Archive of Our Own ^beta

Namjoon’s hands are mesmerizing.

This isn’t new information. Yoongi’s been well aware that Namjoon has nice hands since they first met. They weren’t the first thing Yoongi noticed about him — Namjoon is very tall, after all — but they were a close second. Even when Namjoon was using them to tap his pen obnoxiously against his desk in the close confines of their dorm room, or fiddle with loud, crinkly snack packages while Yoongi was trying to sleep, Yoongi had been forced to admit it. They’re big, with long, capable-looking fingers (oh, how looks can be deceiving!) and are backed by an intricately drawn map of tendons and veins. In a purely academic sense they are nice hands, and maybe, maybe, if Yoongi knew them only in an academic sense he’d be able to look away.

The problem is, Yoongi doesn’t only know them in an academic sense. Gone are the days where he needed to cobble together memories of Namjoon leading him by the wrist, or clapping a hand on his shoulder, or ruffling his hair, to extrapolate what it might feel like to have Namjoon brush his thumb over Yoongi’s knuckles, or trace the line of his collar bone, or rest his hand on Yoongi’s hip.

Now Yoongi knows what it feels like, so while his eyes might be watching Namjoon slowly, carefully, flip through row after row of vinyl albums, all Yoongi can think about is the way those same fingers had walked slowly, carefully, up the side of Yoongi’s ribs earlier that morning. It sends a shiver down his spine and makes his breath hitch in his chest. There are few things he likes as much as the feeling of Namjoon’s hands on his skin, unless maybe it’s Namjoon’s lips on him instead.

A hot flush blazes to life in Yoongi’s chest at the thought, rushing up his neck and out to the tips of his tingling fingers so fast it startles him. He forces himself to look away from Namjoon and back at his own hands, paused in the act of flipping through his own set of albums. He shouldn’t be thinking about things like that in public, especially not when there are other people around. It’s not like he’ll be able to do anything about it until they’re back in the privacy of one of their apartments. There’s nothing to be gained by remembering how a scant few hours ago Namjoon was—

“Can I help you with anything?”

Yoongi jumps, whirling to face the owner of the mild, indifferent voice. If he thought his blush was bad before he was wrong. That felt like the pleasant warmth of sunlight on his face. Now it feels like the time he had a second degree sunburn. In two more seconds he’s going to start sweating. He takes a split second to be grateful that human beings aren’t psychic (with the possible exception of the Jimin-Taehyung bond) and hopes, with all his heart, that his Namjoon-related thoughts aren’t written too clearly on his face.

“Just browsing!” he says. His voice sounds strangled to his own ears. “All good!”

Faint creases appear between the store clerk’s eyebrows, spoiling her impression of indifference. The corners of her mouth turn down. “Are you sure?” She’s managed to pack a lot of skepticism into the subtext of her words, and there’s something distrustful about her stare. Yoongi can feel himself starting to sweat under the scrutiny. Time to make his escape.

“Yes! Everything’s fine,” he tells her, his voice sounding less strangled. He stoops to pick up the bags of already-purchased albums (all Namjoon’s, but if Namjoon was in charge of remembering they’d already have been long lost) stored safely upright between his feet. “I’m just going to—”

He leaves the sentence hanging, nodding once at the store clerk before he starts shuffling toward Namjoon as fast as the blister on his heel will let him. Hopefully she won’t try to follow.

The blister, courtesy of his fashionable-but-not-comfortable shoes, is only one of the prices that Yoongi is paying for his efforts to look nice — there’s also the periodic itch of his contacts, and the irritation from the inseam on his skinny jeans, and the ache of his shoulder under the weight of his lovely but currently damp (read: heavy) wool coat. In a few minutes he’ll start overheating too, even though Yoongi unbuttoned the coat as soon as they’d stepped out of the cool April drizzle and into the warmth of the store. Yoongi can’t say he’s looking forward to it.

Still, he doesn’t regret his choices. The blister, the ache, and the imminent discomfort are more than made up for by the bright, vicious joy that fills him every time he catches Namjoon staring with that particular stunned expression on his face. It’s happened a lot since they left Namjoon’s apartment. Yoongi’s having to work not to appear too smug about it.

Namjoon isn’t staring now, unfortunately. Namjoon is focused on the albums in front of him, lower lip caught between his teeth as he flips slowly, carefully, through them. He makes an unfairly attractive picture in his long, oversized brown coat, lighter baggy pants, and work boots. No one should be able to wear that much shapeless clothing and look like a model. It’s infuriating. Yoongi would hate him for it, if he didn’t love him so much.

Though the temptation is strong, Yoongi doesn’t allow himself to linger and admire the view. Admiring the view is exactly what he shouldn’t do right now, not unless he wants to truly frustrate, or maybe embarrass, himself. Far safer to slide himself in beside Namjoon, setting the bags he’s carrying back between his feet, and get back to browsing now that he’s left the store clerk behind.

He’s flipped through at least ten albums before he realizes he’s registered neither the titles nor the album art. Shaking his head at himself, he lets out a short laugh and goes back to the beginning.

The laugh is apparently what finally clues Namjoon in to his presence. “Oh, hyung!” Namjoon is already smiling at him, dimples on full display, when Yoongi looks over. “I wondered where you got to!”

“Where I’d got to?” asks Yoongi with a wry grin. Yoongi isn’t the one who’s been acting like a kid let loose in a candy store — eyes bigger than his stomach/wallet, and no display or single genre holding his attention for more than a minute or two before he’s off to see what else the store has to offer. “You’re the one that should be on one of those leashes they get for kids these days. I look away for two seconds and you’re off somewhere else.”

Namjoon chuckles and ducks his head. The tips of his ears have gone pink, and his smile has turned bashful. “At least record stores don’t have bookshelves?”

It should be illegal for a grown man to be so cute, Yoongi thinks. It’s doing terrible, terrible, things to his heart. “That’s true,” he agrees, fighting against the impulse to follow Namjoon’s growing blush with his finger. “Much harder to lose you when you’re so much taller than the tables.” Namjoon has a knack for finding bookstores with floor-to-ceiling shelves that are laid out like mazes. Yoongi’s had to text him on more than one occasion to find him again after getting separated.

“I think what you mean is that you’re tall enough to see over the tables,” Namjoon laughs, using his hand first to indicate the height of the tables laden with records, then to ruffle Yoongi’s hair. Yoongi doesn’t even pretend to glower at him, enjoying the feeling of Namjoon’s fingers skating along his scalp. He even lets himself lean into the touch, and Namjoon must notice because barely a breath later he’s playing with Yoongi’s hair instead of ruffling it. Yoongi sighs happily, his eyes slipping closed as his head tips toward Namjoon’s shoulder, and— he remembers where they are. He remembers the helpful store clerk. He’d rather not have an audience of strangers for this.

Groaning, he pulls himself upright and out of range of any potential accidental nuzzling of Namjoon’s shoulder. It makes Namjoon chuckle, and although Namjoon doesn’t actually say anything out loud Yoongi can feel that he’s being silently teased. “Can it, Joon-ah.”

“But I didn’t say anything!” Namjoon protests, unable to hide his grin under false indignation.

He looks so good, even if he is laughing at Yoong, that Yoongi has to swallow before he can say, “And you better keep it that way.” The words still come out more rasp than anything else, a by-product of the sudden desert in Yoongi’s throat.

Namjoon shakes his head, smile still on his lips, dimples still deep in his cheeks, and turns back to the albums in front of him. “Anything you say, hyung.”

The acquiescence seems too easy. Yoongi squints at Namjoon’s profile, trying to suss out whether Namjoon has really gone back to what he was doing, or if he’s simply lying in wait, ready to continue the verbal sparring as soon as Yoongi lets his guard down.

And if that sounds like a flimsy excuse to keep staring at Namjoon, well… Namjoon has a good profile. Yoongi won’t pass up the opportunity to admire it.

Only after a full five seconds pass with no move from Namjoon (except to suck his lower lip between his teeth again) does Yoongi finally force himself to turn back to the albums in front of him. If he didn’t he would risk doing something impulsive and undignified and anyways, they are supposed to be browsing.

It takes a few albums before Yoongi starts to register the titles, but when he does he recoils so hard in dismay he rocks back on his heels (ow. He still has a blister). Surely Namjoon isn’t— he couldn’t be—

Yoongi looks up, hoping against hope there’s some kind of fluke. No, no, now that he’s looking for it it’s easy to spot the sign announcing what section he’s in, one he completely missed in his hurry to escape the helpful store clerk.

“Avant Garde?” he hisses, glaring at Namjoon. “You tricked me into browsing the Avant Garde section?”

“You’re the one who came and found me,” Namjoon tells him mildly, not looking. “It’s not like I called you over to see—” He picks up the next album in front of him, flipping it over so he can read the back of the jacket, “Dizzying combinations of funk and free-jazz experimentalism, the transitory turns of which will, if you let them, bring you safely to your destination.” His tone shifts from put-on haughtiness to something genuinely considering. “Huh. That actually sounds interesting. Oh, don’t look at me like that hyung,” he adds, catching sight of Yoongi’s expression. “Not all of us have your pedestrian tastes.”

Yoongi shuts his mouth, which had fallen open in either incredulity or horror at the description. They’ve had the argument about artistic tastes, if it can even be called an argument anymore, countless times. They know where they stand, and accept that nothing they say will convince the other of exactly how wrong they are, so it’s no longer about changing each other’s minds.

It’s about making each other laugh.

Yoongi affects his most offended expression. “It’s pedestrian now to prefer sounds that are actually pleasant to listen to? To want there to be at least some semblance of a melody?”

“Very plebeian of you,” Namjoon sniffs, dismissing Yoongi’s words with a casual flick of his wrist. “The truly cultured have ascended beyond the need for such things.”

Yoongi can’t help but admire Namjoon’s control. His face is completely serious through the whole sentence. “And I suppose you’re truly cultured then?”

“Indeed.”

Yoongi keeps his expression carefully blank as he starts to reach for the bags of records, at least half of which are pop records, at his feet. “If that’s the case, then why did you buy—”

“The other stores didn’t have an Avant Garde section and I still wanted to support local businesses!” The words practically tumble out of Namjoon’s mouth in his rush to say them, but he still can’t quite finish his sentence before he loses the battle against his smile. “Aaah…”

“Better luck next time,” Yoongi laughs, reaching up to pat Namjoon’s cheek. It’s smooth under his hand, and pink along the tops of his cheekbones. Namjoon closes his eyes in what Yoongi believes to be resignation until, with only the slightest shift in the angle of his head, Namjoon is brushing a feather-light kiss against the centre of Yoongi’s palm.

The bottom drops out of Yoongi’s stomach while what feels like every nerve ending in his hand is set aflame. He should have known better than to give Namjoon an opening, to let Namjoon’s closed eyes lull him into a false sense of security. He has to take a sharp, steadying breath before he says, “Come find me when you remember what actual music sounds like, okay?”

He’s proud of how completely normal and unaffected his voice sounds, but from the way Namjoon is smirking Yoongi knows he hasn’t been fooled. “Okay.”

Yoongi nods hurries off, the fire from his hand slowly working its way up his arm, across his chest, and into the rest of his body. He’s definitely starting to overheat. At least it distracts from the pain of his blister.

Having successfully left the Avant Garde section behind (why anyone would want to spend good money on Avant Garde albums is beyond Yoongi) he scans the store to see if there’s anything in particular that catches his interest. There’s some jazz in the far corner, but with the words free-jazz experimentalism still ringing in his ears he finds himself shying away from it. The trot music section is promising, the traditional music even more so, but in the end it isn’t really a surprise when his feet lead him over to hip hop.

The whole reason they’re out of bed and traipsing around the used record stores of Seoul on a dreary April morning is Namjoon’s new record player. He’s wanted one for almost as long as Yoongi can remember, and, after months of saving (his department store job didn’t exactly pay well, he has other expenses to cover, and he refused Yoongi’s offer to buy it as a gift), and research, and scouring of second-hand listings, he’d finally found one. They’d set it up together on Wednesday evening, and it was only when Yoongi suggested they test it that Namjoon realized that, in his determined effort not to jinx things by getting too far ahead of himself, he had no records to play.

They’re fixing that now, but with three-maybe-four more stores to visit and a strict budget to work within Namjoon is spending almost as much time whittling down his stack of potential purchases as he is building the stack in the first place. Yoongi’d considered offering to buy the discarded records as presents at the time (what’s the point of working for a well-paying firm if he can’t buy gifts for the people he loves?), but with Namjoon in one of his I might be a year out of school and not be a published author and not have the high-paying job my parents want for me but at the very least I can be self-sufficient moods he’d thought better of it. Namjoon could still get a bit defensive about the disparity in their salaries, and Yoongi didn’t want to accidentally spoil their otherwise perfect (mostly perfect, he amends, as his blister once again asserts itself) outing.

Instead he’s been keeping track of the albums Namjoon was most reluctant to part with, intending to loop back and pick them up when they parted as already planned after a late lunch. It would be nice if he could find the albums here instead, not only to save himself time but also because he could get home, and out of his coat and shoes, that much faster.

On arriving at the hip hop section he quickly realizes that his plan will be much more difficult to execute than originally anticipated. Unlike the first two stores they’ve visited, this one is far less organized. The albums are definitely sorted by genre, but now that Yoongi is looking for specific albums he’s loathe to discover that within the genre the albums don’t seem to have much order at all. They aren’t even split out by language, or country of origin of the artists, let alone alphabetically. If he wants to have any hope at all of finding what he’s looking for the best option is going to be making his way slowly and methodically through the whole section.

That, or ask the store clerk.

Grimly, Yoongi sets to work.

He’s half-way through the section, having found two albums that he knows Namjoon had to leave behind, when the press of an arm circling his waist makes him jump. He turns to find— Namjoon, of course, grinning at how thoroughly he managed to startle Yoongi and probably feeling very good about the hand he’s snuck inside Yoongi’s coat to rest on Yoongi’s hip.

“Brat,” Yoongi tells him, heart hammering in his chest.

“I know.” Namjoon is unrepentant. “But you can’t blame me, can you? Presented with such an unsuspecting and attractive target you’d’ve done the same.”

“I had the chance and I didn’t,” Yoongi points out, but he doesn’t stop himself leaning a bit until his shoulder is nestled against Namjoon’s chest. “I let you keep looking through your pretentious albums uninterrupted and undisturbed—”

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” Namjoon asks, his voice low, his breath warm. “All I’m doing is standing here.”

“With your arm around my waist and your mouth very close to my ear.”

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.” He’s smiling a cocksure smile, Yoongi can tell without looking, and his fingers have started playing with the hem of Yoongi’s soft, green sweater. Well, Namjoon’s sweater really, but Yoongi is the one wearing it this time. “Imagine that.”

For all that he’s acting cocksure though there’s a slight hesitation in his voice, and Yoongi knows, without a doubt, that if he asked Namjoon to move he would. Yoongi doesn’t want Namjoon to move. The hip hop section is tucked away from the rest of the store, and he likes having Namjoon close even if between Namjoon and his coat he’s uncomfortably warm.

“Imagine that,” he agrees.

Namjoon hums happily, leaning forward so he can peer over Yoongi’s shoulder at the latest album Yoongi has flipped to. “Finding anything good?”

The two albums Yoongi’s already set aside are far enough away that he thinks he’ll be able to keep his surprise a surprise as long as he plays it cool. He doesn’t even glance in their direction as he says, “It’s all better than what you’ve got.” He can see at least two albums poking out from the other side of Namjoon’s body. “Anything is better than Avant Garde music.”

“That’s not fair, hyung.”

“Children crying sounds better than Avant Garde music.”

Namjoon laughs, very clearly in spite of himself. “Really?”

“Really.”

“A ringing endorsement if ever I heard one.” He falls silent after that, content to watch Yoongi finish the set of albums in front of him, then shuffling with Yoongi to the next without so much as moving his hand off Yoongi’s hip. His fingers haven’t yet quested under Yoongi’s shirts to find his skin, but Yoongi supposes that’s only a matter of time.

The anticipation is killing him.

“Want to head out when you’re done?”

Yoongi actually stops what he’s doing so he can stare at Namjoon. “You don’t want to give things a look?” Namjoon had spent most of his time in the hip hop sections in the last two stores. It’s surprising he doesn’t want to now.

“Nah,” Namjoon says, resting his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder. “If you’re not finding anything you really like I probably won’t either, and what with this sale they’re apparently having next weekend it seems silly to buy anything today unless it’s something I really, really want.”

Yoongi feels himself tense, but with the layers of clothes and the various distractions provided by the store there’s a chance Namjoon won’t notice. He keeps his voice neutral as he asks, “Next weekend?”

It’s not quite good enough. Either the change in his posture or something in his tone is enough for Namjoon to draw back far enough he can look at Yoongi properly. “Yeah?” he asks, his confusion clear in voice and expression. “Why?”

The thing is, Namjoon has never been especially good at remembering dates. He’s good at remembering a lot of things, like the math he learned in highschool and hasn’t touched since, or Yoongi’s favourite brand of shampoo, or the name of every dog in his neighbourhood, but he’s bad at dates. Yoongi knows this about Namjoon, knows how bad he feels whenever he forgets one, and yet…

It still stings that Namjoon forgot, even temporarily, their hundred day anniversary.

It stings, and Yoongi has to find a way to answer Namjoon’s question without somehow making things worse. There’s no graceful way to sidestep it— Namjoon will see right through any attempts at evasion, and only worry more about what might have made Yoongi react as he did as a result — but Yoongi’ll be damned if he knows what to say.

That won’t stop him from trying. “Next weekend—” No, that’s not right. “I thought we were—” He clicks his tongue and tries again. “I mean, next weekend is—”

Namjoon’s expression goes from confused to something best described as a cross between horrified embarrassment and bashful excitement. His smile is bright but brittle, and his hand now, now resting in the middle of Yoongi’s back, goes stiff. “Oh! Oh, that’s right, our— that’s next weekend, isn’t it.”

“It is,” Yoongi says, laughing a bit in the hope that it might ease some of the tension so clearly humming through both of them. “Got here fast, eh?”

“Definitely.” Even Namjoon’s words feel wrong, clipped and curt in the way he gets when he’s embarrassed, or upset with himself. “I’m— I’m sorry, hyung. I didn’t realize.”

“I know,” Yoongi sighs, wishing Namjoon’s hand was somewhere he could reach instead of on his back.

“I just—”

“I know Namjoon,” Yoongi says, turning to face him. Namjoon isn’t looking at him, and he’s clearly fighting a frown. Namjoon shouldn’t be frowning when they’re finally out shopping for the records he’s been dreaming of for months.“It’s okay, I—”

“It’s not okay,” Namjoon says, his frown lines deepening as he winces. “I forgot, and I’m sorry, and—” He cuts himself off after a glance at Yoongi’s expression. His eyes are wide enough Yoongi can see his impulse to apologize for apologizing too much lurking behind them. His mouth hangs open for a few seconds before he groans the words, “Ah, hyung,” and turns until his forehead rests against Yoongi’s shoulder.

Yoongi lets out a wry chuckle. “I know, Joon-ah.” He reaches up to run his fingers through Namjoon’s hair in what he hopes is a soothing way. Namjoon doesn’t pull away, so maybe it’s working? He has to believe that it is. He can’t think of what else to do.

A few seconds pass before Namjoon speaks in a hesitant, strangely quiet voice. “Did we— ah, we never did decide what we wanted to do, did we? I’m— I really thought there was more time.”

Yoongi can hear the apology Namjoon didn’t quite voice, and manages to swallow the instinctive impulse to say it’s okay a second time. Although meant to reassure, the words clearly have the opposite effect. He decides to try a different tact. “There’s still lots of time to choose.”

Lots of time is being generous. There’d been lots of time the first time the subject of their anniversary came up, Jimin and Taehyung doing the math during a night out, then making a big show at congratulating Namjoon and Yoongi on their impending milestone. What’re your plans? they’d demanded, eyes bright with enthusiasm and alcohol, smiles big and sharp. Probably something big and sappy, hey? Since you’re soulmates, like us?

Yoongi’d found himself too stunned by their evident interest to react, but Namjoon had blushed and stared hard at his empty beer glass, the smile on his lips not quite reaching the wistful look in his eyes as he stammered out something about maybe? We haven’t really talked about it yet.

His answer made Jimin and Taehyung coo about blushing brides and young love, and made something twist in Yoongi’s chest. He’d known their anniversary was coming up (he was much better at dates than Namjoon after all) but he’d figured they’d do something low-key and easy, in line with the rest of their relationship. It should’ve occurred to him that Namjoon, hopelessly romantic Namjoon, might wish for something bigger and sappier. He should’ve known that for himself, without needing Jimin and Taehyung’s questions to prompt him.

He had time to fix it though, and as he downed the last of his drink he’d vowed Namjoon would have the biggest, most romantic-est (Totally a word Yoongi decided, after careful contemplation of his now-empty glass) anniversary ever. Namjoon deserved it. Yoongi was going to make it happen.

The problem was that Yoongi couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the biggest, most romantic-est anniversary would look like. He was good enough at coming up with ideas for dates (aka the things he’d enjoyed doing with Namjoon before they started holding hands and kissing, now with the bonus of getting to hold his hand and kiss him) but for some reason when he tried to think of romantic things to do he brain seemed to be full of static.

He and Namjoon ate dinner together all the time. They already went to interesting museum exhibits or art galleries. They’d been on plenty of walks. There was no way Namjoon would feel properly romanced if Yoongi couldn’t come up with something different, something better, but even Yoongi’s careful attempts at fishing for ideas proved fruitless. Namjoon was always interested and engaged in the conversation yet somehow flat, with apparently no preference between the ideas they talked over. How could Yoongi hope to get it right, to make it special, if every conversation seemed to be nine rounds of very careful I don’t know, what do you want to do?

It feels like they’re gearing up for another round of that now, with only a week left to plan, as Namjoon asks, still in that quiet, hesitant voice, “What were the options again?”

The last time they’d talked Yoongi essentially forced them to narrow things down to dinner at the restaurant where Namjoon had taken him on their first date (before actually telling him it was a date, of course), or else a picnic by the river, or else a trip to a travelling exhibit they’d been talking about seeing anyways. They weren’t particularly inspired ideas, but at least they were something to mark the occasion.

“Dinner, picnic, or gallery,” Yoongi says, his tone a twin for Namjoon’s.

Namjoon rubs his forehead against Yoongi’s shoulder, pressing down just enough that Yoongi can feel the increase in pressure through his coat. “I’m happy with any of them,” Namjoon says after a thoughtful pause. “I think they all sound good. Which one do you like?”

Yoongi chews on the inside of his cheek. This, right here, was exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. How could he figure out which one Namjoon actually liked (there must be one he liked best, mustn’t there?) if Namjoon kept turning it back to Yoongi to make the decision? Yoongi is tired of having the same careful conversation over and over. He needs something romantic, and with only a week left to make it happen he needs it now.

What would Taehyung and Jimin do?

It’s not the first time the thought crossed Yoongi’s mind. Out of all the couples Yoongi knows Jimin and Taehyung are the most romantic, although Yoongi’s brother and fiance-in-law might give them a run for their money. Yoongi could have asked them for suggestions, but whenever he tried he found himself unable to follow through. It was his stubborn pride. He was the one dating Namjoon. Jimin and Taehyung had already clued him in to the fact he needed to up his romance game. He wanted to be the one to think of the anniversary idea.

He wishes now he’d been a bit less prideful. There’s only one thing he can think of that Jimin and Taehyung might suggest, something he’d already considered and discarded. He’d been hoping to think of something romantic they’d both enjoy, but he supposes that with no ideas forthcoming he can settle for something that Namjoon at least will (probably) like, and will (hopefully) think is romantic. Besides, as long as Namjoon is happy Yoongi’s sure he’ll enjoy himself. Time to suck it up and bite the bullet.

“What do you think of one of those couples spa weekend packages?”

At long last he’s found an idea that gets a reaction from Namjoon that isn’t just polite interest. In fact, Namjoon narrowly misses smacking their heads together as he stands up straight in surprise, the last of his brooding expression clearing off his face. “A… spa weekend package?”

Yoongi can feel his cheeks turning pink as he looks away to stare fixedly at the wall. Why is it so much easier to talk about things like this when he can only catch glimpses of Namjoon out of the corner of his eye? “Yeah. You know, like the ones Jimin and Taehyung love? The last time they went they didn’t shut up about it for a week.”

According to Jimin and Taehyung the spa weekend is the absolute pinnacle of indulgent, romantic luxury. Their stories are full of delicious food, plush towels, and soft sheets, not to mention the various massages, and baths, and other forms of pampering they can schedule. Yoongi can’t say he’s ever been especially interested in the experience himself, but if Namjoon wants to go Yoongi will make it happen. He’ll even splurge for the rose petals on the bed and chocolate covered strawberries waiting for them when they arrive. He thinks he can remember Taehyung talking about that. He’ll have to check, if Namjoon seems interested.

He sneaks a glance at Namjoon to try and gauge his reaction. He still looks surprised, but maybe also… hopeful? There’s definitely hints of hopeful there, and an easing of tension through his jaw and neck. Has Yoongi found something that will work?

There’s no way to know unless Namjoon tells him though, and Namjoon is being frustratingly (and uncharacteristically) quiet.

“What do you think?” Yoongi prompts, unable to keep his own hopeful smile off his face. “Our own little getaway? Bit of a break from the world?”

“It’s not a suggestion I thought you’d make,” says Namjoon, his own smile gaining more confidence. “But it could be fun? They have what… massages? And stuff?”

Why hadn’t Yoongi paid better attention when Taehyung and Jimin were talking? “Yeah,” he says, stalling while he tries to remember what else there is. “And a sauna, and some baths, and—” Would Namjoon even want a manicure? He gives up on listing the services available. “You know… pampering. Lots of pampering. And stuff.” God, this is frustrating. “Jimin always says he feels like the prettiest princess when they get back from one.”

When Namjoon laughs it barely sounds forced at all. “He does, doesn’t he.”

Yoongi waits for more, along the lines of great idea, hyung, maybe, or let’s do it, but Namjoon doesn’t seem inclined to keep speaking. There’s something that feels suspiciously like an awkward silence lurking at the edges of their conversation. It’s infuriating. This is Namjoon. They’ve known each other for years. They aren’t supposed to have awkward silences anymore.

“We could ask Jimin and Taehyung for recommendations when we go get lunch?” Yoongi suggests. He refuses to lose what little conversational momentum they seem to have found.

“We could! I bet they’ll have lots of suggestions.” Namjoon is still smiling. That has to be a good sign.

“I won’t take that bet,” laughs Yoongi. “Knowing Jimin, he’s probably got a spreadsheet somewhere, with them all scored across categories.”

“Probably!” Namjoon agrees, setting the records he’s been carrying on top of the rows beside him so he can start flipping through the ones in front of him. Yoongi suspects it’s so he can have something to do with his hands. He hadn’t been planning on buying any a few minutes ago. “He is very organized.”

“He is.”

There it is again, that feeling of awkward getting stronger. If the pause in their conversation stretches much longer Yoongi is worried that it might smother him but he feels frozen, unable to think of what to say next.

Namjoon seems to notice it too, shifting from foot to foot and wriggling his shoulders a bit as if bracing himself. He glances at Yoongi and then, as if in desperation, asks, “What, uh, what are you most looking forward to?”

It’s all wrong. This is not how they’re supposed to talk to each other, stilted, and halting, and hesitant. It can’t just be that Namjoon is still feeling bad about losing track of time either. Knowing Namjoon it’s definitely a contributing factor, but there’s something else here, as if… as if Namjoon is feigning his interest. As if Namjoon is doing it for Yoongi’s benefit.

Yoongi can feel his jaw clench in frustration. It looks like this, too, is a bust. “It was just an idea,” Yoongi says, keeping his voice bright. He’s disappointed this wasn’t the winning idea either, but at least he clued in before they spent a whole weekend pretending to have fun for the benefit of the other. “We don’t have to go, we can think of something else. Plenty of time still.”

“What?” Namjoon sounds surprised again, and maybe a bit panicked. “No, no, let’s go! It will be fun?”

Even with his frustration at the circumstances Yoongi can’t help but be endeared. He shakes his head, turning to face Namjoon with his arms crossed. “Will it? You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of that, Joon-ah. You don’t have to. Hyung isn’t upset.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something, then closes it in a mulish pout, and, as if by magic, the smothering awkwardness disappears as if it were never there to begin with. It might be incongruous to the situation Yoongi can’t help but smile. This is the Namjoon he’s been trying to make plans with, not the carefully enthusiastic-yet-somehow-neutral man who’s been putting in appearances. Yoongi’s glad to have found him at last. He wishes he’d pushed back at Namjoon sooner.

He probably should have, he thinks with a rueful smile. He could’ve saved them so much time, and helped them avoid so many careful conversations.

With his pout still very firmly present, Namjoon says, “I’m sure it would be fun! I mean, it’s supposed to be fun, right? And it’s the kind of thing couples do? And, and we’re—” His voice stops mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open for a few seconds before he snaps it shut. His face flushes brilliantly pink, and a whine of frustration escapes through his clenched teeth.

Yoongi’s heart does something complicated and exhilarating and painful in his chest. He knows what Namjoon is thinking. Being in love with Namjoon might be the most natural thing in the world, but on occasion being reminded of the fact that he isn’t dreaming, that they’re dating, that they’re a couple, is enough to rob him of his words.

He reaches out to grab Namjoon’s hands, twining their fingers together so tightly their knuckles turn white. Namjoon clutches back, and the lines on his face soften.

“It’s really fine,” Yoongi tells him. “I only suggested it because… I wanted to surprise you with something romantic, that’s all. I know you like that kind of thing, but I also know I’m not really great at romance or whatever, so—”

“What?” Namjoon scoffs incredulously. “What?! Hyung, where did you get that idea? Oh don’t give me that look, you’re, you’re so good, do you really not know? You text me just because you’re thinking of me, and you send me things you think I’ll like, and you’ll cook the food I love because you know it makes me happy, and—”

Now Yoongi is the one frowning. “That’s not romantic,” he argues, “That’s just— I mean, I did all that before we started—” He breaks off, unable to face the enormity of saying the word dating out loud while in a record store surrounded by strangers, no matter that probably no one was paying attention to them. He shrugs his shoulders instead, hoping Namjoon will understand. “And you— so I— but the spa—”

“Do you actually want to go on a spa weekend?” Namjoon asks, ducking his head a little so he can look Yoongi directly in the eye.

Yoongi swallows. A part of him is tempted to lie, to say yes if only because then they’ll have made a decision and he can stop thinking about it, but he can’t, not when Namjoon is looking at him with his heart in his eyes and such an earnest expression on his face. “Not really,” he mutters. That isn’t truthful enough for the circumstances. He sighs and tries again. “No.”

“Me neither,” Namjoon says gently, relief threaded through his words. “But sometimes I feel like I’m always the one dragging you to things? And I know you never really planned anything big except that one time with Sungho, and even that was just because—”

“I planned it perfectly,” Yoongi interrupts, recognizing his cue to protest, but for once unable to say his line with a straight face. It’d been pure luck that he and his university boyfriend decided to get tickets for a basketball game that happened to coincide with their hundred days anniversary. Namjoon had been the one to point it out then, and Yoongi and Sungho had tried to play it off as intentional, and ever after it became something of a running joke.

“Right.” Namjoon scrunches his nose, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Sorry, how could I forget.”

“Very inconsiderate of you,” Yoongi sniffs. He’s glad to have this moment of levity. Staring into Namjoon’s eyes is a lot to begin with, has always been a lot if he’s being honest, but hearing that Namjoon thinks he’s dragging Yoongi to things… they’ll be talking about that later. Not now, not when they’re in the middle of a different conversation, but soon. If Namjoon doesn’t know how much Yoongi loves everything they do together Yoongi needs to find better ways to say so.

“I’ll do better next time,” Namjoon promises, treating Yoongi to one last flash of his dimples before he sobers. “But I figured… I mean, I know you’re more low key about anniversaries, and relationship stuff in general? So I thought I’d let you take the lead, and we could do whatever you wanted to do, because honestly…” He shrugs. “I don’t need anything big? You remembered, and you care enough you tried to plan something, and that—” He breaks off again, this time with that particular expression that makes Yoongi want to fight every single one of Namjoon’s prior romantic partners but especially Seyeon. “It means a lot. So whatever we end up doing… as long as it’s with you, it’ll be perfect.”

The grip Namjoon has on Yoongi’s fingers is vice-like but Yoongi barely notices. Something loud and raw is singing through his blood, pounding through his veins in a way he feels ill-equipped to handle. “Namjoon—”

“We could just get takeout and stay in?” The words spill out of Namjoon in a rush, Namjoon’s eyes wide as if he’s just as surprised as Yoongi to hear himself speak.

“Takeout?” Yoongi asks, fighting to focus on what Namjoon is saying through the echoes of as long as it’s with you, it will be perfect bouncing around his skull. “But— but we do that all the time.”

Namjoon looks down at their joined fingers. “I know.”

Yoongi’s breath catches in his chest. “But that’s not—” he cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence. A faint furrow has appeared between Namjoon’s eyebrows, and the corners of his mouth are turned down. They both know Yoongi was about to say that’s not special, and Namjoon clearly disagrees. Yoongi’s heart hammers against his ribs. “Really?”

The nod Namjoon gives is so small Yoongi almost misses it, but there’s no way he could miss the way Namjoon’s fingers tighten their grip.

“Really?” he asks again, scarcely able to believe it. Namjoon, hopelessly romantic Namjoon, who knows he could ask for anything and Yoongi would make it happen, wants to celebrate their anniversary by doing the thing they do most often because it’s the thing he wants to do most.

Namjoon closes his eyes, tipping his head forward until it rests against Yoongi’s. His breath ghosts over Yoongi’s skin. “Yeah.”

It’s a good thing Yoongi is already clinging to Namjoon because if he wasn’t there’s a non-zero chance he would have to collapse against the nearest solid surface. His body is so full of feeling he hasn’t a hope of figuring out what any of it means. It’s probably illegal to have this many feelings in public, and if it isn’t then it should be. Human bodies aren’t built for it. He’s surprised he doesn’t dissolve into dust on the spot.

“Okay,” he says, his voice sounding very far off. He’s frankly impressed he remembers how to speak. “Okay, if we want to do a night in then we’ll do a night in.”

“Yeah?”

Namjoon sounds so happy Yoongi doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Yeah, of course, of course Namjoon-ah.”

Namjoon pulls back just far enough that he can give Yoongi a quick kiss on the forehead. It’s a wonder Yoongi doesn’t burst into flames on the spot. The kiss on his palm earlier was bad enough, but this…

“Thanks, hyung.”

“You’re really thanking me for wanting to stay in?” Yoongi grumbles, trying to get his full-body blush under control through sheer force of will. “Which of us is supposed to be the homebody?”

“Can’t we take turns?”

Yoongi draws back far enough that he can send Namjoon what is supposed to be a withering glare. “Are you teasing your hyung?”

Namjoon does not look at all cowed. “Now why would you think that?”

With a dramatic sniff Yoongi turns back to the records he was flipping through, his fingers sliding easily out of Namjoon’s now-slack grip. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

He can feel Namjoon’s grin. “You know, by saying—”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Yoongi repeats.

Namjoon’s laugh is warm and rich and full, unsullied by any lingering tension, as he too turns back to the records. Yoongi pauses to bask in both it and in the ensuing silence, once again free of any awkwardness. His heart feels lighter than it has in weeks. They have a plan, and they’re both happy with it, and everything is going to be perfect.

Only… only things still don’t feel entirely settled. There’s something still unfinished, and it takes Yoongi another box and a half of flipping through albums to figure out what it is.

Their plan might not be enough for him. He’s spent weeks trying to think of romantic things he can do with Namjoon, and while it certainly had been frustrating at the time he’s surprised to find that now that they’ve landed on more of what we always do he’s almost disappointed. Apparently he was looking forward to doing something more stereotypically romantic with Namjoon, even if he hadn’t been exactly sure what that looked like.

But takeout and staying in can be pretty flexible, can’t it? It doesn’t have to be their normal takeout for one thing, and they don’t have to be dressed down while they relax in each other’s company.

“What if we still did takeout and staying in, but dress it up a bit?” He glances at Namjoon to try and gauge his reaction. Namjoon has gone very still, but he’s looking back, and he’s listening. “I mean, we could get candles or something? And a nicer wine, or beer, or whatever goes with what we’re eating?”

Namjoon’s face lights up with his interest, and Yoongi is helpless to do anything but smile in response. There’s the enthusiasm he was looking for. “I could get flowers?” Namjoon says hopefully. “And if we do it at my place, maybe we could find a record today to listen to? And then argue about why it’s the best or the worst ever?”

“I’ll even dress up for the occasion,” Yoongi grins. “But I’m warning you now, if you try and pick an Avant Garde album I’ll dump you on the spot.”

“No you won’t.”

"I will,” Yoongi insists.

Namjoon lets out a dramatic sigh. “I guess that’s just a risk I’ll have to take then, isn’t it.”

“Jerk.”

“If you say so.”

Namjoon’s smirk is unfairly attractive. Yoongi pretends not to be affected. “I do,” he says, but his efforts go unappreciated. He can tell from the slightly vacant look in Namjoon’s eyes that his attention has shifted away from their conversation.

This happens sometimes, when a thought crosses Namjoon’s mind that he can’t manage to put aside even if he wants to. There’s no telling how long he’ll be wrapped up in the thought, but Yoongi doesn’t mind. It’s not like their banter is something that needs Namjoon’s immediate input. Yoongi is happy to leave him to think. If Namjoon is distracted there’s a better chance Yoongi will be able to sneak away and buy the albums he still wants to buy for Namjoon without Namjoon noticing.

He finishes browsing the box in front of him, and with Namjoon still silent decides that now is the time to make his move. As nonchalantly as possibly he picks up the albums he’d set aside and says, “Gonna go check out the jazz section, come find me when you’re done?”

“Can we maybe take pictures too?”

Yoongi blinks. “Sorry?”

“For our— for next weekend. Can we maybe take some pictures, too?” Namjoon is staring hard at the wall as if it, not Yoongi, will be the one answering. It’s definitely for the best. Yoongi's finding it overwhelming enough to hear Namjoon ask the question without the addition of eye contact. “I know you’re not big on being in pictures but…” He taps the top of the albums under his fingers. “We don’t really have that many together? And I’d like some.”

“We don’t have to wait for next weekend,” Yoongi tells him firmly, shuffling the albums in his hands so he can pull out his phone. “Here, lean in you’re too tall.”

“What?”

“Listen to your hyung,” Yoongi says, shuffling closer and holding his phone up at his optimal selfie angle. In the front-view camera he can see his own flushed but determined face, and Namjoon’s shoulder. “I’ll take it like this if I have to, but I’d rather have your face in it.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that right?” Namjoon asks, but he crouches down anyway until his face appears in the frame too. His smile is blinding through the screen. Yoongi’s breath catches in his chest. Namjoon chuckles. “Aren’t we taking a picture?”

“Right,” Yoongi says, tapping the shutter button reflexively. Only then does it occur to him that maybe he should smile. It’s not hard to find a genuine one. All he has to do is look at Namjoon’s. “Right,” he says again, and snaps another picture.

They take a few more, their heads getting closer together each time until their cheeks are touching. Yoongi’s skin tingles, and he’s just thinking of doing something impulsive like kissing Namjoon, potential audience be damned, when Namjoon glances down and sees the records Yoongi is holding.

“Oh!” he says, stooping down and twisting to try and peer closer. “What did you find?”

“Nothing,” Yoongi lies, shifting the records out of the way.

“It’s clearly not nothing,” Namjoon laughs, “C’mon hyung, let me— oh.”

Yoongi looks to the ceiling.

“Oh,” Namjoon repeats, standing up so he can stare hard at Yoongi’s cheek. “Hyung, those are…”

Yoongi sighs. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Namjoon is still staring at him. “And you say you aren’t good at romance. Oh my God hyung. Should I— have I been doing enough for you? I mean, I can’t cook or anything, and I don’t know if I’ll ever really care about basketball the way you do, but if there’s anything…”

Namjoon looks so worried Yoongi can only gape at him. “This morning you got up early to go buy me coffee because you’re worried you’ll mess it up if you try and make it yourself. Last night we watched a very good architecture documentary because you saw an advertisement in a magazine and thought I’d like it. Last month when you were out hiking you saw that rock you said had my face and you carried it down—”

“Okay okay that’s enough!” Namjoon says, covering Yoongi’s mouth with his hand. Yoongi takes the opportunity to kiss his palm, grinning when it makes Namjoon whimper. “You’re the worst,” Namjoon tells him, “The absolute worst. I can’t believe I love you.”

The words shoot through Yoongi’s chest like lightning. It’s not the first time he’s heard Namjoon say it, not by a long shot, but it thrills him every time. He can’t believe how lucky he is. “I love you too,” he says, his words muffled by Namjoon’s hand. “But if you don’t unhand me right now I will bite you.”

“Oh really?” Namjoon asks, one eyebrow raised, but he still pulls his hand back out of the range of Yoongi’s teeth. “Is that something you’re into, hyung?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow of his own. He can’t say he’s especially into it, but he didn’t miss the faint note of interest in Namjoon’s voice. He’ll file that tidbit away for later. The sex they’ve had so far has been very good, but that doesn’t mean Yoongi isn’t always on the lookout for new ways to make Namjoon moan. Who knows? This might be a winner.

Now isn’t the time to find out however. “I’ll be in the jazz section,” he reminds Namjoon as he collects the bags at his feet. “Come find me when you’re ready to pay?”

Namjoon nods. “Will do. And… and let me know if you find anything you know, uh, for next weekend?”

“Of course,” Yoongi says. “You too?”

“Definitely,” says Namjoon, smiling again. Yoongi can’t help but smile back, which makes Namjoon smile wider, which makes Yoongi’s cheeks start to hurt he’s smiling so much. Any second now his chest is going to crack open, too small to contain the sheer volume of joy welling inside him. It’s the most delicious kind of feedback loop, and Yoongi might have been caught in it forever if Namjoon hadn’t said, “Weren’t you going to the jazz section?” with wry bemusement.

Yoongi was. Oops. “Right,” he laughs, shaking his shoulders a bit to rid himself of the spell. “Right, come and find me—”

“I will,” Namjoon promises.

“Right,” Yoongi says again, and spins on his heel (ouch, he’d forgotten he had a blister) before he finds himself ensnared by Namjoon’s smile yet again. He still wants to pay for the albums without Namjoon seeing to maintain the illusion of surprise — plus, knowing Namjoon there’s a chance he might forget between now and next weekend — and when that’s done he’s off to the jazz section with a purpose. He might not be confident in making romantic plans but music? Music he’s good at.

He’s going to knock this out of the park.