is the same - a composition of notes that fit together just right, creating a melody that brings out unique emotions, portraying whatever Yoongi wants it to.

It’s Yoongi behind honest, baring himself with allowing Jeongguk to listen to the first version of the song, the selection not perfect yet. There might still be some imperfections, parts that need to be polished or redone, because Yoongi might not get it right on the first try, but he sure does try to get it eventually.

Jeongguk closes his eyes and allows himself to soak in everything the song offers. The kitchen quiets down, only his own breath in his ears before the melody embraces him, leading him through a passage, deeper and deeper until he can feel it to his core.

It’s bright.

It’s lovely, warm, reassuring.

It’s nothing like the songs Yoongi had made in the past, but at the same time it’s so incredibly Yoongi Jeongguk can almost hear his raspy voice over it, can hear words that were never written and sentences that don’t exist.

Like I’m content or This makes me happy, fills me with joy, I’m having fun and enjoying what I’m doing right now . As always, it makes the listener reflect on themselves, and he thinks the song is more about him than it is about Yoongi, because Yoongi is good like that.

He’s versed at making people realise what they feel by making them feel it in its rawest, purest form, reaching the maximum, unfiltered emotion.

The last few notes bring him out of it. Piano, a logical and very fitting choice.

When he opens his eyes, Yoongi is still there. Hair messy and wearing that stupid apron he got from Seokjin for his birthday, a customised one with RJ’s face in the middle and a pun right under, his hands in plastic gloves and eyes trained on Jeongguk.

Yoongi is still there, the same as before, but somehow it’s as if everything has shifted. Different.

“Hyung,” he says, voice even raspier than before. It’s almost like a prayer these days - hyung this, hyung that, because Yoongi is the only one there. Hyung . Jeongguk clears his throat, shifting in the chair, hands wrapped around the mug. “Yoongi-hyung,” he says, enjoying the sound of Yoongi’s name on his tongue, “It makes me feel what I want to feel.”

It’s genuine, telling enough even if vague. It makes Yoongi’s face brighten up even further, a smile threatening his lips, tucked away in the corners.

“Positive emotions, then?”

Jeongguk cocks his head to the side, sucking air through his teeth. He pulls a face.

“Yeah. Well, it’s almost - blurred, a little. Excitement and anticipation, like - like there’s something good right around the corner, right?” Nodding, he runs a hand through his hair, shaking it from his eyes. It’s growing long, which rarely happens with frequent haircuts during promotions, but there’s no one controlling them now. An odd thing coils in his belly at the thought, at this fake one-month freedom they were granted. “As if I’m waiting for something, not sure what it is yet, but sure it’s going to be a nice thing, a pleasant thing.”

The smile on Yoongi’s face spells joy.

“Who knew it could be described so well with words.”

“It’s what hyung was going for?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs, smile not slipping even once he gets back to mixing the rice, adding sesame oil to the bowl. His fingers work around the sticky ball, veins on his forearms bulging, sleeves of the shirt he’s wearing rolled above his elbows.

Jeongguk’s coffee grows cold as he watches Yoongi do the magic. He swallows it with difficulty, bitterness clinging to the roof of his mouth, a stark contrast to the warmth in his chest that makes it impossible not to smile.

Placing all the ingredients on the piece of seaweed covered in rice, Yoongi rolls it together with a certain composure and calmness to it, as if nothing could throw him off. “I want our fans to assign meaning to the songs we make,” he says, out of the blue, Jeongguk’s eyes snapping from his hands to his eyes, downcast and focused on rolling the kimbap. “We offer a melody and lyrics, but everyone can interpret that differently. To use it in a way they need - as a support mechanism, as a hype song, as - as whatever is right.”

“Open for interpretation.”

Yoongi nods, wrapping the kimbap tightly before he takes it aside, grabbing a knife from the cutting board. He cuts off the edge, then makes even centimetre slices, placing them onto an empty plate.

“I don’t like saying ‘this is what this is’ and move on. I don’t want to tell them what to feel, because that doesn’t feel genuine - doesn’t feel right.” There's a fire in his eyes. “Everyone should feel what they do, because there’s no right or wrong when it comes to emotions.”

A piece of kimbap is held right in front of his mouth, one of the edges Yoongi cut off. There’s a pair of attentive eyes on him, waiting for him to open his mouth, so he does, carefully grabbing the piece with his teeth. As soon as he swallows, Yoongi feeds him the other one.

Chewing, he says, “But hyung is saying he felt what I felt when writing it?”

Yoongi laughs, taking off the plastic gloves to throw them in the trash. He washes his hands, shrugging.

“It’s a bit silly, when you put it like that.” A nod, hair on the back of his head jumping with it. “But, yeah - yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

When he turns around to wipe his hands, there’s pink covering his cheeks. Jeongguk stuffs his mouth with more kimbap before he can say something way, way sillier.

--

Yoongi goes out in the evening and being left alone with nothing to do, Jeongguk decides to scroll through Netflix and look at newest romantic comedies he could watch. As soon as the movie is chosen, he goes to make a big bowl of popcorn, grabs a bag of chips, and gets a pack of beer as well as a bottle of soju from the fridge. Yoongi isn’t the biggest fan of either, so Jeongguk guesses it’s probably been left behind by either Jimin or Seokjin.

Back on the couch, with snacks lined up on the coffee table in front of him, he snaps a picture and sends it to both hyungs with Thank you, I’ll enjoy it!! underneath, then presses play and digs into the bowl of warm popcorn.

Two beers and some shots of soju later, the bowl is empty, ending credits rolling on the screen, and the lock on the front door beeps twice.

Bowl of popcorn and a romantic comedy later, Jeongguk sits on the couch with tears blurring the text on the screen, chest heaving. He doesn’t realise he’s sobbing until there’s a hand on his shoulder, the back of his neck, top of his head, gentle fingers running through his hair and over his face, brushing away the cold remains of tears from his cheeks.

“Guk-ah,” it comes, Yoongi’s face shone on from the side, blue light from the screen making him look a little alien, but no less pretty. “Jeongguk-ah - what’s,” his voice wavers, eyes rushing all over Jeongguk’s face, fingers so incredibly careful, “Are you okay?”

Jeongguk’s heart hurts from all the love it’s filled with. The drama on the screen ended happily and having Yoongi checking up on him with caring eyes and kind hands hits twice as hard from the tenderness left behind by the movie, warmth wrapped around him.

He bursts out sobbing, messily wiping his tears with the back of his hand, feeling himself grimace.

“They were - they got together, hyung, no matter,” a sob that makes it impossible to talk, three long breaths to steady himself, “No matter what the rest said - they were happy.”

Yoongi’s eyes reflect the light from the tv, bright and fixed on Jeongguk. A thumb brushes over his cheek, a little rough at the contact.

“Who was?”

A finger pointed at the screen is all he manages before more tears spill over the edge, hands coming up to cover his face in embarrassment, cheeks growing even warmer. His insides feel gooey and fragile, much more easily affected than usual now that the facade has cracked. Yoongi’s palm on the back of his neck feels much warmer, too.

What he doesn’t expect is Yoongi bursting out laughing, bending in half with the force of it. He’s kneeling by the couch, face now tucked into Jeongguk’s lap, one hand on his thigh and the other one still on his shoulder, holding on as his whole body shakes with laughter.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk whines, but he can’t help but smile through tears when Yoongi glances at him, eyes wet from laughing so hard.

“Hyung is a real fool, isn’t he.” Yoongi tilts his head, patting Jeongguk’s thigh. “Should’ve expected this from a hopeless romantic.”

“Don’t,” hiccup, his lips automatically forming into a pout, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Ah, no,” is all Yoongi says, continuing to stare at him as if he’s seeing him for the first time, as if there’s something that’s captured his attention and won’t let go. “I would never.” The smile that’s accompanying the statement screams genuine, spells kind and nice and all things good, feeling warm to the touch when Jeongguk reaches over, fingertips light over Yoongi’s cheek, all the way to his chin.

“Hyung smells good.”

Yoongi huffs, turning his head to the side. His entire face shines blue, now, and Jeongguk looks at the shadows shifting and changing until they’re facing each other again, Yoongi’s sigh heavy, sounding almost disappointed.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Just a little,” Jeongguk says, leaning closer to be able to rest his forehead against Yoongi’s shoulder, nudging it, hair falling over his eyes. It’s been growing incredibly fast these days and he sometimes ties it on the top of his head to keep it from blocking his view. Yoongi said it looked silly, but he said it with a smile and voice that claimed everything but.

“Should get you to bed.”

“But hyung-nim,” Jeongguk sighs against Yoongi’s neck, smelling of citrus and sharp, expensive cologne he only wears when he goes out and puts extra effort into his look, which is stupid because he always looks good. Even in the too big t-shirts he steals from Namjoon’s closet and tight shirts he buys on the road that hug his chest in the worst ways. Or maybe those are the ones he looks the best in. “Hyung-nim, I’m not tired.”

“You don’t look too awake, either.”

Jeongguk presses the pads of his fingers against his eyelids and says, “My eyes are swollen.”

“And why’s that,” Yoongi shoots back, but he’s still smiling.

Tonight he’s gone out of his way to look nice, Jeongguk can tell by the big watch on his wrist and several heavy rings on his fingers, a pair of black slacks that wrap around his thighs tighter than the leather pants they wore for one of the comebacks, top three buttons of his shirt undone. His bleached hair looks great contrasting the all black he’s wearing, feeling soft between Jeongguk’s fingers.

He’s looking at Yoongi’s profile from below, head still pillowed on Yoongi’s shoulder, hand buried in blond locks.

“Was it fun.”

“What?” Yoongi asks, fingers wrapping around Jeongguk’s wrist to pull his hand out of his hair, instead holding it in his own, metal of his rings cold to the contact. Jeongguk sighs.

“The evening. Hyung’s evening.”

“Why,” Yoongi huffs, his other hand coming to rest on top of Jeongguk’s head, fingers finally working their way into his hair. Sighing in content, Jeongguk tilts his head forward, inching closer to feel fingernails scratch against his skull. Yoongi’s laugh is felt on the back of his neck just before he says, “You like this, huh?”

Humming, Jeongguk presses even closer. Fingers card through his hair a few times before they stop, warmth suddenly disappearing. When he looks up with questionable eyes, Yoongi laughs, getting to his feet. “You’re not gonna leave me on the floor the whole night, are you?” he says, then, once he sits down on the couch, under his breath, “Kneeling hurts.”

And for some reason Jeongguk associates that with the least appropriate thing, turning away from Yoongi as his cheeks grow warmer and warmer, pressing against the backrest with knees pulled to his chest, hiding his face behind his palms.

Rustling of plastic makes him glance over his shoulder, Yoongi facing the screen and eyeing the bag of chips. The movie has stopped playing, screen displaying the Netflix page again, faces of the main actors big and smiling next to the title. “It was fun,” Yoongi says, hand disappearing into the bag. As Jeongguk continues staring at the chips he places into his mouth, he adds, “The evening. It was fun.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk shakes out of it, nodding. “Yeah, that’s - I’m glad, hyung. Good to hear.”

“Mh. What about yours?” Yoongi says around chips in his mouth. He jerks his head in the direction of the tv. “Was it good?”

“The movie?” A nod. “Well,” Jeongguk rubs the back of his neck, looking at the ground in embarrassment, even though he knows, logically , there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He loves romantic comedies and all six are aware of the fact, always teasing him for it but never being mean about it. “I liked it.”

“A happy ending, huh?”

Jeongguk nods, something heavy on his chest all of a sudden. A bitter aftertaste that comes with remembering the reality, with the realisation that in the real world it doesn’t always work out as it does in the movies, and that people can be a lot meaner than presented on the screen.

Yoongi seems to be contemplating something, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at the screen and lazily chews on the paprika flavoured chips, fingers and the corners of his mouth greasy.

His eyes are bright when he looks at Jeongguk, tongue swiping over the bottom lip until it glistens in the fabricated light. “Do you want to watch another?”

A second is needed for the words to sink in, but then Jeongguk is laughing, smiling, leaning closer as he says, “Is hyung willing to watch a romance movie with me?” with a teasing tone, because he knows Yoongi hates romantic movies and only watches a narrow selection of niche comedies. What he doesn’t expect is a shrug from Yoongi, who’s turned back to the tv, his cheeks appearing darker than before, but it might be the light from the screen.

“Whatever you choose, Jeongguk-ah.”

It has to be the light from the screen.

He giggles, cheeks warm from the alcohol and the proximity, from Yoongi’s bright smile, and says, “Even Iron Man?”

Iron Man is one of his favourite superheroes and unsurprisingly also one of his favourite movies, which means he’s seen it countless times over the years, which also means the other six were forced to watch it more than a couple of times. Seokjin not long ago declared it his ‘least favourite movie’, claiming watching it just one more time would kill him, while Hoseok simply disappears whenever it’s implied they might watch a Marvel movie.

Yoongi is not much different. He’s not the most vocal when it comes to complaining about Jeongguk’s choice of films, but he’s a close second, swearing good dialogue and nice cinematography are what make a movie, rather sticking to artsy stuff Jeongguk isn’t too familiar with.

Now, he sits on the couch, not looking away from the tv. He sits there, jaw clenched, refusing to look at Jeongguk when he jerks a nod and hums.

Jeongguk squints. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yeah. Let’s go. The choice is yours.”

The choice is his, because Yoongi cares for him and wants to watch something he will enjoy. The choice is his, because Yoongi trusts him, giving him the opportunity to do whatever he wants, agreeing to go with it.

If it were any other day - if the rest were home, if he were feeling mischievous and bratty - he might have chosen one of Iron Man movies, even though he knows most of the dialogue by heart, having memorised several scenes down to the last word. But it’s just the two of them in the living room, and the gesture itself makes him feel so grateful and loved he tries his hardest to remember any title that Yoongi has mentioned over the years.

Wong Kar-Wai , it pops into his head and before he can think about it he’s typing the name into the search bar. He can feel Yoongi’s eyes on the side of his head as Netflix loads, offering several movies with interesting covers.

He scans the titles, some of them familiar. The last one in the first row seems particularly interesting, so he decides to click on that, Yoongi shifting on the couch next to him. “You don’t have to,” he says, as if he didn’t see it coming. Jeongguk puts the remote on the coffee table and opens another beer, turning to Yoongi as the movie starts in front of them.

“Hyung likes this director, right?”

The silence he gets in reply can only means one thing. He smiles. “Good. I’ll enjoy it, too.”

They share a beer and finish the bag of paprika chips. Jeongguk stares at the screen, unable to look away from the mixture of colours, from intense emotions on actors’ faces as well as in their words and posture. Yoongi mixes them somaeks, quietly handing a glass to Jeongguk, who downs it too fast and reckless.

Fully immersed in the movie, Jeongguk doesn’t realise he’s crying until end credits are rolling, violin playing in the background much more than just a soundtrack, shattering his heart to pieces over and over and over again. Tears stream down his cheeks, breathing difficult with throat filled with cotton. He’s turned to the side, away from Yoongi, pressing his nose into his shoulder to muffle as much sound as possible.

“Jeongguk-ah,” is said into the quiet of the room, accompanied only by the gentle melody of the violin. A hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, the sofa shifting under him as Yoongi scotts closer until their shoulders are pressed together, the slightest amount of pressure.

Controlling his breathing, Jeongguk focuses on the fingers on his neck, gently massaging the tense muscles. He takes a deep breath, feeling his whole face crumble under the pressure of tears and sadness his whole body is laced with, giving into it as he allows the first sob to tear him apart.

He avoids Yoongi’s eye when he turns around, pressing his face into Yoongi’s chest. The hand moves from his neck, an arm coming to rest over his shoulders, fingers resting on his back now.

It’s so careful, the way Yoongi holds him, as if he thinks he might break him. As if he’s a little uncomfortable after almost a year of not touching like this, not exactly, not without any cameras or the other five around them, because Jeongguk has grown and isn’t a little kid anymore.

But Yoongi still holds Jeongguk through the tears as he used to, stiffness eventually evaporating from his touch, less restrained and careful.

There’s warmth on top of Jeongguk’s head before he falls asleep, Yoongi’s voice lulling him to dreams.

--

Nearly ten days into their break, Taehyung returns home, announcing he’s leaving for Daegu the following day.

“Hyung, we could go together,” he says, feet kicked onto the chair in the dining room and a can of cider in his hand, scrolling through his phone. He’s got a tan, hair wild around his head. “Were you thinking of going home?”

Yoongi doesn’t look up from his bowl of udon, chewing slowly.

“I don’t know.”

“I told my mum I was coming this weekend, so I have to go now - and if you don’t have anything planned you might as well come with me.” His eyes snap up, forefinger pointed at Jeongguk across the table.

“What,” he mutters around the noodles in his mouth, slurping loudly. He exchanges a look with Yoongi, who looks away as soon as their eyes meet.

“You should come, too.” Taehyung reaches over to ruffle his hair, smiling happily as he nods his head. Jeongguk ducks the touch, unable to fight back the smile that threatens his lips. “Mum’s been saying I should invite you and since you’re free-,”

“Maybe he’s got plans, Taehyung-ah.”

“Ah, yeah. Jeonggukie, do you have plans?”

When the break started he told them he didn’t have any plans, that he wanted to rest, and now he feels more than well rested, his body unable to sleep more than six hours per day, slightly restless with all the time he’s got on his hands and doesn’t know what to do with.

So no, he doesn’t have any plans. He wishes to see his family and maybe travel a little, but nothing is set in stone yet.

He still longs for something, but can’t put his finger on it. It feels closer than before, but still just a vague form he isn’t able to name or identify.

“I - I’ll see some friends,” he tells his bowl, picking a piece of carrot to nibble on it. “But no, nothing. Not really, I guess.”

“Don’t pressure him,” Yoongi interrupts before Taehyung can say a thing. They’re looking at each other when Jeongguk looks up, Taehyung pouting.

“Well, my family would love to have you,” he says. Jeongguk nods, because of course they would. They’re kind like that, always inviting Jeongguk over, even though he’s only briefly met them before and after concerts over the years.

“Thanks, hyung. I’ll think about it,” he promises.

He holds that promise and thinks about it for the whole twenty hours until Yoongi and Taehyung are both packed and standing at the front door, looking at him.

“You’re sure?” Taehyung asks, yet again, eyes sad.

“I’m sure, hyung. Thank you, again.”

“If you change your mind,” Taehyung nods, shrugging, “You know where to find us.” He’s wrapped into a tight hug that he happily accepts, pressing his chin into Taehyung’s shoulder, taller than him even after all the growing he’s done over the years. Another thank you is said to the space between them, Taehyung beaming when he backs away. 

Taehyung picks up his bag, turns around, and leaves the apartment with, “Have fun, Jeonggukie.”

Which leaves the two of them standing in the entryway, silence embracing them as soon as the heavy door shuts behind Taehyung, noise kept out of the apartment. Jeongguk alternates between glancing at Yoongi and looking at the floor, something incredibly weird hanging in the air that makes him unsure about his every move, expectations of the unknown pumping through his veins.

The past week has shifted things between them, that much Jeongguk is aware of.

Words come easier and more honest now. Touches are less awkward and restrained, natural rather than carefully thought about, and Yoongi’s presence has become a necessary part of his day.

But he’s visiting his family now and Jeongguk has been selfish enough as it was, taking everything Yoongi has offered to him, spending as much time together as possible.

Looking up, he smiles at Yoongi’s distant eyes.

“Say hi to your family for me, hyung.” He fiddles with his fingers, turning and twisting the silver band on his pinky, cold to the touch. “Enjoy. Eat well.” Yoongi nods, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” Rubbing his neck, he huffs. “Don’t starve, now that I’m not here to cook for you, get it?” The tone of his voice is teasing, causing a smile to spread over Jeongguk’s face.

“Understood,” he mutters, saluting. The smiles remain even after words run out, both of them standing there as if they’re waiting for something. Jeongguk’s fingers are restless, itchy to touch. “Hyung.”

Yoongi’s eyes are wide when he looks up, says, “Yes?”

“Keep in touch.”

It earns him a huff, but Yoongi still nods and tells him that yes, he will keep in touch, that Jeongguk can look forward to random pictures of Daegu and his family. Then he looks to the ground, rubbing his neck again, and before Jeongguk can even properly register it, he’s taking a step closer, wrapping an arm around Jeongguk, a little stiff because of the angle and the uncoordinated move, but Jeongguk doesn’t mind.

He doesn’t mind it in the slightest, when he gets to wrap his own arms around Yoongi’s chest, chin resting on Yoongi’s shoulder.

Maybe he holds on for a second too long, but it must be okay, because Yoongi doesn’t comment when he steps back, smile persistent on his face. Grabbing his bag, he walks closer to the door, hand on the handle.

“Jeongguk-ah,” he says, “take care,” and then he’s turning around, away from Jeongguk, opening the door to walk through it. He manages to steal one last glance before the door shuts, their eyes locking.

The apartment is left in silence, nothing but the buzz of the fridge interrupting it, which makes him feel incredibly alone and lonely for the first time since they returned from the tour. It’s more than a little absurd with the fact that he was used to sleeping in a different room in a different city and country every single day for weeks on end, but this time, something is different.

He tells himself it isn’t Yoongi’s pleasant and comforting presence he’s gotten so used to.

There are many steps to feeling less alone in their big apartment, first one being blasting loud music until he can barely hear his thoughts. He makes ramyeon for dinner while listening to Epik High’s latest album, which all seems like an excellent idea until Eternal Sunshine comes on and Jeongguk is left staring at the pot of boiling ramyeon, feelings in his chest heavy and unexplainable.

Ignoring it is what he’s always done and what has mostly worked, so he skips the song and blasts Linkin Park on an even louder volume.

He moves around the flat without much thought, going from playing video games to binge watching a mini-series on Netflix, falling asleep on the couch with cheek squished against the faux leather. When he wakes up, there’s sun shining through the big windows, blinding him.

The kitchen is empty when he looks over, remember Yoongi isn’t there.

The emptiness he feels is unusual and more than slightly unsettling. He decides to fight it with a quick shower and using a lot of Hoseok’s citrus gel that smells like heaven, then heads for the fitness in the basement, back painful from days of not doing anything but laying around.

He does his full routine, feeling a little better, more energised and cheerful, but once he’s back in the flat it’s pretty much back to the same thing. Ramyeon for lunch, some tv, playing games, texting with Yugyeom and Bambam about pointless things, more tv, another pack of ramyeon as the day outside slowly ends, sun setting behind tall buildings.

It’s dull. Repetitive and so incredibly pointless.

He ends up Skyping with Jimin, who answers after only a few rings.

“What,” it comes, the connection a little weak, but the fake annoyance in Jimin’s voice heard just fine, even if several thousand kilometres apart.

“What’s wrong with your face,” Jeongguk mutters, laughing at Jimin’s double chin, filmed from the below. He gets a glare through the screen, Jimin breathing quickened as he continues filming his face from an odd angle he would never accept for any of their official content.

“We’re in Russia, I’m trying to keep lowkey.”

“With not covering your face?”

Jimin on the screen runs a hand through his hair, now dark brown again. Jeongguk squints. “Also - we? Are you still with Namjoon-hyung?”

“It’s been working so far,” Jimin tells him, “And yes, Joonie-hyung’s here.”

“I wanna say hi.” Jeongguk rolls over on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The absence of Yoongi’s music and his voice hits even harder during the night.

“Not - not literally here, he’s..” Jimin looks around, lifting the phone a bit higher. “I don’t know, some art gallery or something.”

“What about you?”

“Rather taking time sightseeing,” he says, offering a smile to the camera, as bright and brilliant as always, making Jeongguk feel a bit less alone. “What about you? Having fun?”

“Yeah, well.”

“That doesn’t sound too sure.” Jimin brings the screen closer to his face, his nose appearing much bigger than it actually is, staring at something with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you still home?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk mutters, muffling half of it into the pillow, rolling over to lay on his side. He feels heavy. “It was fun, I was resting and I was working on some videos and.. It was fun. For a while.”

The video lags, so Jimin says, “For a while,” earlier than his lips, and Jeongguk takes that moment to think it through, to let the sharpness of Jimin’s voice sink in, for the words said back at him to truly hit.

And he realises that not much has changed. It’s merely Yoongi’s presence that made it go from interesting to boring, from fun to lonely.

Jimin hums as if he can hear his thoughts, but then again he’s always been scarily good at reading Jeongguk. “Listen. Jeongguk-ah, listen.” He hangs his head low as he passes someone, looking over his shoulder to check something, then he’s back to staring at the screen, at the street in front of him. “Since you’re alone, make something of that time.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking.”

“No, I mean.. Yeah, go to your parents.” The video freezes, but Jeongguk continues staring at the worried eyes of unmoving Jimin on the screen, nodding at it. “Go to your parents once you plan it, but I’m saying - you’re free, for now, so just - do stuff.”

“I’m trying.”

“Go pierce your ears like you’ve been saying you wanted to for ages,” Jimin says, his smile finally moving again. “Go fucking - I don’t know, go dye your hair a crazy blue-,”

“I wouldn’t suit blue,” Jeongguk interrupts, but he’s smiling.

“- or visit Lotte World because - wait what? Did you just say you wouldn’t suit blue?” Jimin furrows his eyebrows and glares at the camera with the angriest expression he can muster, successfully making Jeongguk laugh, laughing with him. “You suit all colours of the rainbow. But what was I saying..”

Another laugh is all Jeongguk manages before Jimin is already continuing, nodding his head as he says, “Hey, you should visit my tattoo artist. I gave you the contact - remember? When you asked about it?” He smiles. “Go for it, Jeongguk-ah. No one’s stopping you now.”

It takes another fifteen minutes and some more encouraging words and stupid ideas from Jimin for them to hang up.

Jeongguk feels much warmer than before, easily falling asleep.

--

“What are those,” are the first words out of Yoongi’s mouth when he walks through the front door, less than seventy hours after he left. His hands are full of bags, face mask tucked under his chin, and cheeks rounder than they were three days ago.

Jeongguk’s hands are what he’s staring at, mouth parted.

“Oh, these?” Jeongguk raises his hands, bringing one closer to his face to peer at the letters on his skin. He steps over Yoongi’s bag to get closer to him, pushing one hand to his face with a big smile. “Aren’t they cool?”

Yoongi just stares. First at Jeongguk’s hands, leaning closer as his eyebrows slowly furrow, lips pressing into a pout. Then at Jeongguk’s eyes, puzzled look on his face. Then back at his hands while he slowly straightens up, leaning back.

“Tattoos?”

“I saw Jimin’s friend,” Jeongguk nods. “She showed me some designs and we talked for a while. I,” his voice cracks when Yoongi’s fingertips brush over the back of his hand, rest on his knuckles, Yoongi’s eyes snapping up when he clears his throat. “I - I had a lot of questions.”

With a nod, Yoongi swipes his fingers over the skin. His eyebrows furrow.

“There’s no swelling.”

Shaking his head, Jeongguk smiles. He says, “No, hyung, those are not real,” as the careful touch continues, warm skin against his. He swallows, staring at the points of contact, at Yoongi’s caring eyes. “I wanted to see what it looked like and noona drew some for me.”

“She did, huh.”

It feels almost like a dream, wrapped in a distant, surreal sort of calm, Yoongi’s words smooth and soft, which is not at all how he usually is, when all of them are around. Always among the loud ones, explaining something or whining or screaming with a wide smile when he doesn’t agree.

Only the two of them here, and everything is different.

Jeongguk appreciates it, thankful for the subtle glances and quiet words shared between them. In a way it’s much more personal, intimate, even though there’s no one to witness any of it, no one to hear or see them, everything caught between thick walls of their apartment, far away from their management, their parents, their fans, name of whom is covering Jeongguk’s knuckles that Yoongi’s fingers are still tracing. “Army,” he reads, squinting his eyes. He sucks air through his teeth. “This..”

“Army,” Jeongguk repeats, forefinger brushing against Yoongi’s fingers on the back of his hand, making him giggle. “RM, V. J stands for Jimin, J-Hope, and Jin.” Yoongi is already staring at him when he looks up. “MY. Min Yoongi.”

“My,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, pronouncing the English possessive pronoun rather than the initials of his name. My , Jeongguk thinks, heart giving him away with how quickly it beats when his thoughts immediately skip to My Min Yoongi . Possessiveness has always seemed like a weird thing to him, not at all possible living with six other boys, sharing his clothes, space, and fears with them, nothing he could keep for himself.

Yoongi’s fingers against his own feel special.

They feel like something Jeongguk wouldn’t mind keeping to himself.

A thumb brushes over the heart below his thumb, Yoongi’s lips curving. “I purple you,” he says in English, voice lower than it is when he speaks in Korean, less confident but just as captivating. Jeongguk nods, swallows, pulls his free hand back, because there’s nothing more to explain.

Deep down he hopes Yoongi might hold on for a moment longer, even if there’s no reason for him to do so. He wishes they were just two regular boys who could do anything they wanted, who weren’t additionally limited by the expectations of the whole nation.

Wrong or right seems so simple when it comes to the public’s opinion.

Wrong or right is never clear, the same as black or white. The line is never clear, rather a gradual transition between the two, several shades of grey that seem the same when looked from far away yet so incredibly different when inspected up close.

Jeongguk never wants to be studied closely, but he wishes he would have more freedom than he does, in love with his career or not.

All good things must come to an end, and Yoongi’s gentle hold is no exception. He moves back in order to pick up his bag from the floor, pulling a face as he looks to the rest, which Jeongguk quickly grabs and carries into the living room.

“Where do these go?”

“The kitchen, I think.” Yoongi laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as he walks towards his room, dropping the bag in front of it. “My mum - she packed a lot.” Clearing his throat, he follows Jeongguk into the kitchen, bending to get the containers from the first bag. “There’s a care package for you.”

“Really?” Jeongguk smiles, helping to unload the bags. “Awesome.”

They need half an hour to stuff all the containers in the fridge, so much food it barely fits. Jeongguk opens one of them to steal some kimchi, Yoongi laughing at him as he groans in satisfaction, telling him it’s the best one he’s had in a while.

“Your parents must miss you,” Yoongi says once he sits on the couch, curling his feet under himself. Swallowing, Jeongguk follows suit, throwing himself next to Yoongi.

“And I miss them.”

There’s a look thrown his way, the one that screams But? even though Yoongi isn’t saying anything, because he never pries like that. Because he’s not the type of person to pressure or push until you give in, isn’t the type to force you into anything. He just sits there and watches you until you feel ready to spill, until you want to give it away.

Jeongguk knows that, but he still swallows, feeling the weight of those eyes on himself. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has.” It’s said easily, as if that’s a simple fact that doesn’t worry him at all. Jeongguk sighs, pulling the short hair on the side of his head, above his ear, then brushes it back down.

“What if - what if it’s not the same?”

It’s quiet, silence falling over them, but it’s nothing like it was a few hours ago when Yoongi wasn’t there. It’s a different type of silent, pleasant and comfortable and homey, maybe due to the fact that Jeongguk can feel Yoongi’s body close to him, or because he’s acutely aware of Yoongi’s breathing.

A hand comes to rest on top of his, stopping the nervous tapping against his thigh, fingers brushing over the drawn tattoo until they fit into the spaces between Jeongguk’s, stopping his heart. Yoongi’s palm to the back of his hand, kind, gentle, reassuring.

“Things change. Sadly, there’s not much you can do to prevent that from happening.” His eyes are distant, a little sad around the corners when Jeongguk looks closely, but his lips curve as soon as his eyes lock with Jeongguk’s. “It’s not always a bad thing. Things change for the better. Some stay the same.” Nodding, he squeezes Jeongguk’s hand, reminding him of the contact. “They’re still your parents. You’re still their beautiful son.”

For a figure of speech, Jeongguk’s cheeks surely do burn hot.

He manages to play it off, clearing his throat as he ruffles his hair, a movement he first saw Yoongi do and somehow picked it up along the way, unaware of when or how it happened. He nods his head, brushing his thumb over Yoongi’s long fingers wrapped around his hand.

“Yeah, I guess. I guess hyung is right.”

Their sighs are heavy, a few beats passing with neither of them saying a thing. Then Yoongi hums, nodding his head as he stares at the ground.

“I don’t want to make you feel like you have to go. I’m not saying you should go, either. But - don’t let those fears hold you back, Jeongguk-ah. Different isn’t always bad.” More nodding, Yoongi’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Jeongguk tells himself he’s only staring at Yoongi’s mouth because he’s talking. “You never know until you try.”

It’s a good point, but instead of thinking about his parents, Jeongguk thinks of another person altogether.

--

After a call from his mother, Jeongguk realises just how much he misses his parents and decides to jump on the next train to Busan, despite it being in the middle of the night. Yoongi offers to walk him to the station, but after Jeongguk refuses he calls the management for a ride, insisting he goes with. They’re both armed with hats and face masks, Yoongi’s outfit uncharacteristically bright and colourful. When Jeongguk laughs and points it out he simply says: “I raided Hoseok’s closed. Otherwise we’d be two forms wearing black head to toe.”

Forty minutes later they’re standing on the right platform at the main train station, pressed shoulder to shoulder but barely speaking. Jeongguk rearranges the backpack on his shoulder, light with only a few spare shirts and underwear. He’s not planning to stay long.

“Take care.”

“I will.”

“Let hyung know when you arrive.”

“I will,” Jeongguk replies with a smile, looking down at Yoongi, who’s staring straight ahead. “What’s hyung’s plan?”

“Sleep,” it comes immediately, no thought put into it. Jeongguk laughs, pressing his hand over the face mask he’s wearing, clearing his throat to play it off. The platform is pretty much deserted of people, but rather safe than sorry.

“Does that imply I made it impossible, over the past week?”

“No.” Yoongi glances up at him, eyes lidded and sleepy. It’s past midnight and Jeongguk knows he never goes to bed early, but he does prefer lazing around and doing nothing after ten pm. He suddenly feels a little guilty for dragging him out of the house. “Nonsense, that’s nonsense.”

“Sorry for making you come with.”

“You didn’t.”

“Still. You could be home, instead.”

Yoongi slaps his shoulder, hand coming to rest on the back of his neck, fingers kneading the muscle. Jeongguk lets out a soft moan, rolling his head back, towards the touch.

“I’ll be home again, soon,” Yoongi says, suddenly standing much closer than before. Jeongguk can clearly see his eyelashes, lack of mascara a little unusual after so many weeks and months of being in full makeup for hours. His eyes appear smaller because of that, but also deeper. “It will be empty without you.”

Eyes dropping lower, Jeongguk stares at Yoongi’s pout as he speaks.

“It will?”

“It’s a big apartment.”

Fingers on the back of his neck are warm, pressing in on all the right spots. Jeongguk melts under the touch, but then he blinks once, twice, and the train is there, a big electronic sign on the side saying Busan in yellow letters, going from hangul to latin script. He blinks again and the automatic voice announces the departure in a few minutes. When he blinks the next time, they’re saying goodbye, Yoongi squeezing his arm as he pushes him back, towards the train, saying, “Go, don’t want to miss it.”

Once he’s seated, airpods in his ears and the first song already playing, he looks out of the window.

He’s still standing there, Hoseok’s bright red bucket hat on his head, face mask covering half of his face, but his eyes rushing over the length of the train, checking something, until they stop on Jeongguk’s.

They stop on Jeongguk’s, curving into those beautiful crescents, because he’s smiling as he raises a hand and gives a little wave. Jeongguk mirrors it, waving back, smiling as well, but then he blinks and Yoongi’s gone, train moving fast in the direction of Jeongguk’s hometown, people and buildings and cars passing by in a blur.

Busan greets him with blinking lights and big signs, his mother’s glowing face when she wraps him into a tight hug, not letting go. He texts Yoongi as soon as they’re in her car and driving towards the new house, the one Jeongguk bought for them but hasn’t seen yet, her voice even more soothing when there’s no telephone lines separating them, only a single metre between them.

“You seem well,” she says again, for the third time, nodding approvingly. “Happy. Healthy. I’m glad.”

The whole evening and the next couple of days are spent eating, relaxing, and catching up. Things are a little different: Jeongguk doesn’t recognise his parents’ new home, it takes some time to get used to the familiar satoori, and his parents have picked up new hobbies he’s never heard about.

Things are a little different, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Despite seeing relatives he hasn’t seen in years and getting to pet at least a thousand cats and dogs, he starts missing home three days in. Seoul is home now, even though he spends less than six months in the luxurious apartment, because somewhere along the way people became more important than the place, carrying home with them wherever they go.

Oddly enough, he misses Yoongi’s low voice, the curve of his smile.

Which is why he turns down his mother’s offer to stay another few days and celebrate his birthday with them. It’s a nice gesture and Jeongguk can’t let go of his father on the way out, brushing tears from his mother’s cheeks on the train station, which rips his heart in two for the thousandth time, but he knows he’s making the right choice, longing for home.

“I’ll call,” he promises, hugging her one last time. “Come up to see me sometime.”

And just like that, Busan and its bright lights are left behind, loud music filling his ears yet again. As quickly as Seoul disappeared, it reappears, growing between tall buildings, shiny skyscrapers full of commercials and his face, now that his birthday is just around the corner. The fans seems to have overdone themselves this time as well, his face on every free surface all the way through the train station and into the taxi he ordered to wait up front.

He deliberately didn’t call Yoongi. It’s because he didn’t want to bother him, he tells himself, but his heart beats faster and harder when he thinks about the surprise on Yoongi’s face.

It doesn’t disappoint.

The moment he walks through the door Yoongi freezes on the hallway with eyebrows furrowed and a toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Jeongguk-ah?” he mutters around it, barely understandable with mouth full of foam. “What the,” he starts, then turns around and disappears down the hall. By the time Jeongguk manages to kick his shoes off, Yoongi is padding towards him, looking extremely cute in a pastel pink pyjamas, a Cooky headband holding his hair off his face.

He’s all kind eyes and warm touches once he reaches Jeongguk, hand wrapping around his wrist.

He looks nice.

Humming, he runs a thumb on the inside of Jeongguk’s wrist. “Jeongguk-ah.”

“Hello, hyung.”

“What are you doing back so soon?” Yoongi grimaces, extending a hand to Jeongguk’s hair, running his fingers through it, brushing it back. “Your hair’s grown.” Unable to fight it, Jeongguk leans closer and bows his head, in love with the feeling of someone else’s fingers in his hair. Yoongi’s fingers. “Silky. Nice.” Jeongguk giggles, rubbing under his nose.

“Hyung, it hasn’t been that long, my hair doesn’t grow that fast,” he smiles, lips parting when Yoongi’s nails trace over his scalp. He tilts his head to the side. “I came so the apartment wouldn’t be empty.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Jeongguk hums. Yoongi keeps quiet as he continues combing through Jeongguk’s hair, sighing. “Kind of you. It was pretty empty.”

“Well, I’m back now.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, eyes happy crescents when Jeongguk looks up. “Yeah, you are, aren’t you.”

--

Getting used to each other’s presence is even easier this time around.

Jeongguk slips back into his old routine of going to bed late, sometimes crawling into Yoongi’s bed in the middle of the night after he’s done with his work. Sometimes, Yoongi will roll over and run his hand over Jeongguk’s back, his shoulders, the back of his neck. Sometimes, Yoongi’s fingers will dive into the spaces between Jeongguk’s dark hair, nails scratching against his scalp.

Sometimes, Jeongguk will fall asleep with Yoongi next to him, warmth in his chest.

The downside of it is that Jeongguk gets used to the pleasant feeling all too quickly, having trouble falling asleep in his own bed with only his breathing loud in the silence of the room, lack of body heat close to his body.

He tosses and turns on his bed, the electronic clock on the wall telling him it’s just past five in the morning. Sleep was heavily tugging at his muscles earlier, forcing him to finish editing sooner than he had planned, but now he feels awake, hyper aware of his surroundings, the weight in his stomach, and suffocating feelings in his chest.

Cursing, he rolls over to his stomach, presses his face into the pillow until he can barely breathe, and groans.

Logically, he could get up and go to Yoongi’s room. It’s almost an everyday occurance, and Yoongi has never commented on it, so he can’t mind that much. It would be almost normal to do it by now, but Jeongguk keeps telling himself that the warmth in his chest doesn’t mean what he suspects it might mean, that it’s just a small crush, a mere leftover from the past that has been reheated, even though it’s difficult to believe it when he can’t bring himself to stay away, obviously gravitating towards his hyung and his beautiful laugh.

He groans again as he catches his train of thought, rolling over onto his back. The ceiling appears pitch black even with the white LEDs of the clock throwing weak light onto it, unable to make out anything but the annoying numbers reminding him of how late it is. He uselessly stares at them until four changes to five, then six and seven. Before he can see it shift into eight, he throws the cover off himself and sits up, bare feet against the wooden floor.

The fridge is filled to the brim. There are colourful containers with his mother’s and Yoongi’s mother cooking, there are a docent different brands of beer, lots of cheese and sausages, some vegetables that haven’t rotten yet, eggs, and Yoongi’s favourite yoghurt. Jeongguk stares at it, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come. He closes it only to open it again, pushing his head into it, coolness brushing over his overheated skin.

Head no clearer but face much colder, he fetches a water bottle from the fridge, turning to head back to his room when he notices the balcony door is cracked open, slight breeze coming through.

Almost in a trance, he walks closer.

Yoongi sits on the wooden chair, elbow resting on the table, chin in his palm. He’s looking at the city, face shone on by the moonlight that makes him look magical.

Jeongguk takes a step closer, bumping into a potted plant. Yoongi flinches at the sound, dropping his hand as he looks over, hooded eyes a little wide with shock, lips parted.

“Jeongguk-ah,” he rasps, sleepiness lacing his words. Clearing his throat, he smacks his lips, fingers running over them. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Really?” Jeongguk nods as he drops into the other chair, uncapping the bottle to take a long sip. “Me neither.”

Rubbing at his face, Yoongi sighs. His profile shines in the weak light, eyes slowly blinking at the city. He offers a smile when he looks over at Jeongguk, fingers rubbing together in a nervous manner, odd when Yoongi is usually calm and collected.

“Hyung.”

A hum.

Jeongguk swallows, leaning forward, fingers brushing through his hair. “Hyung, is everything okay?”

It’s quiet as Yoongi ruffles his hair, clearing his throat again. He turns back to the city, first sun rays colouring the sky purple, the capitol around them slowly waking up.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk says, but his heart is beating fast, aching with unsaid sentiment, words burning the tip of his tongue. It’s becoming hard to lie to himself with the truth staring him in the face so openly, with Yoongi’s smiles making his heart race, with his laughter more contagious than the common flu.

With Jeongguk staring at his lips, thinking of other, less appropriate things.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asks, the always caring hyung. Unable to hold back the laugh at the back of his throat, Jeongguk rubs at his cheek, ignoring the nervousness that runs through his veins. He sighs.

“I don’t know.”

It’s quiet again, but this time Yoongi doesn’t move, continuing to stare at Jeongguk with slightly furrowed eyebrows. Do you want to talk about it? it says in between the lines, because it’s all up to him and what he’s ready to share.

He isn’t so much ready to share as he is sick of contemplating it, unable to keep it bottled in any longer. He sighs, twirling his hair around a finger. “I just - I feel oddly charged. As if I’m waiting on something.. Like it might explode soon.” Like these feelings might suffocate me, is what he doesn’t say, because Yoongi would catch on and that’s the last thing he wants, even though the source of his problem is the one he decided to confide in.

Silly, like many other things Jengguk has done.

Like this silly crush, which should be stomped over and discarded before it’s too late, instead of being dwelled on, as he’s doing.

“It might be in the air,” Yoongi says after a beat, fingers playing with the hair band around his wrist. “I feel it, too. Maybe it’s the amount of time on our hands, thinking too hard.”

“Definitely part of the problem. If I had a choreo to practice I could just - sweat it out, I guess.”

“Right.” Yoongi huffs, bowing his head to hide the smile that stretches over his lips, but Jeongguk catches it. “Not that I’d ever do that. Voluntarily, at least.” Jeongguk laughs with him, some of that burden lifted from his chest at the sight of Yoongi’s smile.

“Hyung’s so full of shit,” Jeongguk mutters, fake annoyed. “Am I supposed to believe those arm muscles are the result of producing? If that were the case, Donghyuk-hyung wouldn’t have fit through the door anymore.”

Yoongi’s laugh is sudden, almost explosive.

There’s a big, gummy smile, followed by a set of cackles that slowly ring out, his eyes perfect crescents.

Jeongguk stares, mouth agape. It’s in that moment he realises he’s absolutely fucked, doubting there’s a way to prevent it now, chest so full of this overwhelming fire that spreads even further every time he’s with Yoongi it feels naive to think he still has time to extinguish it.

I love him, it hits him, liberating as it is excruciating.

Silence that falls over them is comfortable, but Jeongguk is back to contemplating. The city below them is starting to move, put into first gear with the first commuters leaving the calmness of their apartments and filtering onto the streets, rushing to get places with their bikes or cars or on foot. Jeongguk stares at them and wonders if this were any easier if they were just an ordinary duo unknown to the general public.

Yes, he thinks.

No, his heart says, because he’s a coward, afraid of admitting his feelings.

“How about we head to bed,” Yoongi suggests, his voice shaking Jeongguk out of it. He nods, drinks the rest of the water, then stands up.

“Will hyung be able to sleep, now?”

“It’s worth trying, isn’t it.”

It is.

It must be. Without trying you can never know for sure, and being left in the darkness seems much scarier than trying and finding out the truth, even if it’s unwanted or disappointing.

It’s worth trying, isn’t it, Yoongi’s voice says over and over again, even after Jeongguk is back in his bed, time showing past seven in the morning.

“It’s worth trying,” he tells the pillow, falling asleep with determination settling in his bones.

--

A long time ago, before debut, Jeongguk looked at Yoongi with wide eyes full of admiration.

There was something different about him, special. He was older, he was rebellious, and not at all afraid to voice his thoughts. He was extremely cool, and Jeongguk found himself pulled into it, into the low rumble of Yoongi’s voice and the sharp curve of his eyes.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. It seemed like a usual idolisation of a guy who was in so many ways what Jeongguk had wanted to be, and it made sense he felt attracted to that, wanting to learn as much from him as possible. But on the other hand, Namjoon was the one who Jeongguk joined the company for. Namjoon was the collected, knowledgeable, cool if a little chaotic rapper, but Jeongguk liked him in a different way. A casual way, shy and awkward around him, but not blushy as he was around Yoongi, not nearly as handsy.

Which thankfully wasn’t much of a problem, all the touches easily brushed aside as a hormonal teenage boy just bothering his hyungs, which was exactly that in most cases.

But not with Yoongi. Never with Yoongi, something much deeper hidden there.

Soon after debut, sleepless nights and starved days accompanying their hard work, Jeongguk put a name on the feeling in his chest on a late evening, sweating in the dance studio with white lights blinking above his head.

A crush. He had a crush on Yoongi, a scarily real crush on his hyung, who had never been anything but good. Always kind, even when Jeongguk messed up and they had to go from the start just because of him, when Jeongguk stole his food, when Jeongguk crawled into his bed at night, unable to sleep from the fear of messing up on stage, in front of an audience and a docent cameras.

It hit him out of the blue, but during the days that followed he was proved right over and over again.

Proven right by the blush that spread over his cheeks when Yoongi placed a piece of meat on his rice. By the smile his lips stretched into whenever Yoongi laughed at his joke, eyes curving, hand coming up to cover his mouth. By the warmth in his chest when he was close to Yoongi, getting to talk to him, joke with him, tease him.

Jeongguk might had been young, but he wasn’t stupid.

It could never happen. They barely debuted, working hard to improve every single day, struggling to get people in power to pay attention, hoping to have the opportunity of talking to their idols one day. They barely debuted, and they had agreed they wouldn’t date for a while, fully focusing on their music and performances. He was the youngest, so not being able to date wasn’t a big deal, but he felt bad for his hyungs, who voluntarily pressed a pause on their lives, completely dedicating themselves to the group.

A single dating scandal could ruin them, so they decided to prevent it from happening by not dating at all. Jeongguk respected that, but once he was able to name the stupid feelings in his chest, he felt like he betrayed them all.

Jeongguk was only sixteen, but he wasn’t stupid.

A dating scandal would ruin them. A dating scandal within a group of boys would destroy them forever.

Not that it could ever realistically happen. Yoongi was too good and Jeongguk was just - well, just Jeongguk .

He tucked those feelings aside, pushed them to the farthest corner of his mind, telling himself it was just a dumb teenage crush that would go away eventually.

Now, more than six years later, Jeongguk stands in his bedroom of the size of their first apartment, staring through the big window at the streets below, one of the nicest districts in Seoul. He feels oddly disconnected from the past, as if it’s just a blurred dream and not something that had actually happened.

So many things have changed since they first became a group.

They’re known now, and respected. They’re famous and rich and, as mind blowing as it still seems to Jeongguk, worldwide.

Deep down, he doesn’t feel any different. Deep down he’s still the same boy from Busan who fell in love with his caring and kind band member, ignoring it up until now, when doing that became impossible. Those feelings he must have bottled up over the years are slowly coming to the surface and Jeongguk suddenly remembers so many things Yoongi has done for him, with him, his heart might burst.

He’s just on the other side of the door, humming along to the song playing in the living room as he cooks.

Holding an old pair of plugs in his hand, Jeongguk thinks about all the presents he’s gotten from Yoongi. About all the encouraging words and supporting gestures, about back pats and neck rubs, about kisses planted on the top of his head. There’s a picture of the two of them on his desk, taken soon after debut. Their eyes are swollen, heavy eye bags covered by so much makeup Jeongguk can still feel it cling to his skin at the memory, but they’re smiling. Smiling as if they’re the happiest boys on the planet.

It’s a funny picture. It doesn’t feel like it’s something he went through, incredibly foreign and distant. Faded, perhaps.

So many things have changed, but Jeongguk’s love for his hyung isn’t one of them.

Many things have changed, and Jeongguk finally feels ready to admit his feelings.

--

Building the courage to actually do it is a strenuous, long, extensive process. Jeongguk sits behind his computer with fingertips pressed to his eyes as he mutters encouraging words to himself, groaning once the nervousness takes over, stomach churning.

He thinks about it when he brushes his teeth, thinking about the different ways to do it. Casual? A big, romantic gesture? Something in between - sweet but not too overwhelming as to not burden Yoongi?

He changes his mind during breakfast, doubting himself. Realistically, he doesn’t have any chances, does he?

As he drinks lukewarm coffee, standing by the sink and staring at the dirty dishes of the previous day, he convinces himself he can do it, full of determination again.

By the time Yoongi sleepily wobbles from his room, Jeongguk has stress washed dirty dishes, polished the counter, and rearranged their spice cabinet.

“‘Morning,” Yoongi mumbles, eyes barely open, lips smacking together.

He’s cute. In an oversized shirt that covers his hands almost completely, dark fabric reaching the tops of his thighs and hiding his underwear from view, he should look funny. It’s hanging in the weirdest places, too wide and way too big on his frame.

But instead, he looks cute. He looks cute and soft and gentle.

Jeongguk wants to yell.

“Hyung,” he rasps instead, biting back the I love you, ready on the tip of his tongue, turning back to the sink, pushing his hands under the freezing cold water. As he takes a few calming breaths, Yoongi comes closer, busying himself in the kitchen. First the coffee machine, then the toaster, then stopping by Jeongguk’s form, sleepily scratching at his face.

“What’s up?”

Making the mistake of looking to the side, Jeongguk realises just how close they’re standing. How close their faces are.

Panicking, he yelps, “What?” in a voice too high, clearing his throat before he adds, “Nothing’s up, what would be up, everything is good,” and laughs a strained laugh that sounds more like Seokjin’s sarcastic Ha ha ha, than the real thing. He swallows and looks back at his hands, fingers feeling slightly numb. He turns the tap.

Yoongi’s fingers are hesitant when they brush against his elbow. Not resting there, simply brushing, passing , almost as if Yoongi doesn’t dare to do more. The air around them seems thick, tense in the worst way.

“Guk-ah.”

“Yeah?”

“Is everything,” Yoongi clears his throat, fingers on Jeongguk’s arm slipping off, only to land on his wrist, slowly, so incredibly carefully wrapping around it, “Are - are you okay?”

It’s a dumb question. It’s such a dumb question when Jeongguk is trying his hardest to not explode with how cute Yoongi is, tugging at his bottom lip until he tears off some skin. He knows he can’t look back at Yoongi, too afraid of what might involuntarily come from his mouth at the sight of those pink cheeks and soft skin, at the worry on Yoongi’s face.

“Fine,” he bites out. He dries his hands with the towel on the counter, breathing shallowly as he runs the fabric over his skin.

“Jeongguk-ah. Look at me.”

No, he wants to yell, but his heart is saying, Yes, go for it.

His heart might be a traitor, but it’s impossible to go against it, so he tilts his head, eyes meeting Yoongi’s. They’re wider than before, deep and filled with care, worry, love. The tip of his nose as well as his cheeks are slightly pink from sleep, red indents on his skin left behind by a pillow.

Looking at Yoongi pulls him in. There’s a magnetic force that pulls him closer, Yoongi’s face so incredibly close, close, closer, until their foreheads are almost brushing. “What’s going on?”

Jeongguk stares at his eyes. He stares at his eyes, unblinking. He swallows and then, still staring at Yoongi, ducks down and in until their lips brush together.

The angle is all wrong, standing side by side making it incredibly uncomfortable. Jeongguk can feel Yoongi’s fingers on his wrist freeze, loosen, running over his skin before the warmth disappears. Lips under his are soft and warm, but they’re unresponsive.

It’s all wrong.

Jeongguk has made the wrong move.

He pulls back and turns around, fingers immediately burying into his hair as he looks to the ground, eyes rushing all over the tiled floor. Face flushed and hot from embarrassment, disappointment, panic, he walks to the isle, pressing against the counter until his stomach hurts, numbing the sickness slowly climbing to his throat. Crying doesn’t feel far away, eyes stinging, back of his throat jammed up with hurt, heart cracking piece by piece.

He miscalculated. He must’ve been so blinded by his own feelings he started hoping Yoongi might return them, that he might love him, too, but now they’re in their shared flat, in their shared kitchen, and Jeongguk messed up not only their relationship but perhaps also their career, their group, all of their hard work thrown out of the window with a single kiss.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, breathing too fast and too shallow. It feels a little like drowning, water running into his throat and filling his eyes, unable to breathe or swallow or speak.

“Jeongguk.”

His hyung. His favourite hyung, his best hyung, the hyung he fell in love with. The hyung he loves is trying to fix the damage, still saying Jeongguk’s name with so much fondness. Jeongguk bites back the tears, swallowing again and again until he’s sure his voice won’t break.

He says, “Yeah?” sounding incredibly collected to his own ears despite falling apart on the inside. What happens now? Where does this leave them?

“What was that?” Yoongi’s voice sounds collected, calm. Very even, unbothered, nothing like Jeongguk feels. He’s looking at tile gaps, suddenly incredibly interesting, following the lines all the way from his feet to the living room, as far as his eyes allow him. Sun rays shine through the big windows, shapes dancing on the wall in warm yellow, the one Yoongi looks so good in.

Yoongi who Jeongguk can’t bear to look at again, afraid he’d break.

His hands feel cold. So does his heart.

“It,” Jeongguk chokes, taking a deep breath. Another. Another. “It was nothing.”

“Didn’t seem like nothing.”

“Hyung.” He’s starting to sound desperate now, the kitchen around him blurry with tears. “Please. Hyung, please ignore it.” Sniffing, he closes his eyes, gripping the edge of the counter as he presses harder against it, swallowing the hurt that keeps collecting in his throat. “Please,” he begs, but he can hear Yoongi’s feet against the tiles, walking closer.

Another piece of his lip is chewed off. He fixes the front of his hair, brings his hand to his mouth, and nibbles on the skin of his thumb, pulling it off.

“Hey.” Yoongi’s voice is much closer now, his breath brushing against the back of Jeongguk’s neck. “Hey, please - please look at me.”

Not again. Not again, because looking at Yoongi might have made Jeongguk kiss him before, but he’s certain it will make him cry this time.

“No. I,” he cracks, pulling another piece of skin from his pinky. Words are stuck on his tongue, impossible to say them.

But then Yoongi says, “Jeongguk,” in such a gentle voice he can’t stop himself from half turning around, chancing a look at Yoongi’s face, twisted in a weird way Jeongguk can’t identify, doesn’t dare to think about.

Jeongguk expects a lot of things. He expects Yoongi to say anything or nothing, to either push him away or hug him, but Yoongi does the one thing Jeongguk could never see coming: he steps on his toes, leans closer, and kisses him.

It’s a soft brush of lips at first, less of a kiss and more Yoongi pressing his lips against the corner of Jeongguk’s frozen mouth from the side. Their eyes meet as Jeongguk looks down in confusion, heart and brain both having stopped, useless at trying to understand the situation. Yoongi’s fingers wrap around his wrist again, gently tugging it towards himself to make Jeongguk turn until they’re facing each other, staring yet again.

Yoongi’s eyes are wide. They’re big and they’re round and they close when Yoongi tiptoes again, pressing his lips against Jeongguk for the second time, then the third, and forth, and with every next Jeongguk relaxes more, kisses getting less and less stiff, Yoongi’s lips parting until there are soft sounds echoing around the kitchen.

He realises he’s not the only one vibrating with nervousness. Yoongi is trembling where they’re touching, fingers cold against the inside of Jeongguk’s wrist.

The next time their lips touch, Jeongguk reciprocates. He pushes back with the same amount of pressure, lips parting with a soft sound close to a smack. Yoongi sighs against his lips.

The next kiss is more of a kiss and less of a peck, heads tilting so that their mouths fit together. They don’t pull back as far this time, touching each other again in no time.

Yoongi tastes like toothpaste and determination. He tastes a lot like the warmth that settles back in Jeongguk’s chest, burning twice as bright now.

That odd confidence pumps through Jeongguk’s veins and he dares to raise one shaking hand, unsure fingers cupping Yoongi’s jaw, tracing the skin dusted pink. It stops on the back of Yoongi’s neck, pulling him closer albeit hesitantly, gently, allowing him to pull back if he wanted, but instead Yoongi presses closer, warmth from Jeongguk’s wrist disappearing only to embrace his face, thumb brushing over his chin, his bottom lip. A second later there are fingernails running over his scalp, tugging at his hair until his mouth falls open and a soft moan escapes his lips.

Yoongi pulls back, far enough to take a proper look at Jeongguk without going cross eyed, but his hands stay deeply settled in Jeongguk’s hair.

Swallowing, Jeongguk bites his lip.

It’s a little surreal to have Yoongi’s face so close, his lips glistening from kissing, tongue swiping over them. He can’t help but follow the movement, staring at those red lips that he now knows are as soft as they look.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi says, something different about it this time. He says it like he can’t believe it, stunned and shocked, slightly distant.

“Hyung.” Jeongguk allows his fingers to slide lower on Yoongi’s neck, rubbing against the skin. Yoongi’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, soft pink in the beautiful morning light. “Yoongi-hyung.” It sounds like a question, almost a plea.

Yoongi clears his throat. His thumb brushes over Jeongguk’s bottom lip, pulling it down.

“We should talk. About - about this.” A sniff. “About what it means.”

“We should.”

Jerking a nod, Yoongi says, “Make sure we’re on the same page,” which makes Jeongguk’s stomach drop with doubt and worry. Did the kiss not get his feelings across? It could be interpreted as something physical, but was Jeongguk not being obvious?

Nothing is obvious, he reminds himself.

Nothing he ever thought was visible to the rest of the world was ever as simple or as out on the open, because everyone sees things depending on their experiences and morals and upbringing, and Jeongguk didn’t use words to make himself clear, which is the only way to truly express his feelings.

“I like you,” he says, looking to the ground as his face heats up and his chest restricts, nodding his head and continuing before he can chicken out. “I’ve liked you in the past - before debut, I think. And then during, and after, and hyung - you were always so cool, so handsome, so funny and hardworking and I,” he tucks his hair behind an ear, swallows, blinking fast, “I’ve liked you for a while. I couldn’t say anything because it wasn’t right and it was - it would endanger the whole group-,”

“God, you’re loyal.”

“Hyung, I-,”

“I love you,” Yoongi mutters, staring at him when Jeongguk glances up. “I love you, Jeongguk-ah. I’m a bad hyung for dropping this on you, but I don’t care any longer, because you-,”

“I love you,” Jeongguk says, too, sounding like he’s just repeating after Yoongi, so it takes Yoongi a second to realise what he said, but then his eyes are widening and his lips are parting and he looks so starstruck Jeongguk doesn’t think anything could throw him off more.

“What?”

“I love you. Hyung, I love you.” Sounding weird on his tongue, he repeats it again and again and again, all until Yoongi’s eyes fill with tears, curving into something much softer that is hard to watch with the existing warmth spreading through Jeongguk’s chest, so he presses closer and wraps Yoongi into a hug, holding him tight and close.

“How’d hyung ever get this lucky,” is whispered against his neck, wet and quiet. Jeongguk giggles, but it’s full of tears.

“I’m the lucky one,” Jeongguk tells him, closing his eyes as he feels Yoongi’s skin against his lips.

--

Things don’t change so much as they expand.

New options appear that Jeongguk has never truly thought would be possible, allowing him to reach over and trace the slope of Yoongi’s nose without having to worry about how it might come across. He doesn’t have to explain himself now with everything out in the open, wearing his heart on his sleeve as well as an obviously fond smile on his face. There’s a whole pallet of new options, things Jeongguk has imagined doing but always scolded himself for, trying to appear indifferent.

Things expand, shifting their relationship towards the more comfortable and intimate side on the scale, sharing thoughts and memories they’ve never talked about before.

They’re awkward rather than hesitant, a little unsure in never before presented situations or familiar ones that get a different connotation with their feelings in the open.

Like waking up in Yoongi’s bed, wrapped into soft sheets and pressed together just as they were a few days ago, but Jeongguk’s heart beats faster when he opens his eyes and sees Yoongi’s face so close to his, cheeks rosy and mouth parted, breathing evenly. He wants to run his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, feel the dark roots under his fingertips, so he does. He reaches over, gently brushing bleached locks off Yoongi’s forehead, then allows himself to slide his fingers deeper, repeating the motion. He wants to kiss Yoongi, so he leans closer and presses his lips against Yoongi’s temple.

That makes him stir open, eyes fluttering as he slowly comes to it, a lazy, morning smile stretching over his face.

He’s beautiful.

He’s always been beautiful, but Jeongguk gets to appreciate it shamelessly now, noticing things he never has before.

“Were you watching me sleep,” Yoongi mumbles, eyes falling closed again, head tilting towards the touch. Jeongguk smiles at the content look on his face, fingernails running over Yoongi’s scalp, front to back, over and over.

“No,” Jeongguk lies, voice raspy from sleep.

“Liar.”

It’s impossible to fight the smile persistently stretched over his lips. It’s impossible to prevent it, because the warmth from his chest has spread all over his body, all the way to his fingertips, everything burning with that bright fire of love. He giggles, pressing his face in the pillow, and mutters, “Maybe.”

When Yoongi looks at him it’s with even more softness and love than the day before, and he’s smiling, too, that big smile that shows his gums and colours Jeongguk’s cheeks a shade darker. There are fingers reaching for his face, running over his jaw, settling on the back of his neck, and Yoongi is moving closer, pressing his face into Jeongguk’s chest, arm thrown around him.

“Sap,” it comes, muffled against his shirt. Warmth from Yoongi’s face bleeds right through it, spreading to Jeongguk’s chest, igniting it again.

They lay there for a while. Jeongguk drifts in and out of sleep, waking up to Yoongi’s eyes fixed on him.

“Were you watching me sleep?” Jeongguk throws back at Yoongi, throwing an arm over his eyes to shield himself from the morning sun and Yoongi’s blinding smile.

“Maybe.” It makes him giggle as he turns away, Yoongi easily laughing with him.

More or less, things stay the same.

They still brush their teeth separately and change in their rooms. They go about their own thing, Yoongi writing music and Jeongguk editing videos or recording covers. They have breakfast together, each having whatever they want and making their own coffee, but Jeongguk can press himself to Yoongi’s back as he makes toast, hooking his chin over Yoongi’s shoulder. He can press a fleeting his on the back of Yoongi’s neck that has them both giggling nervously, Jeongguk’s face burning with embarrassment as Yoongi’s neck flushes red.

Not much changes, because they’re both shy. Jeongguk dares to steal pecks sometimes and Yoongi’s fingers linger for longer, but that’s where they draw the line, neither brave enough to cross it.

They’re dancing around each other and it’s driving Jeongguk mad.

Jeongguk thinks maybe they’re waiting for an appropriate time, but he guesses every second is as right as the next. His lips still tingle from the kisses shared in the kitchen the previous day, fingers itchy to bring Yoongi closer and feel the warmth of his skin. Despite being next to Yoongi the whole day, he doesn’t know how to go about properly kissing him again.

So Jeongguk plans. He plans a romantic evening date: looks up the best restaurants in Seoul, makes a list of Yoongi’s favourite places, stares at his wardrobe thinking of an outfit. At seven in the evening, wearing his black modernised hanbok, he walks to the living room only to find it empty, no sight of Yoongi anywhere.

There’s a strip of light under his bedroom door, soft music coming from the inside. Jeongguk blinks at the wooden door, hand raised in front of it, gathering the courage as his stomach twists, excitement laced with nervousness. Logically there’s nothing to be nervous about, but his fingers still tremble when he curls them into a fist and knocks three times.

It’s a second before Yoongi pulls the door open, looking up with wide eyes. Jeongguk’s soon match his, because Yoongi has dressed up. He’s wearing black slacks with a black shirt that hangs low on his chest, a necklace gracing his pale skin. There’s makeup in the corners of his eyes, hair brushed from his forehead and the familiar scent of his cologne teasing Jeongguk’s nose.

“Hyung,” he says, almost in a trance. Yoongi smacks his lips, slowly measuring Jeongguk head to toe. He lets out an extended ‘uhh’ sound, mouth parted.

“Are you heading somewhere?”

“Is hyung?”

“I - no, not really.” Yoongi rubs behind an ear, looking away. He lets out a soft, “Ah,” fingers moving to rub the back of his neck. “No, I’m not.”

“No. No, me neither,” Jeongguk says, feeling his cheeks turn a shade darker. “I’m, well.. I was - I was actually-,”

“Do you wanna go on a date?” Yoongi interrupts, fingers still on his neck. His eyes snap to Jeongguk’s, laced with nervousness. He clears his throat. “With me.” Blinking, he shakes his head. “I mean, of course with me.. Of course.”

“Of course.” A second passes, then Jeongguk scrunches his face up, exploding with laughter. Yoongi follows soon after, turning around to head to his bed, covered with various shirts and trousers. He picks the first one, puts it back on a hanger, and hangs it in the closet, then he presses his forehead against the mirror. His eyes fall closed.

“Embarrassing,” he says, almost too quiet for Jeongguk to catch. “Why am I such a mess around you. I practised this and still.. Ah.” He sighs, stepping back to grab another shirt from the bed.

Jeongguk slowly walks closer, smiling to himself as he says, “Don’t worry, hyung. I’m the same.”

“What do you mean, look at me acting like I haven’t kissed you yesterday-,”

“I planned a date, too. I was going to ask you, that’s why I’m all dressed up, but - but I was taken aback and hyung was quicker than me.”

Yoongi just stares at him, unblinking, frozen on the spot. His eyes are dark and mesmerising, but then his lips start curving and Jeongguk is yet again reminded of how beautiful he is, reminded of how much faster his heart beats whenever Yoongi smiles.

“Did we really do the same thing?” Yoongi asks, sounding surprised. He shakes his head again, laughing in disbelief. “Well, what did you plan? What should we do?” He meets Jeongguk’s eye as he turns back to him. “What do you want to do?”

Before he has a chance to properly think about it, Jeongguk blurts, “Can I kiss you?”

Silence is momentary, Yoongi laughing softly as his shoulders shake, letting out a cute ‘he he he’ sound, eyes curving into crescents. It’s laced with nervousness, Jeongguk notices as much, maybe because it’s also running through his veins, fingers shaky and unsure.

Yoongi looks at him from under his eyebrows, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He nods his head, grunting in affirmation.

That’s all Jeongguk needs to step closer until he can see the pale pink that has spread over Yoongi face, close enough to be able to take Yoongi’s hand into his, running his fingers over the lines on Yoongi’s palm, who shivers under the contact. He allows himself to trace Yoongi’s skin all the way to his wrist and higher, feeling it all the way to his elbow where it disappears under the fabric. Instead, Jeongguk runs his fingertips over the black silk to Yoongi’s shoulder, feeling the warmth radiating from Yoongi’s neck, then his jaw as he cups his face.

Going cross eyed staring at Yoongi eyes, he slowly leans in, tilting his head so that their noses don’t bump, lips fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle made for each other. His eyes fall shut.

Yoongi’s lips part. He kisses with passion, wet but not forceful.

Maybe it’s because this is Yoongi, but Jeongguk is hyper aware of his every move, focused on the sensation of Yoongi’s lips under his, trying to savour every moment even though it’s all going by too fast. One second Yoongi’s fingers are fisted in his shirt, the next they’re on the back of his neck, then they’re in his hair, pulling and tugging and bringing him even closer.

A little hesitantly, Jeongguk licks into Yoongi’s mouth, swallowing a soft gasp that only encourages him further. Yoongi’s fingers in his hair tighten, dragging him lower, Jeongguk’s teeth scraping over Yoongi’s bottom lip as he starts kissing with more force, fingers trembling where they’re cupping Yoongi’s face.

“Guk-ah,” comes in the form of a moan, breathy and rough, warm against Jeongguk’s cheek as Yoongi pulls back only to press his lips against Jeongguk’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone.

It’s difficult keeping quiet after feeling those lips against his skin. He throws his head back, fingers getting tangled in Yoongi’s hair as the trail of kisses continue down his skin. One hand is pressed over his ribs, the other one resting on his waist, keeping him close as he gasps, biting his lip as he swallows the moans threatening to spill from his mouth.

“Yoongi-hyung.”

He tightens his hold in Yoongi’s hair to pull his face higher, maintaining eye contact as they breathe for a second. Slotting their mouths together, he moans once their tongues meet, Yoongi kissing with more fervour this time, want more than obvious.

His fingers tangled in the hem of Yoongi’s shirt, Jeongguk is close to lifting it, but then there’s a beep from the door lock, familiar voices filtering down the hall.

“We’re home!” Namjoon shouts, making them pull apart. Jeongguk brushes the back of his hand against his lips, ruffling his hair, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Yoongi clears his throat, eyes on the ceiling as he runs his fingers over his lips, red and swollen from kissing.

“Pretty,” Jeongguk dares, feeling his whole face burn hot. Yoongi’s eyes widen in shock, cheeks turning a shade darker as he glances down the hallway, bashful.

“We should go say hi.” Sounding almost disappointed, he tries to pat down his disheveled hair. Jeongguk laughs as he helps him.

“Yeah.”

Yoongi looks at him with stars in his eyes, kissing him one last time before heading towards the entryway, back of his neck deep red.

It keeps Jeongguk smiling for hours after, chest warm with love.

--

All seven of them are back home just after Jeongguk’s birthday. They throw him a proper birthday celebration, quietly apologising for missing the exact date by surrounding him with love and presents, their dining table again wobbling under the weight of alcohol and food after months of being deserted.

Everyone seems to have gone out of their way to make it special. Namjoon ordered dumplings from Jeongguk’s favourite place close to the old BigHit building, Seokjin took the time to cook seaweed soup as well as made a whole plate of red bean mochi, Jimin brought a special bottle of red wine from France just for the occasion, while Taehyung and Hoseok added various side dishes from their hometowns.

Yoongi places a plate of kimbap on the table after everyone has sat down, glancing at Jeongguk to shoot him a soft smile, eyes curving.

“So, birthday boy!” Seokjin exclaims, clasping his hands. “Have you wished for something?”

Taehyung pushes Seokjin’s shoulder, shaking his head as he says, “Ah, hyung - it’s too late, now.”

“Well,” Seokjin shrugs, “never too late for birthday beating,” and reaches across the table to gently smack the side of Jeongguk’s neck, making him laugh. Jimin is filming the entire thing, a toothy smile stretched over his face and eyes fixed on the screen of his phone.

“I’ll enjoy it,” Jeongguk says with a slight bow of his head, chopsticks reaching over the table for a piece of kimbap, which has the rest parroting after him as they dig in. There’s a lot of humming and some chit-chat, laughter whenever Seokjin and Jeongguk make faces at each other. It’s nice being surrounded by his group again, by his family , feeling at home with all of them in one room. With Hoseok on one side and Jimin on the other, his plate is never empty, meat placed on his plate repeatedly with close to no thought paid to the gesture.

It’s comfortable, being together again. When he looks up, Yoongi is wearing that content smile that Jeongguk can feel all the way to his bones. They exchange a look, Yoongi ducking his head as he stuffs his mouth with more rice. Jeongguk smiles at his plate.

“Yah, Jiminie,” Hoseok says, reaching across Jeongguk to poke Jimin in the cheek with the back of his chopsticks. “How was Russia?”

“Joonie-hyung went with me,” says Jimin with mouth full of food, chewing slowly. He rubs the back of his finger against his greasy lips, wiping some of it off. Jeongguk grimaces.

Hoseok’s eyes widen as he leans closer, over the table, glancing at Namjoon, and asks, “How come?”

“I was there,” Namjoon says, eyes focused on the food. “We’ve seen a big portion of Europe-,”

“Together?” Taehyung interrupts, earning a nod from Jimin who says, “Yeah.”

“- together, yeah, and so - I was thinking, why not Russia, too. Jimin had a room booked already. When I asked about it, he was kind enough to let me stay with him.” Namjoon shrugs, while Jimin reaches over the table to pat his arm, smiling as he says, “Of course.”

And there’s something there, Jeongguk thinks. Something soft and sentimental, their smiles fuller than they were before they left, which causes him to smile, too. This break seems to have been good for all of them, everyone much more recharged and full of colour now that they’re back.

“Museums?” Seokjin wiggles his eyebrows. “Satisfactory?”

Jimin laughs as Namjoon nods and mutters, “Of course. There were so many interesting exhibitions, the one in Venice was excellent.”

“I went to a gallery in Gwangju,” Hoseok hums. “Namjoonie, you would have loved it.”

“Let’s go during our next break, then.”

“Cool,” Hoseok says and shoots finger guns in Namjoon’s direction, who returns it with a big smile, Hoseok winking back at him.

It’s a good sight, seeing them well rested and smiling. It’s a good sight to have all of them back, as goofy and lame as always: everything from Seokjin’s dad jokes to Hoseok’s flirty compliments to Jimin’s whole body laughter. He feels good being around them again.

“What’s up with our birthday boy,” Seokjin says, Jeongguk’s eyes snapping up. He notices Yoongi staring at him across the table, cheeks heating up at the awareness of being watched, of Yoongi watching him. For a second he’s tempted to send him a flying kiss or make a face, but Seokjin is already continuing, waving his hands. “Oddly quiet! Has this break worn you out?”

“Ah, no, of course not, hyung-nim,” he mutters, quickly getting to his feet as a smile spreads over his face. He grabs a bottle of soju from the table, rushes to Seokjin’s side, uncaps the bottle, and pours some of it into Seokjin’s empty glass. “With beer?”

“What happened to him,” Seokjin asks the ceiling as the rest laugh. Then he looks at Jeongguk, pulling the weirdest face he can muster. “What happened to you.”

Jeongguk pulls an equally horrible grimace, breaking into a smile once he hears Jimin’s high pitched laughter, Hoseok throwing himself onto the table as he cries from laughing so hard.

It’s silly, all of it, but Jeongguk enjoys it.

Plates growing emptier by the minute, Yoongi opens the wine. Jimin goes for straight soju, while Hoseok shares a can of beer with Taehyung. Less food means more drinks, and less than an hour later they’re red faced and even more relaxed than before, words flowing easier.

“It’s too quiet,” Hoseok says, chair screeching against the tiles when he gets up, wobbling to the stereo. “Girl group songs, quickly, suggestions.”

“Sunmi-noona has a new song out,” Yoongi’s voice comes from the kitchen. Jeongguk tilts his head steal a glance at him, observing him pour another glass of wine.

“That’s right!”

“The dance is very cool,” Jimin hums.

Taehyung jumps from his chair as he says, “I wanna try it.”

Yoongi catches Jeongguk staring when he turns around, tongue swiping over his parted lips. He maintains eye contact as he walks closer, dropping on the chair next to Jeongguk. Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung are talking loudly in the living room, Seokjin and Namjoon chatting over the table.

“Hi,” Yoongi says, voice gentle and soft, quiet in comparison to the noise they’re surrounded with. His lips are stained red from the wine, Jeongguk automatically leaning closer, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip.

“Hi.”

“Not going to dance?”

“I don’t know the choreo.”

“You’ll learn in no time,” Yoongi says, eyes having dropped to somewhere lower. Jeongguk swipes a tongue over his lips just to observe Yoongi’s eyes following the movement, snapping back up the next second. “You’re a quick learner, Guk-ah. Always have been.”

“Is hyung going to dance?”

“I’m no dancer.”

Jeongguk smiles, reaching over to press the pads of his fingers to the inside of Yoongi’s wrist, just above his watch, feeling the soft skin under his own. He smiles and says, “Fans disagree,” both of them staring at the point of contact.

Yoongi turns his hand, pulling it back so that Jeongguk’s fingers fall off. Instead, he runs his own fingers over the inside of Jeongguk’s palm, tracing the lines there. Fitting his fingers in the spaces between Jeongguk’s, palm against the back of Jeongguk’s hand, he glances up to meet his eye.

“Army are just being kind.” He looks back down at their hands, the other one coming up to trace the faded letters on Jeongguk’s knuckles. “They love us.”

“They do. Doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”

“They’re subjective. Biased.”

Their faces are much closer than before, an invisible force pulling them together. It’s almost like magnets, or gravity, with Yoongi being the earth’s middle and Jeongguk always drifting towards it, no matter what.

“Then I am, too.” I love you, too, it means, turning Yoongi’s eyes even softer, smile more intimate. Jeongguk swallows, fingers brushing against Yoongi’s.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, hyung. A lot.”

“Sunmi with Lalalay!” Taehyung announces, pulling them apart, hands still held under the table when they turn around to look at the living room, the three having taken their positions in front of the tv. The mv is shown on the screen, everyone’s eyes focused on it to see the choreo.

It takes three replays for them to have the basics down, by then Namjoon feeling either excited or goofy enough to allow being dragged to the polished floor in the living room, dancing along. Seokjin laughs and pours himself another drink as he watches them, Yoongi wearing a matching look of fondness.

Jeongguk squeezes his hand, flashing one last smile before he gets up and joins the rest in front of the tv. Lalalay is followed by another song with fun choreo, which leads to another, and another, a never ending cycle. Yoongi occasionally comments on the production or the melody or the team behind it, but Jeongguk catches him staring more than once.

They dance until their shirts are sweat through and their abdominal muscles hurt from laughing. They dance until they’re too breathless to continue, Jimin switching to a much calmer song from an artist he’s into lately, all of them collapsing onto their chairs.

“You seem out of shape,” Seokjin says as he stands up to pour all of them a shot of soju. Hoseok waves his hand no, grimacing as Seokjin still pours him one, and pushes it to Jimin, who’s already thrown his one back. Emptying Hoseok’s glass as well, he reaches for one of the full bottles on the table.

“I’d like to see hyung try,” Taehyung says around a laugh once he catches his breath.

“I’m still on break, thank you very much.”

“You’re going to die once we start practicing for the comeback,” Yoongi tells him, sipping on wine. Jeongguk stares at the drops clinging to his lips before he licks them off, clicking his tongue as if savouring the taste.

“Ha, like you worked out during the break!”

“You weren’t here to work out with me,” Yoongi huffs, “You’re obviously to be blamed for the lack of muscles.”

“Yah!” Seokjin shouts, twisting his face dramatically, making them all laugh. Yoongi chuckles into the sleeve of his shirt. “What were you up to during the break? Since you obviously didn’t move a muscle.” It’s teasing, but behind all that, Seokjin is asking a serious question.

Yoongi shrugs, twirling the wine in his glass. He sighs and says, “Slept,” at which everyone laughs, making his lips curve upwards. “I went home at the same time as Taehyung-ah, slept some more once I got back. Ah, what else..” He smacks his lips, a long ‘uhh’ sound following while he stares somewhere far away, squinting his eyes.

“Jeonggukie was home, too.” It’s Taehyung this time, stuffing himself with more rice. Jeongguk’s eyes snap up at the mention. “You spent some time together, no?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says as Jeongguk nods his head, sipping on soju. He nudges Yoongi’s shoulder.

“What about the songs?”

“You were working?” Hoseok’s eyes widen. “Why?”

“Ah, just - I made a few melodies, wrote some lyrics, nothing extreme.” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck, nodding his head. “There was a lot on my mind. I had to express it.” Namjoon hums, obviously understanding the feeling.

“Music is easier than words, when it comes to feelings.”

“Yeah, it never lets you speechless,” Yoongi confirms, meeting Jeongguk’s eye before he looks back to his fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass. Jeongguk wonders if the song Yoongi kept playing was the product of that, suddenly wondering what Yoongi was thinking of when he wrote it.

“And you?” asks Namjoon. After a beat of silence, Jeongguk looks up to see who he’s talking to, only to find five pairs of eyes on him, curious. Namjoon is smiling, a funny curve to it, as if he’s hiding something. Jeongguk squints, pointing at his chest.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you, birthday boy,” Seokjin mutters, reaching over to slap his hand. “You had no plans, how did that work out?”

“I was home. I gamed, I edited videos, I visited my parents. And..” He pauses, biting his lip. “I’ve learned a lot.”

“What about?”

“Myself, mainly.” He looks at Yoongi, their eyes locking. “The beauty around me.” Jeongguk reaches over, hand brushing over Yoongi’s. Their fingers intervene under the table, that familiar gummy smile flashed at him.

Deep down, Jeongguk was longing for something.

Yoongi squeezes his hand, smile wide and happy. Jeongguk’s chest feels whole, the void filled and longing replaced with something beautiful.

Something beautiful that feels a lot like love.