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Hoseok just wanted another doll for his studio. One more addition to his cute collection that never fails to make him smile when he finally, frustrated, looks up from his screen, and remembers he can take a break and try again later.
So a naked, pretty boy who looks like he's been crying, lying on his bed, is not the last thing he'd want to see, but it is the last thing he expected to find after leaving the bathroom.
The boy's eyes are what makes Hoseok think he's dreaming, or deliriously lonely, because they're his new doll's eyes. His pretty Suga's dark, kittenish eyes that always seemed to hold something.
And what started as surprise, fear even, turns into sadness, and a deep need to protect this boy, Yoongi, once he learns the poor thing's story.
Min Yoongi lived in a small village where everyone knew and helped each other. Those who sought conflict were banished outside the walls, left to fend for themselves through the forest and hopefully into another settlement.
They had everything they needed to live happily without interacting with outsiders, though the odd traveler happened upon their doors every now and then.
Sometimes they stayed, sometimes they left after differing periods of time. No merchants, though. Yoongi always believed his elders when they said everyone was well aware of how self-sufficient the village was; how much they'd evolved past any other group of people.
Yoongi always believed when they promised him a good life, fulfilling days ahead in the trade of his choice, with a happy family waiting in his cozy house.
Yoongi always believed, until it started to hurt.
Boys weren't supposed to be like him, he learned quickly. Boys were supposed to do hard and violent things, that type of conflict allowed, he learned quickly.
Yoongi liked being nice to his neighbors, liked picking the prettiest flowers off the ground to give to guests who visited his family's house, though it made him sad to see only the ladies accept his colorful bouquets.
Yoongi was a good student and a good friend, helping his classmates when they struggled with classwork, though he missed them when their parents said they couldn't attend school anymore, as they were not progressing.
Yoongi saw hesitance in some of the men's eyes, and he saw progress in all of his peers, but a small boy like him wouldn't be met with anything other than laughter if he dared question the council's choices.
It was best to keep quiet and embrace his luck, he learned quickly. And he would've grown up doing just that, and passing on the knowledge to his children.
But as lonely as he was, everyone still knew him. What he used to do and still did in secret. What he used to complain about and what he didn't report to the authorities. He wasn't the model of harmony the village wanted, he learned quickly.
Almost as quickly as he ran to pack his meager belongings the night he overheard the elders whispering about an upcoming eviction.
He'd stepped outside his window, all others dark enough not to notice him taking yet another midnight stroll. It helped him clear his head, be alone in a nicer way. His feet took him to the big building near the park, where one window was dimly lit.
He heard his father's name and froze, still out of view, but fearing his loud heartbeat would give him away.
Yoongi was always smart, knowing exactly when to stop believing and start trusting himself instead. So he planned to run away before they could catch him. Who knows what actually happened to those that were thrown out.
His plan crumbled, though, when he realized he couldn't open the gates on his own. Didn't think there'd be guards, because he knew the people in the village to believe no one would want to leave.
And as he sat behind some bushes, trying to think his way out of this, he felt himself being pulled into a tent set up a few feet away from the big doors.
He knew screaming would get him in trouble as well, so he resigned himself to a few silent tears, opening his eyes to find the village's sorcerer staring at him.
As a courtesy, he began, he would let Yoongi know what was happening to him as it did, not like he would be able to fight it if he tried.
Yoongi cried until he could no more. Until his eyes hardened like his skin and tongue. Everything became bigger as he shrank to a third of his size, not much considering how short he'd always been. And the old man rambled on, complaining about being forced to stay out of official matters and only attend to healings or appearance spells.
How delighted he was to see Yoongi out and about on his own, how he could make the boy's belongings disappear after taking care of the boy himself, and no one would blame him, especially if he moved his tent to another spot. How no one would care about the littlest Min, not hours before he was set to be banished.
And to prove he couldn't break or feel pain in his new, "true" form, the sorcerer levitated the doll past the walls and past the forest, for someone to find and take home as a toy, or as something funny to look at.
What everyone in the village had always failed to realize, was how doll-like Yoongi really was. How his soft features and fluffy hair complimented his kind behavior and his gentle mind. How his big heart would shine through the hard material and make everyone who owned him fall in love with him, make him pretty clothes and sit him at tea tables, amazed at his never-changing demeanor while the world moved on so fast and so slow.
Centuries went by, and Yoongi would've forgotten everything he ever knew, if he had something better to do.
When the house was asleep, the antique store closed, the auction over, the display case covered, Yoongi remembered and imagined, unable to do anything but think and feel.
He longed for something, someone to break the curse and let him rest. He didn't think the sorcerer had planned for him to keep living afterwards.
But he sometimes felt a spark of hope, very little, but still meaningful. Like when he'd been picked up at a spring garage sale by a man with loud clothes and a heart-shaped smile. A man that seemed so happy to pay for him and hold him close as he looked at the other tables.
And when Yoongi learned more about him, not only by watching him work, perched on his high shelf, or when his friends came over to laugh and share stories, but also because Hoseok (that was his name) talked to the doll.
Told him about his day and about his feelings, random facts about him and about the songs he played for him. Retelling his creative process as if Yoongi hadn't witnessed it all, talking over them as if he was aware this wasn't the first time the doll heard them.
He never took Yoongi home, but he brought him new clothes often. He and his friends got together and, he said this as he laughed, often talked about the doll.
"You're special," Hoseok repeated at least once a week. "There's something about you, about your eyes. You're too cute."
Yoongi stared back, lifelessly, but inside he knew he would yell if he could. As much as the compliments made him feel oddly light, there was a more logical reason for whatever Hoseok saw. He hoped, at least, that the bubbly producer would be the end to his suffering, one way or another.
He's always missed Hoseok whenever he's left alone in the small studio, but never like today, the fire alarm going off making his thoughts turn to his owner's safety only.
There are voices shouting for evacuation, but none of them belong to Hoseok, and his heart threatens to hurt. He almost wants it to. To feel something, physical, real.
And maybe a small part of his brain moves aside and wishes to see that bright face one last time, before he's buried under the debris and rescued once Hoseok has forgotten, has started looking for a new building and new dolls to populate his space.
That part of his brain gets chastised when Hoseok throws the door open, frantic, aware of the chaos going on outside, but Yoongi still wants to yell at him to leave, what file could possibly be more important than his life.
Hoseok doesn't head for his computer, or grabs anything else of value. He snatches Yoongi off his spot and runs.
It takes him a few seconds to comprehend that Hoseok went back for him. A mere doll in a sea of expensive and carefully crafted dolls.
Hoseok went back for him, and Yoongi never wants them to be apart again, never wants to leave this warm embrace; he can almost... actually... feel it.
He tries to tell himself it's the rush of pure joy that's just attacked him, but it's been too long for him not to know. He's always been smart, after all.
The alarm turns out to be just a scare, so Hoseok doesn't need to check that his studio is intact. Takes the rest of the day off, the doll still in his arms as his boss tells him to go ahead.
At home, he talks, talks, talks. Wonders why he felt such an urge to save the doll from the fire, joking that something so pretty doesn't deserve to burn, and Yoongi feels guilty for ever wishing he could.
The apartment is nice, just as Hoseok as his studio, and the man points out every little detail for Yoongi, clearly still shaken from the unwanted drill.
He shows Yoongi a drawer in his closet where he keeps all the pretty clothes. Tiny baggy shirts and tiny flowy dresses, tiny shorts and tiny wool beanies, tiny shoes and tiny pastel sweaters, for his pretty tiny Suga.
They sit next to each other while Hoseok eats and watches a lighthearted movie, and then it's time for bed, Hoseok ultimately deciding Yoongi should wait outside the bathroom.
And that's when he can finally try to make sense of what's happening to his body. He can feel again. He's felt Hoseok's touches since he grabbed him with the alarm blaring in their ears. He could always smell, just like he could see and hear, but tonight he felt the scent of Hoseok's food in his lungs.
He'd almost forgotten how breathing felt, how each of his awakening functions are supposed to feel.
His eyelids move next, and a laugh bubbles up his throat when the first tears fall, though when he opens his mouth, all that's there is a hint of thirst and hunger. He'll probably need to attend to other needs soon, and as if on cue, the bathroom door opens to a screaming Hoseok.
Right, he was so absorbed in everything else, he didn't realize he'd grown back to his normal height, limbs and head following along. Hoseok always pointed out his 'cute' proportions.
"What a special doll you are! I've never seen any other like you. Wonder if your hands were made for something. They're so big you can almost hold mine!" he joked, but to Yoongi it meant so much, and yet he couldn't get his fingers to squeeze around the smiling man's.
He tries, and the tips flex a little, but a soft whimper escapes his lips, and both he and Hoseok are distracted by the fact that his voice seems to start working.
"Who are you?" Hoseok asks, trembling, holding onto the doorframe, and Yoongi has to remind himself it's not because he looks scary, rather he looks human, and Hoseok thinks he walked into his room alone, thinks what he brought home is a simple doll.
Yoongi wants to explain, or leave, but all he can do is turn his head a few millimeters, enough to look directly at Hoseok, and that's when something happens.
It's his eyes. Yoongi has never been happier or more relieved. As weird as the situation is, Hoseok has recognized him, his brain probably struggling to come up with an explanation.
As far as Yoongi knows, and he knows a lot, most people think magic doesn't exist. Whether it's gone extinct or it never went beyond the walls around his old home, like all the villagers who abided by the law, it's just not something that one would see anywhere that isn't fiction.
But he thinks Hoseok will believe in it once he's told his story.
"Suga?" he whispers, taking a step towards the bed, as if he's scared of blinking and finding himself alone again.
Yoongi nods, sharp and small, and opens his mouth. He needs water if he wants to speak without his throat itching.
Hoseok seems to get the message, cause he murmurs a "Don't move" and runs to the kitchen.
His face is wet when he comes back, probably splashed it to wake up, but there's still a full cup in his hand, and he helps Yoongi sit up so he can sip.
Hoseok carefully drops next to him and watches, shakes his head in disbelief, but Yoongi's awkwardly naked while a few strips of torn fabric lie between them.
"I'm dreaming, right. There's no way I saved you from a fake fire and now you're... a person. No way," Hoseok keeps mumbling, and Yoongi smiles against the cup.
"Thank you," he finally croaks out, proceeds to assure Hoseok he's not going to tell anyone about the time he answered 'You too' when the delivery person told him to enjoy his meal.
Hoseok's eyes widen, probably embarrassingly remembering when he turned towards the doll and said "You saw nothing."
Yoongi had, in fact, seen everything.
Hoseok argues that there must be a camera in the room, or some privacy breach in his computer, and Yoongi lets him, because not at any point does he blame the other for it.
After a stretch of silence, Hoseok staring intently at him as if trying to decipher where this naked boy as pretty as a doll came from without actually voicing his doubts, Yoongi says he's hungry, and the younger rushes to his kitchen to heat up some leftover chicken.
Once he's slowly chomped it down, and taken a long overdue trip to the bathroom, Yoongi feels strong enough to tell Hoseok his story, even if he's still not asking anything.
He's crying at the end, though, holding onto Yoongi despite the fact that he's still naked. It's not like he hasn't dressed and undressed the little doll many times, even made the clothes himself, but Yoongi still thinks this is a bit different.
"I'm so so sorry you had to go through this," Hoseok whispers after a few minutes, and Yoongi doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to.
How do you tell someone his kindness broke a centuries old curse? How do you tell him you don't know if you'll still be alive tomorrow?
Hoseok leaves the bed to get comfy clothes for him, now that he knows the naked, doll-like pretty boy isn't a criminal, and mumbles a goodnight with his hand on the light switch.
But Yoongi is done staying silent. Years and years of not voicing any thoughts or moving an inch does that to a person.
"Will you stay with me?"
Hoseok doesn't reply, presses down until the light turns off and walks back to his bed, pulling up the covers and staring into Yoongi's eyes, so deep that it's easy to read his mind.
They both fall asleep hoping the doll-like pretty boy doesn't turn back into one, hoping his life is lengthy and happy, as long as the sunshine smiles down on him.