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Yoongi looks at the cards in his hands and then at the discard pile. It’s their third round of Uno. Across the table he can see that Jungkook only has two cards left. To his left Taehyung and Jimin are whispering conspiratorially, although not quite loud enough that Yoongi can hear what they’re saying over the sounds of the new years eve music broadcast playing in the background. He thinks Jimin is trying to convince Taehyung to trade cards. He knows Seokjin will stop it if it comes to that.
Uno had been Seokjin’s idea. What’s a party without a game? he’d asked, pulling the worn deck of cards out from the small cupboard where he keeps his collection of video games. Seokjin had been the one to explain the rules too, and then had re-explained them after their first round ended in with Taehyung and Jungkook arguing about when you were supposed to yell Uno, and Jimin loudly adding his opinion, and Seokjin asking them to listen, and Hoseok’s voice emanating from the laptop speakers demanding that someone tell him what was going on, and Namjoon smiling so hard Yoongi lost track of everything else.
The second round had gone better. Hoseok switched to play as part of a team with Namjoon. Taehyung and Seokjin discussed the rules until they came to some kind of consensus about what they were supposed to be. Yoongi observed everything, and kept quiet enough that no one noticed when he accidentally set down two cards at a time. He might not know all the rules, but he’d at least been able to figure out the aim of the game was to be the first to get rid of all his cards. He wasn’t above cheating to make that happen.
Taehyung had won the second round though, and if Yoongi puts down two cards this hand he might win the third.
“It’s not like you have that many cards to choose from Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin complains, rolling his head on his neck until it cracks. “Hurry up.”
“Hyung’s not getting any younger,” Jungkook laughs, his nose wrinkled with how wide his smile is. His laugh gets louder when Seokjin tackles him into Namjoon. Yoongi decides to risk it and nonchalantly puts down two of his last three cards, invisibly stacked.
Or maybe not so invisibly.
He says Uno, but no one hears him under Seokjin screeching, “You cheat? At my table? In my house?” Seokjin scrambles upright, his hand placed firmly on his heart as if Yoongi has insulted his honour, or maybe his MapleStory record. “I cannot believe you!”
The chaos of the first round is back, but this time Yoongi is at the centre of it, and no matter how much he protests that it was an honest mistake no one seems to believe it.
Jungkook is the one who starts the call for punishment.
“Yes!” yells Hoseok from the laptop. “Can’t let cheaters prosper!”
“I haven’t prospered!” Yoongi protests, brandishing his card. “I still have a card! There’s a whole round left!”
“Doesn’t change the facts!” Namjoon laughs, his dimples winking out from his cheeks, flushed a pale pink. Yoongi’s stomach flips over as sparks dance along his spine. He fights to keep his expression neutral, or at least something adjacent to disappointed I got caught or maybe annoyed at all the fuss. They’re old standbys, and have served him well in the past. From the way he can feel the corners of his lips twitching up he can see they won’t be doing so tonight.
He fakes a few coughs instead, hiding his smile behind his hand, and in doing so misses his last chance to protest innocence before the group moves on to discussing his punishment. “We could always not?” he suggests, just in case any of them will listen.
Only Namjoon glances his way, a sly smile on his face. The others are all huddled around the laptop with Hoseok’s video-chat on it, having what they probably think is a whispered conference. Yoongi can clearly hear the words slap and outside and eat and flick. He can’t hear enough to decide which of those is the least of the evils.
The hushed conference continues. Yoongi gives up his protest and takes a sip of his wine. His glass is almost empty. He could refill it, but the bottle of wine he and Jimin have been sharing (by which he means, he’s had one cup while Jimin has had three) is all the way in the kitchen. He’d have to stand up if he wanted to get it, and he’s feeling far too relaxed to stand up.
“Flick on the forehead from each of us,” Seokjin says with authority as the knot around the laptop dissolves.
“And two from Jungkook, since I’m not there,” Hoseok adds, his voice crackling through the speakers. “He’s my proxy flicker.”
Taehyung and Namjoon both snicker, although Yoongi isn’t sure what they find so funny. He decides not to ask, far more interested in enforcing something like fairness. Hoseok had been the one to decide he wanted to teach in Thailand, and if he wasn’t there he shouldn’t get to have someone flick by proxy. “Jungkook shouldn’t-” Yoongi starts, but he cuts off when Jimin, sitting beside him, reaches out to lay his hand on Yoongi’s jaw.
“Don’t worry, hyung,” Jimin says, in his syrupy sweet voice. Yoongi has heard it enough time to distrust it instantly, but he catches sight of Namjoon, trying to giggle into his hand, and that distracts him enough he doesn’t think oh, maybe I should move until it’s too late.
The flick Jimin administers stings. Yoongi yelps, and rubs at his forehead. “A little warning would’ve been nice!”
“Him holding your face still is a pretty good warning,” Jungkook snickers. He pushes Taehyung forward. “You next, hyung.”
Taehyung’s flick stings too. Seokjin insists that he needs to warm up properly first, doing a few finger stretches to limber up, and then a few practice flicks on Jungkook’s arm, heedless of Jungkook’s cries that it’s Yoongi-hyung who’s supposed to be punished, not me!
The flick from Namjoon involves Namjoon’s face being within an arm’s reach of Yoongi’s, and Namjoon’s warm hand on Yoongi’s jaw, and Namjoon’s eyes staring into his, unblinking, and Namjoon’s tongue poking out to wet his lips before he bites them in concentration.
It’s a lot. Yoongi is glad he’s had some wine, so he can attribute the flush he can feel burning his cheeks to it and not Namjoon’s proximity.
“You’re supposed to flick him on the forehead, not stare soulfully into his eyes!” Jungkook whines, throwing a fistful of popcorn at them. Yoongi flinches away from it, breaking their locked gaze. Namjoon’s hand doesn’t leave his face.
“Yah, what’s this then?” Seokjin squawks. Yoongi can see them wrestling together over Namjoon’s shoulder. Namjoon is still looking at Yoongi, his gaze hot on Yoongi’s skin. He looks like he’s thinking. Yoongi wants to hide. “I hope you’re planning to clean that up later!”
“Jungkookie has a point though,” Hoseok grumbles. “We’ve got a game to finish, and the night’s not getting any younger. Dole out the punishment!”
Namjoon comes back to himself with a start, and then he grins, scant inches away from Yoongi’s face. Yoongi doesn’t feel the flick at all. He’s too distracted by the way his heart has apparently been kicked by an elephant to notice anything else.
He’s not given any time at all to recover before Jungkook is in front of him with the kind of smirk that spells trouble. “Don’t you want to warm up on Seokjin or something?” Yoongi asks, trying to forestall the inevitable.
“I can get him later,” Jungkook says. “Now hold still, hyung.”
Yoongi is left rubbing his forehead. “Find a different proxy to be your flicker,” Yoongi complains to Hoseok, who is laughing so hard he’s bent over out of the frame of the camera. “It’s not my fault you abandoned us for Thailand.”
“Too late!” Seokjin says. “Too late, that one was for Hoseok, right Jungkook?”
“Right!” Jungkook agrees, the word disappearing into a positively evil laugh. “This one is from me.”
He flicks Yoongi before Yoongi can even think of dodging.
It hurts.
It hurts a lot.
“Yah!” Yoongi yelps, hands flying to his forehead. “The hell Jungkook!”
“Sorry hyung.” Jungkook doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “I don’t make the rules!”
“You didn’t have to go at full strength though,” Yoongi grumbles, pressing against his skin to help reduce the sting.
The others burst into helpless laughter. Yoongi doesn’t see what’s so funny.
“Jungkook-ah do something by half?” Seokjin asks, pulling Jungkook into his side. Jungkook grins up at him. “Yoongi, be reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable.”
“Do you need someone to kiss it better?” Taehyung asks, as if speaking to a five year old. He’s not looking at Yoongi though. He’s looking at Namjoon.
Yoongi’s heart stops.
“We should get back to the game,” Hoseok announces into the silence. “I want to win before my friends come pick me up.”
“But-” Taehyung says, looking from a surprisingly pink Namjoon to Yoongi, “But-”
“Afraid you’ll lose?” Jimin asks, a devilish glint to his eye.
The game resumes, although Hoseok insists that someone check everyone’s cards as they’re being played. It makes the game go slower, but they have drinks, and the heat from the floor is comforting, and it isn’t like they’ve got anything else to be doing with their evening.
Ultimately Taehyung wins again, with Jimin protesting that they should really be co-victors, since Taehyung came before him in the turn order, and Jimin was down to his last card too, and he could have played it.
“Co-victors aren’t a thing,” Jungkook laughs.
“They could be,” Jimin pouts. “Don’t you think they should be, hyung?” he asks, throwing himself into Namjoon’s lap and batting his eyelashes at him.
“It’s hyung’s apartment,” Namjoon says, nodding his head in Seokjin’s direction even while smiling down at Jimin’s cherubic face. “Hyung’s rules.”
Yoongi can see Seokjin gearing up for a rant of some kind and can’t tell if he feels relieved or disappointed that Seokjin’s phone rings instead. There’s only one person who would be calling Seokjin at ten-thirty on New Years Eve.
“Food!” yell Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook in unison, launching themselves to their feet. At least, Jungkook and Taehyung end up on their feet. In his rush to stand Jimin sits up too quickly. The sharp crack makes Yoongi wince, but it’s Jimin and Namjoon who end up collapsed dramatically to the floor clutching their heads.
“Yoongi, can you wrangle…” Seokjin nods in the direction of the injured Jimin and Namjoon. Taehyung and Jungkook are hovering like worried, ineffective hummingbirds. “I’ve got to-”
“Yeah, sure hyung.” He uncrosses his legs and is half-way to standing when he remembers Hoseok, still on the computer. “Ah, Seok-ah-”
“My friends are almost here,” Hoseok says, waving his cell phone at the camera on his end. “I’m gonna sign off and get ready.”
Yoongi feels his mouth twitch downward. It’s good that Hoseok is making friends at his placement, and seems to have settled in nicely. Yoongi is happy Hoseok is happy. He is.
“Right,” he says. “Call again soon?”
Hoseok makes an elaborate series of hand gestures at the screen, the long distance version of a secret handshake. Yoongi mirrors them, hurrying to catch up so they finish in sync. “Promise.”
It’s the best Yoongi is going to get. He smiles, because Hoseok is smiling, and it’s impossible not to smile when Hoseok is smiling. Hoseok moves to end the call, and Yoongi finds he can’t help himself. “Be safe tonight!”
Hoseok laughs. “Yes, hyung,” Hoseok says. Yoongi can hear his eyes roll even with the shitty connection. “You too. Love you.”
“You too,” Yoongi says, his face pink. “Bye.”
Hoseok doesn’t say anything else. He waves, and Yoongi waves back, and the call disconnects.
Yoongi sighs and then turns to tend to the wounded. They aren’t lying dramatically on the floor anymore, but they are still clutching their heads. Yoongi frowns and shuffles over on his knees. “Do either of you need ice?” he asks. He makes himself check on Jimin first, as best he can between the mess of Jimin and Taehyung’s fingers. It doesn’t seem like Jimin is seriously hurt, and truth be told Taehyung is being a far more attentive nursemaid than Yoongi would ever be.
“No,” Jimin mumbles, tucking his head against Taehyung’s shoulder. “A kiss maybe?”
“I’ll let Taehyung administer that,” Yoongi says quickly. “Gonna check on Namjoon.”
Jungkook is worrying over Namjoon, who has his eyes screwed shut and his hand pressed firmly against his jaw. His eyes blink open when Yoongi brushes his fingertips along it and he hisses. For one heart-stopping second Yoongi knows, with complete and utter certainty, that they’re going to be spending their New Years eve in a hospital emergency room, consulting with doctors to make sure there isn’t any lasting damage.
Then Namjoon says, “Hyung how are your fingers so cold all the time? Did you stick them in the snow or something? Are you secretly made of ice?”
The sick feeling in Yoongi’s stomach disappears. He rolls his eyes instead, prodding at Namjoon’s jaw again to try and assess the extent of the damage. It seems like Namjoon tilts his head into the touch even while he winces. Yoongi’s not prepared to deal with that before they have dinner.
“So you’re okay then?” Yoongi asks. “No ice needed?”
“Your fingers-” Jungkook begins, but the rest of whatever surely hilarious comparison he was going to make is cut off by Seokjin’s triumphant return, two plastic bags in hand.
“No one seriously hurt?” he asks, stalking across the apartment to set the bags down on the scrap of counter between his sink and cook-top. There isn’t a lot of space. Almost all of the flat surfaces in the kitchen-area of Seokjin’s apartment are littered with empty beer cans and soju bottles. The wine bottle Yoongi and Jimin have been pouring from looks almost out of place among them.
“I’m seriously hurt,” Jimin grumbles.
“No,” Yoongi says, trying not to grin too broadly as Taehyung turns to comfort Jimin further. “We’ll all be fine after some fried chicken.”
“Who says you’re getting fried chicken?” Seokjin demands. “I might have ordered this all for myself.” He starts unpacking the bags, trying to squeeze the takeout containers in among the bottles.
Yoongi hurries to help. He’s afraid if he stays in close proximity to Namjoon, with Namjoon’s warm skin under the cool pads of his fingertips, he might do something he’ll come to regret, like offer Namjoon the kiss Jimin had asked for. He hasn’t had enough wine to be able to pass it off as the wine talking, and the situation has the wrong kind of mood for it to come off as a joke.
“No one is allowed to start eating until the host sits down,” Seokjin informs the group a few seconds later. He stands over the coffee table with the boxes of fried chicken held aloft. “If I find anyone eating before I sit down there will be a punishment.”
He’s looking at Jungkook when he speaks. Jungkook’s expression is artfully innocent as he asks, “Will it be more forehead flicks?”
“No,” Seokjin says severely. “It will be something unspeakably horrible that I haven’t had the chance to invent yet.”
“Aaah,” Jungkook says, averting his eyes. There’s something thoughtful about his expression that makes Yoongi think that as soon as Seokjin sets the chicken down some of it will be in Jungkook’s mouth, consequences be damned.
Seokjin obviously has a similar line of thought. He narrows his eyes in Jungkook’s direction. “Yoongi, can I trust you to bring everything else over?”
Yoongi grins. “Yes, hyung.”
“You’re going to make us wait?” Jungkook whines.
“I’m mortally wounded,” Jimin pouts. “You wouldn’t deprive me of chicken, would you?”
“The food’s already later than we thought it would be,” Seokjin says in a perfectly reasonable tone. “It won’t kill you to wait another two minutes.”
Yoongi collects some small plates from the cupboard and brings them and the side dishes to the low table. He has to do a second run for cutlery, and is about to take his seat between Seokjin and Taehyung when he realizes his wine glass is empty.
There’s a chorus of groans when he picks it up and turns back to the kitchen. “Just start without me,” he tells Seokjin. “I’d hate it if I come back from the kitchen only to find that they’re eating you instead of the chicken.”
“The kitchen’s not that far away,” Jungkook points out, already reaching for the food. “You’d definitely notice the second any sort of cannibalistic activity starts.”
“I don’t want to see any iteration of Jungkook eating anyone,” Taehyung announces. “Please let us eat the chicken hyung?”
“Fine,” Seokjin says expansively. “You can all be rude heathens, since that is what you so obviously want.”
“Please make sure I get some?” Yoongi asks plaintively.
“Sure thing hyung.”
Behind him Yoongi can hear the sound of rustling clothing and hushed giggles. He’s positive that when he turns around, he'll find Jungkook playfully gnawing on Seokjin’s arm, while Seokjin looks that particular mix of annoyed and endeared that only Jungkook seems to be able to surprise out of him.
He doesn’t turn around until he’s poured his wine, and is unsurprised to find Jungkook is indeed sitting beside Seokjin now, where Yoongi had planned to. What he hadn’t considered is that in rearranging the seating Jungkook has left the only empty space between Jimin and Namjoon. Yoongi is torn between being delighted at the prospect of the amount of accidental physical contact he can initiate under the guise of slightly tipsy and sitting in close proximity and concerned at his chances of surviving the experience.
“There was no cannibalism while you were gone, hyung,” Namjoon assures him as he sits down cross-legged and tucks himself under the table. “I kept them in line.”
“At least that’s one person I can trust,” Yoongi says, straight faced.
Namjoon grins and pokes him in the knee. Yoongi sucks in a breath. It’s too late now to make a fuss about his old spot having been stolen. He’ll have to grin and bear it. He just hopes he hasn’t overestimated his ability to do so.
The meal goes about as well as it can. There’s the usual squabbling for the choicest pieces of meat, and the distribution of the less choice pieces of meat to those sitting around them. It never ceases to amaze Yoongi how the six of them seem to be able to make the noise of twelve when they really get going.
Seokjin’s jokes are ridiculously bad. Jungkook and Taehyung seem to be seamlessly switching sides in their argument. Namjoon throws himself into the conversation with vigour, his arms flaily, his smile wide, his eyes bright. His knee is warm where it rests on top of Yoongi’s thigh. Every time he shifts it sends a pleasant jolt of warmth up Yoongi’s leg, and when he laughs so hard he collapses sideways against Yoongi’s arm Yoongi feels like his whole body is on fire. Yoongi has to spend a lot of time focusing on what he’s doing with his chopsticks so he doesn’t drop all his food.
The danmuji runs out when Yoongi is no longer hungry but definitely not full. He’s pretty sure he saw more in the fridge that he could go get, but he’s not going to stand before he does a scan to see if there’s anyone else he can steal from instead. Jungkook has some on his plate, but he’s been known to defend his food territory with unnecessary enthusiasm. Namjoon has some too, and Yoongi is just thinking of stealing it when he notices Namjoon’s hands.
Namjoon has had hands for as long as Yoongi has known him, but lately they’ve been something of a problem. They’re just nice, that’s all, with long, graceful fingers, a few veins standing out as he manipulates his chopsticks. Yoongi’s eye catches on them more than he’d like to admit. They’re caught on them now.
“See something you like, hyung?” Namjoon asks, low and quiet enough that it would be easy for the others to miss it under the noise of their argument about something to do with Naruto. “You’re practically drooling.”
Yoongi is practically drooling but he’s not sure he wants to be called on it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, reaching for his glass of wine. It’s only once he’s taking his first sip that he realizes a flat denial was probably the wrong thing to say. Namjoon looks speculative now. A speculative look never ends well.
“You look like someone who was thinking of stealing my food,” Namjoon says, his smile growing until his dimples shine. “Are you sure you aren’t contemplating larceny?”
Yoongi stops himself from breathing a sigh of relief. “Excuse you,” he blusters, because he’d much rather Namjoon think he was staring at his food than staring at his hands. “Do you know what you’re accusing me of? Stealing food off someone else’s plate in a communal setting such as this-”
“So you were thinking of stealing my food,” Namjoon says. There’s just enough glee in his voice to attract Seokjin’s interest. Yoongi can feel the way his focus shifts from the Naruto argument to the conversation Namjoon and Yoongi are having. Yoongi can also feel the way his face is starting to heat up. He hates having an audience.
“Wasn’t!” Yoongi protests, frantically trying to think of a topic to switch the conversation to before Seokjin switches from observer to participant. “I was-”
“You definitely were,” Seokjin says, dashing Yoongi’s hopes. If Seokjin’s getting involved the other three won’t be far behind, and then they’ll have a real audience.
Sure enough… “I bet it was the danmuji,” Taehyung says.
Yoongi puts his face in his hands.
“Aaah, looks like you were right Tae!” Namjoon sounds far more delighted than Yoongi thinks the situation warrants. “C’mon hyung, open up.”
“No,” he mutters into his hands.
It’s the wrong answer.
“Aww, c’mon hyung,” wheedles Taehyung. “Namjoon-hyung has it all ready for you and everything.”
The more he protests the worse it’s going to get. Yoongi produces the most put-upon sigh he can and lifts his head out of his hands. Namjoon has the danmuji pinched between his chopsticks and is holding it out to Yoongi. He looks like he’s just discovered the secret to teleportation, or maybe has finally had his book optioned by a publisher.
Yoongi has not had enough wine to justify feeling this devastated.
“Open up,” Namjoon says, smile widening.
Yoongi rolls his eyes and obliges. It isn’t like he and Namjoon haven’t fed each other before. Hell, Namjoon almost always steals whatever Yoongi doesn’t eat. There just aren’t usually flirty overtones happening, or an audience paying rapt attention. Yoongi suspects there’s about to be a sudden uptick in Yoongi and Namjoon are an old married couple jokes. He hopes his heart can take it.
Apparently eager to draw out the drama of the moment, Namjoon takes his sweet time inching the food closer to Yoongi’s mouth, his smile growing more and more shit-eating with each passing second. Yoongi loses his patience at the count of five and leans forward grabbing Namjoon’s wrist so he can’t pull it back while Yoongi eats. It makes the rest of the table burst into laughter. At least if they’re laughing they can’t make a joke.
Namjoon isn’t laughing. Namjoon is staring at Yoongi as if he has two heads.
Yoongi is glad when Jimin demands, “Why isn’t anyone feeding me?” He’s glaring around the table, his arms crossed. “Taehyung-ah, why don’t you express your undying devotion to me through food?”
Undying devotion. The bottom drops out of Yoongi’s stomach. He doesn’t even look at Namjoon.
“Ah, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung proclaims, as if in a drama. “How could you doubt-” He breaks off, cocking his head to the side as the music on the television changes. His face lights up. “Aah it’s our song! Jimin it’s our song it’s our song c’mon c’mon you remember the choreo right?”
Taehyung completely abandons the food in favour of dragging a laughing Jimin to his feet. Within to seconds they’re moving in synch, Jimin executing everything with far more grace than should be possible in the limited space they have to work with, Taehyung more enthusiasm than finesse. Seokjin looks worried about their proximity to the television. Yoongi doesn’t blame him.
Seokjin looks more worried a few seconds later as Jungkook stands too, adding more limbs to the space, and then Namjoon is standing and Yoongi is really worried. He scrambles onto the couch, pulling the coffee table toward it after him to give the dancers as much space as possible to move, and as soon as he’s sure he’s done all he can to avert potential catastrophe he pulls out his phone. Hoseok is going to be so mad he missed this.
By the time the song finishes the dancers are all breathing heavily around their laughter. Seokjin’s face is somewhere between red and purple, and he’s chewing his lips like he can’t decide if he wants to scold them or join in. Yoongi takes a picture of it too, to send to Hoseok along with the video of the dancing.
Seokjin makes up his mind. “I think-” he starts to say, and then the next song starts.
“Oh, but I love this one too!” Jimin grins at Taehyung. “Here, Tae, if you-” and then he’s pulling Taehyung to him by the belt loops of his jeans. Jimin rolls his hips and the next thing Yoongi knows Seokjin’s living room has turned into a club. The song fits that style of dance, with a low, heavy bass and a set of deep, rough voices alternately singing and rapping on top of it. Jungkook agrees, shaking his hips in Seokjin’s direction while wearing a cool, sultry expression he seems to think will entice Seokjin to join in and Namjoon… Namjoon…
Namjoon is doing his best. It’s not smooth like Jimin, or sultry like Jungkook, but Yoongi’ll be damned if it isn’t hot.
Yoongi drains what’s left of his second glass of wine and decides that maybe it’s time for a third.
“Hyung!” Jimin yells as Yoongi starts to climb down from the couch. “Hyung are you actually going to dance with us?”
“No,” he says more brusquely than they deserve. The image of Namjoon dancing seems to be permanently seared on his eyelids. “No I’m not.”
“Yoongi-chi doesn’t dance,” Seokjin intones solemnly from his position on the floor. How he’s keeping a straight face with Jungkook’s hips so close is beyond Yoongi. “Unless-”
“I’m getting more wine,” Yoongi announces, raising his voice so no one will be able to hear the rest of Seokjin’s sentence. Seokjin’s expression doesn’t so much as flicker as he winks. “More wine,” Yoongi confirms over the sounds of Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung protesting he should join them, “And then I’m sitting back down. On the couch.”
Seokjin’s apartment isn’t big enough that Yoongi being in the kitchen-area means he’s not still viscerally aware of what’s happening in the living-area, but at least with his attention focused on something else he can buy himself a few seconds to get his autonomic nervous system to calm down.
He picks up the wine only to find that Jimin has already finished it. He finds the next bottle of wine and twists the top, except that this one is not a screw top. Glaring at the cork ferociously doesn’t make the cork suddenly leap out of the neck of the bottle. If Yoongi wants more alcohol he’s going to have to find the corkscrew, but it isn’t in the back of any of the drawers, or in any of the cupboards, or stuck to the fridge.
“Hyung, where’s your corkscrew?” he asks, looking back over his shoulder before he remembers why he’d moved to the kitchen-area in the first place.
He has some regrets.
He’s not sure if it was Jungkook’s efforts that were successful, or Seokjin decided to stand on his own, but the result is that now Seokjin is standing, and dancing, and spinning Namjoon back in toward him until he has him wrapped in his arms. Namjoon laughs. Some of his hair falls over his eyes. Yoongi swallows, hard.
“What’s that?” Seokjin asks, spinning Namjoon out again.
“Your corkscrew,” Yoongi repeats, pulling out his phone so he has an excuse not to look at the dancing. “Where is it?”
For all Hoseok is out with friends he’s already texted back.
This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life
Why did I choose this year to not be there
I miss you guys so much
There’s no point in saying you’re the one who wanted to teach overseas because Hoseok knows that, and even as a joke would Hoseok feel bad for choosing to do something he was excited about. Yoongi never wants Hoseok to feel bad.
He’s in the process of typing out We miss you too, Seok-ah when Seokjin appears at his elbow. “Did you even try looking? Or have you been on your phone the whole time.”
Yoongi hits send and rolls his eyes. “What do you think?”
“That it’s right here?” Seokjin says, reaching in among the bottles and extracting a corkscrew with Mario for a handle. “Where anyone with eyes could find it? Honestly Yoongi, I expected more from you.”
Of course it was on the counter.
“Well, give it here then,” Yoongi sighs, holding his hand out.
“That’s hardly a polite way to ask your hyung for something,” Seokjin pouts.
“Hyungnim, could you please do me the honour of passing me the corkscrew?”
Seokjin’s pout deepens. “Not even a little resistance? You feeling okay Yoongi?”
Out of the corner of his eye catches sight of Namjoon and Jimin screaming lyrics into each other’s face. Namjoon is beaming “Feeling fine,” he says, which is almost true. “Just want my wine, didn’t want to drag it out on purpose.”
Yoongi is not fooling Seokjin. He can feel Seokjin’s eyes on him as he works the corkscrew into the cork and starts to pull.
“We can all see you like him,” Seokjin says, without preamble. His voice is quiet, almost impossible to hear over the ruckus in the living-area. Yoongi doesn’t flinch. He knows he hasn’t been exactly subtle about it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to talk.
“Hyung-”
“What’re you waiting for?”
It’s a question Yoongi asks himself often, and while he can come up with a nice long list of reasons if he has to there’s one very simple one at the root of it. Saying something will change one of his foundational relationships. In this more than anything else in his life he wants to be sure before he acts. He wants to get this right, and if that means taking his time so be it.
“Can we please not talk about this right now?” he asks, knowing he’s whining but incapable of stopping himself. The cork of the wine bottle comes free. At least that’s one thing that’s gone right.
“You know he-”
“Hyung!” Yoongi says, pained, before Seokjin can say likes you too. Yoongi’s heard it enough over the last few weeks, but there’s a difference between liking and dating. He’d appreciate it if everyone would let them move at their own pace and not try to rush things. “Which part of-”
Seokjin raises his hands as if in self-defence. “Fine! Fine. But for the record I think you’re both idiots. Idiots who move at the speed of glaciers. No harm in speeding things up a bit. Don’t you think it would be romantic to kiss him at midnight?”
Yoongi pictures it before he can stop himself. It would be romantic, there’s no denying it, but it’s not what he wants. If (and it’s still an if, he absolutely cannot think the word when) he and Namjoon kiss he’d rather they do it because they want to, not because of some midnight tradition, and that they not have an audience.
“I don’t involve myself in your love life, do I?” Yoongi grumbles as he pours wine into his glass.
“What love life?” Seokjin laughs. “Yoongi-ya, you’re getting forgetful in your old age. I haven’t really dated since university.”
There’s a bitter edge to his words. Yoongi winces, remembering the blind dates Seokjin’s parents set up for him, the failed dates Seokjin had tried to find for himself. Seokjin does such a good job presenting a smiling face, does such a thorough job of trying to busybody Yoongi’s own love life, that Yoongi sometimes forgets this is a topic that can sting.
The only way out is through a joke. “Well with a face like yours I can see why.”
“Everyone’s too intimidated,” Seokjin agrees with a superior air, all bitterness erased so thoroughly that if Yoongi didn’t know how good of an actor Seokjin was he would’ve chalked it up to a figment of his imagination. “And who could blame them?”
There’s a clatter from the living-area that does not sound like it came from the television. Seokjin and Yoongi turn together to find Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook looking at them with wide eyes. What seems to be half the food has migrated from the coffee table to the floor in a lovely starburst pattern. Thankfully there doesn’t seem to be anything liquid dumped.
“It wasn’t me!” Namjoon says triumphantly, his arms above his head. “It wasn’t me this time!”
“Hoseok would never treat my apartment this way,” Seokjin tells his ceiling. Yoongi doesn’t bother hiding his laughter. “Hoseok would treat my apartment with the respect it deserves.”
“We can clean it up hyung!” Jungkook sounds far too enthusiastic to be talking about cleaning. “We’ll clean it up right away, right guys?”
“Right!” Taehyung and Jimin agree.
Seokjin strictly forbids Namjoon from helping (It wasn’t you this time but let’s try and keep there from being a next time, okay?) but between the rest of them they get the rest of the containers and leftovers cleaned up. Namjoon directs them from Seokjin’s couch, sprawled across it in a way that makes him look very long, his beer bottle held loosely in his fingers. Yoongi tries not to stare too much.
By the time they’re done cleaning Namjoon has conceded that maybe, if they ask politely, other people can sit on the couch too. “You’re too gracious, sire,” Seokjin says as he takes the place previously occupied by Namjoon’s feet. “What an honour, being permitted to sit on my own couch.”
“Me too,” Jungkook says, taking advantage of Namjoon’s need to rearrange himself to slip between Namjoon and Seokjin. “Sharing is caring, hyung.”
Taehyung and Jimin don’t bother trying to squeeze in on the couch, opting instead to make a nest of a few blankets and the large cushions Seokjin has for the occasions when not everyone could fit on the couch. Yoongi knows where they’re stored, and knows that he could easily grab another one, but he doesn’t. They’ve fit five on the couch before, although it was a bit of a squeeze. He’s sure they can fit four now.
“Budge up,” he says, knocking his knee against Namjoon’s. Namjoon looks up at him, first in surprise and then in something that looks like delight.
Yoongi doesn’t have much time to parse it. Namjoon is already shuffling over, the tips of his ears pink, as he mutters, “Can’t even sit on a couch in peace anymore.”
“Shouldn’t’ve been hogging it in the first place,” Seokjin tells him, resting his feet on the coffee table. “Should’ve left space for the rest of us.”
Even with Namjoon moving closer to the arm of the couch there isn’t a lot of space to sit. Yoongi can’t quite seem to get his shoulders to fit, though he knows they should. Jungkook must be taking up more space than Yoongi thought, but if Yoongi fights too hard for space someone might ask him why he cares about sitting on the couch so much and he sure as hell doesn’t want to say because that’s where Namjoon is.
He tries shifting through a few different positions to find something comfortable, growing more and more conscious of the fact he might have made a mistake as each second passes. Jimin at least seems engaged in whatever Seokjin is saying, but Taehyung is watching Yoongi squirm as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
Yoongi is seconds away from admitting defeat and getting one of the floor pillows when Namjoon moves. When Namjoon is done moving his arm is running along the back of the couch, which means that it’s running along the back of Yoongi’s shoulders too, with Yoongi tucked up against Namjoon’s chest.
“Better?” Namjoon asks, quiet enough he doesn’t interrupt the main conversation.
Better is such a relative term. “Yeah,” Yoongi says, resolutely not looking at anyone. “Thanks.”
Namjoon ruffles Yoongi’s hair. Yoongi sort of wants to die. “Anytime.”
Yoongi is fully expecting Namjoon to pull his hand back, run it along the back of the couch to maybe fiddle with the hood of Jungkook’s sweater, but he doesn’t. Instead he leaves it in Yoongi’s hair, as if playing with Yoongi’s hair was a commonplace activity for him. Yoongi tries to follow the conversation but it’s hard, it’s really hard, when Namjoon’s fingers are drawing loose, comforting patterns on his scalp, and Namjoon’s chest is so warm against Yoongi’s back.
What happens next is a combination of multiple factors, including but not limited to: the wine, the warmth, how full he’s feeling, how bone-deep weary he is after a tough month of work, and that he wants to.
What happens next is Yoongi lets his head tip back onto Namjoon’s shoulder.
He keeps his eyes half-open, just in case anyone is thinking of making a comment and needs to be glared into submission. No one does. Namjoon’s fingers feel so good. He lets his eyes slip all the way shut.
Of course, that’s when someone decides to comment. “Yoongi hyung looks about three seconds away from purring,” Taehyung laughs. Yoongi decides that opening his eyes and mustering up a glare is too much effort. He flips him off instead.
“Next thing you know he’ll be curled up in Namjoon-hyung’s lap,” Jimin snickers, with some very suggestive overtones. Yoongi flips him off too.
“Bet Namjoon-hyung wouldn’t mind,” Jungkook says. Namjoon’s hand stills in Yoongi’s hair. Yoongi holds his breath, hoping it won’t disappear.
“Who would? He’s so cute and small.”
That deserves a response. He tips his head forward, cracking his eyes open just enough to glare at Jimin. “I’m not that small, Park Jimin.”
Namjoon huffs a laugh, jostling Yoongi’s shoulders, but that isn’t the important thing. The important thing is that he starts playing with Yoongi’s hair again. His voice rumbles through Yoongi when he speaks. “You aren’t denying that you’re cute though.”
It feels like flirting. Yoongi shifts a little and, under the guise of getting back to being comfortable, nuzzles Namjoon, just a bit. He can feel Namjoon’s sharp intake of breath. He grins into Namjoon’s shirt. “Well that’s just a fact.”
It makes Namjoon laugh again, and their friends groan. Yoongi’s heart races at his daring, and at the way Namjoon’s fingers suddenly brush across the tip of his ear, and at the way he forgot, even briefly, that they had an audience.
“Just don’t fall asleep yet. Gotta be awake for midnight.”
“Not my fault you’re comfortable.”
The obnoxious sound of fake camera shutter clicking lets Yoongi know someone has taken a picture. “Hobi-hyung is going to love this,” Jimin says in a stage whisper. Yoongi’s eyes are closed but he can easily identify Taehyung’s snicker.
Namjoon groans and tucks his face against the top of Yoongi’s head, his breath hot on Yoongi’s skin. Yoongi’s heart finds a new gear. He’s surprised no one else is commenting on how loud it is. He feels sure someone else should be able to hear it.
His phone buzzes, probably Jimin texting the picture to the group chat, but Yoongi doesn’t even reach to check. He doesn’t want to do anything that Namjoon can even remotely interpret as being uncomfortable. Namjoon had groaned, which means now he’s feeling embarrassed and self conscious, which means he’s not far from overthinking. If he starts overthinking he might move. Yoongi really does not want him to move.
“I can’t believe you’re going to bother Hoseok when he’s out with his friends,” Seokjin says, which is not quite a change of subject but is close enough to one that it has to be deliberate. “Can’t go a few hours without texting him, Jimin-ah?”
“We’re Hoseok’s friends too,” Jimin pouts. “It’s important to keep him informed on current events.”
Namjoon stiffens.
“Well why aren’t you updating him about me then?” Seokjin demands. Yoongi opens his eyes just enough to see Seokjin lean forward and frame his face. “I am obviously the most important current event.”
Jimin laughs and takes a picture. Jungkook lunges across Seokjin’s lap and Jimin takes another. Taehyung scrambles up and squeezes in, and Jimin laughs, and Yoongi feels like it’s safe to breathe again.
Namjoon still has his face pressed tight against Yoongi’s hair, hugging him as if Yoongi is a security blanket, not a source of embarrassment. Yoongi lets himself relax into it, and feels some of the tension drain out of Namjoon too. With the attention elsewhere Yoongi feels comfortable enough to reach out a hand to pat Namjoon on the knee. “That wasn’t so bad, was it.”
“I hate you,” Namjoon says into Yoongi’s hair before sitting back up. For a heart-stopping moment Yoongi thinks maybe he relaxed too early, that maybe Namjoon is going to leave after all, but all Namjoon does is adjust his arm along Yoongi’s shoulders so that they’re settled more comfortably together.
Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief, snuggling in. “I know.”
He doesn’t bother trying to pretend that he isn’t dozing against Namjoon after that, completely zoning out of Taehyung’s impassioned speech ranking the fight scenes in Dragonball Z. Given the enthusiastic nature of the conversation that follows he’s a bit surprised by how well he naps, but then he has had a long month and hasn’t been getting enough sleep.
It comes as something of a surprise when apparently out of nowhere Jungkook jumps to his feet and says, “Right! Gonna go pour the champagne!”
“Wazzat?” he asks, blinking up at a blurry Namjoon.
“Getting the drinks ready for midnight,” Namjoon tells him. “I’m gonna go help.” He pulls his hand out of Yoongi’s hair and prepares to stand. Yoongi isn’t proud of the way it makes him whine. At least he doesn’t have any witnesses except a laughing Namjoon. “Ah, c’mon hyung. It’s almost midnight! And then we’ll get you home to a real bed, okay?”
Yoongi’s sense of self preservation kicks in before he can say would rather go to your bed. They’ve been flirting, yes, but that’s a bit much even for him.
Namjoon’s warmth disappears, presumably into the kitchen where Yoongi can hear an enthusiastic discussion about what exactly is the right way to uncork the champagne (real champagne! Jimin had said excitedly as soon as he caught sight of the bottle), and Yoongi lets himself topple completely sideways on the couch. With everyone looking at how to properly get their bottle uncorked he has the couch to himself, and takes full advantage of the fact to stretch out from toes to fingertips.
He’s still stretching when he hears the pop of the cork coming out, and the elated whoop from Jungkook at their success. “Let me pour, let me pour!” he’s saying as Yoongi props his hands behind his head and opens his eyes. His friends are huddle around the counter in the kitchen, as if their presence will somehow make Jungkook, his tongue sticking out in concentration, better at pouring alcohol. That’s a picture Hoseok will appreciate, so Yoongi extracts his phone from his pocket and takes one to send to the group chat.
The last message in their group chat is still the picture of him and Namjoon, curled together on Seokjin’s couch. Yoongi has his nose pressed to Namjoon’s shirt, his eyes closed, a faint smile on his lips, and Namjoon is looking at him like… like…
Yoongi saves the picture to his phone, then sends the one he just took with the caption how many idiots does it take to pour champagne?
“We aren’t idiots!” Jimin yells seconds later.
Yoongi laughs.
“Just for that I am drinking all your champagne!”
“You are not, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin says, plucking the foam-filled wine glass out of Jimin’s hand. “Everyone gets some for midnight. You can drink the leftovers.”
“Fine,” Jimin says sulkily, taking his own foam-filled glass. “Everyone got their glasses?”
Seokjin looking between Yoongi, lying on the couch, and the glass in Seokjin’s hand. There’s a definite air of are you coming to get it? about his expression. Yoongi doesn’t see why, when the group is only going to move back into the living room so they can count down to midnight along with the excited MCs.
Sure enough the group comes back, standing in a semi-circle in front of the television. Seokjin glowers at Yoongi as he hands over the glass of champagne. Yoongi gives him his most winsome smile and sits up, ready to join the celebrations, only to find that according to the television there’s still five minutes left until midnight.
“Jumped the gun there a bit, eh Jungkook-ah?” he asks.
“I guess we took less time than I thought we would,” Jungkook says sheepishly. “Um. Sorry?”
“Better early than late,” Jimin assures him, draping his arm over Jungkook’s shoulders. “Now we’re just extra prepared.”
“But what do we do while we wait?” Taehyung asks, slinging his arm over Jimin and Jungkook’s shoulders. “It’d feel weird to sit down again now that I’m in the New Years mood.”
Yoongi doesn’t bother trying to think of anything. His head is still full of the feeling of Namjoon’s fingers running through his hair.
“Seokjin-hyung should make a toast!” Namjoon suggests, holding his glass out in Seokjin’s direction. “That’d kill time!”
“Can’t we just watch the show?” Seokjin asks, sitting back down on the couch in defiance of Taehyung’s pronouncement. “It’s right there, and it’s New Years-y.”
“A toast!” Namjoon repeats.
“But why me?”
“It’s your apartment,” Namjoon says, gesturing around. “You’re the host. You should be toasting.”
Seokjin rolls his eyes and stays resolutely seated. “If you want a toast so bad you make it.”
“Yeah, you do it Namjoonie-hyung,” Jimin giggles.
Taehyung and Jungkook start chanting, “Toast! Toast! Toast!” and it isn’t long before Jimin and Seokjin join in. Yoongi can feel their infectious energy starting to hit him, and while he doesn’t join in the chant he does give Namjoon a helpless one-shouldered shrug when Namjoon looks to him for help.
Namjoon shakes his head. “Fine, fine. A toast.” He raises his arm in the air as if he was in a movie. His expression is contemplative and earnest. Yoongi has a horrible premonition that Namjoon is about to say something heartfelt. He starts to think maybe he shouldn’t have encouraged this.
“This year was exactly the same length as every other year, but it felt longer.” He looks at each of them in turn. Yoongi finds it hard to look back. He does his best anyways. “A lot happened. I’m not at all where I thought I’d end up, but with you guys beside me there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
He’s so sincere about it it’s actually painful. Yoongi shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and something thumps into his shoulder. When he turns to look he finds Seokjin there, his eyes screwed tight shut. “This is your fault,” he tells Seokjin, as Namjoon says your support means everything, and I couldn’t have done it without you with deep conviction. “You told him to.”
“I didn’t think he’d do it seriously,” Seokjin hisses back, under Namjoon’s pronouncement of I hope we can continue to support each other in the coming year, and find help when we need it.
At least Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung seem to be enjoying themselves. They’re looking at Namjoon with eyes wide, nodding. Yoongi can’t blame them. As uncomfortable as he finds public declarations of heartfelt sentiments and the occasional jolts of something that sing through his body every time Namjoon’s eyes lock on his as he speaks, he’s having to fight the urge to pull Namjoon into a hug.
Namjoon seems to falter then, stumbling over the start of his next sentence. His eyes are suspiciously bright. Yoongi has time to think oh no before Namjoon pushes through it to say, “I love you all so, so much.” Seokjin flinches against him. Yoongi looks at the ceiling so he won’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone. There’s a noise that sounds suspiciously like Jungkook sniffing. “And, and I know Hoseok isn’t here, but that makes- I mean- I just-”
There are a few more sniffs. Seokjin’s ceiling is white. Yoongi can see a few places where lines from when it was painted are still visible.
“I want to hug you,” Namjoon finishes. “All of you. Yes.”
That sounds like an ending. Yoongi glances down just in time to see Jungkook throw himself at Namjoon, careful not to spill any of their champagne. Namjoon wraps him up in a tight hug that lasts for nearly five seconds before Jimin says, “Alright Jungkook-ah my turn.”
Then Namjoon is hugging Taehyung, and Jungkook is dragging a cringing, laughing Seokjin up for his hug, and then Namjoon is looking at Yoongi with his arms extended from his body and Yoongi realizes he’s fucked up because it isn’t just Namjoon looking at him, it’s all of them looking at him.
He and Namjoon have hugged before, that’s nothing new. Namjoon gives some of the best hugs on the planet, second to his mother and Holly. Yoongi loves Namjoon’s hugs. It’s just that usually when they hug it’s an in-the-moment thing, not in front of an audience after essentially cuddling Yoongi on their friend’s couch for God knows how long.
They lock eyes. Namjoon’s smile doesn’t dim, doesn’t shrink, but his eyes go soft, and he ducks his head a little like he’s realized, too, that maybe he’s made things awkward, that maybe Yoongi won’t want to hug him under these circumstances. Worse yet his arms start to close, like he thinks Yoongi will refuse, the same way he’d refused to dance.
Yoongi makes a production of cringing as he stands, because they do have an audience, and he does feel awkward, but drops the pretense as soon as he slips into the circle of Namjoon’s arms to wrap his own arms around Namjoon’s waist.
The others are laughing but Namjoon isn’t. Namjoon is hugging him tight.
“Ten!” Jimin yells, “Nine!”
Yoongi checks the television and sure enough the countdown has started. “Eight!” Namjoon joins in, unwinding one of his arms to let everyone know it’s time for a group hug. Yoongi has a horrible feeling that more than one person is going to end up accidentally splashing him with their champagne.
By the time they reach four Yoongi and Namjoon are completely enveloped by their friends. The enthusiasm around them is infectious. Yoongi counts along with, “Three, two one!” at the top of his lungs.
They scream, “Happy New Year!” in unison and the hug writhes as everyone simultaneous tries to extract themselves from it to drink their champagne. Yoongi stays where he is a few moments longer. Namjoon’s arm stays around Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi feels a kiss on the top of his head.
For a heartstopping moment he thinks it’s Namjoon, that Namjoon’s kissed him, that Namjoon is going to maybe-- but when Yoongi turns to look Namjoon has his eyes closed, smiling brightly at the ceiling. It’s Seokjin who’s going around dropping kisses on everyone’s head.
Yoongi grins, a mix of foolishness and relief. Not tonight then.
“Happy New Year,” he repeats, tucking his grin against Namjoon’s shoulder.
Namjoon squeezes him back.
Not tonight then, but maybe, soon.