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If Yoongi were ever asked to tell his story properly, there would be a lot of places he could start.
He could start with Kim Namjoon, gracious and sweet but agonizingly, insatiably horny. Maybe with coming to terms with his identity or learning to love himself after years of therapy and support and tears. There’s the option of leading with how he met Park Jimin and the whirlwind of joy that seems to accompany him anywhere he goes. Maybe when he first got his Holly, or when his baby nephew back in Daegu was born, even.
But Yoongi will always start with Kim Seokjin.
“I’m looking to get married pretty quickly.”
Yoongi glanced up. There was a guy in a sweater and baseball cap looming over him, thick eyebrows furrowed. Yoongi tried to identify the angular face, pillowy lips, soft jawline, but came up empty.
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”
The man suddenly looked very sheepish. “Oh, I- I’m so sorry. You’re Yoongi-ssi, right? Jimin’s friend?”
“Yeah.”
The handsome guy looked at him oddly, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sweater. It was a nice sweater. It looked like there was a brand name embroidered on the sleeves.
“And your name is?” Yoongi had prompted, taking pity on him.
He startled, and it was only a little cute. “Seokjin. Uh, Kim Seokjin. I’m older, I think.”
Yoongi nodded. “Sit down. Don’t try to propose or anything, okay?” He meant it as a joke, but Seokjin’s ears flushed a bright red as he settled in at the table.
“Was the opening too forward? I’m sorry, I don’t do this--” he gestured at the private booth, the dimmed lights, the blooming carnation centerpiece on the table-- “very often.”
And, sure, the whole scenario was more than a little peculiar, but Yoongi found himself strangely charmed. “Well, you can’t hook me like that and not follow through, Jin-ssi,” he chuckled. “What was that about getting married?”
Seokjin nodded. “I’ll explain in a bit. Have you ordered yet?”
“I was waiting for you,” Yoongi replied. “Perfect husband material, right?”
“Shut up !”
By the time the sashimi arrived, Yoongi had already detailed his top three dream proposals, Seokjin pulled off an uncanny imitation of a marriage officiant, and they’d exchanged napkin rings with tears in their eyes. Seokjin was in the middle of his vows, done in an egregious attempt at Daegu satoori, when the waiter pulled open the curtains.
“My mother would love you,” he remarked, picking up another slice. Seokjin ate heartily, inhaling three portions before Yoongi was halfway finished with his first. “She used to make enough food for a village and get angry at us when there were leftovers.”
“I don’t know whether your domestic fantasies are flattering or insulting,” Seokjin said through a mouthful of rice, “but would you like to discuss the marriage thing now?”
“No time like the present.” Yoongi placed his chopsticks down and leaned back against the partition.
He paused, chewing on his lip. The Seokjin from the beginning of the night had made his appearance again-- small and awkward and terrified. He swallowed and took a sip of water. “I need to get married before the end of the year or I could lose my business,” he mumbled.
“You’re a businessman,” Yoongi said, unfazed.
“Florist,” Seokjin said. The fact that Yoongi didn't look appalled or disgusted at his claim was enough to imbue him with a little more of his earlier confidence. “But keep calling me a businessman; that’ll do wonders for my self-esteem. We’ve been in trouble for a while, especially since the store across town got that idol endorsement, but I have some ideas to hopefully bring us out of the red.”
“The problem is,” he continued. “The bank is giving me a tough time. For the loan to be approved, they want proof that I’m married to someone with a stable income.”
Well, shit. “That’s unfair of them,” Yoongi said.
Seokjin cocked an eyebrow. “That wasn’t an adamant refusal.”
“You’ll have to do a bit more than just pay for my sashimi to win my hand in marriage, you know,” Yoongi quipped. “I’m not as easy as you think I am.”
Isn’t he, though?
Seokjin was all sweet, not a hint of spice in sight, and Yoongi couldn’t help himself.
They were in Yoongi’s apartment, faces pressed together. Seokjin loomed over him, had him pinned against the door of the linen closet, mouth open and hot and wet and alarmingly pliant.
Then Seokjin’s fingers danced along the waistband of his slacks and the illusion shattered.
Yoongi pulled back, chest heaving. “Sorry, can we keep it above the belt?”
“Sure,” Seokjin panted, dropping his hands to his sides. “Tell me if you want to stop. Anytime.”
Yoongi nodded his assent, but heavy guilt settled into his ribcage. He kissed Seokjin with his hands behind his back, chaste and sweet, and lead him to his bedroom to put on Paddington 2.
His face was buried against Seokjin’s chest, and it might have been soju’s dizzy haze but he was sure he wanted to stay there forever. Seokjin kept on peppering kisses to the crown of his head, though, and it felt a little too domestic.
It was around the time Paddington got thrown in prison where Yoongi finally summoned the courage to speak up.
“The reason I stopped you earlier--”
Seokjin grunted, and his entire chest vibrated. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s okay.”
“I’m waiting until after marriage.”
“Hm?”
“To have sex, hyung.” It was a lie, plain and simple, and Yoongi knows he was terrible for it, but he wanted to-- he needed to see how Seokjin would react and--
“That’s fine.” Seokjin poked Yoongi’s chin to get him to look up. “Remember, we’ll be married by the end of the year. I already have your mom’s approval.”
“That’s why you’re being so soft?” Yoongi chuckled.
“Soft?” Seokjin rolled his eyes. “Yah, this is how I am. You’ll have to get used to it.”
“So it really doesn’t bother you? That I want to wait?”
“Not one bit.”
On the second date, Yoongi notices this: Seokjin has very broad shoulders, a contagious laugh, and an infuriating lack of tact.
“You know, Jimin told me your ex was an asshole.”
Yoongi froze mid-bowl, one leg in the air and fingers jammed into the holes of the ball. “Yeah?” He straightened, holding back laughter and glancing at the scoreboard. “You’re already winning, hyung,” he complained. “Are you really kicking me while I’m down?”
Seokjin looked affronted. “Of course not,” he huffed. “Here’s a pro tip-- imagine his face on the bowling pins. I promise it’ll help.”
After Yoongi bowled three strikes in a row, his cackles audible over Seokjin’s adamant complaints, they agreed on declaring the game a tie.
“How ugly was he?” Seokjin kept asking, and Namjoon wasn’t even ugly, Yoongi just held some repressed anger towards him, and “you’re the one who told me that trick; you should be held responsible!” They were starting to get looks from the other families at the alley, so Yoongi sat him down at a table and raced to the counter to order. Over a shared serving of tteokbokki, Yoongi had asked, “so whose face did you imagine on the bowling pins?”
“Jeon Jungkook,” he replied.
“He's your ex, too?”
“No, he’s competition. You know how things are. Cutthroat capitalism and all.”
Yoongi didn’t really know, but he laughed anyway.
“It’s a shame…” He leaned forward, conspiratory glint in his eye. Seokjin met him halfway, and the steam from the still-hot snack clouded the lenses of his glasses. “Your corporate scheme sounds fun and all, but I’m allergic to flowers.”
Yoongi pulled back, but Seokjin stopped him with a firm grip on his collar. “Well,” he whispered, and Yoongi felt his heart crawl into his throat. “This businessman is willing to pay for his husband’s allergy medicine.”
Yoongi was promised revenge after the bowling stalemate. What he got instead was this. It had been been six months; the air had long since turned frosty and inhospitable and Yoongi made sure his jacket was zipped up all the way before he even set foot outside.
They were on a double date with Jimin and Namjoon, who were arguing over what color golf balls they should use. Seokjin had wordlessly dispensed a handful of neon green balls (the exact color Yoongi was going to pick, coincidentally) and offered Yoongi his elbow.
Delicate fingers threaded into his own, the same fingers that smoothed wrinkles off his forehead and pinched the apples of his cheeks.
“Why do they fight so much?” Yoongi complained as Seokjin led them to the first lane.
“Didn’t you ever get the Talk when you were younger? When two people hate each other very much, Yoongichi…”
“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting,” Yoongi said, swinging his golf club menacingly. “But I’m not sure I like it.”
Couples’ mini golf, to nobody’s surprise (except possibly Jimin’s), had not been the best of date ideas. Seokjin theorized that the combination of Namjoon’s stubbornness and Jimin’s perfectionism was too volatile, and he had been right.
“Do you two ever fight?” Jimin asked after loudly declaring he wouldn’t be on Namjoon’s team anymore.
Seokjin and Yoongi shared a look.
“Not really,” Yoongi said. “We’re both on the same wavelength about most things, more or less.”
Jimin looked dubious. “You have to argue sometimes, though, right?”
“We fight over takeout,” Seokjin replied, squeezing Yoongi’s hand. “And what to watch on Netflix.”
“Once, Seokjin ignored me for an entire day because I didn’t want to watch Infinity War for the twentieth time,” Yoongi said, squeezing back.
Jimin snorted. “You’re like an old married couple,” he said, then, when Seokjin and Yoongi vehemently denied it, called Namjoon over to back him up.
In the end, the Kim Seokjin Team had technically won the game, though Yoongi did most of the actual golfing. Seokjin, when Jimin was not clinging to his shoulders like a padded blue cape, did his best to provide riveting sports commentary.
“I think you should ditch that producing gig,” Seokjin said when Yoongi sank a lucky shot. “There is some untapped potential out here on the green, ladies and gentlemen, from South Korea’s Yoongi Min.”
When they were back home and safe under the covers, Yoongi buried his head into Jin’s expansive chest.
“You’ve been busy lately,” he said. "I feel like that was the most I've seen of you in a while."
Seokjin nodded. “It’s one of our busiest seasons. Work has really picked up lately. You finally get to take a few days to yourself, though.”
“You’ll be home Christmas Day, at least?”
Yoongi heard Seokjin’s heart start to beat faster.
“Yeah. Christmas is gonna be for us.”
The word asexual is a devious little thing. Seven English letters, four (three? The semantics of borrowed English words were always odd) syllables, physically impossible for Yoongi to say in Seokjin’s presence. He had tried to come out once, feeling ready after a productive phone call with his therapist, but he choked on the word and Seokjin just gave him a sweet smile and changed the subject.
He knew Seokjin wasn't sex-repulsed, as lucky as that twist have fate would have been. He expressed a pretty healthy desire to have sex and definitely got himself off, even if he got red and squeaky when anyone brought it up. It especially hurt that he could tell Seokjin longed for when Yoongi would whisper affirmations instead of apologies into his ear.
Maybe that was why, beneath the snow-burdened boughs of the glistening tree, Yoongi panicked. Seokjin was kneeling, a dazzling ring in his palm and a brilliant smile on his face.
Yes, yes, you love him, Yoongi, say yes but also he doesn’t know, does he? If he found out, would he still love you? and god, like he hadn’t tested Seokjin enough.
Yoongi shook his head, turned around, and ran.
Seokjin isn’t easily fazed. He likes to keep his issues compartmentalized, packed neatly away in shelves until he gives himself the time to pull them out and mull them over. He realized, after it happened, that his first instinct was to pull out his phone and call Yoongi.
Could anyone blame him? Nothing like this had ever happened to him before.
Instead, he ended the call before it could even ring and cancelled the reservations instead. Yes, he’d made reservations at a restaurant for afterwards, because of course he had. He had fallen for Min Yoongi over a platter of sashimi, because of course he had.
Should he have brought the proposal up in conversation. first? His circumstances were odd, sure, but had he assumed incorrectly that Yoongi would even want to marry him?
The cab driver was mercifully silent, though Seokjin caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the tinted window. He wondered, head a million miles away, if anyone would even bother approaching him. He looked so damn sad.
Home didn’t feel like home. It felt wrong to even set foot in a place that hadn’t really meant much to him before Yoongi, but he managed to take a warm shower and bundle himself up in the guest room.
He called Yoongi again, cup of tea in one quivering hand, and when he didn’t answer, he called again. And again.
For most of his adult life, he’d been content with the distance at which he kept his friends. For the first time, Seokjin thought as he watched the battery tick closer to zero, he wished he had something other than his exaggerated rivalry with Jeon Jungkook and the flowers to cushion his fall.
“I knew he was too good to be true,” Jimin grumbled, his hands tangled in Yoongi’s hair. “Namjoon-ah, they didn’t even fight! Can you believe that? What kind of-”
“-Jimin,” Yoongi cut him off. “Don’t say that.”
“Yoongi-hyung, do you want some ice cream?” Namjoon poked his head into the room, pint in hand. “Or would you rather be alone?”
“Second option,” Yoongi said, inwardly groaning as Jimin huffed and left to join his boyfriend. “‘m sleepy.”
He'd barged in on Jimin and Namjoon on date night, which was probably why they were so scantily clad. But as soon as he saw a teary Yoongi at the door, Namjoon had pulled Yoongi into a warm bear-hug and he'd been rolled into a blanket burrito faster than he'd thought was possible.
For a brief, ugly moment, Yoongi was glad to spend time away from Seokjin. For the past half year, he was entirely consumed by his boyfriend. Whether it was lunch dates or talking business or just... existing in the same space for a moment of peace, Yoongi realized that Seokjin had been his default for a long time.
Enigmatic Seokjin, as funny as he was sentimental, all alone under a Christmas tree, too stunned to move. If he broke up with Yoongi once he found out, then what? Where would that leave things with the loan?
Sleep came easily to him, though he dreamed of shouting matches and cardboard boxes filled with his belongings, set out in the lobby of the apartment building. When morning rolled around, he was woken by violent clanging. Bleary and disoriented, he stumbled out of bed.
“Jimin?” he called, internally debating whether to freshen up before or after checking on the commotion. When he heard Seokjin’s voice, though, he dashed into the front room.
“What is it that you think that happened last night?” Seokjin was shouting. Namjoon was clearly trying to close the door, but Seokjin pushed back with all of his body weight. “Just let me talk to him, please, and we can clear everything up!”
“There’s nothing to clear up,” Namjoon said, at the same time Jimin noticed Yoongi.
“Joon-ah, what are you doing?”
“Yoongi-hyung?” Surprised, Namjoon had let up his pressure on the door and Seokjin tumbled in, sending both of them crashing to the floor. Seokjin scrambled to his feet and out of Namjoon’s reach.
“I called last night but you didn’t answer,” Seokjin said. He looked pale, Yoongi noted, and his eyes were huge and unfocused. “Did I do something wrong?”
From behind the pair, Jimin scoffed. “‘Did I do something wrong?’” he mocked, helping Namjoon up.
Yoongi ignored him. “I didn’t hear my phone ring, hyung.”
“Ah, that’s because-” three pairs of eyes suddenly snapped to Namjoon. “-I blocked his number. I did you a favor, Yoongi-hyung.”
“Why would you do that?” Seokjin asked. He sounded so utterly confused that Yoongi wanted, for a fleeting moment, to embrace him.
“Why- you- he-” Jimin sputtered. “You broke up with him! And now, what, you want him back?”
Yoongi waved his arms as Seokjin gasped. “Okay, I think there’s been an honest misunderstanding here. Hyung didn’t break up with me, he proposed.”
The room fell silent, and Namjoon and Jimin made desperate eye contact.
“Why did you assume I broke up with him?” Seokjin asked, more bewildered than accusatory.
“It’s usually what happens after Yoongi comes out to people,” Jimin said, not unkindly. “We're really sorry, Seokjin-hyung.”
Yoongi could practically see the confusion flash across Seokjin’s face. “I think we need to talk,” he said, making direct eye contact with Yoongi. “Like, in private.”
Seven letters. Three (or maybe four?) syllables. He'd even tacked on the "sex-repulsed" modifier.
Yoongi didn’t have to force the words out. His hands clasped in Seokjin’s clammy ones, eyes trained on his boyfriend’s socked feet, it was maybe the easiest set of words he’d ever said.
“I don’t know what that means but I still love you,” Seokjin replied, all in a single breath. His hands tightened around Yoongi's, like he was afraid he would dart away again.
“You can’t just- I don’t like sex, hyung. I’m never going to want it,” Yoongi stressed, and Seokjin only smiled.
“You’re telling me,” he began, face slowly regaining color. “I have to re-do my proposal? You’re ridiculous! Christmas Day was the most romantic time I could have done it, you brat!”
Yoongi just blinked, a smile threatening to spill onto his face. “So you still want to marry me?”
“I’ll be honest,” Seokjin said, after planting a kiss on Yoongi’s forehead. “It’s mostly about getting that loan secured. I actually hate your guts.”
Yoongi burst into laughter, falling forward and pressing his nose into Seokjin’s sternum. "But really," Seokjin said. "I didn't fall in love with you for your ass, cute as it may be. I love you unconditionally, yeah?"
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said, sheepish. “I really should have made sure Namjoon and Jimin knew what was going on. Are you hurt?”
Seokjin waved off his apology and hugged him even closer.