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min yoongi can hardly be called wanting in this lifetime. he has everything he needs, everything he doesn’t need, everything he can ever imagine needing. he is fortunate, that he knows. he is the son of a duke, the very top of the precariously balanced hierarchy of social graces, and he is grateful for all that he has. he may have no worldly interest in his material comforts, but he thinks that from the arrogant luxury of never having gone a day without them. it is easy to believe the soul does not need what it already has.
and he has it all.
but still, yoongi never strays onto the dance floor. he lingers, in corners and crevices, his face half bathed in shadow as he stands and watches. it is a lavish sight. the ballroom is golden, a shimmering haze of light as a thousand sconces illuminate the room from all sides. there are endless tables decked out with every festive meat imaginable, the wood staggering under the weight of a wine cellar worth of bottles from every corner of the world. the christmas tree is the biggest yoongi has ever seen, towering right till the painted dome ceiling, its branches stretching toward the heavens. his father had made a little game of it, offered a prize for whomever could find him the biggest tree. he enjoyed that, making ordinary things into little games, said it kept the mystery going. but yoongi can’t help but feel the tree looks somewhat burdened, too many ornaments and hopes hanging from its woody arms, no one asking how much it can take.
the piano is singing, its melody light and sprightly, a happy waltz that is altogether too fast, too untouched by the disturbances of the real world. he listens as hundreds of feet clap down in unison, intricate skirts of the finest fabrics swishing in tidal waves of drunken ecstasy, laughter and shrill voices speaking vows never to be kept. but he does not watch them.
he watches him.
jeon jeongguk is not dancing either, but it is not from lack of offers or skill. he is speaking to lady winter, their heads bowed in confidence as they exchange secrets on the other end of the room. well, to be fair, it is the two of them and about three others, ones that yoongi does not bother registering for long enough to remember their names. jeongguk is listening to one of the men speak, his eyes soft and wide, quite like a doe as he nods along to the words. but yoongi sees the edge of his lip quirk, his nose scrunch as he takes a sip from his champagne flute, and he knows he is restless.
it is rather obvious if you are observant, but so few really are, especially in this day and age of endless pampering of the senses. he tugs at his sleeves and stamps his feet minutely, eyes darting about the room, hand coming up to loosen the lace at his throat, polite smile for the questions and compliments thrown his way. and then he is asked a question and he fumbles, cheeks blushing a bruising red, lips shaping to form an answer but then he stops, chest rising and falling in a rhythm yoongi can’t help but mimic.
jeongguk is hesitant in the boldest of ways.
the memory is etched into yoongi’s mind the way ocean shapes rock, he isn’t sure he would be the same person had it not happened. it was a silly incident to be honest, embarrassing even from some people’s points of view. but to yoongi, it is the single most important moment of his life.
he is nine, jeongguk five, and they are all upon horseback, gearing up for one of their first foxhunts. at least, they are all supposed to be on horseback, but jeon jeongguk is not. he is sitting on the ground, his breeches covered in mud and splatters of dirt, and he is crying. not a delicate, poised rain of tears that would befit his title as marquess but more a raging storm of fitful clouds that tremble down his cheeks. he is throwing a tantrum, one that has his father alternating between sweating apologies to yoongi’s father and sharp words of anger to his youngest son. but jeongguk does not get up, his fists clenched as he sits and shakes and yoongi just stares and stares and stares. jeongguk is crying because he doesn’t want to go on a foxhunt, he does not want to hurt any foxes and doesn’t want anyone else to hurt them either. and yoongi is speechless and ashamed. he has never thought he was allowed to, no that is too noble a sentiment, he has never bothered to think about whether or not he wants to hunt. it is simply something he is told to do and he does it. of course he is very young and has never actually shot at a fox, never shot at anything really, but he is still baffled, his stomach a queasy sea of torment. because jeongguk is alive, alive in a way he never thought he would be. alive in a way that he will spend the rest of his life seeking. looking back, he is certain this is the exact moment he fell in love with jeongguk.
and he watches him now, tall and slim with a kind of ethereal elegance to his every movement that spells beauty. to yoongi, at the very least. but he finds it hard to believe that anyone in the entire world would think that jeongguk is not beautiful.
jeongguk is art.
he is oil on canvas, azure blue drowning in verdigris. he is endless nights of tiresome work, fingers numb and aching from hours spent chasing perfection. he is the final masterpiece, the kind you do not display in your gallery but rather keep away from prying eyes all to yourself. yoongi has never been wanting but he wants jeon jeongguk. no, that is too crude, too base to explain how he feels. yoongi loves jeongguk, that is evident, spelled out by the beating of his erratic heart. but it is more than that.
yoongi is incomplete without jeongguk. without him he is simply half, less than actually, in constant pursuit of something, someone, more. and that more is jeongguk.
and he knows that he should not want, knows that it is forbidden. they are two men after all, yoongi higher in station, it would be the biggest scandal since kim namjoon declared himself an atheist- but it is christmas, nearly so anyway. and the room is swimming before his eyes, the air tasting like apple spiced rum and he thinks maybe he deserves a miracle as well. it wouldn’t be so far-fetched, now would it?
he has, after all, known love in every spirit of his liquor cabinet with jeongguk.
he has known it sudden, like the unexpected, heady rush of vodka, loosening his lips and his heart as he babbles to jeongguk on the philosophies of what love really means. he is sixteen, jeongguk twelve listening intently to the intricate web that yoongi is weaving, and he wants nothing more than to reach out and hold jeongguk’s hand. he doesn’t. not then.
he has known it like the creeping sleep of brandy, heavy on his eyes and tongue as he struggles to stay awake, skin warm and heart warmer, jeongguk regaling him with tales of his adventures in paris. they are unconsciously close, legs huddled under the same blanket, fire roaring in the little log cabin they have been assigned for the prince’s shooting party. it is the first and last one yoongi is allowed to stay with jeongguk for, his father deeming he must be housed alone as fits his station.
it is the mulled wine that makes him say yes as jeongguk pulls him to his feet, insisting it is simply ridiculous a man of yoongi’s birth allows himself to be such a hesitant dancer, that they must practice till he has the greatest two-step in the county. he learns little, his mind numb to everything but the feel of his hand on jeongguk’s waist, their fingers intertwined, skin grazing skin.
and it is like bourbon, instantly intoxicating and singeing his soul and they are out in the garden on yoongi’s twenty-second birthday. jeongguk is looking at him with those star-hung eyes and yoongi is not in his senses. so he asks for the only present he wants – a kiss. jeongguk looks baffled for a moment before he starts to laugh, not unkind but bewildered and full of mystery. he is suddenly pulling yoongi close and it is the lightest brushing of lips, clumsy and unpractised but yoongi remembers it till this day. remembers it like the touch of snow, too pure, too magical.
and then there are messier memories too, wild, untamed ones. love like whiskey, too seductive to resist, so dense yoongi drowns in it, not bothering to struggle for air. and jeongguk is there too and there are stolen moments, soft touches, forbidden glances and memories that make yoongi’s skin burn with something other than intoxication.
it is enough, really. he would never ask anything of jeongguk, he is content in how things are, in ever having been anything to him. but he watches him and he can’t help but long to be close, closer and closer still. he longs to be the lace bunched at his throat, having the privilege to lay over his neck, to caress the smooth skin and listen to the pulse beating so vividly underneath. he longs to be the chain at his waist, wrapping him tight and secure, holding him even through his darkest moments. he longs for so much, but that’s all it is, longing.
but it is christmas. and isn’t this the one day miracles are allowed?
park jimin has joined jeongguk’s little party across the floor, his light presence instantly brightening the gathering as he quips in with one of his quick-witted remarks, sparking laughter through the group. he hears it so clearly, that hidden melody in jeongguk’s voice that sings to him like a siren’s call and he can’t help but laugh to himself, eyes shutting as he shakes his head. his father had warned him, always love with an arm’s distance, close enough to lean on them in times of need but far enough to not get hurt when falling out. boy, has yoongi messed that up. he is neither close nor far, he is intertwined, inseparable.
with a sardonic huff he opens his eyes
and freezes.
jeongguk is looking straight at him, across the dance floor, through the hundred spinning figures, the remnants of laughter still lingering on his lips. he falters when yoongi looks back but it no longer matters. the room begins to peel away, big painted flakes of jewelled pigment dissolving into the frosted air and it’s just them, yoongi and jeongguk, and the imperfect night. they stand across from one another, a barren land of hopeless losses stretching out between them, every word they’ve ever said to each other rationalizing why not why not why not never why. because the why is so simple.
love, at the end of everything, is so simple.
jeongguk turns abruptly, excusing himself. he bows, the little ponytail of his gathered hair bobbing as he makes apologies and leaves. yoongi’s throat tightens, the familiar distaste of having self-servingly done the wrong thing, of having jeopardized something he has no business interfering with in the first place. he finishes his drink, swallowing hard to keep any sorrow at bay and turns to find his friends.
he catches sight of jeongguk only to realize he isn’t leaving, he is in fact making his way deeper into the crowded room, heading straight for the french doors leading to one of the balconies. for just a moment he turns, gaze instantly finding yoongi’s, the briefest ghost of a smile flitting across his face and then he is fading out of reach again.
yoongi may not believe in miracles, but he can recognize a blatant sign when he is given one. he puts his empty glass down and follows, eyes never leaving the blazing trail he has walked, feet neither hasty nor hesitant.
“ah, lord min,” jung hoseok is standing in a conspiratorial circle with kim namjoon and kim seokjin, their eyes sparkling with a few too many turns around the dance floor, “will we be hearing you on the piano tonight?”
“not yet, my friend,” yoongi murmurs, polite distraction in his actions as he bows his head trying to keep his eyes on where jeongguk had been moments ago, “maybe later.”
he continues his journey, making sure to seem careless in his movements, unintended almost, as he slowly but surely makes his way. when he reaches the door to the balcony, he takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs as though he is about to plunge himself underwater-
and pushes the handle down.
he is leaning against the wrought-iron railing looking out across the great lake, the light scattering around him in moondust and promises, settling in his hair and on his clothes. the wind whistles by quietly, unwilling to interrupt but letting them know she’s there just in case they are in need of privacy. yoongi shuts the door gently behind him, the drapes on the other side obscuring them from the view of the party-goers, the small barrier muffling the deafening roar into a quiet, musical lull. his shoulder brushes the wreathed creeper decorating the archway, a pair of bells ringing softly at the touch.
“my lord,” jeongguk says. he speaks without turning, no doubt as to whom the entrant is, no doubt that it is yoongi.
“jeongguk,” yoongi clears his throat, walking up to stand next to him, gazing out at the large expanse of his father’s estate.
“the ballroom looks beautiful,” jeongguk smiles secretively, as though he were talking about something else entirely, the lake reflecting in his eyes as he finally turns to look at yoongi, “you’ve done well with it.”
yoongi shrugs, “had very little to do with me. all of this,” he hesitates, glancing back over his lands and feeling the knot in his stomach grow bigger, “has very little to do with me.”
jeongguk chuckles, shaking his head, “you’re always so dramatic,” he tilts his head to the side, studying yoongi carefully, “you were watching me.”
“yes,” yoongi has never been a good liar, he doesn’t even try anymore, “forgive me.”
“never,” there is neither sarcasm nor cruelty in his tone, a quiet smile quivering over his lips, “how dare you look at me like that, min yoongi.”
“like what?” yoongi can’t keep the bemusement out of his voice, heart clenching as jeongguk leans a fraction more into his space.
“like you would climb up the stars and bring me the moon if i asked,” his eyes are watchful and indulgent as he speaks, half-lidded with the fatigue of the night.
“you need only ask,” yoongi replies simply, every muscle in his body keening to reach out, to hold.
“tease,” jeongguk smiles, though the dusting on his cheeks gives him away as he tries to hide his smile in his hands, eyes settling anywhere but on yoongi.
“not at all.”
“a proper scoundrel then.”
“not that either.”
“ah yoongi,” jeongguk sighs, reaching out a hand to dust off his shoulders, feather-light and barely there, “whatever am i to do with you.”
love me.
“dance with me,” yoongi says instead, hand capturing jeongguk’s stray fingers and lifting them to his mouth for a gentle kiss. it is dangerous, reckless even, but he doesn’t care.
jeongguk laughs, curtsying in response to yoongi’s gesture and then turning back to the lake, “you hate to dance,” he brushes off, though the slight flush to his voice is evident, he rambles to change the topic, “any grand resolution this year, my lord?”
“i’ve told you not to call me that,” yoongi follows his eye-line back into the infinite grounds, letting his gaze fall on the statue of apollo and daphne in the centre of the western courtyard. it is dark but he has grown up with that statue, knows every angle, every plane. when he was little his heart used to break for daphne, the cruelty of the hunt rendering him raw. but with each passing year he thinks he understands apollo better, the despicable, hateful decline into the madness of love.
“i like it, though,” jeongguk whispers, yoongi turning to look at him, their faces suddenly far too close.
“like what?”
“like calling you that,” jeongguk blinks, his long lashes ghosting over his cheeks, “so, any resolutions.”
“ah, well, all the usual, greater health, harder work,” jeongguk nods along as he recites, “dedication to my arts, compassion, and honesty i suppose.”
“honesty?” jeongguk looks unconvinced, “you’re always honest.”
yoongi allows himself a dry chuckle, if only you knew, “not as much as i’d like.”
“well you are far above us mere mortals already,” jeongguk stretches like cat, shoulder bumping into yoongi’s playfully, “try not to make yourself too perfect.”
“i’ll try,” yoongi smiles, “if you insist.”
he turns, cupping yoongi’s face between freezing hands for a brief second, eyes dark with fond adoration, “i think, my lord, it is soon to snow, we should return inside before i am accused of letting the duke himself catch his death in this cold.”
he sweeps past yoongi, heading towards the door and suddenly yoongi is losing time all over again. it is slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass and jeongguk is fading further and further away and if he lets him go this one time he’ll be letting him go forever.
“wait,” and before he fully registers what he is doing he is holding out a hand, the tips of his fingers blue like his heart, “dance with me.”
jeongguk stops, and for a moment he just stands there. when he turns all the laughter is gone from his face, his eyes wide lips parted, as though he hears the desperation thrumming through yoongi’s veins, as though he knows his life hangs in the balance of this answer.
“yoongi-“
“please,” yoongi sounds hoarse as he forces the word past his lips, but he holds fast anyway. the first flakes of snow have started descending from the sky and he doesn’t flinch away as they circle him, lazily settling on his skin, their frozen touch somehow comforting in this moment.
jeongguk had opened the door just a sliver and they now hear the music loud and clear. the song has ended and a new dance is to begin.
(“good evening everyone, my name is kim taehyung and i will be singing you a little melody i put together called snow flower, i hope it brings you some warmth on this cold winter night.”)
it is now or never.
jeongguk closes the distance between them, three steps that seem like three thousand and then he is right there, snowflakes in his lashes and his hair and his heart and he is alive. and he makes yoongi seem alive too.
yoongi takes jeongguk’s left hand, his other coming to rest on his waist, jeongguk still staring at him with that curious mixture of incredulity and wonder. yoongi sways him gently, no particular form to his movements, just the intimacy of two bodies close enough but not close enough. they move in measured steps, becoming more fluid and graceful as they grow attune to one another, yoongi getting emboldened by the moment as he leads jeongguk through a series of more complicated steps. jeongguk follows, a soft smile slowly lifting up the sides of his mouth, laughing as yoongi attempts a particularly dramatic spin and almost drops him. they wind around one another in twists and turns unravelling all the knots in yoongi’s mind and his chest until they are no longer dancing at all, simply holding one another close and swaying to the music.
one song has bled into another and another and another and one more for good luck and it is now snowing thick and heavy but yoongi doesn’t care. his cheek is pressed to jeongguk’s, both arms linked around his waist and christmas eve is being counted down to christmas inside but neither of them makes a move to return to the ballroom. the music has stopped for the celebrations but jeongguk hums the chorus of the last song to keep them going, his eyes shut, hands meeting over yoongi’s shoulders, lost in a little world of his own. and they will stay like this until they are either found or the night fades into morning and then they will part and act as though this never happened till the next time they find a stolen hour to live their slightly altered, beautiful reality.
but yoongi has promised to be honest. and he does not want to keep living in hope of a few forbidden moments of unspoken desire. so he pulls away, his breath frosting in the air as he sighs in resignation.
jeongguk stops, blinking open his eyes to look inquiringly at yoongi, white flakes dripping down his face like scattered diamonds.
“are you cold?”
“no,” yoongi reaches out and takes both his hands in his.
“tired?”
“no.”
jeongguk tilts his head unsure, glancing over his shoulder into the sparkling warmth of the ballroom and then back at yoongi.
“i have something i need to tell you,” yoongi says, his gaze flitting to the door as well, threatening to burst open at any moment to let in another giggling, punch-drunk couple, but he refuses to be hurried, refuses to be daunted.
“tell,” jeongguk jostles their connected hands, the slightest smile breaking the seriousness of his expression.
“well see,” yoongi takes a deep breath, “it’s just- look i-i-, jeon jeongguk,” he starts again, “it is december.”
“astute,” jeongguk says slowly, “how did you figure that out?”
“it is december,” yoongi ignores him and continues, “and the world has frozen over, the lake has turned to glass and the trees bear no leaves and it’s all winter here, even by the hearth it’s still winter, but for me it’s like that all the time. not just december.”
he pulls jeongguk closer, can hear the other’s heart beating from how close they stand, can hear the hurried breaths he is drawing.
“i am frozen over, head and heart and mind. i have never known anything but december and i’m okay with that, i am,” their foreheads are pressed together now, their breaths intermingling between them, “but you jeon jeongguk, you are the first of may. you are beltane and spring and the smell of sweet pea in the early morning and the kiss of warmth even during the night. you are warm hands and warm touches and warm thoughts and you thaw me, jeongguk, you make me as i could never imagine myself,” yoongi is struggling for breath as he speaks, chest tightening and heart slamming so hard he’s sure he is going to die but he won’t go before saying what he has to, not yet, “and i love you.”
for a moment jeongguk doesn’t move, simply stands there with the night sky swimming in his infinite eyes and then yoongi realizes he is blinking away tears. he has said too much, felt too much and now he is losing the best part of his life. because it was never supposed to mean this much, it was never supposed to be more than some school boy experimentation between friends but he has lived lies for too long. and now this is him, min yoongi, as he should be.
jeongguk lets out a little huff of breath, halfway between a sob and a laugh, his face tilting skyward to excuse his tears, “you really are so dramatic. are you naïve enough to think i don’t love you too?” he laughs for good this time, shaking his head in disbelief, “i’ve been so close to giving up, yoongi, but i never can, i never could. everytime, everyday, i wake up praying that this time, this time, you will save me, and now you have,” he’s breathing shallow and yoongi isn’t sure if he is dreaming or waking, “min yoongi,” his cold fingers are back around yoongi’s cheeks, he is so close yoongi can see his own face reflected in jeongguk’s eyes, “i have loved you since before i knew the meaning of the word love.”
when they kiss it is soft, gentler than ever before, full of longing and something inexplicably more. jeongguk wraps himself tightly around yoongi, a cat in front of the fire as he whispers words of nothing into yoongi’s skin. yoongi tangles a hand in his hair, deepening the kiss, pulling him closer than possible, tasting the frost on his lips and drinking him in and in and in.
and he doesn’t let his mind wander, doesn’t let himself think about what is to come, about what happens to men of their country who go down the devil’s path because frankly it doesn’t matter. nothing else does. just jeon jeongguk with his star-hung eyes and his moonlit skin.
jeongguk peppers yoongi’s face with kisses, getting his nose twice and laughing when yoongi scrunches it in response. he nips at yoongi’s lower lip playfully, chasing the whiskey on his tongue before pulling away to look at him.
“merry christmas, min yoongi,” he whispers.
“merry christmas,” yoongi can’t quite keep the smile off his face as he raises both of jeongguk’s hands to his lips, “my little prince.”
they slip away from the party, artful apologies and separate doors leading them out to the open pavilion, yoongi sprinting to the covered walkway where they agreed to meet. and then there are fingers intertwined with his, a head on his shoulder and whispered giggles as they lose themselves in the night. they say they are going for a walk but yoongi takes an inexcusable number of stops to push jeongguk against stone archways and kiss him numb.
the sky changes from a patient midnight to a more forgiving cyan and jeongguk refuses to walk on, perching himself on a snow covered garden stairway and pulling yoongi down next to him. they sit side by side watching the sun rise on a christmas where they are more themselves than they have ever been before. jeongguk is sniffling, his nose red and cheeks pink from the cold as he smiles quietly to himself.
“you’re my best friend, you know,” he says softly.
“i know,” yoongi replies, pulling off his coat to drape it over jeongguk’s shoulders, “you’re mine too.”
“i think god created my soul as answer to yours,” jeongguk continues, cheeks now burning with embarrassment, aware of how absurd the words he is saying are but saying them nonetheless, “so that you would never be lonely.”
the sun is climbing into the eastern sky and yoongi has to bite back the smile that threatens to break his face in two, “well it worked,” yoongi pulls him close to plant a kiss on his head, “i have never been lonely since i met you.”