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Yoongi hadn’t been worried about Jungkook meeting his friends, but if he had he’d be over it now because they had all taken to each other like a moth to a flame. They got on like a house on fire. Yoongi wonders why all the idioms about this involve fire. Maybe that’s a bad omen, actually.
“Sooo,” Hoseok grins at him widely as they wait for the next round of drinks at the bar. “Jungkook seems great.”
Jungkook is great. He’s young, but not immature. He’s fit, but the gym isn’t his whole personality. He’s annoyingly gifted, but still humble. If anything he’s too perfect, but he’s not a robot either. Yoongi doesn’t usually put a lot of stake in first impressions, but he had liked Jungkook the instant he had arrived at Yoongi’s workplace as part of the film crew for a documentary about radio in the streaming age. Plus Jungkook was really good at his job, and there’s nothing Yoongi finds more attractive than talented, driven people. (Not to mention the fact that he was just, you know, ridiculously hot.) They had gone out for drinks, Jungkook had wanted to see him again even after a night of Yoongi lecturing him about whiskey, and the few dates they’ve been on since then have gone just as well. He’s sweet and fun, and makes Yoongi smile. It’s all really lovely. He tells Hoseok this.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“Hyung, you just said lovely,” Hoseok wrinkles his nose. “That’s what you say when you’re convincing yourself it isn’t going to work out.”
Yoongi is no stranger to introducing dates to his friends. He likes to get the first group hangout out of the way early because if people don’t get along with his friends, he doesn’t know why he’d continue on seeing them. But that means his friends are also used to seeing him with one foot out the door already. “Aren’t you supposed to be the optimist here, my hope ? You’re putting words in my mouth—I just said it’s lovely.”
Yoongi ignores Hoseok’s disbelieving scoff, staring over his head at the new lamps dangling from the ceiling. In an attempt to “update” the bar, the owner had replaced all the rusted lights from the eighties with these brightly colored abstract chandeliers. Yoongi could immediately tell that they were a mistake, highlighting rather than masking the relative dinginess of the rest of the space. He had gone on a week-long strike of the bar in protest of the “knock-offs of knock-offs of knock-offs of Calder mobiles” insulting his eyes, until he realized none of his friends cared as much about light fixtures and were just continuing to go to their home base without him. He’s always taken a while to warm up to new things. It’s what had happened back in college when he first met his absurdly friendly roommate with the heart-shaped smile, when his tall, dimpled coworker at the campus radio station started trying to talk to him outside work, when the aloof, handsome student in his literature class showed up in their dorm with the surprise that he was best friends with Yoongi’s roommate and also a grade A dork. Yoongi had judged and deflected then, and yet somehow seven years later those three idiots are his favorite people in the world.
This whole bar is worn in and familiar, every knick a story that Yoongi knows by heart—he runs a finger over one deep scratch in the wood that’s been there ever since Seokjin tried to start a revolution at trivia night over his insistence that the quiz was rigged, and Namjoon, somehow taking over as temporary bartender in the ensuing chaos, had attempted to cut a lime and nearly chopped off his own finger. (Hoseok had to do some hardcore charming to get them back in here at all after that. Luckily, that’s kind of his thing.) One day these lamps will make Yoongi as nostalgic as this beat-up bar top. He and Jungkook are just still getting to know each other.
Hoseok taps the top of his head to bring him back to the present when the rest of the drinks are pushed across to them. “Sure, I definitely believe that you’re not overthinking this.”
When they get to the booth, Jungkook and Seokjin both have their mouths stuffed full, staring each other down as their chopsticks hover over the last piece of fried chicken. Yoongi looks over at Namjoon, who just rolls his eyes. Seokjin holds up a finger until he’s finished chewing, then sets his elbow on the table, primed for arm wrestling. They haven’t dropped eye contact yet.
“You really want to do this?” Jungkook smirks, with a shrug so nonchalant it’s clearly a brag.
“Bring it on, all or nothing.” Seokjin waggles the fingers in his waiting hand. Hoseok starts performing a small cheer routine for him, while Yoongi lightly chants in support of Jungkook. Seokjin holds his own, although the noises he makes earn them strange looks from the tables around them, but Jungkook ultimately wins. He crows about it, while the other mutters something about respecting your elders.
“Hey,” Yoongi says, and Jin and Jungkook turn at once. Their eyes are bright and curious, and they both have their heads cocked to the side. Yoongi’s next words get stuck in his throat. He flicks his eyes away from Seokjin to hold up his beer to Jungkook for a toast. “Nice work.” Jungkook beams, and Yoongi does too, an automatic reaction whenever the other smiles. The younger man clinks his glass against Yoongi’s then sticks his tongue out at Seokjin, who harrumphs dramatically. This petty side of him is a new discovery but Yoongi has always kind of loved petty. Jungkook offers him the prize of the last piece of chicken and he opens his mouth to accept.
“What a hero,” Hoseok coos. The evening continues as it has been, conversation flowing between all of them easily. Jungkook is a bit quieter than the rest amidst the exchange of shared stories and jokes, but he fits into the group well. The topic goes from Namjoon’s celebrity encounters to current variety show obsessions to video games, which somehow ends up with Jungkook putting Seokjin in a headlock.
“Gosh, take me on a date first, JK.”
“Admit that Overwatch is better than MapleStory.”
“I’d rather die with honor.”
“I’ve just never really understood video games,” Namjoon adds pensively, and the other two gasp. Seokjin claps his hands around Jungkook’s ears.
“Don’t listen to the bad man.”
“You just press a bunch of buttons!” Namjoon looks at Hoseok and Yoongi for support, and Yoongi just shakes his head.
“Joon-ah, your job and all your hobbies also just involve pressing buttons. Everything these days is essentially some version of ‘just pressing buttons,’ that doesn’t make it bad.”
Jungkook throws his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Doesn’t mean I like video games either. They’re boring?”
“C’mon, I need to be way more drunk to put up with this kind of slander.” Seokjin scrunches his face in a very cute imitation of anger as he pushes his way out of the booth and Jungkook’s eyes sparkle as he goes along with him. For some reason, Yoongi feels a swell of something like pride. He can always count on Seokjin to set the mood, Seokjin who’d started out the night slightly withdrawn but had gone into full charm mode to make Jungkook feel comfortable when he noticed how shy the younger man was. Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together; they definitely seem to be comfortable now based on the way Seokjin is gripping Jungkook’s bicep as they talk animatedly, broad shoulders shaking in familiar laughter.
Then Hoseok’s delighted cackle cuts into his thoughts. He’s pulled out his phone to snap a photo. “Oh my god, it’s like Jinnie-hyung multiplied!”
Yoongi freezes. He squints at the two figures now at the bar. Jungkook is wearing black from head to clunky combat boots. His long-ish dark hair, dyed blue just at the tips, is tucked behind his ears, which hold numerous dangly and pointy looking earrings. His hands are covered in tattoos, and Yoongi knows those go all the way up one arm and beyond, too. Next to him, Seokjin is drowning in an oversized pastel blue sweater with actual sweater paws. He hasn’t let himself look closely in a while and he sees that the elder’s hair has grown longer too, shaggy around his ears.
“Well, they both have black hair,” Yoongi says flatly. “They’re Korean, too.”
Hoseok has a tendency to compare lots of things to his best friend—Yoongi remembers when he went through a phase of sending daily pictures of baby animals to the group chat saying “Isn’t this hyung?” Yoongi imagines the equation in his head goes a little like this: x is cute and good, Seokjin is cute and good, therefore x = Seokjin.
Hoseok just swats at him playfully. “The two of them have been attached at the hip talking about the same stuff all night.” He studies Yoongi’s face. “Ah, don’t be jealous. He’s also like a mini you. Well, a big mini you. Dressing like you’re bad boys, while being major softies.” He reaches across the table to grab Yoongi’s bicep and gasps in mock surprise. “While hiding delicious muscles.”
Namjoon chimes in. “I actually thought he was more like you, Hob-ah. You both have those smiles, you know.”
At that, Hoseok turns his on at full force. “He’s smart like Namjoonie, too. How’d you find someone who’s got all of our best qualities rolled into one?”
Yoongi wrinkles his nose. He glances back to the bar where Seokjin and Jungkook are still too involved in conversation to bother getting the attention of the bartender. “God, stop comparing someone I’m planning to kiss later to yourselves,” he says.
“Yeah, imagining kissing Hob-ah would definitely kill the mood.”
“Joon, you have kissed Hoseok. Repeatedly.” It’s not something they do anymore, but Namjoon just shrugs, unbothered, while Hoseok shoots him finger hearts and a wink. Yoongi wonders how it’s always been so easy for them to navigate that space between friendship and something else. Just then, Seokjin and Jungkook return with trays of pints and shots, giggling together. He considers with sudden clarity that maybe he is jealous. That would be the perfect explanation for this uncomfortable feeling in his gut.
“To celebrate new friends,” Jungkook announces. “This is the drink for it, right hyung?”
Yoongi snaps out of it, realizing Jungkook is holding out a shot glass to him. “Mhm. To friendship.”
“Bombs away!”
***
Yoongi is up all night, which he blames on the stomach ache from the curdling of cream and stout (because god, what a terrible drink), and not the unsettling conversation that came before it. Yoongi loves all of his friends, so the fact that he had gravitated towards someone similar doesn’t mean anything, except that he has good taste.
And then days later Jungkook sits across the table from him with his cheeks stuffed with rice, and all Yoongi can think about is how Jin always stuffs his cheeks with food. He shakes it off. Half the people in this restaurant are doing the same thing.
But it keeps happening: Jungkook is extra kind to everyone at the restaurant, jumping up to help when a glass of water spills—Yoongi sees Seokjin’s soft polite words charming everyone at their favorite local spots. They debate the best superhero and Jungkook sheepishly pulls up pictures of his Iron Man fanart—Yoongi remembers Seokjin shouting “I love you 3000!” every time he left the apartment for weeks after they saw the last Avengers movie. Everything feels a little off kilter.
After the third time he loses track of their conversation, Jungkook lets out an apprehensive laugh. “You okay? The spacing out, that’s usually that’s my thing.” Yoongi stutters out an explanation about late nights for work that he tells himself is probably part of the real reason anyway. For the rest of their date he talks more than usual, extra animated in order to distract both of them, and it works for a while. He chalks it up to one bad date. Then it happens again, and again. Until one evening Jungkook leans in to kiss him, and he sees another pair of wide, warm eyes looking back at him instead. He panics and dodges. Jungkook gives him a sideways glance as he says goodbye sheepishly.
They’re very different people, really, neither a pale imitation of the other. But it doesn’t matter. He thinks about the catalog of Seokjin traits he’s apparently memorized over the years. He thinks of what would have been different if it had been his eldest friend on these dates with him instead. But more than that, he thinks about what it meant that once he had noticed the similarities between Seokjin and Jungkook, he hadn’t been wishing for Jungkook to be less like him but more. Jungkook deserves someone who’s going to memorize all of his little quirks.
All it takes is a quick phone conversation to end things.
“I’m sorry, Kook-ah. But you’re young, you should find someone you really have sparks with, you know?”
“You talk like you’re ancient, hyung,” Jungkook laughs through a fond sigh on the other end of the line. “You still have time for sparks too.”
“Aren’t you the one who just called me a grandpa for not doing this over text? When you’re old like me you’ll understand not wanting to play with fire.”
They hang up with an agreement to be friends, which Yoongi jokes is just so Jungkook can pick his brain about sound equipment. He is suddenly filled with the urge to bury himself in his largest hoodie and stay on the couch all weekend. He doesn’t believe in stringing people along so it was the right move, but he doesn’t exactly feel relieved. He was quite fond of the kid. He doesn’t want to wallow though so while he does pull on his most comforting hoodie, he also calls Hoseok over to distract him. When he opens the door, he holds up his hand before the other can say anything.
“Yes, maybe I over-thought it. You are not allowed to come in if you say ‘I told you so.’”
“You already admitted it, that’s good enough for me.” Hoseok enters with his hands raised in surrender. But he can’t stay quiet for long. “Although I cannot say I understand what the problem was this time. If Jungkookie wasn’t good enough for you, I’m not sure who will be.”
“It wasn’t a case of not good enough, it just wasn’t...the right fit.” Yoongi tells himself being vague isn’t the same as lying.
Hoseok pats him on the shoulder, disbelieving, no doubt thinking about Yoongi’s historically high standards, and it’s easier to let him believe that’s what got in his way. He heads to the kitchen to make dinner while Hoseok explains what’s been going on with his many jobs. It’s a real feat cooking with Hoseok in the kitchen telling stories with his whole body so they have to duck and weave around each other while Yoongi yells out “Yah! Sharp object!” in warning every couple minutes. But it’s the distraction he was looking for.
So he’s laughing again when Seokjin walks in the door over an hour later. Hoseok opens his mouth to greet him, but Yoongi sees how paper thin Jin’s smile is—he will make small talk if they stop him but he doesn’t want to. So he shakes his head at Hoseok and instead they continue chatting between themselves, letting Jin pass through the living room without saying a word and hearing the shower turn on shortly after.
But then Seokjin does come back into the room to join them, flopping over on the couch until he’s resting on Yoongi.
“Aigooo, you didn’t dry your hair?” Yoongi whines, pushing Seokjin off his shoulder where he’s left a wet spot. In response Jin shakes his head like a dog drying off at the beach. Yoongi hisses and recoils.
“Such a cat.” Seokjin’s high pitched laugh sounds through the room. “But no, I don’t need to dry it when I look this handsome even with wet hair.” He brushes it back off his forehead in a joking imitation of a sex symbol emerging from the water, but the joke doesn’t work when it really isn’t funny how good he looks. Yoongi likes to think he’s built up an immunity after so many years, but wet-haired-eyebrows-out Seokjin isn’t fair play. His breath catches in his throat.
“How’d the audition go?” he manages.
“Fine. Or terrible, I don’t know,” Seokjin groans, tipping his head forward into his hands. “Acting is supposed to be about making people feel things. You can only take so many impassive eyeballs studying you before you start to wonder if you’ve ever been good at this at all.”
“You know you’re always great, hyung. Those casting directors are notoriously stone faced.” He hands Jin the untouched bowl of food that he’d left out for him. “I’d come with you if I could, so you’d have a familiar face to focus on instead.”
“Ah, my good luck charm. I could carry you in my pocket.” Seokjin takes a huge bite and Yoongi watches him, fixated on the very habit that sent him into a tailspin recently. He talks through his mouthful. “You know how they tell you to imagine everyone naked when you’re nervous? I’ll just imagine everyone’s Min Yoongi.”
“Naked Yoongi?” Hoseok asks. They both jolt a little; Yoongi forgot he was still there. Seokjin’s ears flush bright red and he jumps up, holding the bowl.
“I need to heat this up.”
Yoongi stands to help him, but Seokin waves his hand for him to stay. Yoongi’s eyes follow until he’s through the kitchen door, and he’s startled by Hoseok’s hand reaching out to pull him into his lap.
“So,” he says in Yoongi’s ear, “I’ve figured out what your Jungkook problem was.”
“Mmm.” He lets out his most noncommittal sound.
“You didn’t have a Jungkook problem. You have a Seokjin problem. Again.”
He can feel his cheeks flushing. But he shakes his head dramatically for Hoseok’s benefit, tsk -ing in disapproval. “Are you saying Seokjin is a problem? I’ll tell hyung.”
“That is not what I’m saying and you know it.” Still, Hoseok lets out a shudder of fear. “But don’t you dare. Do you think we’d see actual smoke coming out of his ears?”
“You’d see that. I’m smart—I’d run.”
Seokjin’s voice rings out from the kitchen. “Yoongiyahhh. Where’s the sesame oil?”
He’s up out of Hoseok’s lap in an instant, and then pauses purposefully, a beat too late, to pretend he’s in no rush. Hoseok very purposefully doesn’t look at him, also pretending not to notice, which is almost worse. When he returns from the kitchen, leaving Jin to his goal of mixing three kinds of leftovers together, Hoseok gives him a pointed stare.
“He said he’d keep you in his pocket.”
“Literally do not speak another word.”
Hoseok mimes zipping his lips, but then reaches out to pull Yoongi to him again. “Oh, hyung.” Yoongi breathes out raggedly, a resigned smile pasted on.
“I just have to let it pass.”
And Hoseok thankfully doesn’t remind him of how many times he’s said this very thing over the years, just squeezes him closer. Yoongi feels the damp spot on his shoulder growing cold.
***
Seokjin narrows his eyes when he returns from work for the fourth night in a row to find Yoongi sitting on the couch, whiskey in hand. “First of all, that’s my hoodie.”
“I have had this for months and worn it all week and you never commented, which according to the rules means you’ve officially relinquished ownership. Plus it’s cuter on me.”
Seokjin pouts but doesn’t argue. He’s the one who made the rules after all. “I told you pink would be a good color on you,” he mutters. “Second of all, you aren’t going out with JK tonight?”
“No,” Yoongi says, swirling the glass. “Not anymore.”
Seokjin seems to pick up on what he means, because there’s a sharp intake of breath. He stands in front of the couch, hands on his hips. “You broke up with my soulmate?”
“It’s not a break-up if you aren’t official. It was just a mutual decision to not continue seeing each other with the hopes of it becoming a romantic relationship.”
“That is the kind of nonsense someone would say when they break someone’s heart, you evil heartbreaker.” He wags his finger at Yoongi in reprimand. Yoongi knows Jin is playing this up to lighten the mood but there’s still a sting of jealousy that he’s fussing about Jungkook when he’s right here in all his pathetic glory. Yoongi tugs the strings of the hoodie tighter and grumbles in response.
“If he’s your soulmate, then I did you a favor. Why don’t I just give you his number?”
“I already have it!” Jin shouts gleefully as he makes his way down their hallway. “Maybe I’ll call him right now!” But then he returns to the couch with the takeout menus for Yoongi’s favorite fried chicken spot, and though it was his turn to pick what to watch, he hands the remote over to Yoongi.
It might be the whiskey or the way Seokjin leans on his shoulder in the middle of the movie, but Yoongi doesn’t even realize what he’s saying when he hums against the top of Jin’s head: “Want to know the real reason I ended it with Jungkook? He reminded me too much of you, hyung.”
He expects Seokjin to take it as a joke. Anger can be a whole performance for Jin, like he’s a spitfire rapper baring his soul on the stage, and Yoongi’s had years as a front row audience member. He can imagine Seokjin’s response: First he’ll jump up from the couch with a gasp. He’ll launch into a tirade that has him shaking his head back and forth, voice rising in pitch, hand gestures getting more and more intense as he lists all of his incredible qualities and how anyone even beginning to resemble him in looks or personality is nothing short of an honor for them and anyone who gets to witness it.
But instead, Jin pulls back like he’s been burned. “What?”
Yoongi sees the searching look in Jin’s eyes, and worries he revealed too much. He hiccups out a nervous laugh, scrambling. “What the hell am I supposed to do with two? One of you is more than enough to handle.”
And that might have worked if Seokjin was playing along, if he was falling into their familiar pattern of building up with indignation until laughter overtook them instead. But there’s no steam coming out of Jin’s ears, just tears forming in his eyes as he exhales deeply, looking anywhere but at Yoongi. It’s a million times worse.
“Ok. I’ll give you a break then.” He’s off the couch and out of the room before Yoongi can react.
***
Seokjin is already sensitive about people thinking he’s too much, and Yoongi had pushed that button to get the spotlight off his feelings. He feels terrible. But the problem with getting used to understanding someone without words is they become harder to use when they’re needed. So when he knocks on Seokjin’s door in the morning, he can’t think how to give a satisfying apology that doesn't involve a confession or a lie. Jin is soft always, but at his softest in the mornings—hair rumpled, eyes unguarded, pajama top unbuttoned one notch more than he probably meant to. At Yoongi's apology, his gaze turns sharp, lips pursing slightly. “It’s fine,” is what Seokjin says. It’s clearly not, but he doesn’t know what else to do.
The last time he came this close to a confession, it pushed Seokjin away and into another relationship, leaving Yoongi to work on burying his feelings for good (or so he had thought). So he spends the next few days anywhere but their apartment, wiling away hours at the radio station, getting work done, watching cat videos, trying to write music, and mostly just staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t read Hoseok’s messages that keep lighting up his phone because they’ll be requests for him to talk to Seokjin, and he’s physically incapable of denying Hoseok anything.
But when Namjoon shows up with coffee, he lets him in, because 1. Coffee, and 2. Namjoon has always been great for discussing life and dreams and picking apart philosophy, but always is a bit oblivious to anyone’s personal drama unless he’s told straight out. So Yoongi’s guard is down when Namjoon hands him the drink, then pauses.
“Feelings can be like a gas.”
Yoongi has been friends with Namjoon for long enough that he can sense an impending metaphor from a mile away, and he has a feeling he’s not going to like it. “Noxious? Smelly?”
He doesn’t acknowledge that. “You know, they don’t have a shape of their own. They just fill whatever container you give them. That can be incredible, that there’s no limit to how widely and deeply and fully we can feel. But it can be easy to lose control of, too. Sometimes space doesn’t make it go away, it just....” Namjoon mimes something expanding, complete with sound effects, a habit he picked up from Hoseok. “It can overtake everything.”
“Interesting.” Yoongi keeps his eyes on the computer. “Thank you for the coffee, Joon-ah,” he says with finality. There’s silence for another minute and Yoongi thinks he’s actually gone.
“Hyung?”
“Yes?” he sighs.
“Remember earlier this year when Jin-hyung went to the states for four months?”
“...Yes?”
“If having an ocean between you didn’t fix it then, what makes you think avoiding your apartment is going to fix it now?”
He finally looks away from the screen, grimacing. “Shit. Not now…”
“Oh, is now not a good time to talk about how you’re in love with Seokjin?” Yoongi chokes on nothing because he just said it. “Yeah, fuck figurative language. Go talk to him.”
Yoongi slumps down and fiddles with his bangs.
“Ah, why are both of you so good at other people’s feelings, and so bad at your own?” Namjoon turns to go for real, leaving Yoongi to his thoughts.
He has to stay at the station for a while longer for his show, and by the time he gets back it’s late. So although he’s made up his mind, he expects to slip into bed and deal with it in the morning. But as he takes off his shoes, he notices the light is on in the kitchen and soft strains of classical music are floating through the air. When he reaches the kitchen he sees Seokjin, who appears to be murdering a carrot with the radio beside him.
“Hey,” Yoongi says hesitantly in the doorway.
Seokjin doesn’t greet him in return. “I am cooking,” he says instead, punctuating each word with a chop of the knife.
“Okay.” This was not the atmosphere Yoongi was expecting to walk into.
“And you know I hate cooking.” That’s an exaggeration but after years of being the only one in their friend group who could cook and long shifts in a restaurant as a waiter, he had sworn off it once Yoongi had picked up the skill. “But it seems the chef of the house has gone on hiatus and isn’t feeding me anymore. Or himself,” another loud chop, “so I have to do something about that.”
“At 2am?” Yoongi trusts Seokjin with his whole heart but he isn’t taking another step into the kitchen with how charged the air is. “Jin-hyung, can you put the knife down? Can we talk?”
Seokjin does put the knife down but once again he doesn’t answer directly, leaning over to fiddle with the stove. “I’m making ramen.”
Yoongi can’t let the opportunity pass him by. “Did you know ramen was first created in China?”
Even though the frown doesn’t leave his face, Seokjin never misses his cue: “That’s what most people assume, but a little-known fact is that ramen actually comes from France.”
“Little known because it’s wrong.”
When Jin turns around to continue arguing and sees Yoongi’s tentative smile, his pout deepens but it’s that slightly exaggerated one when he’s taking part in the joke. “Hey, don’t distract me. I’m mad at you. And I’m cooking.”
“Yes, hyung. Can we pause dinner for a moment and go talk?”
Seokjin takes a moment to consider the pot of boiling water before shutting it off and following him to the couch. As soon as he doesn’t have something to busy his hands, it’s like he shrinks. Still, he speaks up again first. “Ok, are you going to talk to me more about how dating someone like me is a terrible crime?”
“No, that’s not—” Yoongi pauses. “Actually yes. That is the problem: someone like you.” Jin cocks his head quizzically. Yoongi concedes another point to Hoseok: Jin does look like an adorable woodland creature when he does that. It really isn’t fair. He rubs his neck and looks down at his lap. “I’m just a snob who wants a guarantee I’m dealing with the real article. There’s only one you know. Very precious and rare.”
“Say what you mean, Yoongi.” His voice is small but firm.
“I don’t want someone like you, hyung. I want you.”
Yoongi can’t bring himself to look at Jin in the silence that follows.
“Do you see my hair?”
Yoongi is bewildered. Seokjin runs his hands through his hair and leans dramatically back against the couch.
“This is the hair of a man going through heartbreak, Yoongiyah. I thought it was my turn, I was all prepared for months of tortured pining. Months! I was going to waste away while you paraded date after date by me and I was going to smile and make them laugh and then cry in my room about it. I’ve been learning sad songs on the piano." He clasps his hands against his cheeks and shakes his head. "God, my voice is so perfect for sad songs. And I was going to get weekly brunches with Hoseokie and act like a spurned middle age spouse losing his hold on his husband to someone younger and hotter.”
“Well, I’ve been a terrible husband if you think you’re that easily replaceable.” This angry joking bluster is familiar. Jin is clearly trying to hold back a smile, and Yoongi grins at him despite his confusion. “Although you’re right about hotter and younger.”
“Yah! But you,” he jabs his finger into Yoongi’s chest, “you like me.”
“Yes.” More than like you.
“You don’t think dating me is a terrible idea.”
“The best idea, maybe.” The joke is long gone from his voice. His heart is beating out of his chest. “I lied about anyone being hotter. You’re the hottest, hyung.” It has the desired effect of making Seokjin flush deeply. “And you’re you.” He doesn’t say what that means: my fishing partner, my roommate, my accomplice in petty crime, my best friend. I’ve been a little bit in love with you since you baked me those cookies senior year, and then ate half of them in front of me.
But Seokjin nods like he hears him anyway, and interlaces their fingers together. “Ok, then. One genuine real Kim Seokjin, 100% authentic as confirmed by a panel of experts, all for you.” Yoongi lets out a reverent “Holy shit,” and when Jin curls into his shoulder with a shy laugh, the last of the tension in the air dissipates. Then he lifts his head and kisses Yoongi on the cheek, lingering even before Yoongi reaches out to place a gentle hand at the back of his neck to keep him from pulling away.
That’s where they leave it, for now, in the familiar, comforting silence, the half-chopped vegetables and ramen forgotten in the kitchen. They have a lot left to talk about, but both have exhausted their emotional reserves for the day so it’ll have to wait until a better time than three in the morning. They’re going to end up falling asleep on this couch like this, and in the morning Yoongi will have a terrible crick in his neck. He’ll complain until Seokjin offers to massage it, and it won’t help at all but Yoongi will let him try, will let him explore his back with those pretty crooked fingers and will sigh as if it’s a relief just because of the pain. They’ll cook breakfast and talk more about what they were saying and all the times they’ve come close to saying it before and what this all means for the future. Or maybe Yoongi will work up the courage to kiss Jin while the eggs are frying and then they’ll be too preoccupied to talk for a while. Their breakfast will burn, but maybe this time a bit of fire is okay.
But for now, Yoongi doesn’t get distracted by imagining what the future would look like, or what could be different if only. Right now he feels the weight of a hand in his, the warmth of a body against his side, and when he turns his head, all Yoongi sees is Seokjin.