Archive of Our Own

Never in Seokjin’s life has he felt rattled by his own emotions, ever.

This isn’t to say he’s a robot. In fact, he’s quite the opposite, cracking jokes at any moment he possibly can and sending the entire room into a fit of laughter. Seokjin is a master of controlling that type of fleeting, surface-level emotion.

But when it comes to deep emotion - true, genuine, raw emotion - Seokjin would rather have his entire MapleStory account deleted (which, considering the amount of hours he’s spent playing, says a lot) than to acknowledge any of that.

Which is why this—

(“Hyung, turn your fucking alarm off.”

Seokjin slowly rolls over on his bed, blindly feeling around his nightstand to silence the blaring clock. He finally hits it on his eighth try, which is a success in his book.

“Jesus Christ,” says Yoongi’s scratchy morning voice from across the dorm room. “That thing’s been going off for like fifteen minutes. I can’t even fall back asleep at this point.”

Seokjin lifts his head, blearily opening his eyes. He looks to the side and is met with the sight of Yoongi sitting up in his rumpled sleep shirt, eyes still closed. He’s rubbing at them, his hair sticking up everywhere, grumbles escaping the pout of his mouth every few seconds. He looks incredibly soft, sunlit from the brightness streaming through the window, at odds with the extremely displeased expression on his face.

Seokjin’s heartbeat picks up, stomach flipping and—

Oh, he thinks weakly, not for the first time.)

—seems like it’s going to be a problem.

//

The thing is—

it wasn’t even some epiphany that just hit Seokjin one day. It’s incredible, he thinks, how simply being around someone constantly can show so much of who they are, even when you’re not directly interacting with them. And considering the nature of their jobs, Seokjin already interacts with Yoongi a lot.

Why, then, Seokjin entertains the idea, isn’t he in love with the other five members of the group?

Maybe it has to do with how terrible Min Yoongi is. The way he shuffles around the house quietly and fixes everyone’s things without them asking; the way Seokjin hears him making baby noises at his sugar gliders when he thinks Seokjin’s still asleep; the way he always has a tuft of hair sticking out on his head somewhere, whether it be from taking naps during the day or from hours of running his hand through his hair as he works. It’s endearing, and it’s the most horrible thing Seokjin has ever witnessed. 

(Seokjin might have an entire mental list of a bunch of other things. Maybe. He can neither confirm nor deny this.)

Their back-and-forth dynamic that’s well known amongst the members and fans had started out innocently enough—Seokjin poking fun at Yoongi, as he does with the rest of the members. But at some point, Seokjin found himself hoping Yoongi would retaliate and give into his jokes. That he would take the bait and play along.

The worst part was that, eventually, he did. 

(“I have to what?” Seokjin shouts, playing up his mock disgust as he stares at the camera director. He, Yoongi, and an entire camera crew are squished into their shared room, filming a parody of their latest music video for their Festa event.

“Well, in the music video, you kissed the statue,” the director says matter-of-factly. “And since Yoongi is the statue in the parody…”

The unspoken words hang in the air, and Seokjin’s expecting Yoongi to cut in with loud complaints about how fake-kissing Seokjin is the last thing he’d want to do, that he’d rather get his kneecaps taken out, when suddenly—

“Hm,” Yoongi says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Should I go brush my teeth then, hyung?”

Seokjin’s brain short-circuits. He blinks several times, at a loss for what to say because what the fuck since when did min yoongi know how to flirt.

“Well, I haven’t either,” Seokjin yelps, an attempt at covering up the pink glow of his ears. Yoongi simply looks at him as the corner of his mouth tugs upwards, sparks of mirth dancing in his eyes. 

Seokjin struggles to focus on anything else for the rest of the filming.)

There’s probably a joke hidden in there somewhere, in this disaster of a situation. Like the world decided now was the best time to tell him: be careful what you wish for.

But of course, it had just been a game to Seokjin at the time. After that incident, he and Yoongi seemed to make it a competition as to who could rile up the other more. But somewhere along the way, things started to sound less and less like a joke to Seokjin, and the line between his played-up antics and the uncomfortable truth became increasingly blurred.

The terrible part of all this was that he hadn’t even noticed, until one day when an American interviewer had asked them what they loved about each other and Seokjin, understanding every single word of the question, simply clapped his hand onto Yoongi’s shoulder and said yeah, i love you, to him. 

Yoongi had responded with nothing other than silence and a mildly disgusted expression while the rest of the members laughed uncontrollably around them. It had been Seokjin’s instinct to make that kind of joke, and at that point it was almost expected of him. But as soon as the words left his mouth, an aching chill had gone down his spine, as if someone had suddenly dunked him into the winter ocean.

He played it off with his signature laugh and a high-five to Jimin at the time, because god forbid he has an existential crisis during an interview. But for days afterwards he had mulled over his reaction, had constantly wondered why did that happen, why did i react like that, all i said was i love you why was this different, until—

Oh.

Because it was true.

And upon that realization, the familiar cold drips through his body again, icicles in his blood.

He… loves Yoongi.

Huh.

Seokjin had sat with that for a few minutes until deciding, nope absolutely the fuck not, and promptly shoving that mess into a small corner of his mind, never to be thought about again.

Logically, most people would stop joking around about being in love and being ‘eternal roommates’ after this realization, but Seokjin has masochistic tendencies. He’s the type to seep in his own suffering, to push the envelope more more more, as much as he can until he’s nearly numb to the pain. And now that Seokjin’s in this deep, he has no idea how to stop. He feels as if he’s caught in a snowball during an avalanche, catapulting faster and faster downhill towards his demise.

//

The door opens without a sound, the sliver of light widening and narrowing instantly. Seokjin shifts in his bed, awoken by the sounds across the room but barely conscious. It’s late, he can tell, from the silence outside their room and the thick fog at their window. He hears fabric dropping to the floor, a belt jingling, clothes rustling. The soft padding of footsteps around the room, a quiet but heavy sigh. 

The air stills, then, for long enough that Seokjin nearly falls back asleep. He feels himself getting pulled back under the heavy cloak of slumber, thoughts hazy, when—

“Hyung?” Yoongi’s voice floats near the bed.

“Mnph?” Seokjin mumbles eloquently.

He cracks his eyes open, the edges dry from sleep. He can see the outline of Yoongi’s form against the darkness, black against black. It’s too dark to make anything else out, so he feels more than sees the bed dipping slightly where Yoongi is. He’s resting his knee on the bed, as if he were about to get in but reconsidered at the last second.

“Hyung,” he whispers again, the sound so soft it nearly dissipates in the air.

“Yoongi?” Seokjin says groggily, voice deep and scratchy. “Is everything okay?”

Seokjin hears an inhale, a slow exhale.

“Can I,” A beat of silence. “...stay here tonight?”

“Well, this is your room. I expect you to stay here.” Seokjin tries to add a joking note to the comment, but his fatigue blurs it away.

“I mean… here.” The bed sinks a little deeper under the weight of Yoongi’s knee. “With you.”

Seokjin blinks at the darkness, trying to figure out whether he’s dreaming or not. Everything’s too blurred at the edges for him to distinguish whether this is real life or just a figment of his imagination. But then he remembers, whether it’s a dream or not, there’s really only one answer he’d ever give Yoongi.

“Of course,” he says, clumsily pulling back the covers for Yoongi, limbs heavy from sleepiness. Yoongi climbs in, and the bed creaks slightly from their combined weight. They lay on their backs and stare at the blank ceiling, heavy silence settling over them.

Seokjin should say something, he knows. He should check if Yoongi’s okay, because no matter how tired or stressed he’s been throughout the years, he’s never done this before.

“How was filming?” Seokjin asks quietly, instead of being direct. Yoongi had been out all day for a personal schedule, preparing all sorts of things for his new mixtape along with several collaborations. Seokjin can’t imagine it’s been easy on him.

“Cancelled,” Yoongi says, voice flat. “Because of the rain. I went to the recording studio instead.”

“Oh. How was that?”

“It was fine.”

Quiet falls over them again, and Seokjin kicks himself for not knowing what to say, how to help. He’s good with words, usually. As much as he dances around emotions and drowns them in jokes and antics, he’s good at comforting the members, at being the oldest hyung. 

But here, right now, Seokjin’s mouth goes dry, throat tightening with the words he doesn’t know how to say.

Yoongi sighs, sensing the elephant in the room.

“I’m just tired, hyung,” he mumbles. “I don’t wanna talk about it, but it’s just… a lot of stress.”

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin says, head turning to look at Yoongi.

I wish I could help. The unspoken words hang between them.

“No, it’s—it’s fine. I just…”

Yoongi stops talking, and Seokjin stays quiet. He waits, lets him gather his thoughts.

“Everything’s so fucking hectic right now.” Stress colors Yoongi’s words, exhausted, and Seokjin’s chest clenches. 

“Everything’s hectic, there’s deadlines every other day, and I barely know what’s happening with anything. I just wanna feel calm for once and—” Yoongi breathes in. “You… you make me feel calm. You make me feel at ease.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he continues, turning his body to face Seokjin, who’s gone still. His head tilts downwards so he’s looking at Seokjin’s shoulder instead of his face. “Just—stay like this. This is enough.”

Seokjin swallows hard, suddenly more awake than he’s ever been before.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, yeah okay.”

They’re still not touching, Seokjin’s eyes trained on the ceiling above him, feeling stiff in his own bed. Eventually he hears Yoongi’s breathing start to slowly even out, body becoming heavy on the mattress. Seokjin lets out a shaky exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath this entire time.

He closes his eyes but is only able to fall asleep when he sees the colors change behind his eyelids, bathing the room in a soft glow.

//

Seokjin lifts his head from the couch when the scent of food cooking wafts through the air, his stomach making itself apparent with a low noise. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now, unaware of how much time had already passed.

He’d sought refuge on the couch earlier that morning after he woke up. He’d taken one look at Yoongi sleeping peacefully beside him, then promptly fell out of bed trying to get away from him. Well—get away is the wrong word. But something told Seokjin that staying in bed and watching Yoongi wake up would seem too close to the domestic life that he, of course, has never once fantasized about in his life, particularly with one Min Yoongi. 

So he fell out of his bed, thanked the heavens that Yoongi’s a heavy sleeper, and escaped to the couch where he’s been laying ever since, tending to his slightly bruised hip. Everything up to that point was driven by adrenaline, and by the time he calmed down, he felt too drained to get up and find food. This smell, though, is making him deeply reconsider. He lazes around on the couch for a few more minutes before making his way into the kitchen, blinking when he sees Yoongi at the stove, expertly flipping the food in the pan. 

So much for escaping the picture of domesticity.

“Are you making breakfast?” Seokjin asks as he walks over, looking at the multiple pots and pans on the stove.

“Lunch, too,” Yoongi says, sprinkling sesame seeds onto what looks like spicy stir-fried pork. He picks a smaller piece of meat up with his chopsticks, blows on it a little, then holds it out to Seokjin.

“Try this,” Yoongi demands, and Seokjin, too emotionally compromised at this hour, allows Yoongi to feed him. There’s probably some plane of existence where this whole scene is affecting Seokjin extremely profoundly. He refuses to acknowledge it, focusing only on the food in his mouth.

“Good?” Yoongi asks, watching him chew. Seokjin nods with his mouth still full, and a small happy smile spreads on Yoongi’s face. That’s fine, Seokjin thinks faintly, astral projecting out of his body, I’m fine with this.

“Could use some more garlic, though,” Seokjin says after he swallows, and Yoongi looks at him with a deadpan expression.

“Are you trying to make your allergy worse,” Yoongi huffs as he turns back to the pan.

“But you like garlic!” Seokjin exclaims. “I’m only trying to help!”

“Yeah, well, I might like garlic but I don’t like having to watch you scratch all night. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“Ah, Yoongi-yah, are you caring for me right now?” Seokjin drapes himself over dramatically against Yoongi’s back. “I’m so touched.”

“Get off of me,” Yoongi grumbles, pushing Seokjin away with his shoulders. It’s clear he’s not truly bothered though, his actions at odds with the smile he’s failing to fight off his face. Seokjin, despite himself, is charmed.

At that point, Jimin and Jungkook walk in, and Yoongi is immediately swarmed by grabby hands and pleas for him to share his food. Yoongi yells at them for being in his kitchen, proclaiming that he’s not sharing as he portions out the food onto four plates. Seokjin yells back at Yoongi just to make a scene, and Jimin and Jungkook nearly fall to the floor with laughter. They eat on various surfaces in the kitchen, ignoring the fact that they have a perfectly usable dining table, and Yoongi huffs at them. He catches Seokjin’s eye, and Seokjin immediately sends him an exaggerated wink with a finger gun. Yoongi shakes his head incredulously, scratchy laughter coming out in exhales.

The sound follows Seokjin for the rest of the day.

//

That night, Seokjin walks into his room to find Yoongi crouched in front of the sugar glider cage, one of them climbing up the length of his arm. As Seokjin gets closer, he sees that it’s Odeng, his fur a shade darker than Eomuk’s. Yoongi looks freshly showered, hair still damp and face slightly pink. There’s a smudge of yogurt on his finger that Odeng probably just finished eating, and Seokjin feels his heart squeeze.

“Eomuk’s not eating much recently,” he murmurs as Seokjin crouches next to him. “I’m worried he’s getting sick.”

“Yeah, I booked an appointment with the vet earlier,” Seokjin says, as Odeng approaches him from Yoongi’s hand. He gently runs a finger down the fur on his back. “The manager’s gonna take him tomorrow.”

Yoongi hums as he watches Odeng climb onto Seokjin’s shoulder.

“He’s still moving around a lot, so hopefully it’s not anything too bad.” Yoongi looks worriedly into the cage, where Eomuk is laying quietly. He reaches in and pats him, and Eomuk makes a small sound.

He’s so good at taking care of things, the thought pops into Seokjin’s mind without permission. He would take good care of you. Your heart.

“It’ll be okay,” Seokjin says, placing Odeng back into the cage. “They’re my kids, after all. They’re strong.”

He locks the cage after petting them one last time, and hears Yoongi chuckle a little.

“Yeah, they are,” he says, and Seokjin hears the soft smile in his voice. 

They spend the next few minutes just crouching in front of the sugar gliders, arms brushing gently.

//

It keeps happening.

Yoongi, tired and stressed and soft and warm, silently nudging the edge of Seokjin’s bed with his knee, and Seokjin silently pulling back the covers for him.

You don’t have to say anything. This is enough.

A quiet, mutual agreement.

Seokjin doesn’t know what he’s done to be thrust into this extremely specific circle of hell. Logically, he understands it: Yoongi thinks his presence is comforting. Right. It makes sense, he’s a good hyung. If Seokjin thinks about this fact with pure, unadulterated logic, and logic only, he can comprehend it.

Physically, though. Seokjin wonders what the hell he’s done that he doesn’t even need to say anything for Yoongi to feel at peace. At what point did their relationship have so many unspoken aspects to it? Seokjin thought their friendship had been simple—not that Seokjin’s discounting the depth of their bond; they simply have a different dynamic, just like the rest of the members do with each other. But they were just supposed to be… Seokjin and Yoongi. Yoongi and Seokjin. That in and of itself was enough to speak for their entire relationship. 

And God forbid he considers the emotional aspect. Seokjin doesn’t even want to get started on that train of thought.

There’s no pattern to it either, Yoongi’s desire for comfort, which is driving Seokjin a little crazy. He thinks it might be more bearable if he at least knew what he could expect—if Yoongi slept in his bed every other day, or even every day. But he doesn’t. One week Yoongi would come two times, the next he’d come five times, and the next he’d come three times. The unpredictability makes Seokjin’s head pound, like he’s on a perpetual emotional rollercoaster and he never knows where the drops are. 

The lack of consistency also makes Seokjin crave it, even more. Now, he goes to bed every single day wondering whether he’ll have warmth next to him that night, and it’s gotten to the point where Seokjin almost—expects it. So if it doesn’t happen, if Yoongi slips through the door late at night and Seokjin hears his weight drop onto a different bed too far away, his heart crumbles.

Much like tonight. 

He’s picking up the pieces, fitting them back in their places as if they’ve never fallen, the sheets next to him frigid. I should be used to this, Seokjin thinks viciously as he buries himself under his blankets. It’s not like this whole situation is anything other than for the sake of Yoongi’s comfort. It means nothing, whether Yoongi’s next to him in bed or not.

He should be used to this.

//

Seokjin evaluates the amount of food in the white takeout containers, and sighs. He ordered too much again. 

What was that saying, he thinks to himself as he lifts the heavy plastic bags. Your eyes are bigger than your stomach? Yeah, sounds about right. That, and there’s something about ordering for seven guys for years, half of whom were still growing, that changes you. Seokjin thinks it’s impossible to not over-order at this point. He could always just bring it back to the dorm, let the others have some, but he checks the time and it’s getting pretty late. They’ve probably had dinner already.

Has Yoongi eaten? Seokjin wonders. He knows he’s in the studio right now, and once Yoongi steps foot in there he tends to forget he’s an actual living specimen who needs things, like food or sunlight or sleep. 

Seokjin doesn’t think much of it as he automatically makes his way to the company. It’s about a twenty minute walk from the restaurant, but he doesn’t mind. The weather is nice and cool, albeit a bit chilly, but Seokjin likes feeling the wind on his face. He pulls the face mask over his nose as he makes his way over, intent on enjoying the peacefulness of the night.

He takes in the fresh air, neon signs around him lighting up the night, and he reaches the building in no time. He finds Yoongi’s studio and contemplates guessing random numbers on the keypad lock just to mess with him, to make him wonder who the hell’s trying to break in at nearly midnight (Seokjin will never understand what Jungkook did to convince Yoongi to tell him the passcode). He knocks on the door instead, electing to spare Yoongi this time.

It takes a little, but the door cracks open.

“Yes?” comes Yoongi’s voice, probably thinking it’s a staff member.

“Yoongi-cchi, it’s me, your favorite person,” Seokjin intentionally sings off-tune. “I come bearing gifts!”

“What the hell,” Seokjin hears him mumble as the door swings open. He’s greeted with a tired-looking Yoongi, hair mussed at the front as if he’s been running his hands through it. He’s buried in his giant white FG shirt, bags under his eyes, a grumpy expression fixed on his face, and—he still looks good.

“You look terrible,” Seokjin tsks, pushing past him and going into the studio. “I don’t even need to ask if you’ve eaten yet.” He unceremoniously plops the bag of food onto the table near the couch, making sure there’s utensils in the bag.

“Well, my job here is done.” Seokjin turns around and nearly bumps into Yoongi, not having heard him walking closer. Yoongi’s staring at him with something unreadable in his expression, and Seokjin stares back.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get out of your space,” Seokjin says with a laugh, hitting Yoongi’s shoulder lightly. “Sorry I intruded, just wanted to make sure you hadn’t died in this room. Excuse me for being concerned about the state of my beloved roommate, of the most crucial member to this septet!”

“Did you…” Yoongi looks at the neatly wrapped plastic bag. “Did you go out of your way to give this to me?”

Seokjin blinks. Had he? He figures the company wasn’t really on the way back to the dorm (it was, in fact, in the exact opposite direction), but he didn’t mind the walk. He also supposes he hadn’t explicitly asked the other members if they’d eaten already, but… that doesn’t mean he went out of his way to do this.

“You—you were just the first person I thought of,” Seokjin splutters. “Don’t give yourself so much credit.”

Seokjin’s expecting a snarky comment back, maybe a so i was on your mind, huh that’s sure to make Seokjin’s ears turn red no matter how much he demands them not to. 

But instead, a soft smile spreads across Yoongi’s face, eyes crinkled with his gums peeking out, and Seokjin thinks his heart quite literally stops.

“Thank you, hyung.”

“Uh-huh,” Seokjin manages, trying to figure out how to manually pump blood throughout his body because his goddamn heart sure isn’t doing it.

He lets Yoongi be after shooting him another one of his winning smiles (or at least a weak attempt at it), and he casually walks out of his studio. But as soon as the door closes, as soon as Seokjin hears the electronic locks click into place, he presses his back against the door and closes his eyes. He takes in gulps of air, suddenly feeling breathless as his pulse races. 

What’s wrong with me, he thinks, the cold of the door sinking through his skin. Why can’t I be normal around him.

Seokjin pushes himself off the door, suddenly eager to leave, and his feet carry him to a stuffy taxi that whisks him back to the shared dorm. He opens the door, the jingle of the electronic lock loud in the night, and carelessly kicks his shoes off. He settles at the kitchen table and breaks the plastic wrap of the takeout container to peel it off, mindlessly stirring through the black bean noodles. He stares down at it, half-mixed. The quiet of the dorm is so loud, pressing in on him on all sides.

His stomach grumbles. He doesn’t feel so hungry anymore.

//

Later that week, all the members are together in the practice studio, running through their new choreography. They’re already several hours into practice, and Seokjin’s exhaling harshly as the music fades away, hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

“Alright, ten minute break,” Hoseok says, voice bouncing off the walls.

Thank God, Seokjin thinks, as he grabs his water bottle from the floor. The rest of the members dissolve into quiet chatter, then gather to leave the practice room to get some air.

“You coming, Yoongi-hyung, Seokjin-hyung?” Jungkook asks.

“Nah, I’m good,” Seokjin replies as Yoongi shakes his head. So the other members file out of the room, and Seokjin’s left alone with Yoongi. They both beeline to the back, Yoongi settling on the floor and Seokjin in a stray chair. Seokjin stares at the mirror as he towels off some of his sweat, at both his and Yoongi’s reflections. He chuckles at the sheer contrast between their outfits: Yoongi with an all-black ensemble and himself with a full set of pale pink sweats. He keeps looking as he rolls his shoulders, watching mirror-Yoongi scroll on his phone, uncapping a water bottle with the other hand. He lifts the bottle to down the water, exposing his throat, and the lights reflect off his sweat-drenched skin. Seokjin watches his throat bob once, twice, then averts his eyes, suddenly feeling the room temperature rise.

He gets up, wanting to move, and he starts going over a part in the choreography he’s been struggling with. Everyone seems to have gotten it but him, and he’s determined to have it down by the end of practice. He repeats it over and over, beats playing in his head, but something still doesn’t look right. He runs through each move meticulously, so focused that Yoongi’s voice behind him makes him jump.

“It’s like this, hyung.” 

And then Yoongi’s hand is against his wrist, adjusting his arm position. He taps different parts of Seokjin’s body to fix the angles; a brush against his waist, a soft kick to the foot, fingers on his jawline. Seokjin catches Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror, and they both look away at the same time.

“Then you go, one, two, kick and four.” Yoongi steps along with him, guiding. At the last beat, Seokjin turns his head, and finds Yoongi staring right back at him. Seokjin feels like he’s burning up, embers under his skin. They both hold still, rooted to where they stand, and Seokjin’s transfixed by Yoongi’s gaze. His fingers linger at Seokjin’s waist, flames against his body. Seokjin’s so close he can count Yoongi’s eyelashes, and if he just—leaned the tiniest bit closer—

Something in the distance crashes, and it’s as if everyone in the world lets out a collective exhale. The moment vanishes, mood effectively broken. It disappears so quickly that Seokjin wonders if it even happened. Yoongi pulls away as they hear laughter combined with what sounds like Hoseok screeching, sounding close to the room.

Seconds later, the rest of the members all burst through the double doors. Jimin’s covering his mouth as he stumbles in while laughing, looking like he’s about to cry. Jungkook and Taehyung look frazzled, both with a suspicious amount of leaves in their hair. Hoseok’s staring at a spot on the ground as if he’s seen something he wishes he hadn’t, and Namjoon’s tugging him along as he says something about the consequences of trying to interact with nature.

Seokjin doesn’t want to ask.

It takes all of them a couple minutes to gather themselves and calm down. Yoongi moves to get into position, and Seokjin doesn’t think about how empty the space next to him feels. Hoseok, freshly recovered from whatever happened outside, goes across the room and clicks on the music player. The familiar beat of their new title track reverberates throughout the room, loud in their ears.

“Alright,” he calls out, “let’s take it again from the top.”

//

Seokjin makes his way to his room in the early hours of a Saturday morning, stumbling a bit. He’d just gotten back from getting dinner and drinks with several of his friends from his college days—something that hadn’t happened in months, if not years. They’d gone to a restaurant secluded enough so Seokjin didn’t have to worry about being seen in public, and the bar they’d visited afterwards was much too crowded for Seokjin to have been spotted. 

It was refreshing, to have a glimpse of what his life might’ve looked like if he’d never joined the entertainment industry. His friends filled him in on what corporate life was like (mind-numbingly boring), how dating around at their age was (extremely frustrating), and the rare but occasional times they've been able to hang out like this before, like old times (so worth it).

It was nice, Seokjin thinks, that he could join in this time.

So they passed the time eating, talking, laughing, and now Seokjin’s a little drunk but… good drunk. The kind where it feels like warmth is bubbling underneath his skin in silvers and golds, and laughter is always just at the tip of his tongue.

He feels sated and more relaxed than he’s been in months, but he’s exhausted from the night out. He clumsily steps out of his night clothes and pulls on his striped RJ pajamas, already feeling more comfortable. He washes up in the bathroom, still meticulously going through his twelve-step skin care routine. No amount of alcohol has ever made Seokjin forget to do his skin care routine, even on the rare occasions when he’s blacked out and doesn’t remember anything at all (apparently, according to three different sources, he’d once nearly cracked his head on the counter from swaying so hard as he applied toner, and nearly puked as he resisted said three sources trying to drag him to bed).

He comes out of the bathroom with his eyes half-closed already, prepared to catapult face-first onto his bed. But as he sees a lump beneath his blankets, someone underneath breathing rhythmic beats, he stops in his tracks. Seokjin stares, feeling something twist in his core at the sight.

This is the first time he’s come here alone, before Seokjin’s already been in bed.

Seokjin hears his heartbeat pound in his ears. He walks over quietly, staring dazedly at the gentle way his covers rise and fall. His mind buzzes, white noise in the silence. Softly, he takes the edge of the blanket in his hands, pulling it down just the slightest bit to see, and—

he breathes out, air escaping him all at once.

Yoongi looks beautiful, moonlit. The light falls over him in a way that curves down the slopes of his face, softening his features. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes deeply, faded acne scars scattered across his skin. There’s imprints of the bedsheets pressed into his cheek, soft pink. Between his eyebrows, there’s a faint crease Seokjin wants to smooth his thumb over, to press his lips against to make it disappear.

Seokjin swallows, suddenly feeling itchy in his own skin.

He doesn’t have to, he really doesn’t. But he always makes light of the ache in his heart, and there’s maybe one too many drinks in his system right now, so of course—

“Hey, hey, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin whispers jokingly, nudging Yoongi’s shoulder playfully. “Is it okay if I sleep here?”

“Nn?” Yoongi sounds rough with sleep, expression all scrunched at being woken up. “Yeah, of course, let me just move—”

Yoongi stops, then lifts his head in confusion. His eyes are still determinedly screwed shut as his eyebrows crease even further, and Seokjin nearly makes a sound at how endeared he is.

“Isn’t this…” Yoongi’s voice drags, “your bed?”

“I’ve been discovered! My plans—foiled!” Seokjin laughs as he slides under the blanket, covering up the way his heart had clenched at how easily Yoongi said yes to his question. As if he’d still say yes if this were his bed, instead of Seokjin’s.

Seokjin chuckles hollowly to himself, the metaphorical knife in his heart digging a little deeper.

“You’re so weird,” Yoongi mumbles, burrowing under the covers again. He scoots a little closer to Seokjin, a new source of heat, and Seokjin acts like it doesn’t make his chest feel like it’s about to burst.

This is enough, Yoongi had said. You don’t have to say anything.

So—

Seokjin doesn’t.

He breathes, pretending the warmth of Yoongi’s body next to his is normal, doesn’t affect him at all. They’re friends, after all. Friends can sleep in the same bed with each other. They’ve been sleeping in the same bed with each other. It’s normal.

He swallows past the endless pittering of his heart as he memorizes the gentle way the moonlight illuminates Yoongi’s face, and falls into a fitful sleep.

//

Seokjin’s head pounds as he cracks his eyes open to the too-bright sunlight streaming through his window. God, he definitely had too much to drink last night; he can’t handle his alcohol like he used to. He groans as he shifts around, thanking whatever higher beings there might be that today’s one of the extremely rare days they have off, hence him going out last night in the first place. He’s going to take advantage of it as much as he can, starting with going right back to sleep.

He turns to his other side as gingerly as he can without jostling his head too much, huddling under the warmth of his bed again when—

Oh, fuck.

In his half-drunken state yesterday, he’d completely forgotten Yoongi had slept beside him. Seokjin freezes, unable to turn back around without sacrificing the well-being of his head, and he’s forced to watch as Yoongi’s eyes slowly, sleepily flutter open.

Seokjin only hears the sound of his shallow breathing as they stare at each other, tiny dust particles flying in the sunlit space between them.

“This is a new sight,” Yoongi croaks, and his morning voice hits Seokjin somewhere deep in his gut that he does not have time to acknowledge right now.

“What is?” Seokjin asks, faintly.

“You.” The sheets rustle under Yoongi’s shifting. “In the morning.”

Seokjin blinks slowly, his thoughts moving like syrup through his mind, thick and slow. He’s sure if this were a cartoon, there’d be a lightbulb above his head slowly, gradually turning on, escalating until it’s fully lit up with the realization of—ah.

This is the first time they’ve woken up together, too.

Before, when this had happened the first time, Seokjin had gotten up as soon as he could out of pure self-preservation, long before Yoongi had the opportunity to open his eyes. He’d simply done the same every single time after that, not wanting to deal with the softness and vulnerability of Morning Yoongi. He had no idea what could happen if he were faced with that perilous situation, when there’s close to no distance between them and his self-control is utterly, completely shot.

Well.

Seokjin stares at Yoongi—ruffled, half-asleep, messy-looking Yoongi. And all at once, he realizes—

there’s so much he wants to do.

Do—to him. Run fingers through his messy hair, down the contours of his face, over his shoulders and collarbones. Take his chapped but soft lips between his own, pull soft gasps from him, see what other sounds his mouth can make.

Or—with him. Maybe wake up like this every morning. Brush their teeth next to each other and bump hips fighting over the mirror. Cook breakfast together, bickering over how much garlic this dish really needs.

Seokjin’s mouth goes dry, throat tight, a strange prickling in the back of his eyes, realizing—

He can’t have this. Not now, not ever.

He’s stuck in a never-ending loop of his imagination, in some awful joke of a dream where he’s forced to live with a fragment of something so close to what he desires, yet is worlds away from what he actually wants.

And what does he want?

Seokjin knows he makes a lot of sacrifices; that he essentially always puts everyone before him. He not only feels a duty to do so as the oldest member, but also because that’s just who he is as a person. He’s willing to make a fool of himself in front of interviewers and music show MCs to make the members laugh, to help them feel more at ease in an uncomfortable environment. He acts shameless and brazen to show their fans how to be confident in themselves, even when all he feels is the exact opposite. He pushes past his natural introversion for others’ sake, puts on an enhanced version of himself for the world to see, but… what does he want?

Seokjin takes a deep, steady breath—and he deals with it like he deals with everything.

He cracks a couple of terrible jokes, swiftly getting out of bed and pretending like he doesn’t see the strange looks Yoongi’s shooting him. He greets some of the other members he sees down the hallway, masterfully deflecting the questions of are you okay hyung you don’t look so good with a careless laugh. He walks into the bathroom, sets a playlist of his loudest, most obnoxious bubblegum pop, turns the shower on to the highest heat he can handle, and shakily sobs into his hands.

//

The producer stops the music abruptly again, and Seokjin breathes out an exhausted sigh.

“Can we take it from the top?” the producer says through Seokjin’s headphones, sounding as worn out as Seokjin feels.

Seokjin grits his teeth, his hands running tiredly through his bangs. They’ve been recording for hours at this point. Seokjin’s already felt off all day, which doesn’t help things, and now he can’t figure out how to sing these lyrics for the life of him. More emotion, the producer had said, you need to put more energy into it. But what little energy Seokjin has left, he just wants to use it to go home and fall into a deep sleep.

“Alright, let’s just… take a step back,” the producer sighs. “Refocus.” Seokjin nods.

“This song is about hiding your true self, and having to deal with those consequences,” the producer says for what feels like the hundredth time. “It’s anger, frustration, desire, all at the same time. You need to try to channel that emotion into your voice, and bring it through the lyrics.”

“I’m trying,” Seokjin says, annoyance simmering under the surface even though he knows the producer only means well.

“Do you want to take five again?” he asks, but Seokjin shakes his head.

“No, no. I know I can do it. I just…” Seokjin trails off, sighing. “I can’t pinpoint the exact emotion. The message is so vague—‘hiding your true self’. What does that even mean?”

“Well, if you think of it from your perspective, an idol’s perspective.” The producer leans back in his chair, fingers intertwining on his lap. “You can never truly show the fans who you are as a person, right? All your flaws and imperfections and normal things that make you human—it’s not marketable. So you have to act like this unattainable form of a person all the time, twenty-four seven, and that can be really frustrating.”

Seokjin nods in agreement, so he continues, “It’s that. That’s what you want to put into your voice.” 

Seokjin exhales again, the sound tired and empty.

“I don’t know… I’ve been trying to do that, but it’s just not working.” Seokjin warily eyes the lyrics on the crumpled page in front of him. “Maybe I need to come at it from a different angle.”

They’re both quiet for a bit, thinking, then the producer speaks again.

“What about… from a perspective of love?” he asks. “I know it’s pretty cliché, but there’s a reason why there’s so many songs about love, after all.”

“How do you mean?” Seokjin furrows his eyebrows.

“Well, I’m not sure how much experience you have with this,” the producer says a little awkwardly, and Seokjin stifles a dry laugh. Curse idol life and its dating bans. “But lots of idols… they’ve had to sneak around and hide who they were dating for months, even years because of how possessive fans can get. I’m sure you know.”

He does know. He doesn’t even want to imagine the type of backlash they’d receive if fans ever found out about Jimin spontaneously hooking up with another idol after a music show, or Namjoon quietly dating a childhood friend for nearly two years before amicably parting ways with them.

“Maybe thinking about it like that would work,” the producer is saying. “The frustration of wanting to share with the world how wonderful this person you love is, but never being able to do so.”

For some reason completely unbeknownst to Seokjin, Yoongi immediately pops into his mind. What the hell, he thinks, toes curling in his shoes as a strange mixture of shame and sadness tightens in his chest.

This is not the time to be projecting, Seokjin thinks furiously. This is work. This is important.

Seokjin makes a non-committal sound to the producer after a few seconds, motioning for him to play the song back again.

What he doesn’t do: think of Yoongi as he sings his lines again and again. He actively pushes any extraneous thoughts away as he closes his eyes and focuses on the lyrics, on the meaning of every single word. He imagines a stadium of fans in front of him, thousands of lights in the darkness, and he sings like he’d sing on stage.

But—

“Seokjin.”

He opens his eyes, and the producer is looking back at him with his lips pressed together.

“You’re forcing it,” he says, firmly but not unkindly. “You’re distracted by something, aren’t you?”

“No,” Seokjin's voice cracks a little. “No, no, I’m fine.”

The producer raises an eyebrow.

“Okay,” he says. “So let’s focus, c’mon. Focus on your frustration as an idol, about having to put up a front for your fans all the time.”

“I tried that,” Seokjin snaps a little bit, and immediately sends the producer an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… mean to sound so harsh. But something’s clearly not clicking, no matter what I try.”

The producer waves off his apology in understanding, then straightens up in his chair and leans forward.

“Then what about the other perspective?” The producer taps the tip of his pen to the table. “Love.”

Seokjin stiffens.

“I don’t…” Seokjin hesitates, “know if I can relate to the lyrics that way.”

There must’ve been something about the way he said it, because the producer immediately narrows his eyes, as if he can see right through Seokjin. There’s a tense few seconds between them, the silence speaking thousands of words.

“Just try it.” The producer spins his chair to reach for the buttons again, and Seokjin’s glad he doesn’t pry. “Come at it from a different direction, like you said.”

Seokjin sighs. He rubs at his eyes, so hard he starts to see white spots in front of him. Then, slowly, his hands drop to his sides.

He breathes in deeply.

Opens his eyes.

Gives in.

He sings and thinks about how Yoongi is the most devastatingly beautiful person he’s ever met, inside and out. From his sharp eyes, curved lips, and pretty hands—to his quiet kindness, fierce dedication, and endless empathy. 

He sings about loneliness and remembers the way his cold sheets felt under his hand, ice beneath his skin. He remembers the exact opposite of loneliness, Yoongi’s warmth pressed right by his side, yet knowing he could never have more than that and still feeling inexplicably alone.

He sings about courage and thinks about the bravery he’d never be able to muster up to tell Yoongi how he feels. But maybe… maybe he’s okay with that. He would wonder until the end of time if things would’ve been different if Yoongi knew; how things would’ve changed. But if instead he was promised to have Yoongi’s friendship, his companionship, his trust for the rest of his life, Seokjin wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

The music fades away.

Seokjin feels rubbed raw, as if someone’s scooped out his insides and laid them for the world to see.

“I think we’ve got it.” The producer looks up, relieved. “So, you’ve got a special someone, huh?”

Seokjin scoffs a little at the producer’s sly wink, rubbing at his sore neck.

“Sure, whatever you’d like to think, PD-nim,” Seokjin says sarcastically. “You know you’ll always be my favorite though, right?” He blows an exaggerated kiss to him.

The producer laughs lightly, a small twinkle in his eye.

//

Seokjin cranes his head to look out over the ocean, hand tight around his fishing rod as he watches for ripples along the surface. The fish don’t usually swim close to the surface out here, but Seokjin hasn’t caught any so far so he can’t help looking.

Yoongi sniffs beside him, leaning his elbow on the railing as he rests his chin in his hand, fishing rod held loosely in the other. It’s still early in the day, sun barely in the sky. Seokjin had pestered Yoongi out of the room at an ungodly hour to be able to get to the ocean at the best tide time, Yoongi grumbling the whole way as Seokjin whisper-yelled the early bird gets the fish, Yoongi-yah! Now, they’re both more subdued, standing quietly as they wait for their bait to catch.

They were making small conversation earlier, meaningless words as the two of them rambled about whatever their sleep-deprived minds filtered through their mouths. Then, there were lulls and silences between topics, but Seokjin was fine with that. He likes that about the two of them: they don’t need to be chattering all the time, filling the space with conversation. Sure, Seokjin loves being loud and rambunctious, turning every situation into a comedy routine with his theatrics. But he likes the quiet moments too. And sometimes, simply being in someone’s company without a single word is more than enough for him.

Seokjin blinks sleepily. He watches the wispy clouds in the sky, eyes lazily following a flock of birds when he hears Yoongi inhale quietly beside him, then—

“Have you ever been in love, hyung?”

Seokjin whips his head around, staring, but Yoongi’s eyes are still trained on the waters in front of them. All of the sudden? Seokjin thinks, mind spinning as he tries to control his expression. 

The small fishing boat rocks gently, the breeze picking up. Seokjin swallows, trying not to overanalyze the question, the tones woven between its syllables.

“Is this your way of confessing to me, Yoongi-cchi?” Seokjin asks with an exaggerated ha ha ha tacked on at the end of his sentence to hide the sincerity behind his words.

Is it, Yoongi?

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth simply quirks upwards, his gaze lowering as he doesn’t answer Seokjin.

Seokjin clears his throat, shifting where he stands, and faces the ocean. He grips the fishing rod a little harder than necessary and asks:

“Why, have you?”

The sound of waves crashing fills the silence between them.

“I feel like I have,” Yoongi says quietly, after a while. “I’ve dated people before and liked them enough, but—this feels different.”

This. As in: he currently feels like this. Currently feels like he’s in love.

Seokjin’s fingers dig into the fishing pole. Lets the sound of the ocean drown out his whirling thoughts, his sinking heart.

The thing is—

Seokjin can tell when Yoongi needs a certain kind of comfort. Sometimes when he wants to actually talk, to lay his emotions bare, he goes to Jimin or Taehyung, who are soft and empathetic and ever-loving. Sometimes he wants a solution and goes to Namjoon or Hoseok, who will logically map out all his options and help him figure everything out. Sometimes he just wants someone to kick him for being an idiot, so he talks to Jungkook and inevitably ends up in a headlock of some sort.

So the fact that he’s talking about this here, with Seokjin, means he wants to laugh. Wants a joke to distract him from his thoughts.

So he swallows past the lump in his throat and buries his feelings like he’s done so many times before. Seokjin might not know exactly what’s going on, but he understands, so he delivers:

“Min Yoongi in love?” Seokjin lets out a gasp. “A scandal! I’m tipping off Dispatch as soon as we get back on land!”

And—

he’s rewarded with that dry chuckle that’s charmed him to no end, teeth showing and gums flashing. Seokjin’s heart does aerials, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too hard.

“I can’t stand you.”

Seokjin’s stomach flips with glee, feeling like he’s accomplished the mission he was sent on. Good work, team. Excellent execution.

It fades into bittersweetness, though. He knows making Yoongi laugh is a mere band-aid on the bullet wound of how he’s feeling. Seokjin watches the smile slowly fall from Yoongi’s face and settle into something neutral, though his eyes still reflect stormy waters and tangled thoughts. 

Just to be on the safe side, he asks quietly:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Even though he thinks he might implode if he has to hear about Yoongi’s love interest that clearly has nothing to do with him. Why would you openly talk about who you love with that very person?

“I’m okay,” Yoongi says, glancing at him with a soft smile that makes Seokjin want to dive head-first off the boat. “This is enough, thank you.”

Seokjin returns the smile.

“I’m glad,” he says, and because he can’t help himself: “Because I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle it. I’m allergic to seriousness, you know.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at him, Seokjin lets out a squeaky laugh, and just like that, everything goes back to normal.

//

Normal, apparently, also includes this:

They get back from their fishing trip, and Yoongi stops sleeping in Seokjin’s bed.

Which—

Is fine. Should be fine, because they’re friends. They’re friends, they’re co-workers, they’re bandmates, they’re—

Seokjin’s fingers press into the table, clenching, a harsh exhale leaving his mouth.

That’s it, isn’t it?

They’re friends.

Just friends.

Friends who eat together, hang out together, occasionally fish together. These have always been true, facts that have remained static over the years. But now, they’re friends who know each other’s body warmth in bed, the way they press along each other. Seokjin knows the feel of Yoongi’s breath against his collarbones when he hasn’t woken up yet, his sleeping body unknowingly shifting to the nearest heat source. He knows the sound of Yoongi's morning voice right next to his ear, rendering his lungs inoperative for the next few hours.

And that slightest step over the boundary of “just friends”, a barely-there taste of something more, has left Seokjin greedy. He realized how starved he’s been all these years and started taking whatever Yoongi offered him. Without even realizing, Seokjin started to depend on it: all the hazy moments between the black of the night and the dim light of the morning. Now, though, it’s gone. The tiny oasis in the desert he’s surrounded by has disappeared, and Seokjin is left aching.

The envelope’s been pushed too far, he realizes too late. He can’t come back from this. 

But every time Seokjin feels like his life is collapsing around him, his world coming to a standstill, he relearns—

Life goes on.

It’s strange, really. In a way, it makes Seokjin realize how insignificant he really is; oddly comforting to someone who feels like there’s eyes on him constantly. 

There have been many times in Seokjin’s life when he’s felt like life should stop, has to stop. Put the world on pause to compensate for the imbalance in the universe. But it never does. It goes on after he makes seemingly career-ending mistakes on stage, after merciless comments on the internet accuse their group of all kinds of scandals, and after he loses Min Yoongi.

Life goes on.

On the outside, there’s no change to their dynamic. Seokjin still banters with Yoongi, he retaliates appropriately, the members laugh along. Even in their own room Yoongi’s behavior hasn’t changed—he keeps to his own space, coos at the sugar gliders, and works on his music. Quite literally the only thing that’s changed is that he stopped coming to Seokjin’s bed, so Seokjin feels like he’s reacting a little disproportionately.

Everyone’s acting normal, Seokjin thinks as he stares up at the ceiling, another night that’s blurred into the rest of his days. Everyone’s acting normal because nothing is different. Everything’s still the same, so that’s how I’ll act, too.

He glances through the gaps of the bookshelf dividing his section of the room from Yoongi’s, looking into the darkness of the other side where he knows Yoongi is lying. There’s nothing to see in the black of the shadows, but Seokjin keeps staring, as if he’s trying to find something.

Everything’s still the same, he repeats to himself as he turns back around, my life isn’t over because of this. 

And it’s not. He continues to go to dance practice and finishes recording his vocals and scribbles half-lyrics in the margins of scrap papers. He cracks bad jokes and makes the members groan, sometimes manages to pull a laugh out of one of them. He might be drinking a little more coffee than usual (an old coping mechanism from college he never truly got rid of), but everything else remains exactly the same.

//

(In the back of his mind, there’s still that imbalance. Quiet, buried under the surface, but it’s there. Seokjin determinedly doesn’t think about how something’s going to have to balance it back out eventually.)

//

It’s several days later and Seokjin’s on his fifth cup of coffee for the day, when Jimin barges into the room and yanks it out of his hand. Seokjin stares at him for a few seconds, mouth still pursed and hand still curled around the ghost of his cup. Jimin’s eyebrows are furrowed, which is never a good sign.

“Well, good afternoon to you too,” Seokjin says mildly. “If you wanted a cup, you could’ve asked me to make you one.”

Jimin presses his lips together, looking thoroughly annoyed.

“Hyung, what is this?” He shakes the cup for emphasis.

“Oh, only the finest of coffees,” Seokjin declares, as if he’s filming a commercial. “Instant! Excellent for when you’re in a rush, which—”

“Hyung,” he says sternly, cutting Seokjin off. “I know you only drink coffee when you’re stressed about something.”

“Wow, noticing little things about your hyung?” Seokjin touches a hand to his heart. “I’m moved.”

Jimin sighs heavily, rubbing at his forehead. He places the cup down onto the table somewhat aggressively, then grabs Seokjin’s wrist and bodily drags him to his room.

“My, my, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin says as he nearly trips over his own feet. “I’ve been propositioned by idols many a times in my day, but I must say this is a first—”

Jimin pulls Seokjin through the door, then closes it with a finality that makes Seokjin think this might be the last thing he sees before death.

“Sit,” Jimin commands as he motions at the seat of honor, which happens to be the hardwood floor.

Seokjin blinks at him, and Jimin throws his hands up.

“Fine, don’t sit, whatever,” he says. “I was going to sit down with you for this heart-to-heart, but—”

“A heart-to-heart?” Seokjin’s eyebrows scrunch up. He’s never heard of anything worse. “Jimin—”

“Hyung,” Jimin says, his voice a touch softer. “I know something’s wrong. I can tell.”

Ah, the loving empath. Of course Jimin is the first to pick up on his moody vibes.

“Nothing’s wrong!” Seokjin exclaims, eyes wide. “You’re overthinking things!”

Jimin levels him with a stare that makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t say anything, challenging Seokjin to keep talking, to convince him otherwise. 

Well, so much for acting normal. And here he thought he was being inconspicuous.

“Okay,” Seokjin says with decreasing fanfare. “Okay, so… maybe something’s wrong.”

Immediately, Jimin’s death stare falls and is replaced by genuine concern.

“Oh, hyung,” he says sadly, which makes Seokjin feel bad for making him sound like that. “What happened? You can tell me.”

“Oh, you know, nothing I can’t handle,” Seokjin waves dismissively. Jimin’s glare comes right back onto his face, and Seokjin feels like he’s getting whiplash.

“Look, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin says. “You don’t have to feel responsible for dealing with my problems.”

“I know I’m not,” Jimin replies decisively, crossing his arms. “But telling me about them isn’t burdening me, and even if it did… I’m still offering to listen.”

Seokjin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s just… personal stuff,” Seokjin tries, to which he’s met with Jimin’s unwavering glare again. Jesus, this kid never gives up, does he.

“Hyung, don’t be a hypocrite,” Jimin says, which takes Seokjin aback before he continues: “You told the fans this in a post once, didn’t you? ‘If you share your sadness then it’ll be halved, and if you share your happiness then it’ll be doubled.’”

Fuck, since when did Jimin read through all the things he posted? Those messages are between him and the fans only!

“Let me help halve your sadness, hyung,” Jimin says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t believe you’re using my words against me,” he mumbles, and Jimin elbows him with a soft chuckle.

Seokjin sighs in resignation. He slowly lowers himself to the floor, legs crossing as he stares at the pattern of the wood. Looks like the seat of honor turned out to be useful in the end.

He hears Jimin sit next to him, eyes on him as he tries to find the right words.

“I don’t,” Seokjin starts, hesitating a little, “wanna go into detail.”

“That’s alright,” Jimin says, not missing a beat. “Just tell me as much as you’re comfortable with.”

I’m comfortable with none of it, he thinks, I was forced into this! This involuntary makeshift therapy session!

“I’m comfortable with none of it,” Seokjin deadpans, and Jimin nearly knocks him over as he pushes his shoulder.

“C’mon, hyung,” he says, whining a little. “You can’t just take care of others all the time. It’s alright to lean on us, too.”

“I know, I know,” Seokjin says, rubbing his forehead. Does he, though? Logically, maybe. But he’s always found it a little hard to actually practice what he preaches.

Well, fine. Deep breath, then, before diving into the deep end.

“There’s something I… want,” Seokjin says, words stilted. How does he even go about being ambiguous about this? “From someone.”

“Does that person know you want something from them?”

“No,” Seokjin sighs. “No, they don’t.”

“Well,” Jimin says slowly. “You can’t expect them to give you what you want if they don’t even know you want it.”

“No, I’m… not expecting anything. I don’t even want them to know,” Seokjin says, fingers pressing into the sides of his legs. “It’s better, for them and for me, that they don’t know what I want.”

Jimin frowns. “Why?”

Seokjin glances at him. Does he know what I’m talking about? Who I’m talking about? But Jimin still only looks vaguely concerned, like it hasn’t dawned on him that he’s talking about someone just a few rooms down the hallway. Seokjin deems it safe to continue.

“It’d just… it’d mess a lot of things up,” he says a little lamely. “And in the grand scheme of things, what I want doesn’t matter that much. Not when it comes to what’s at stake.”

“Hyung,” Jimin says, mouth curved downwards. “What you want is just as important as what others want. Always.”

“I mean… okay, yes, sure, of course,” Seokjin’s hand waves around reluctantly. “I come first, self-love, all that.”

Jimin smiles softly, though it’s still tinged with sadness. He can tell Seokjin’s not finished, so he waits for him to continue.

“It’s just…” Seokjin says after a few beats, drawing his knees up and hugging them to his body. “How could I ask them to give me what I want… if it’s at the cost of their well-being, and the well-being of everyone else around them? What gives me the right to demand what I want if it brings everyone else down?”

Jimin stays quiet at that. The seconds tick by, and Seokjin feels laid open, exposed. His chest burns a little with regret, you said too much, take it back, take it back—

“I’m sorry, Jimin-ah, I—”

“No,” Jimin cuts him off, tone sharp. “Don’t apologize, you have nothing to apologize for.”

He continues, voice softening: “I’m just… trying to think of what to say.”

Seokjin blinks at him. Nods silently, trying not to think about the slight burning behind his eyes. They sit quietly for a while, minutes passing as Seokjin starts absentmindedly counting the stripes on Jimin’s shirt. He’s gotten to twenty-seven when Jimin finally speaks up again:

“How do you know?”

Seokjin’s almost forgotten what they were talking about. “What?”

“How do you know that what you want is at the cost of everyone else’s well-being?”

“I…” Seokjin stutters. “I just do. It—”

“You can’t know that,” Jimin interrupts. “If you never take that leap of faith in the first place.”

“Jimin-ah—”

“Hyung.” Something in Jimin’s voice makes Seokjin look up, and when their eyes meet, it feels like Jimin’s staring straight into his core.

“You have to think, really,” Jimin says, voice low. “About what the worst that could happen is.”

That Yoongi is disgusted by me and it ruins the dynamic of this group, Seokjin nearly scoffs out loud. Then we can all say goodbye to our careers, our lives, our dreams.

“It’s not worth it,” Seokjin says immediately. “I can’t… say what it is. But it’s something I’ll never be willing to sacrifice.”

“Okay,” Jimin nods. “Okay. So what about the best thing that could happen?”

Love, Seokjin thinks faintly. Happiness beyond measure, for me. For Yoongi too, supposedly. But—

“It’s never going to happen,” Seokjin says, picking at some peeling skin around his knee. The conversation is starting to feel dangerously close to the real topic. Seokjin has to actively tamp down the urge to escape out of the room.

“But why,” Jimin sounds a little desperate, moving closer to Seokjin. “Why are you so sure that it won’t work out? That the world is against you?”

“It has a habit of doing that,” Seokjin mumbles, eyes cast downward.

“Hyung, c’mon. Look at us.” Jimin motions around the expanse of the room. “We’re the biggest group on the planet right now. I think the world did us a favor there.” 

Seokjin lets out a soft chuckle. Can’t deny that one.

“You can’t just dismiss what you want out of fear,” Jimin says softly. “We’d never get anything we wanted if we lived like that.”

Seokjin says nothing, staring daggers at the wooden floor. He knows Jimin’s right, god, he knows, but—

“And—I think you should tell them, whoever it is, about what you want,” Jimin says softly. “Because sometimes… it’s worth it to be vulnerable. To put everything on the line.”

At this point, Seokjin is too emotionally wrung to say anything else. He scrubs a hand down his face tiredly, inhaling deeply.

“Yeah,” he whispers, rubbed raw. “Yeah, I know.”

Jimin slides over and wraps himself around Seokjin in a hug, arms tight. Seokjin closes his eyes as he breathes into it.

//

The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes against the walls as Seokjin slices the carrots. He hasn’t worked in the kitchen in forever, but he needs something mindless to do to distract himself from his thoughts. Busying his hands and recreating an old recipe is the perfect way to pretend like everything isn’t crumbling around him.

He grabs an onion from the side as he hears footsteps approaching, then stopping outside the entrance.

“Oh, hyung,” Taehyung’s voice says from a distance away. “That’s weird.”

Seokjin tenses. Has everyone been picking up on his bad vibes recently? “What’s weird?”

“Not—weird, but. Interesting,” Taehyung says, which really doesn’t clarify anything. “You haven’t cooked in a long time.”

Seokjin keeps his eyes trained on the cutting board, not wanting to make eye contact with him. He presses his lips together a little.

“Yeah, I just—I needed to get my mind off of something,” Seokjin sighs, continuing to chop the onions. “It’s nothing important.”

“‘Nothing important’, yet you pick up an abandoned hobby for it?” Taehyung says with a little laugh.

The knife slips, catching Seokjin’s thumb and drawing blood. He winces with a sharp intake of breath, quickly grabbing a paper towel and pressing against the cut.

“Hyung! Are you okay?” Taehyung appears right next to him, worriedly looking over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, did I distract you?”

“No, no, you’re fine, Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin murmurs, biting the inside of his cheek at the sharp pain. “It’s just a small cut, it’s not your fault.”

He hears Taehyung moving away, some shuffling behind him, and he reappears with disinfectant and a small bandage. Seokjin manages a weak smile at him as he takes them. He can feel Taehyung’s eyes on him as he cleans his cut, inquisitive. By the time he’s done bandaging everything, Taehyung’s practically angling his entire body towards him, face unnervingly close to Seokjin’s.

“Yes, Taehyung-ah?” Seokjin says, slightly amused. “Are you scoping out your competition for Most Handsome Face in the World? You’ve already won it once, but I understand wanting to keep an upper-hand on your opponents.”

“Are you okay, hyung?” he asks, and isn’t that the question of the year.

“I’m fine, Taehyung-ah.” Seokjin turns away, picking up the knife again. “Really,” he adds as he glances back and sees Taehyung’s eyes still boring a hole into him.

“It’s not nothing,” Taehyung says bluntly, as if he’s sure of it. “Whatever it is you wanna get your mind off of.”

There’s a soft clang as Seokjin’s hand holding the knife drops to the table. Curse the ‘95 kids and their exceptional skill of picking up emotions. He sets the knife down, turning around and leaning his hip against the counter to face Taehyung.

“Look, Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin keeps his voice gentle, knowing Taehyung only means the best. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s a reason why I said I wanted to take my mind off of it.”

“You know if you want to talk, we’re here for you,” Taehyung says softly. “All of us.”

Too bad the source of this problem is one of us, too, Seokjin thinks, exhausted. And it’s not a problem we can just talk out.

“I know,” he says instead, with an attempt at a reassuring smile on his face. He predicts a 30 percent success. “It’s just… not what I want right now. I promise if I ever need any of you, I’ll tell you.”

Quiet settles over them, and Seokjin is half-expecting Taehyung to keep trying to convince him to talk, like Jimin had. Seokjin lets out a silent sigh, not emotionally equipped to have to push him away, when—

“Can I have some of the japchae you’re making,” Taehyung mumbles instead, eyeing the ingredients. “It is japchae, right?”

Seokjin lets out a soft chuckle.

“Of course,” he says quietly. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Taehyung brightens at that, yelling thanks hyung as he leaves the kitchen.

Seokjin laughs to himself, shaking his head as he finishes preparing the ingredients. If anyone outside of the group had witnessed their interaction, it’d seem like Taehyung was ready to launch himself away from the kitchen and their awkward conversation. But Seokjin knows Taehyung can read atmospheres well, that he knows when to push and when not to.

He’s a good kid, Seokjin thinks as he carries the cutting board over to the stove. All the members are.

The stove clicks on, tick tick tick, and like the steam rising from the boiling water, Seokjin’s thoughts evaporate.

//

In retrospect, Seokjin supposes, he should’ve seen it coming.

Yoongi approaches him in the living room on a nondescript Tuesday, while Seokjin is laying on the couch and mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

“Hyung,” Yoongi says in a very specific tone, which marks the exact moment Seokjin knows he’s absolutely fucked.

“Yes, Yoongi-yah, my one and only,” Seokjin says airily, because even now he doesn’t know how to stop. “What do you need?”

“You’re acting weird,” Yoongi says, straightforward. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks.”

Seokjin keeps his eyes on his phone and doesn’t react outwardly, though he has to hold back a tired scoff. Half the group has said something at this point, and Seokjin’s ready to accept the award of Worst Actor in History with how unsubtle he’s been. Maybe he could’ve kept it going if it had been Namjoon or Hoseok pestering him about it, because with them it’s really just a test of how long they can stand Seokjin dodging the topic. He’s running out of jokes to deflect with, but he could probably do it. 

But the fact that it’s coming from Yoongi. The fact that he’s looking at him with such genuine worry, brows furrowed and lips pressed together, makes all of Seokjin’s defenses break down. 

His walls are crumbling. It’s only a matter of time, at this point.

Seokjin sighs, and dramatically throws his phone to the side. He abruptly stands from the couch, startling Yoongi, and beelines for their bedroom. He hears Yoongi following after a couple of seconds and doesn’t even try to stop him. Once they’re in the room, Seokjin doesn’t bother turning on the lights, simply pacing in front of his bed. He hears the door close behind him.

“Hyung, what are you doing?”

“What am I doing, Yoongi-cchi?” Seokjin replies hysterically. “You tell me!”

“You’re not making any sense,” Yoongi frowns, stepping closer. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

Seokjin lets out a huff of laughter at that, the very idea of him being okay after weeks of this seeming ridiculous. Yoongi stares at him with a mix of confusion and concern. This is all probably very unsettling for him, Seokjin thinks. Seeing me like this. He sits down heavily on his bed, resting his elbows on his knees as he buries his face in his hands.

“No,” he says, muffled and barely audible. “I’m not, Yoongi-yah.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and there’s silence. It lasts so long Seokjin almost thinks Yoongi’s left the room before he hears shuffling beside him, then feels Yoongi’s weight on the mattress. Seokjin still can’t see anything, but he can tell Yoongi’s sitting a reasonable distance from him. Maybe he can sense Seokjin’s impending mental breakdown, which—good. Seokjin can barely handle being in the same room as him right now, much less having him in close proximity.

They don’t say anything for a while longer, then Yoongi takes a breath.

“Ever since we got back from the fishing trip,” Yoongi says quietly, softly, “something’s been off.”

Seokjin doesn’t say anything to that, so Yoongi takes it as his cue to continue: “I don’t know… if I said something there. Or did something. But things haven’t been right for weeks, and you might not think it’s affecting anything, but it is. Everyone’s been worried,” he adds, gently.

Ah, so that’s it. 

It’s not that nothing’s changed—it’s that everything has. Seokjin’s just been stuck in what he thought was normal, and now it’s showing.

Seokjin exhales shakily, pressing his palms harder against his face, fingertips curling. He feels suffocated with everything he’s not saying, and there’s another lull in conversation for several minutes. Seokjin hears Yoongi’s fingers toying with the covers. How shallow his own breath is in his ears.

“You never answered my question, you know. On the boat,” Yoongi says, which makes Seokjin finally look up at him. 

And then, it’s the last nail in the coffin: “I asked you if you’ve ever been in love.”

Seokjin feels a terrible, terrible chill run down his spine. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the words are stuck under his tongue. What is it that people say—the silence was deafening? Yeah, Seokjin thinks distantly, he probably gets what they mean now.

“Is that what this is about?” Yoongi asks quietly.

Seokjin turns, and they lock eyes. Yoongi’s expression is unreadable, disappearing underneath the shadows of the dim room. Seokjin’s heart lies in his throat, thump thump thump, blocking his airways, making it impossible to breathe properly.

“Hyung.”

The mattress dips under the weight of Yoongi leaning the slightest bit closer.

“Who are you in love with?”

you, you, you, it’s always been you.

Seokjin looks away.

The thing is—

they don’t do vulnerability, the two of them. They’re the fun duo, the chaotic one. The two that never stop bickering with each other, who radiate the energy of old-men-fed-up-with-the-youth-these-days. That’s them, and that’s the dynamic Seokjin’s been comfortable with for years. But now—

Now—

There’s the question between them, a bone-deep ache that’s made a home in Seokjin’s chest for the past four years, and an opportunity to lay everything on the line.

“Yoongi-yah, I—”

Seokjin’s defense mechanism takes over and shuts his mouth. Stops him from showing true, heartfelt emotion in an attempt to save his life. Yoongi watches him, brows creased but eyes patient and expectant, and Seokjin takes a deep breath. Mentally, he takes a step back, detaches himself from the mess of his emotions. His eyes close as he breathes through it, ignoring the hurricane of feelings whirling through his chest.

A Category 5 storm, Seokjin laughs hollowly to himself. Walls crashing, houses collapsing. Catastrophic damage.

The worst thing about Category 5 storms—the one meteorology course I took in college came in handy, Seokjin thinks absurdly as he runs with the metaphor—is that they render everything uninhabitable. Roofs caving in, power outages, the whole nine yards. How appropriate, Seokjin thinks, to compare my feelings to a storm of this level.

The bedsheets tangle as his fingers curl into them, nails digging.

Seokjin knows—

This is uninhabitable. 

He can’t keep living like this.

Just a few months earlier, he was set on taking his feelings to the grave. He was ready to reach his peak with his six best friends, disband and split amicably, marry someone nice and polite and not Min Yoongi, live to the end of his life, and never speak a word about the earth-shattering love he felt when he was at the top of the world. But when he thinks back to the past few weeks, through all of the moments both quiet and loud, he realizes. He realizes that after all this, more than anything—

He has to decide for himself, what it means to be happy. 

Who are you in love with?

Between the lines, means: What do you want? 

Seokjin takes a deep breath.

He thinks happiness, maybe, looks a little like:

“I might,” his words stumble, coming out awkward and painfully slow, “feel… slightly more affection for you than other people.”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“Wow, that’s it? All this buildup for you to say that I’m just slightly above everyone else you know?” Yoongi says, deadpan. There’s the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “You’re really playing with a guy’s heart, here.”

“Silence, you terrible man!” Seokjin’s arms flail about him, nearly taking Yoongi’s eye out which, upon reflection, might not be the greatest thing to do immediately post-confession. “I’m expressing an emotion for the first time in years! You should be honored!”

Yoongi’s shoulders shake as he suppresses a laugh. His gums show in his smile, eyes shining, and—

“Alright, then. I’m waiting.”

Seokjin’s heart, traitorously, triples in time. 

He fixes his gaze onto a particularly interesting section of the floor and decides to just—go for it.

“Min Yoongi, I…” Seokjin says, going for grandiose but losing steam halfway, so the last part just comes out sounding quiet and shaky and genuine. “I like you. Really, really like you. There, are you happy?”

And Yoongi, despite his teasing, goes silent.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“I—” Yoongi starts.

Seokjin’s head snaps up to stare at him, and finds Yoongi’s eyes determinedly set on the wall in front of him.

Then, as quietly as the breeze outside their window:

“I guess—I like you too, hyung.”

A beat.

“You guess?” Seokjin springs to his feet, ignoring the red-hot flare of his ears, the pounding of his pulse. “Here I am, baring myself emotionally naked and vulnerable in front of you, and you’re not even taking full accountability of your feelings! I’m hurt, Yoongi. Wounded!”

“Hyung,” Yoongi mumbles quietly, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck nervously.

“Tell me again, Yoongi-cchi. Properly. I won’t accept it otherwise!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Yoongi almost whines, the sound hitting Seokjin like a punch to the gut.

“As are you!” Seokjin shrieks, pushing forward with his theatrics despite his heart feeling like it’s about to beat out of his chest. Despite his thoughts already echoing he likes you back, he does he does he does.

Yoongi is quiet for a while, making it harder and harder for Seokjin to ignore the heat from his ears that’s slowly, but steadily, spreading to his entire face. 

The atmosphere becomes all the more tense as the silence drags on, making the hairs on Seokjin’s arms stand up. He feels antsy, on edge, and part of himself is desperate to break the silence with some awful joke, just to diffuse the air. But the moment’s too fragile, too delicate, and for once the other part of Seokjin wins out and he holds his breath in anticipation.

Suddenly, Yoongi lifts his head and looks at Seokjin dead in the eye, and Seokjin almost instinctively takes a step backwards at how intense his expression is. The air grows heavier, their gazes electrifying the room. 

“Yoongi-ya—”

“Hyung.” Yoongi stands up from the bed, moving closer to him. Seokjin actually steps back now, throat tightening.

This is uncharted territory; this thick, serious air surrounding them. Seokjin’s brain scrambles around, searching and grasping at straws, but—

There are no jokes to be found here.

It’s just him, present in this moment, open and exposed and vulnerable. And it’s Yoongi, standing in front of him, the prettiest shape to his lips as he whispers:

“When I talked about falling in love on the boat, when I was saying how it’s never felt like this before,” Yoongi exhales, “I was talking about you.”

Seokjin closes his eyes, brows creasing slightly as if in pain, his heart beating in discordant notes. He opens them after only a second, sees Yoongi take a step closer, watches the movement of his throat as he swallows.

“Hyung.”

Hears him say, quietly but firmly:

“You’re the one I’m in love with.”

And Seokjin, despite his constant usage of jokes and antics as a thinly veiled defense mechanism, realizes Yoongi is offering his still-beating heart on a platter to him, bruised and bleeding everywhere. He owes it to Yoongi to do the same, because the last thing he’d want is his sincerity to be lost in translation.

“Me… too,” Seokjin croaks.

“And I want to kiss you,” Yoongi says, barely audible. “If… you’d want that, too.”

His words are stilted, trembling a little despite the confidence in his gaze. Seokjin can’t tear his eyes away, feeling rooted to the floor, transfixed.

“Yeah,” he breathes out shakily, stomach swirling at the way Yoongi’s eyes dart downwards slightly, then right back up. “I’d—I want it.”

There’s the intake of breath between the both of them, then Yoongi rises up a little on his toes, leans forward.

And despite the years of buildup, the endless days of sharp desire and all-consuming desperation for this to happen, Seokjin meets Yoongi’s lips in the middle and it’s—

gentle.

There’s no rush in the way their mouths press against each other’s, as if they both know, there’s no need, we’re right here, we won’t lose each other. It’s soft but not uncertain, every touch between them brimming with trust. Yoongi pulls back the slightest and oh, Seokjin can feel his breath on his lips, before catching Seokjin’s mouth again. He repeats this several times, unbearably gentle and sweet, and Seokjin tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It feels so good, too good, his toes curling into the floor. Yoongi’s hands slowly come up to rest on Seokjin’s chest, touching him as if he’s something to be adored.

Seokjin, oddly, feels a little like crying.

He brings his hands up to cradle Yoongi’s jaw as their mouths move together, one sliding back to hold the nape of his neck. Seokjin hears a sound escape Yoongi, and his stomach swoops. He’s so dizzy, head spinning as he pulls away from Yoongi’s lips, breathing as if he’s coming up for air, only to drop kisses at the corners of his mouth, his jawline, biting gently at the lobe of his ear. Yoongi gasps quietly, and Seokjin can’t help but bring their mouths back together, pulling him close close closer, swallowing all his sounds.

By the time they break apart, they’re both breathless, chests rising rapidly. Seokjin is barely aware of what just happened, his mind buzzing with numbness.

“Wow,” Yoongi mumbles. “Been wanting to do that for so long.”

Me too, Seokjin thinks immediately, but instead instinctively outputs: 

“Live up to your expectations? Tell me what I already know.” Seokjin earns a shove to the shoulder for that, and he responds with high-pitched laughter.

“Can you be real with your feelings for once,” Yoongi huffs.

“I’m offended,” Seokjin gasps dramatically. “What did you think that entire ordeal fifteen minutes ago was? Don’t tell me you thought my grand display of emotion was fake.”

“I’m just saying,” Yoongi grumbles, “that you should actually say what you’re thinking for once.”

And—

Well.

“Fine,” Seokjin sniffs, playing it up so he doesn’t have to think about his ears going red again. “Since you insist.”

Yoongi blinks at him.

“Me too,” Seokjin says haughtily, avoiding Yoongi’s eyes and definitely not thinking about the lump in his throat. “About the—kiss. I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time, too. In fact, I’ve been thinking about the general concept of you for a long time, and well. Let’s just say that you’ve made quite the impact on me. I really thought this was just gonna be a fleeting thing, because let’s face it. We’re seven objectively good-looking guys, and statistically at least one of us was bound to end up in a situation like this. So I kept entertaining the idea of liking you until I realized suddenly four years had passed and it was neither entertaining nor just an idea anymore. Fast forward through some entirely unpleasant self-reflections and analyses of my feelings and, here we are. It all leads us to today, in which I’d submitted to the mortifying ordeals of being known, for a chance of a taste of what I’d wanted for years on end.”

And—

That surely was… something.

His hands are shaking, Seokjin realizes. His entire body is shaking, actually, and wow that was more than something, that was a lot—

“Hey, hey, hyung.” Yoongi takes his hands quietly, runs his fingers over Seokjin’s knuckles. “Thank you. For telling me all of that. I really didn’t know you had all that going on and… I’m glad you told me.”

“I’m never expressing another emotion again,” Seokjin says, breathing out unsteadily and leaning down to press his forehead against Yoongi’s shoulder. He grounds himself on the feeling of Yoongi’s hands against his, comforting, and—huh. Seems like the mortifying ordeals of being known has some perks.

They stand like that for a little, listening to each other breathe in tandem. Then: 

“Yoongi?”

“Yeah?”

“Looks like we’re really gonna live up to the eternal roommates nickname, huh.”

“Shut the fuck up, hyung.”

And Seokjin can’t help but laugh into Yoongi’s shoulder, feeling more than hearing the chuckles coming from above him.

//

So the thing is—

everything leading up to this point has been a blur. Seokjin doesn’t even know how he got here, if he’s being honest.

“You can’t say that,” Namjoon says, frowning. 

“That’s a cop-out answer,” Jungkook chimes in from across the table.

“You people are ridiculous,” Seokjin sniffs. “Are you implying I’d willingly subject myself to feeling an emotion? On my own volition?”

“What are you trying to say, that I tricked you into this?” Yoongi deadpans. “That you just… somehow ended up in a relationship with me?”

“Of course not, Yoongi-cchi,” Seokjin places a hand on his chest, as if deeply offended. “You know I’d lay my life on the line for you, take a thousand bullets for you!”

“Damn, you’d think whoever’s shooting at you would stop after a while,” Taehyung muses as a resounding slap! echoes through the room when Yoongi facepalms. “Would anyone actually shoot a thousand bullets at someone?”

“I feel like we’re getting very side-tracked,” Hoseok says. “This started out as a conversation about how Yoongi-hyung and Jin-hyung ended up together without any of us noticing.”

“I never consented to this, for your information,” Seokjin says. “Never did I say public discussion of my emotions was allowed.”

Everyone swiftly ignores his comment, continuing to interrogate them. Classic. 

“It just kinda happened,” Yoongi says, finally. “Like, we talked about it, but we never really… officially got together, honestly.” 

“Come to think of it, you’re right.” Seokjin whips his head around to lean closer to Yoongi as the latter dodges him immediately, their heads pulling in the same direction as if connected by an invisible string.

“Oh my god, you’re insufferable,” Yoongi mumbles, a pink flush blooming on his cheeks.

“What are we, Yoongi-yah?” Seokjin says, unfazed. “Give us a label, or I’m leaving you forever.”

Yoongi turns his head to stare pointedly at him, faces inches apart. Seokjin stares back, defiant. If Yoongi wants a challenge, he’ll give him a—

“We’re boyfriends, hyung. Happy?”

Seokjin promptly chokes, the next joke sitting on his tongue immediately melting away.

“Oh my god, look at his ears,” Jungkook coos, and Seokjin makes a mental note to pummel the kid later. “They’re getting so red.”

“Wow, this is so cute,” Jimin says. “You guys are so cute.”

“Stop looking at me!” Seokjin yells, eyes widening as his face heats up. “You all are monstrous! Terrible! I’m leaving this group immediately!”

“I’m happy for you guys,” Namjoon says, beaming over Seokjin’s shouting. The rest of the members’ expressions range from general contentment (Jungkook) to immeasurable delight (Hoseok) at this turn of events.

“Your opinions on this situation are unnecessary! Did I ask for any of this? No! How could you all do this to me!” Seokjin screeches, gesticulating wildly. “I’m calling my lawyer!”

“Oh, quiet down, Jin-hyung,” Yoongi huffs with a breathy laugh, as he tucks his palm underneath Seokjin’s chin. He brings his fingers up and gently squeezes Seokjin’s red cheeks, pulls him forward, and Seokjin’s next yelled sentence is muffled against Yoongi’s lips.

There’s silence besides a few overly dramatic gasps, and while Seokjin would love to comment on the comedic timing of all this, his mind is preoccupied by the soft press of Yoongi’s mouth against his. The kiss only lasts a second, but Seokjin is thoroughly dazed once they pull apart. The sunlight streaming through the window hits Yoongi so he looks angelic, glowing softly at the edges. Seokjin wonders for a second if he might have actually ascended out of his body, purely out of morbid embarrassment. There’s one, two, three more beats of silence before the members break out into absolute chaos, everyone screaming at varying volumes. Seokjin thinks he might hear Hoseok crying.

“Look at Jin-hyung’s face,” Taehyung practically squeals, repeatedly hitting Jungkook’s shoulder in excitement. 

“He’s so obviously in love,” Jimin says, a hand over his heart. “Honestly, it’s our own faults none of us noticed before.”

Seokjin sits there and racks his brain for something funny to say, searching and grasping at straws, but—

There are no jokes to be found here.

Instead, it’s all real—the members’ support, Yoongi’s requited love, and his own happiness.

Seokjin smiles, a soft laugh escaping him as his mind spins with exhilaration. He feels something that’s been wound tight in his chest slowly, slowly unfurling, being set alight and filling him with warmth.

Amidst the pandemonium, Seokjin bumps his shoulders gently against Yoongi’s. He turns his head, and Seokjin shoots him a goofy grin as he slips his fingers between Yoongi’s underneath the table.

Yoongi rubs his thumb gently against Seokjin’s hand—

i’ve got you, we’re here, we’re together

—and smiles back.

//

(Seokjin thinks happiness, maybe, looks a little bit like—)