Archive of Our Own

If you take the elevator to the last floor, once you step into the corridor there’s a door on your left. No, not the door to the apartment on the attic, big and white and with a golden handle, the smaller one, almost hidden on the left corner, right behind that plant. Enter, from there, there’s a short ramp of metal stairs and finally a heavy fire door: you push it and you’re out, on the flat roof of the apartment building.

The building is a little taller than the ones around it, so you get a nice view of the streets below, very far down, and of some other rooftops, still below, but closer. It’s not, by any means, the tallest building in the city, or even in the neighborhood, so the view you get is closed off,  but nicely, like someone precisely cut off a pretty corner of the city worth looking at: those building and that road, the nice garden on that rooftop, but not further than the stainless skyscraper to your left, not past the big glass windows of the high-end offices on your right.

No one ever uses the roof. It’s not safe , mothers and fathers say, people with family and troubles that Yoongi doesn’t get. It is safe though, there’s a railing all around the edge, what else would you need to keep your children safe? And if they get too close, they get a nice view of what’s below them, and maybe a shiver, a freezing sense of vertigo. What’s bad about that? Vertigo, it’s not the fear of falling, it’s the desire to fly, someone once sang, and Yoongi thinks that’s a nice way to put it.

The door opens right at the center of the rooftop and there’s a long metal canopy over it and at its sides, which is pretty convenient now since it's been raining non-stop for two years.

Yoongi likes going up there, he even has a nice setup ready: he left, right under the canopy and shielded from the rain, a comfy deck chair and a small table. If needed, he also brings a pillow and a blanket from his apartment, 10 stores down. It’s his little space on top of the world and he isn’t expecting anyone to be occupying it.

Today, a year and a half after Yoongi claimed this spot as his own, another man is sitting in his chair, reading a book. He turns when he hears the door opening and looks at Yoongi through big, thick glasses, curious.

“Excuse me, who are you?” Yoongi asks as the heavy door closes behind him, “that’s my chair.” He points at it as if there were other chairs around them.

The man startles and gets up immediately, and Yoongi feels a little bad because he didn’t want to sound harsh, he was just a little surprised himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was yours,” the man says, gesturing at the incriminating piece of furniture, “I just thought this was like a common space, for the residents? I’m Kim Namjoon, I moved in last month.” He offers his hand, which Yoongi has a little trouble shaking since he’s holding his big pillow under one arm and the blanket and ashtray in the other.

“Min Yoongi,” he manages, after some maneuvers, “I live here too. I don’t know the actual regulations behind this space, I suppose it's a common space though. But no one ever comes here, that’s why I brought my stuff. You can bring yours too if you like. I come to smoke in the evenings, I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

Namjoon shakes his head and then stands there, a little awkward, misplaced, like a tall scarecrow in the middle of an interstate. Yoongi sits on his chair, pillow behind his back and blanket all around himself. “You can go get a chair if you want,” he says, while he sets the ashtray on the table, “there’s plenty of space for both of us, Mr. Neighbor.” He smiles up at him, hoping to ease him up a bit. A moment later, Namjoon smiles back and nods. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and leaves.

When he comes back, Yoongi has almost finished his first cigarette. Namjoon opens a folded chair he tucked under his left arm and wraps a heavy woolen cardigan around his shoulders. “It’s a little chilly, isn’t it?” He says as he settles, a notebook and a pencil in his lap.

“It’s all this rain,” Yoongi answers, blowing smoke up in the darkening sky. “The humidity has a way of soaking right to your marrow, you can’t shake it off.”

Namjoon hums, rifles through his notebook. Yoongi usually just comes here to smoke, think, and look at the night sky and all the tiny lights: the apartments around them that slowly but in perfect coordination light up, one by one, while the offices switch off.

“Licorice?” Namjoon asks, sniffing the air. Yoongi finishes his first cigarette of the day and stubs it out in the ashtray. It was Hoseok’s gift from some summer vacation he went on many years ago, a small glazed cup with four indents on the edge to rest the cigarettes, white with starfish and boats on the outside.

“Yeah, it’s the cigarettes. Licorice wrapping. Do you like it?” he asks as he lights the second one.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Namjoon answers, and shrugs, which isn’t really an answer to Yoongi’s question.

“My flatmate, he didn’t like the smell of tobacco at all.” Yoongi elaborates, looking between the bright red tip of the cigarette and Namjoon’s face. “Even though I never smoke inside, he said the smell clung to my clothes and then to all the places I touched. He has a sensitive nose. That’s why I switched to these.” 

He breathes out a small cloud of smoke and the smell of licorice hits his nose before fading, washed out under the heavy rain.

“Did you know,” Namjoon starts, a little tentative, “did you know that they tested licorice root on frogs—wait,  to be more accurate, they tested the effects of Glycyrrhizin, which is a constituent of licorice root—on frogs and it seems that it affects their muscle response? And it also does weird things to their skin, stimulating a particular chemical response. But that’s not really surprising. The properties of licorice have been acknowledged and documented in many cultures, for thousands of years: licorice root gets mentioned in the Chinese book of medicinal plants, written at least between 300 BC and 200 BC, but it was already commonly used even before that and—wait I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

He stops abruptly and bites the inside of his cheek, clearly uncomfortable. Yoongi hates this shift, so he quickly shakes his head. While Namjoon was talking Yoongi listened, his head on his palm, left cheek squished. He observed how Namjoon quickly got animated and started talking with his hands, moving them around and tapping them on the small table to accentuate his point. Yoongi liked it, how carried away he got talking about licorice , how invested and curious he looked.

“You don’t bore me, I love random facts. I actually didn’t know about the frogs, but I did know about the Chinese herbarium. There, it’s listed as a noble herb and strangely, while it was widely used in Asia and the Middle East, it only arrived in Europe in the 15th century, brought by friars. Are you interested in medical herbs?”

“No, I’m very into frogs.” Namjoon laughs a little, maybe shy, and a set of identical dimples appears on both sides of his mouth. Yoongi chuckles, charmed. “That’s a very specific topic.” 

He finishes his second cigarette and ponders over lighting a third one. The air is indeed a little chilly tonight. Chilly and damp, always damp, but night has fallen around them, only the lights of the city, distorted through the rain, light them up. Namjoon appears shaded in tones of blue, his big glasses reflective in the dim light.

“I’m a zoologist,” Namjoon explains, “I teach the Evolutionary Developmental Biology and the Herpetology courses at University and I focused my studies on amphibians, frogs in particular. That would make me a batrachologist, but no one actually uses that term.”

Yoongi smirks at him. “You are very young to be a professor. How old are you? 30?”

“I’m 31. There aren’t many people in this field, that’s why.” His glasses have slid down his nose and he pauses to push them up.  “Plus,” he adds, smiling a little, crooked, cheeky smile, “I’m very good at my job.”

Yoongi laughs at that and pockets his cigarette pack. He brings his knees close to his chest and hugs them, resting his chin on them. “So, Professor Kim,” he says, teasing a little, “do you have any cool frog facts to share tonight?”

“Do you want to see a little magic trick instead?” Namjoon asks, eyes shiny. Yoongi nods, expectant.

Namjoon opens his notebook and carefully tears a page away. He then folds it and tears it again, ending up with a square of paper instead of a rectangle. “First, I’ll write you a short letter,” he explains, and begins writing, very carefully. His lower lip is sticking out a little and the lights accentuate its shine.

It’s too dark for Yoongi to see clearly, so he leans over the table until their heads are almost touching. Even squinting, he can barely make out the writing. “We need to bring out a light,” he says, and flops back on his chair.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s a short thing. I dated it, and then I just wrote, Dear Min Yoongi, it was very nice meeting you tonight. I hope we can become friends. Kim Namjoon. Now, let me fold it.”

Yoongi watches as Namjoon carefully folds the piece of paper, going over every crease with his fingernail. He looks relaxed, at ease. He extends his hand to Yoongi, palm up. An origami frog sits there.

“For you,” Namjoon says, and smiles again, dimples doing a much-appreciated comeback. Yoongi scratches his neck, a little flustered, and takes the frog between two fingers, careful not to squash it.

“What do I do with it?”

Namjoon gets up and stretches, going on his tiptoes and extending his arms up with a groan. Now that they’re close Yoongi realizes he is not just tall, he is long: long legs, long torso, long arms. Noodle-like. “Just keep it. Maybe put it in a shoebox? You’ll see tomorrow, it’s a little surprise.” Namjoon winks at him, and Yoongi feels his cheeks lightly color. It’s just the height, and the smile, and maybe the dimples.

“It was lovely talking with you, Yoongi-ssi, but I really have to go now. I have to get ready for tomorrow. Maybe we’ll meet again? Tomorrow?” He stays next to the door, a little hopeful, a little expectant, waiting for his answer. He left his chair next to the table, only collecting his cardigan, notebook, and pencil. Yoongi tightens the blanket around himself and sinks deeper in his chair. “I’m here every evening if you want to come. And you can call me hyung, I’m older than you.”

Namjoon smiles again, bright and happy. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night, hyung.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer, he just waves his hand as Namjoon leaves. He stays in his chair, looking at the rain, then he lights another cigarette. 

He is friends with his neighbors: Mrs. Moon who gifts him handmade Kimchi and always tells him he reminds her of her grandson; the Choi family, for which he used to babysit when the kids were little. Jimin and his adoring husband, which sometimes invite him for dinner and in return only ask that he plays some tunes on their old piano so they can dress up and dance, pretending to be rich socialites in a sophisticated restaurant. He didn’t know Namjoon. He didn’t know there was a vacant apartment. It’s normal, their building houses a lot of apartments, but still. This feels like something important, something he should have known. He stubs his cigarette out, gathers his things—ashtray, pillow, and blanket—and goes back inside. 

Before going to sleep he has a better look at the origami frog. The paper is not pure white, but a warm pale yellow, without any lines or squares. Namjoon folded it so that his writing is on the inside, hidden in the little frog’s belly, and Yoongi can’t read it unless he unfolds it. The origami is the most common frog design, the one that leaps if you press its back and it's perfectly symmetrical, the lines pressed and precise. When Yoongi tries it, it leaps forward at least 1 foot, landing gracefully on its four paper legs. Yoongi used to play with these as a kid, but his frogs always jumped up instead of forward and landed on their backs, miserable. Yoongi smiles and carefully places his origami frog in an empty box.

***

Yoongi's frantically knocking on the door of Namjoon’s apartment—at least he hopes this is his apartment, he is fairly certain but he's just going by the floor’s gossip. Namjoon should be already back by now, it’s almost 7 pm, where is he?

“Yoongi-hyung, is that you? What are you doing here?”

Yoongi turns, pissed. Namjoon is just standing there, in the middle of the corridor, clad in a brown coat with slightly damp shoulders. His glasses sit a little askew on his nose and he is holding a dripping, colorful umbrella in one hand and a leather briefcase in the other one, like he's some sort of caricature of your stereotypical college professor.

“You! You gave me a frog!” Yoongi takes one step towards him, pointing at his chest accusingly. “What were you thinking? I don’t know how to care for a frog! What does she need? Do I have to feed her? What if she dies?”

Namjoon smiles, a little sheepish. “She’s just a—”

“She’s just a what? Just because she’s a little frog, doesn’t mean you can entrust her to someone that has no clue on how to care for her, you should know that, mister Frog Professor. I’ve called three different veterinarians, and no one told me what I should do. They just told me to let her go, but how do I even know if she can survive in the city? The origami you gifted me came to life and now I am origami-less, but I have a live frog instead and I—”

Namjoon places one hand on his shoulder and smiles down at him. Yoongi closes his mouth. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Yoongi asks, still irritated.

“I was just saying,” Namjoon starts, “that she’s just a Korean brown frog. Rana coreana . She’ll be perfectly fine. I didn’t realize I’d put you in such a state of distress, I’m sorry.”

Yoongi crosses his arms “You have no idea, the stress you put me under today, Kim Namjoon. You were the only one that would know how to care for her, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. I asked the neighbors, looked you up on the internet, and even tried calling your University. But you didn’t answer your office phone, and I was so ready to come to you myself, but then I don’t have a car and I wasn’t sure the little one would’ve survived the trip in the subway. So, here I am.”

Namjoon's looking at him strangely, a weird cocktail of fondness and affection in his eyes that Yoongi absolutely can't decypher nor understand. “You went through all this trouble for a little frog?” Namjoon asks, and he still has his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Of course, what would you’ve done in my place?”

Namjoon laughs a little, soft and delicate, a huff more than a laugh. “Where is the little lady now?” he asks.

“The frog?”

“Yes.”

“She’s up in my apartment, still in her box. I opened some holes in the lid and I put a little plate with water in there and also some leaves and fruit and a mosquito I caught. I don’t know what they eat, Namjoon.”

Namjoon is still looking at him in that strange way, all fondness, warm feelings, and dimples. Yoongi feels hot at the back of his neck.

“You can give her to me, I’ll release her in the park. Do you want to come with me? I’ll treat you to dinner afterward, as an apology for the ordeal I put you through today.”

Yoongi grumbles a little but accepts, his heart trying inexplicably to jump out of his body, his insides knotting and—what the hell, Namjoon is gorgeous, sure, but he’s only known him for a day. This is embarrassing, get a grip.

Namjoon waits for him while Yoongi goes back to his apartment and returns with his own coat, an umbrella, and the frog in her box. He gives it to Namjoon. Namjoon very delicately lifts the lid and peeks inside. He smiles, sweet and wide. “There she is, such a tiny creature. See? I told you, Korean brown frog, perfectly fine and well-cared for. You did an amazing job, hyung.”

Yoongi hopes his collar covers the blush in his neck and ears.

They exit their building and start walking towards the park. Today is raining again, obviously, not very heavily but still there, and the rain runs, dirty, down the sides of the road. Yoongi’s grandma says he shouldn’t worry too much, it already happened once, when she was a small child, in the village where she grew up. She says one day it started raining and then it never stopped for five whole years. Dogs and children were always outside jumping in the mud, cats never left the house and the mayor offered free swimming lessons to everyone. Some babies born during that time had beautiful, translucent, webbed fingers. But it passed then, and it will pass now too.

“So, is this a thing that usually happens to you?” Yoongi asks, as they near the entrance of the park, “Your origami just come to life?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “Only the frog ones. And only if I write some message on the paper before folding it. Oh, and I have to give the origami to someone.”

“Seems a very specific thing. And how did you know it was going to be that kind of frog?”

“I just wanted to surprise you a little,” Namjoon explains, “that obviously didn’t go as planned, but I never intended to scare you. Sorry again for that. See, I can’t always control what frog I create, but it depends a lot on the person I give it too, the paper, the origami model, and the message I write. Also, it’s always frogs I can recognize. So, when I folded your origami, yesterday, I used my plain notebook paper, the simplest origami model I know, a pretty basic text. And I was thinking about this exact frog. I would never risk giving you a frog that requires some special kind of care or one that could harm you.”

Yoongi hums. “Do you do it often?”

Namjoon shrugs. “Sometimes,” he says, “mostly to see what frog comes out. Then I release them if they’re from here, or I bring them to the Amphibian Center near the University, so kids can go there and admire them too.”

Yoongi looks at him and Namjoon’s glasses are slipping down his nose again—he should really get them adjusted. Since his hands are full, Namjoon tries to push them up with his shoulder, failing, and managing to jostle both the box and the umbrella he's holding in the process. Yoongi huffs, amused, and fixes them himself, putting his finger on the piece of metal connecting the lenses on Namjoon’s nose and pushing up. He realizes what he’s done when he meets Namjoon's eyes, dumbfounded and surprised. What the hell, Yoongi.

“You were shaking her box,” he says, vaguely gesturing at the box still in Namjoon hands and hoping the Earth opens up and swallows him. “Also, you should get them adjusted, someday they'll fall and you’ll crash them.” He doesn’t wait for Namjoon’s answer, hoping to hide his blush as soon as possible. He turns and leads the way to the park. Namjoon doesn’t say anything and follows him.

After they release the frog off the path in the park—and Yoongi feels just the tiniest pang in his heart as she disappears under the dead leaves—Namjoon looks at him, smiling again. He looks happy and relaxed, at ease, while Yoongi feels on edge as if everything he does or says tonight is going to terribly embarrass him.

“So, hyung,” Namjoon starts, “are you still up for Jajangmyeon? I know where to eat the best in the city.” Yoongi thinks he can risk some more embarrassment if he gets to be around Namjoon a little longer.

***

Namjoon becomes a constant presence in Yoongi’s life: they rarely meet during the day and, after that first time when they had dinner together, they never make other plans to go out together. But they keep meeting almost every night, on the rooftop under the canopy, and Namjoon reads or checks his students’ assignments while Yoongi smokes his licorice-scented cigarettes.

“You should tell me if you don’t like the smell,” Yoongi says as he puffs out a cloud of smoke, “I'm considering quitting, you know. Or maybe I could move my chair a little further, just tell me if it bothers you.”

Namjoon looks up from his book and smiles a little, one dimple appearing on the right side of his face. “I actually kind of like the smell,” he says, “it’s not very strong, so it’s pleasant, and sometimes I can still feel it on my clothes when I change for the night.” 

He goes back to reading, and Yoongi bites his tongue before asking him why he doesn’t mind smelling his cigarettes on his own clothes.

Namjoon is still looking at his book when he asks, “You told me once you had a flatmate, he was the one that didn’t like the smoke, right?”

It could be an opening to talk about something important if Yoongi wanted it. Maybe he wants to. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he answers. “Hoseok had a very delicate nose. He still has one, I suppose, he’s not dead. He just moved out.”

He stumps his cigarette out in Hoseok’s ashtray and leans back in his chair. Today the rain is a heavy, thick curtain that distorts all the lights around them, drowning every noise under its pounding. Yoongi turns to look at Namjoon, seeing him clearly now that Namjoon brought up here a lamp that bathes them both in a yellow, creamy, light.

“Do you have any regrets, Namjoon-ah?” he asks, crossing his arms and looking at him with a small smirk.

Namjoon closes his book, keeping his finger inside to not lose the page. “I think everyone has at least some regrets,” he answers, lifting his left shoulder.

Yoongi looks at him, then takes a deep breath and says, “I’ve known Hoseok almost all my life, you know? And we lived together for 10 years. All of our friends made fun of us, told us we were like a married couple.” He stops and waits for Namjoon.

“And was it true? Were you in love with him?” he asks, and Yoongi laughs, because he wanted Namjoon to ask if they were really together, not if he loved him. Such bluntness feels like a knife to his heart.

“Yes, I think I truly loved him,” he admits, earnest. Namjoon doesn’t say anything, but Yoongi can see how he isn’t slumped in his chair anymore, he straightened his back and is now looking at him with a heavy gaze and deep eyes.

“I loved him, at some point, during all the years we spent together. I loved him more than once,” he elaborates, because tonight feels like a good night to come clean and Namjoon feels like someone he can share this with. 

“Sometimes, I think we spent 10 years chasing after each other, but always running in opposite directions, always discordant. I loved him and didn’t tell him, waiting until I fell out of love. Then it was his turn, then he was the one in love, and he didn’t tell me either. And it was back to me again. Love was like a ball we kept passing to each other, never sharing. We knew that we were never on the same page because we always read all the right signs. We know each other so well that we could just tell who was in love and who wasn’t, and I knew I was always too early or too late. So, in the end, I never told him anything. Neither did he.” He laughs, bitter, and he finds that the ache has dulled but is still there.

“Is this your biggest regret? That you never told him?”

Yoongi looks at his lap and smoothes the creases in his thin blanket. “Hoseok moved out because he got a promotion at work and the new position required him to move to a nearby town. He could have declined, but it was a big opportunity. I could have followed him, as I work from home, but it would have been too much. I don’t exactly regret never telling him anything, I've made my peace with that. But, the night before he formally accepted his transfer, he asked me to tell him one good reason why he should refuse… and he got so serious, with a little pained expression, mouth all twisted. I knew what he meant. It was an ultimatum: speak now or forever hold your peace. It was there or never. What if I had talked then?”

Yoongi thinks back to that day, and Namjoon still hasn't spoken. So Yoongi goes on, “In the end, I don’t exactly regret not telling him, it’s been so long... but sometimes I still get stuck on the what-ifs. I got over him, and he got over me, and we’re still really close friends but sometimes, it really hits me. How things could be so much different from how they are today. He’s getting married, you know? I’m his best man.” Yoongi smiles at Namjoon, feeling true, honest happiness spring in his chest because Hoseok is an amazing guy and he deserves everything good in the world, and whatever happened or didn't happen between them will never change that.

Namjoon exhales and relaxes a bit in his chair. “How long has it been?” he asks, looking at the pouring rain.

“Almost two years. The day after he left, the piano in my living room stopped playing. She’s very capricious, only plays if she feels like it. I think she still misses him. Oh, and then, one month after that, it started raining.”

Namjoon chuckles. “My friend says that it’s raining so much because this town is too sad. He says that it rains when the number of sad people exceeds the number of happy people. So, maybe, after Hoseok left, you became sad and that helped tip the scales towards rainy days.”

Yoongi laughs and looks at him, raising his eyebrows. “Do you think there are people in this town that have been sad for two years?”

Namjoon shrugs, smiling a little. “I don’t know. It doesn’t necessarily need to be always the same people, just the majority of them… and I know that a lot of people are sad. Honestly, I think I play for the sad team on most days.”

He looks down, guarded, and Yoongi leans in a little over his seat, searching his eyes. “Are you sad now?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Not right now,” Namjoon answers, honest and vulnerable, “but I get sad easily. Also, when you asked me if I had any regrets… I think I have some major ones, and that doesn't help.” He smiles at Yoongi, but it doesn’t come out well, this little crooked thing that doesn’t even reach his eyes, and his dimples don’t appear.

Yoongi doesn’t push, he leans back in his chair and lights another cigarette. “Then, let’s hope this rain passes, Namjoon,” he says.

Namjoon smiles at him, grateful, and resumes his reading. For a while, there’s silence between them, and the sound of the rain gets loud again.

“Hyung, do you have some time now? I’d like to write you another letter,” Namjoon asks, out of the blue.

“You want to give me another frog, you mean,” Yoongi says, with a grimace, but secretly pleased. “Why?”

Namjoon fidgets a little, then picks a random receipt from some pocket in his bag, tucks it in his book and places the book on the table. “I want to write you something and I’m curious. This time, I don’t know what frog could come out. Oh, and you can bring the frog to me tomorrow first thing in the morning, I’ll be home all day. ”

“Go ahead then. I don’t have anything better to do right now,” Yoongi answers, a little curious himself. Namjoon then pulls a folder out of his messenger bag and rifles through the papers inside. He finally picks a purple sheet of paper, folded in half. When he opens it on the little table, Yoongi sees that the inside is white. He leans over to see what Namjoon is going to write this time, but Namjoon pushes gently at his shoulder. “No peeking,” he says, with an apologetic smile, “I’m writing you a secret.”

Yoongi huffs, amused, and a little intrigued. “Don’t call it a letter then, if I can’t even read it.”

When Namjoon finishes writing he starts folding the paper. This time he doesn’t object when Yoongi looks closer. He is folding a different origami, this one looks more complex and elaborate. Yoongi looks as Namjoon precisely goes over every crease and fold, pressing them down with his thumbnail. He has big hands, smooth and golden, and nice nails, clean and short. When he moves his fingers, turning the origami around, Yoongi can see the tendons on the back of his hands. “Are you this careful with everything you handle?” he wonders, not really meaning to ask out loud.

Namjoon chuckles again, but he doesn’t stop working. “Not really. I actively make an effort and work on handling delicate things with the utmost care. Folding origami helps me. But I broke so many things I honestly lost count at this point.”

Yoongi hums, enticed. “I know a lot of things about origami, but I don’t know how to fold them. Maybe you can teach me some models.”

Namjoon places the final frog on the table, in front of Yoongi. This design is more complex than the previous one, and Yoongi delicately picks it up, observing it carefully. It has fingers and bulging eyes and an open mouth . The frog is still stylized but this time it looks intentional, a little cartoonish, cute. “Are you sure this is going to be a real frog tomorrow?” Yoongi asks, still observing the small art piece he was gifted, “I’m sad I can’t keep it as it is, it’s beautiful.”

Namjoon blushes visibly. “It’s not my design, I shouldn't take credit for that. It’s the Bullfrog, by Román Díaz.”

“Still, you were the one that folded it. I guess it’s not going to become a bullfrog?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think so. That's just the name of the design. You should put it in a box like you did last time and tomorrow morning we’ll see what it is. And don’t unfold it to read it! If I’m not the one folding it, it won’t come alive.”

“Ok then, as you wish. And thank you for your gift.”

***

The next morning, Yoongi wakes up early. He quickly peeks inside the box and yes, there’s a frog in there. He quickly shuts the box and gets dressed. He can’t wait to see Namjoon again.

Namjoon opens his door still in his pajamas, a cardigan thrown over his shoulders. His hair is still messed up from sleep and his thick glasses are perched, a little unstable, on the top of his nose. He smiles sleepily and he must still be a little puffy from sleep because his lips are red and plump. Yoongi gets struck by the sudden realization that Namjoon is hot and that this is probably not going to end well for his poor heart.

“Tea or coffee?” Namjoon asks, and he yawns.

Yoongi gladly accepts a cup of coffee as Namjoon ushers him inside. Namjoon’s apartment is… not really surprising, if you know Namjoon. It looks a little like an organized mess, comfortable, comforting, and lived-in. The living room is all wood and warm tones—rich maroons, beiges, and deep blues and reds. Namjoon has a lot of books, some of them neatly lined in the big floor-to-ceiling bookcases, some piled all over the place. Yoongi suspects that Namjoon left them like this on purpose, as a décor choice. Yoongi was expecting a lot of books and frog gravures and paintings on the walls, but he wasn’t expecting plants, bonsais to be precise, strategically placed under the windows. 

He sits on the couch—brown, soft— and Namjoon brings him his cup of coffee and sits next to him with a cup of tea. “So, what do we have here?” he asks, clearly excited, and Yoongi looks as his eyes sparkle with interest.

Yoongi gives him the box and Namjoon carefully lifts the lid. Yoongi has a better look at the frog inside: the frog is about 2 inches long, pale green with brownish stripes and dots on its back and legs. Her skin is full of tiny bumps and ridges, granular as if she rolled in sugar. Her eyes are round and red, with a black, big pupil.

“Oh,” Namjoon says when he sees the frog, and blushes, his neck red. He keeps looking, tilting the box a little, with a troubled expression.

“Is it bad?” Yoongi asks, curious, “is it poisonous?”

Namjoon closes the box and places it on the coffee table. He takes a sip of tea, then sighs. “That frog, that little guy, is an Odontobatrachus natator. Most people just call them saber-toothed frogs.”

“Excuse me? Saber-toothed?”

“In 2013, it was discovered that this frog has no close relationship to any other frog family, and so they created a separate new family for them. It's estimated that it split from the other frogs around 100 million years ago. It’s a lonely family,” he says, and smiles a little, looking at the box. “Also, this frog has teeth.”

“Oh God, I didn’t know frogs had teeth, that’s so weird… are they dangerous?”

Namjoon laughs. “Only frogs in this particular family have teeth and they all live in Africa, so don’t worry about that. You should really see their teeth though, this little guy has an impressive upper jaw filled with tiny, curved, pointy teeth.”

Namjoon curves his fingers and brings them to the side of his mouth, demonstrating, and Yoongi laughs, trying to cover his own mouth with one hand.

“You have nice teeth too, hyung, don’t hide them,” Namjoon says, and then groans, pushing his glasses up his forehead and covering his eyes with his hands. “Oh God, please forget I just said that out loud, ok? I’m so embarrassing, I should have woken up earlier, I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi just laughs harder, falling a little towards Namjoon on the couch, but still not touching him. He stays on his side,  rests his cheek on the back pillow. When he opens his eyes he finds Namjoon looking at him. They look at each other for a few seconds, the silence only broken by Yoongi asking, “What did you write to me? Why a frog with teeth?”

Namjoon sighs again and turns, looks at the ceiling. “It’s embarrassing. I wrote to you something small and cute, but also something that could bite me in the ass. Maybe someday I’ll tell you.”

Yoongi whines, but Namjoon ignores him, getting up and scooping the box in his hands. “Let’s see where I can put this little guy until I can bring him to the Amphibian Center. I think I have just the right enclosure in my studio. You can follow me, this way.”

They go to Namjoon’s studio, where he has some big glass tanks and enclosures with frogs and other amphibians inside. He places the frog in one of them and then turns to look at Yoongi, crossing his arms and smiling. “Thank you for indulging me, that is a wonderful frog. It’s been a while since I could look at one of them this close. Teeth aside, it was a really nice surprise.”

Yoongi shrugs, “I didn’t do anything. You shouldn’t be thanking me.”

“I gave you the frog, it wouldn’t have turned out this way if I’d kept it here. Also, I was wondering—” Namjoons cuts himself off mid-speech, scratches the back of his neck, nervous. “—would you like to have lunch with me? I… I realize I don’t really know what you do, but you mentioned working from home, are you free today?”

Yoongi’s chest gets impossibly warm and his head fills with cotton candy. “I’m a music composer,” he answers, slowly, “and I could tell you about that over lunch, if the offer’s still up.” Then, because he can, and because he wants to see if the top of Namjoon’s chest, exposed by the loose collar of his pajamas, blushes red too, he asks “Is this a date?”

Namjoon blushes—yes, his chest pinkens too. “If you want it to be,” he answers, looking at him.

Yoongi meets his eyes and smiles back. “I’d love that.”

***

“When are you going to introduce us to your beau?” Jimin asks sipping his rosé with faux sophistication. The picture falls when he throws his head back and empties the tall glass in a single gulp.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “He’s not my beau, we’ve been going out but we haven’t put any labels on it yet.”

“Young love! Don’t rush them, cupcake,” Jin shouts from the kitchen, where he’s adding the finishing touches to their dinner.

Jimin smiles, fond, then starts grilling Yoongi again. “Please tell us more! I’m dying here, how’s he? What do you do together? When can we meet him? You're terrible at gossip!”

“Please, do give us a thorough description of Hot Neighbour Professor so that we can introduce ourselves if you won’t do it,” Jin adds, coming into the leaving room and sitting on the couch next to his husband.

Yoongi looks into his glass of wine as if the pink liquid could tell him his fate. He’s a little hesitant, shy, he fears that he could squash the small creature that’s slowly growing in his heart if he uses the wrong words, too heavy or too light. “He’s good,” he starts, “I think Namjoon’s good for me. Being with him is easy, he makes me happy. I hope I make him happy too. Also, he’s super hot, tall, and broad, all long legs and golden skin. And he does pilates. ”

Jimin giggles and slumps back, hitting Jin’s chest. Jin hugs him, plants a wet kiss on his temple. “Yoongi is courting a hot professor,” Jin says, after a deep sigh, “maybe we can roleplay that, what do you think, primrose?”

“Please don’t say that in front of me, not even as a joke.”

“Who said I was joking, Yoongichi?”

Yoongi is about to retort but the timer in the kitchen goes off and Jin gets up to plate their dinner. Jimin leads Yoongi to the table and they sit, waiting for Jin to bring them their plates.

“I’m happy you found someone you like,” Jimin says, soft and a little too honest.

Jimin knows about the whole Yoongi-and-Hoseok situation. Yoongi and Hoseok met him when they moved here, all those years ago, even before Jimin met Seokjin. They went to their wedding together, not exactly as a couple but as “that pair that’s not together yet but everyone knows is going to end up together at some point in the near future”. Jimin always believed they were destined to be and, during the reception, he had tucked one of the flowers from a nearby flower arrangement in Yoongi’s boutonniere. “Neither of you caught the bouquet,” he had whispered, “but maybe this can give you a little courage.”

At that time Yoongi was completely enamored with Hoseok, and he had turned and looked at him, enchanted by how he was just there, smiling bright and blinding, talking with the other guests and eating his slice of the wedding cake, a little puff of pink frosting on his cheek. 

“Yeah, maybe this will help,” Yoongi had said, delicately touching the flower. 

But, at the end of the night, they both got back too tired and spent to have a proper, serious, conversation. While he got undressed, Yoongi noticed that the flower Jimin had given him was no longer there, probably lost at some point during the night. And so, in the end, he didn’t say anything.

Yoongi is brought back to the present by Jin coming back with their plates, proudly proclaiming, “Tonight, esteemed guests, we’re eating Italian! We’ll start with a nice dish of pasta with ragù, the primo piatto , before moving on to the secondo. ”

Jin enjoys cooking and learning about foreign cuisine and cultures, so he sometimes organizes these dinners for the three of them, where he cooks dishes from other countries. Last month they had Greek, and before that Brazilian.

“So,” Jin says, when they start eating, mouth already full of pasta and sauce, “tell me one thing he does that you like.”

Yoongi squirms a little under the attention, but these are his friends, he can think of something to say without dying of embarrassment.

“He writes me letters I’m not allowed to read and in the morning they turn into frogs. I find that really sweet,” he says with fondness, recalling the last frog Namjoon gifted him.

Jimin and Jin look at each other. “That’s such a Yoongi thing to like,” Jin says, and he starts laughing, squeaky and infectious, covering his mouth with his hand.

Jimin places his hand on Yoongi’s and says, “I bet you’re really sweet together.”

Yoongi feels like he’s talking about his crush to his parents and almost wants to scold them for making fun of him. Ultimately, the dinner is so tasty that he forgives them. Also, he loves them, and he’s not really mad, so.

After that, they, fortunately, switch to lighter topics, like their jobs—Yoongi’s almost finished with the soundtrack he’s been working on for almost a year and soon he’ll let them listen to it— and then their families and shared acquaintances. From there, they naturally end up talking about Hoseok’s wedding, which is happening in only three months.

“If there’s one thing I’m looking forward to,” Jimin says as he finishes his secondo , “is leaving this rainy town, even if only for a weekend. It’s like Hoseok left with the sun, I can’t handle any more rain.”

Yoongi slumps a little in his chair, full and satisfied. “Yeah, lately it’s been really annoying. I just wish I could smoke in peace without having to hide under the canopy.”

“Interesting that you bring that up!” Jin pipes up, “are you still thinking about quitting?”

Yoongi shrugs, “Yes, that was the original plan. I realized that I like the comfort the gesture brings me more than the gesture itself. But, in all honesty, I’m not actively working on that now.”

“That’s because you just need a little push. And you’re lucky because we found something that you might like! Jimin-ah, could you please go pick that up? I’m bringing out the tiramisù.”

Yoongi helps them pile the dirty plates in the sink and then waits at the table. Jin comes back with the tirmaisù and Jimin drops a small packet in front of him before sitting down. 

“What’s this?” Yoongi asks, suspicious.

“Licorice hard candy! We thought you could eat these instead of smoking. They should at least taste better. Just be mindful not to eat too much, they raise your blood pressure.”

“Are they good?” Yoongi asks before sniffing them. The candies are cut in small pieces, black and hard, with no particular smell.

“We hope so,” Jin says, cutting the cake, “but don’t eat them now or you won’t be able to fully appreciate my baby,” and, with a sweeping gesture, he points at the tiramisù.

“Are you feeding us your baby? Jimin, did you agree to this?” Yoongi asks, laughing, and Jin continues muttering under his breath, but he still places one big slice on every plate. 

“Just eat it and you’ll see. I personally baked every single savoiardo in this masterpiece, it's going to be a life-changing experience.”

Yoongi knows that Jin is an excellent cook, but he has to admit this time he outdid himself. The tiramisù is exquisite, sweet and soft, the cream rich and fluffy. When he bites into his slice, the cocoa dust on top dusts his upper lip. He can taste coffee from the biscuits inside, but the flavor’s not too strong, and the biscuits are not soggy, just soft and delicious. It’s excellent.

“Come here, Jinnie,” Jimin says and places his hands on Jin’s cheeks. He gently pulls him in and sweetly kisses him, “You’re the best husband one could ask for,” he says.

Jin doesn’t answer, his neck and ears a fiery red. Yoongi smirks into his plate.

They talk a little more and then Yoongi gets ready to leave. He wanted to play some music for them, as a thank you, but they realize it’s getting late and that it may disturb their neighbors. They make plans for a later evening and then Yoongi leaves their apartment and gets in the elevator. Once inside, he hesitates. He looks at the buttons with the tiny numbers of the floors. He should go up, to his own apartment, but, instead, he pushes down. To Namjoon’s floor.

Are you still up? he quickly types and sends him. 

Namjoon hasn’t responded by the time he arrives in front of his door. Yoongi waits a little but finally decides to knock. Just one time, very softly, so that he doesn’t wake him up if he’s already asleep.

No sound comes from inside and Yoongi is ready to leave, a little disappointed, when the door opens. Namjoon doesn’t look like he just got up from the bed, which is good. He’s wearing a large t-shirt and shorts, his long legs bare. “Yoongi-hyung?” he asks, “Did something happen?”

Yoongi feels a little stupid, but just seeing Namjoon makes his lips stretch in a big smile, so it was definitely worth it.

“Not really,” he answers, “I just had dinner with my friends and I wanted to see you.”

“Oh,” Namjoon says, and nothing else. Yoongi loves seeing him embarrassed like this. Namjoon awkwardly fixes his glasses and moves to the side, leads Yoongi in. “I’m happy you came to see me,” he says, and smiles, dimples in full display. Yoongi resists the urge to poke his fingers in his cheeks, but every passing day is getting harder and harder.

“What were you doing?” Yoongi asks, and sits on the couch, stretching, hands over his head and legs long in front of him. Namjoon sits next to him, close. They’re touching, their arms and legs, very different from the first time Yoongi sat here and they never even brushed against each other. Namjoon picks up his laptop from the coffee table. “I organized my lessons for next week and was checking my email. Do you want to look at the photos my Professor sent me earlier today?”

Yoongi nods and looks at the monitor. Namjoon's looking at some photos of plants and animals, mainly frogs but also some snakes and colorful birds. “Where is he now?” Yoongi asks.

“He went to South America for a joint project with a local University. That’s why I teach so many classes this year, I’m covering some of his too.”

Namjoon clicks through all the photos. “That’s him,” he says, pointing at a photo where an old Korean man is standing under a large leaf in the middle of a tropical forest. At his side, there’s a younger man, quite beautiful, smiling brilliantly and holding a camera in his hands.

Namjoon looks at the photo for a while. “And who’s that?” Yoongi asks.

Namjoons sighs and leans back. Yoongi turns his head to look at him better. “Remember when you asked me if I had any regrets?” Namjoon asks, a little, bitter, smile on his lips.

Yoongi nods.

“Well, when the offer to work on this project came, they said that my Professor could bring an assistant with him. But he had both me and Taehyung working with him… that’s Taehyung, by the way,” he says, nodding at the young man in the photo.

“Professor Choi said that we could discuss who would go with him, maybe even draft some researches we were going to conduct and pitch them to him so that he could pick the most interesting one… but I just stepped back and said that Tae should be the one to go.

“See, I’ve already been to South America, most notably with an exchange program while I was still an undergraduate and then also for my PhD. I’ve traveled a lot, I’ve also been to Africa for some personal research not so long ago. Taehyung is younger, he won a scholarship for an abroad program some years ago and went to North America, but he’s never been to South America. He studies birds, how they adapt to their environment, and observing tropical birds in their natural habitat is a huge opportunity for him. I thought it was fairer this way. I wanted him to live this amazing experience. Plus, staying here I got the opportunity to cover some of the classes my Professor used to teach, and that is going to help with my own career since I want to stay in University. It’s just that… I can’t avoid thinking that I should be there, with them.”

Namjoon is looking at Yoongi. Yoongi scoops closer, brushes Namjoon’s arm with his hand, and then leaves it on top of Namjoon’s, covering the back of his hand with his fingers.

“You regret stepping back without a fight?”

“Yes, “ Namjoon answers, exhales. “I thought I was being noble, but now I regret not showing my Professor how much I wanted this. I still think that, if it came down to choosing between Tae and me, I would’ve stepped back and let him go. But, maybe, if I had been a little pushier, a little more insistent, I could’ve convinced Professor Choi to ask for an extra spot. I’d have liked to go with them.”

Namjoon squeezes his hand and Yoongi rests his head on his chest and closes his eyes. He can hear Namjoon’s heartbeat through his cotton t-shirt, slow and heavy. They’ve become more comfortable with each other, closer, but still without naming what it’s this thing between them.

“But you know what?" Namjoon asks, after a while, "I was looking at these photos earlier this afternoon, but I didn’t feel as sad as usual."

“And why’s that?” Yoongi follows, without moving, and his heart whispers to him the answer he wishes to hear.

Namjoon laughs, short and amused, and Yoongi hears the vibrations through his chest, “Because I realized,” he answers, “that if I was in South America right now I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Yoongi releases the breath he was holding, sits up straight and looks at Namjoon in the eyes. “Well, that's comforting,” he says, smiling softly, “because I was thinking the exact same thing.”

Namjoon laughs again, takes both of Yoongi’s hands in his own, and rests his forehead against Yoongi’s. “Hey, hyung,” he asks, whispers, against Yoongi’s lips, “what are we?”

Yoongi closes his eyes. “Boyfriends? Partners? Companions? Significant others? I’m fine with either one of these.”

Namjoon hums, pleased and soft. “Mmmh, I’d like to call you my partner,” he says. Yoongi slowly opens his eyes and finds Namjoon staring at him, impossibly close. He can feel his warm breath between them. “Do you want to kiss me?” he asks, with a little smirk.

“Yes,” Namjoon breaths. 

So Yoongi takes the lead, closes the gap between them, lips against lips, and it’s the proper ending to a beautiful evening. This is good. Kissing is nice.

Namjoon pushes back, his lips soft and warm, and opens his mouth. Yoongi can taste him and laughs into the kiss because this means Namjoon can probably taste the coffee from Jin’s tiramisù too.

“What,” Namjoon asks, a little breathless, moving back a little, and the space between them seems unbridgeable.

“I was just thinking that I probably taste of coffee from the cake I had,” Yoongi says, and smiles again. He knows all his gums are showing, he’s not overly fond of this particular smile of his but it doesn’t matter. Namjoon loves it.

Namjoon laughs too, a little huff. “Yeah, you’re lucky I love coffee,” he says, and they kiss again. 

That night, Yoongi falls asleep on Namjoon’s couch while Namjoon is on the floor, folding some complex origami frog. Namjoon gently wakes him up when he's done and half carries him to the bedroom. “You can sleep here, hyung,” he whispers against his temple.

“Wait,” Yoongi murmurs, still half asleep, “let me see that origami first.”

Namjoon gives him a perfect origami frog, smooth and detailed. Its legs are long and thin, four fingers on each foot that end in round pads. The design is dynamic, the frog looks like it’s crawling on Yoongi’s hand. “You have to teach me how to make these,” Yoongi says, sleepy but still amazed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Lang’s Tree Frog,” Namjoon explains. “It’s for you. Let’s see what it becomes tomorrow.”

Namjoon places the origami in a box. Yoongi pats the spot next to him on the bed. “Come here, Namjoon-ah. Sleep next to me, your bed is huge.”

***

When Yoongi wakes up, for a moment he can’t remember where he is. The room he’s in is unfamiliar, the bed too big and a little too soft. He feels someone next to him, breathing slowly and steadily. 

It’s Namjoon, fast asleep under the covers, his lips slightly parted, face relaxed and serene. Looking at him, Yoongi remembers everything that happened yesterday, and rolls on his side, looks at him a little more. He brushes his hair aside, that’s my partner , he thinks, fond.

Yoongi tries to get up without waking him, but Namjoon stirs and slowly blinks his eyes open. “Yoongi-hyung?” he asks.

“That’s me,” Yoongi answers, and leans in to kiss his brow. “I’m going to make us breakfast and then we can look at your frog, ok?”

Namjoon hums and goes back to sleep. Yoongi laughs, silent, his shoulder shaking.

He looks for food and utensils in Namjoon’s kitchen—honestly, how does he cook in here? Everything seems to be in the most random places.

Once breakfast is ready Namjoon is up too and he brings the frog’s box to the kitchen table.

“Ready?” he asks.

Yoongi nods, and when he lifts the lid they both look inside. An angry-looking frog is sitting at the center of the box, small and round, her back a vibrant green mottled in black. As soon as he sees her, Namjoon bursts out laughing. Yoongi doesn’t get it.

“What are you laughing at?” he asks, curious.

“Myself, ” Namjoon answers, still smiling. “Yesterday, I wrote to you: Dear Yoongi-hyung, I’m really happy I finally decided to ask you if I could call you something more than friend. I’m happy I can do that now. Yours, Namjoon . I should have known. Bombina orientalis. I always thought that this frog was your frog persona.”

“Kim Namjoon, what are you insinuating? I’m breaking up this partnership right now.” Yoongi crosses his arms but he doesn’t pull away, leans in, and looks at the frog. He’s still smiling, amused, and Namjoon shrugs, a little smug.

“Look at him, hyung. See the resemblance: small and cute, with a placid expression. Super colorful, I personally find him beautiful. He’s rather fierce though, can secrete a toxin through the skin on his legs. But, rather than attack you, he prefers to warn his predators that it’s better not to mess with him. See that beautiful orange belly? That’s why they're commonly called Oriental fire-bellied toads. They’re not toads though, just frogs. When attacked, he shows that bright color so everyone knows he’s dangerous. He’s a kind guy. Rather fitting, don’t you think?”

Namjoon looks at him again, smiling. Yoongi averts his eyes. “If you say so. The toxin part was spot-on.” 

He looks at the small frog again. He’s kind of cute, he admits, or maybe Namjoon is just rubbing off on him. “Are you going to bring him to the Amphibian Center too?” Yoongi asks.

“Nah,” Namjoon answers, “these frogs are often kept as pets, and I’ve had frogs before, I know how to care for them. Frog Professor, remember? I think I’m going to keep this one with me.”

***

It’s been two months since Namjoon and Yoongi became partners—“What kind of partners?” Jin had asked when Yoongi told him, “partners in crime?” Life partners, Yoongi had thought.

It truly seems they are. Yoongi sometimes gets this feeling with people, it happened with Hoseok too. The awareness that someone is going to stay in your life for a very long time, maybe even until the end. The awareness that their role in your life may change, but they will be there for you, they will not go away.

Yoongi finds all that in Namjoon: a long-lost friend, his complement, a consort in the most classical meaning of the word—con plus sors, someone he can share his fate with.

They are sitting again in their chairs on the roof, next to each other, but today it almost isn’t raining anymore. For the first time in more than two years, the sky became a little clearer, the rain almost stopped. It picked up again, a few hours later, but now it’s slowing down again.

“Do you think this city finally has more happy people than sad ones?” Namjoon asks.

Yoongi is sucking on a licorice candy, the taste strong in his mouth. “Who knows,” he answers, “but I’m playing for the happy team today.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, “me too.”

“What are you writing to me today?” Yoongi asks. Namjoon leans over the table, kisses him sweet and slow.

“You really love these candies, don’t you?” Yoongi asks. “You always kiss me when I’m eating them.”

Namjoon laughs. “Yeah, I’m kissing you because of the candies. No other reason at all, hyung.” Yoongi feels a little dumb.

“I didn’t mind the cigarettes, but this is much better, tastier,” Namjoon adds, smiling at him. “Please remind me that I should thank Jimin and Jin the next time we see them,” he says. This time Yoongi doesn’t even try to resist and pokes his dimples with his finger. “Don’t make fun of me, Joon-ah. And answer my question. What are you writing to me today?”

Namjoon folds his hands in his lap, a little embarrassed. “I actually already made your origami today. It’s a pretty difficult design and it took me some time. Here it is.” 

He takes a deep breath and pulls out a paper frog from his bag, placing it on the table. The frog is similar to the one Namjoon folded on the night where they confessed. Very detailed and smooth, with distinct features: eyes, legs, feet, and fingers. But it’s more compact than that one, less slim, more solid. Yoongi takes it in the cup of his hand and raises it to eye level. He can see its eyes and its open mouth. 

It’s almost as if the frog isn’t really folded but more like a doll, colored paper outside, stuffed with cotton on the inside. The paper is a warm light blue color, speckled with brown, and a little textured, rough to the touch. It must be some kind of natural, organic paper. Yoongi notices that the belly of the frog is cream-colored, so the sheet must be colored differently on the two sides and folded so that the colors add detail to the final design. “Whose design is this?” Yoongi asks, “I think it’s the prettiest one so far.”

“That’s Satoshi Kamiya’s Frog. It’s my favorite frog design.” 

“Aren’t you annoyed that all your hard work goes to nothing in the morning?” Yoongi asks, still looking at the incredible detailing on the frog. “I’d like to keep this one as it is.”

“I don’t really mind. Frogs are amazing creatures, so it’s a fair exchange. And if you want an origami, I can make you one without any message inside.”

“Teach me instead, you’ve only taught me easy ones so far. And you still haven't told me what you wrote to me today.”

Namjoon gets up. “I’ll tell you in the morning, after we see what frog comes out of that. Let’s go to sleep before you eat all of your candies.”

Yoongi huffs but quietly follows. He's tired, he’s been working late to add the finishing touches to the soundtrack. He’s also composing a song for Hoseok’s wedding, something he and Jungkook can dance to at the reception. Yoongi will play it for them. Hoseok doesn’t know that, obviously , and Yoongi is set on making him cry in front of all his guests—Hoseok is going to cry during the ceremony too, Yoongi is sure of that, but if Yoongi manages to embarrass him one second time, then his job as best man will be complete.

Lately, Yoongi has started sleeping at Namjoon’s more. He still complains about the mattress, a little too soft to his liking, but having Namjoon at his side when he falls asleep and when he wakes up makes it more than bearable. Makes it amazing, actually.

They get ready to sleep, the origami frog in its box on the nightstand, and then slip under the covers. Yoongi loves being the big spoon, especially because Namjoon is taller than him, bigger, so there is so much of him to hug. Namjoon always tells him he’s like a monkey clinging to his tree, but he never complains.

“Goodnight, Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi whispers against his nape.

“Goodnight, hyung,” Namjoon answers, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t forget to tell me what that letter said,” Yoongi adds as an afterthought, and Namjoon hums.

***

When they get up, all sleep-crumpled and fuzzy edges, Yoongi immediately leans over Namjoon’s body and grabs the box from his nightstand.

He glances at the enclosure with the fire-bellied toad, in the corner of the room, hoping to spot him from the bed, but it’s too far away. He feels a connection to that frog, and this seems to delight Namjoon to no end. Speaking of Namjoon, Yoongi looks at him and he finds him rolling in the sheets, awake and amused. “You’re really curious about this one,” Namjoon points out.

“It seemed important,” Yoongi answers, and lifts the lid. Namjoon sits up and looks inside the box too.

The frog inside is the tiniest one yet, no more than 1 inch long. She looks extremely delicate, all long limbs and big, bulging eyes. She has a funny expression, like she’s squinting and trying to read something too far away. Her skin is damp and a light, pale, green, with tiny darker green and yellow spots. Yoongi wouldn’t dare touch it. Namjoon sighs and lays back, smiling big and a little resigned.

“Of course it’s that frog,” he says, and looks at Yoongi, eyes impossibly big. Yoongi closes the box and places it back on the nightstand, very carefully, then looks down at Namjoon. “Enlighten me, professor?”

Namjoon takes Yoongi’s hand in his own and places it on his chest, palm flat on his sternum. “That tiny frog, which we need to put in an enclosure in my office as soon as we get up, is a small Ecuadorian frog. Hyalinobatrachium yaku, if you want. It’s one of the glass frogs, the clearest one. 

“Her skin is so thin and translucent that you can literally see her beating heart through her chest. She’s a marvelous, incredible frog, very rare, so small and fragile. She’s a masterpiece. I should have known it would be that frog.”

Yoongi presses his hand down on Namjoon’s chest until he can feel his beating heart. “What did you write on that paper, that it gave me a frog that shows everyone her heart?” he asks, low.

Namjoon's hand is still holding Yoongi’s. “Oh, it was a pretty straightforward message," he answers, " I told you: My dearest, it’s time I tell you: I love you, I love you, I love you. Yours, Namjoon .”

Namjoon looks up at him, and Yoongi’s looking down, and even though he’s the one with his hand on Namjoon’s chest he feels like someone is pushing his heart towards his ribcage and he’s going to break, he can't contain the light inside his chest, he's going to crack and the fire is going to spill out.

“Oh,” Yoongi says, a little breathless, and brushes some hair away from Namjoon’s brow so that he can take in his whole face. Then he leans down, lets their foreheads touch. “That’s great news, Joon-ah, because I love you too.”

Namjoon tilts his head up and kisses him, smiles against his lips, and threads his hands on Yoongi’s nape, bringing him even closer. Yoongi doesn’t know where to put his hands to avoid falling on top of him. He starts laughing, softly, while Namjoon kisses his lips, his nose, the point where his jaw meets his neck. Finally, they manage to lie side by side, foreheads still touching, legs tangled under the covers.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, again, because Namjoon already said it three times, and Yoongi doesn’t intend to lose this game.

Namjoon touches his cheek and, as they kiss, the warm rays of the sun enter through the window and bathe them in golden light.