Work Text:
Yoongi is dividing the fried rice into two bowls when he hears the footsteps. He glances at the clock on the stove: 8:52 AM.
“Perfect timing,” he says, scraping the pan to get the last grains of rice. “Didn’t want to sleep in on your day off?”
There’s feet shuffling behind him, a yawn, and then, “How could I miss out on my Yoongi-cchi’s cooking? This is a rarity.”
His voice is rough from slumber, and Yoongi can already envision the messy hair and puffy eyes. A smile tugs at the corner of Yoongi’s lips at the thought, and he turns around to face Seokjin. The sight is as just expected—his hair in disarray, a hand rubbing at his half-closed eyes. Feeling satisfied somehow, the other side of Yoongi’s mouth quirks up.
“I cook breakfast for you all the time,” he says flatly, his tone softened by the lift of his mouth.
“I do it more often.”
“Only because you get up earlier than me half the time.”
“Aren’t you proving my point?”
“Your point was that you rarely eat my cooking, and I’m saying that you eat it half the time. Half the time isn’t rarely.”
“Rarity is subjective. Plus, if we’re using your argument, half the time isn’t all the time either.”
They bicker as Yoongi hands Seokjin their bowls, and then they’re both in motion: Yoongi puts placemats on the table just before Seokjin sets the dishes down; Seokjin grabs utensils and Yoongi walks to hang his apron up by the door; Seokjin pours tea (for himself) and water (for Yoongi) into two mugs as Yoongi reaches past him to get some napkins. They don’t bump at all—this part of the morning is routine. A practiced dance around each other.
“What time do you have to head to the studio today?” Seokjin asks after they’ve eaten in comfortable silence for a while.
“Gotta be there by 10:30,” Yoongi says, talking around the spoonful of food in his mouth. “The kids have dance practice until then, then they’re going straight to recording.”
“It’s still cute how you call them your kids. It feels like yesterday that you were complaining about how many new trainees there were.”
“They’ve improved a lot since then. They always ask me for advice since they’re so determined to get better too. It’s sweet. They really do feel like my kids.” Yoongi says, and Seokjin smiles.
“What about you?” he continues. “Surely you didn’t get up this early just to have my mediocre fried rice.”
“Of course I would!” Seokjin says, affronted. “Your fried rice is great; the eggs aren’t overcooked and the rice isn’t sticky. Plus, it’s customized for me—no garlic! How could I miss such a thing!”
“But did you wake up for it?”
“Well, no.” The words are so blunt that Yoongi can’t help but scoff a little. “I have to meet Soohyun for a favor she asked about, and then Hoseok for lunch afterwards… which actually” —Seokjin checks the time on his phone— “I should get going for. Thanks for the food, Yoongi-yah.”
“Of course.” Yoongi gathers their bowls and mugs and places them in the sink. He’s about to soak them to wash when he gets home until he sees Seokjin leaving with just a thin sweater on.
“You’re going in that?”
Seokjin stops and looks down at his chest. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s ten degrees outside today.” Yoongi walks to Seokjin’s room and grabs a scarf for him—there’s always one hanging at his closet door. He comes back out and motions for Seokjin to step closer, then wraps the scarf around his neck. Above him, he hears Seokjin breathe a small chuckle.
“First food, now this?” he murmurs. “You’re after a man’s heart.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes but can’t help the small smile that makes its way onto his face. “Please. If anything, I’m taking care of myself. If you get sick, then it’s almost guaranteed I’ll get sick too.”
“Sure, sure. Just don’t be surprised if I fall for you someday.” Seokjin blows an exaggerated kiss at him.
Yoongi pushes him away in equally exaggerated annoyance, making Seokjin crack up. They wave at each other and Seokjin finally slips through the door, his loud laughter winding through the morning air.
Then, silence. The stillness, ironically, rushes back.
Yoongi stares after where Seokjin had just been, the lightheartedness of just a moment ago dissipating like candle smoke. A knot in Yoongi’s chest, one that he always fails to notice when Seokjin is around, wraps around him once more. Tightens.
This, too, is a practiced dance around each other.
//
According to Yoongi’s calculations, he and Seokjin have had 1,460 breakfasts together.
Well, approximately. He doesn’t actually have a way to determine the exact number of times they’ve shared their mornings. Nonetheless, the 1,460 glows bright on Yoongi’s phone calculator, and his gaze stays fixed on it.
Up until that point, the number of breakfasts he’d skipped was immeasurable. Growing up, his rush to get to school would always push him out the door before he could fill his stomach. He knew how to cook, thanks to watching his brother doing it and then practicing on his own. But on a day-to-day basis, he just didn’t have the time. He’d go to classes in the morning then leave immediately from school to go to his part-time job at the convenience store down the street. His homework would have to wait until late at night to get done, and by then he’d be exhausted from the day. 2AM was usually when he’d fall asleep, then he’d wake up at 7AM to do it all over again.
Once he graduated and started work, it was a similar schedule thanks to the long commute, not to mention already needing to cook lunch and dinner for himself as well. How could he have time to eat in the mornings?
But one day, he decided to look for an apartment closer to his new job and found a spare room that someone was renting out.
One day, he moved into his new place the day before his job started, and that someone introduced himself as Kim Seokjin.
One day—
(“You’re not having breakfast?”
Yoongi’s grip on the doorknob leading out of the apartment faltered.
“I’m gonna be late,” he said, starting to open the door anyway. “I don’t have time for breakfast.”
“Food is important,” his roommate—Seokjin—countered matter-of-factly. Yoongi felt two hands placed squarely on his shoulders before he was spun around, pushed against the door, and food was directly shoved into his mouth.
“Mmngph—?!” Yoongi choked out.
“It’s triangle kimbap,” Seokjin replied, as if that sound had been a question about the menu rather than a reaction to the attempt on his life. He took Yoongi’s wrist and planted another kimbap in his hand.
“Take this and eat while you go,” he continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll make you a proper breakfast tomorrow.”
Yoongi grumbled the entire way to work because who the hell does Seokjin-ssi think he is? Who is he to demand that I stay for breakfast, to tell me how to live my life? Who is he to make me eat this… pretty good kimbap, honestly? Really good actually, oh my god, did he make this himself? How did he even have time, doesn’t he have work too? …What the hell, if this isn’t his idea of a proper breakfast, then what is?)
—one day, Yoongi stayed for breakfast, and never left.
//
“Food is a love language, you know,” Seokjin says one day as they’re cooking together.
“Sure.”
“No, it is! You’re spending all this time and effort to do something for someone else, and it’s to make something that’ll fuel their body for the whole day.” Seokjin motions wildly, letting go of the spatula he’s using to scramble the eggs. Yoongi picks it right back up to keep stirring.
“Plus if you’re doing it together, it’s quality time spent together, an act of service, and a gift being given to each other. Not to mention if they compliment your food, that’s words of affirmation! It’s the pinnacle of love!”
“What are you trying to say? That you’re attempting to seduce me?”
A half-beat of silence, then Seokjin replies, “I’m saying that we’re on good terms solely because I started forcing you to eat breakfast.”
Yoongi breathes a chuckle through his nose, but his brows furrow. What was that?
It’s not like they’ve never made these kinds of jokes before. Their entire friend group complains about how the two of them are practically an old married couple, what with the way they make jabs at each other but also finish each other’s sentences. Seokjin himself is constantly saying over-the-top shit like “Yoongi and I have practically been like soulmates these days,” which, paired with his penchant for winking and flirting, doesn’t exactly scream just friends.
Then again, maybe the fact that Yoongi noticed the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it hesitation from Seokjin is telling in and of itself.
Yoongi observes Seokjin sitting across from him, the way the tufts at the back of his head stick up, the way his cheeks are still sleep-soft and pink. He jokes and laughs just like every other morning, and in just a few minutes, his plate and cup are cleared off, always a fast eater.
Nothing is different. Yoongi has seen this scene countless times before, and yet, somehow—
“I’ll wash it, give it to me.”
It takes a moment to register what Seokjin means, but then Yoongi sees Seokjin’s hand reaching out towards him. He passes his empty dishes over with barely a second thought.
“You don’t have to leave soon?”
“Late start today,” Seokjin says over the sound of dishes clanking together as he rearranges them outside of the sink. Yoongi nods even though Seokjin can’t see it.
He gathers his things into his bag, double checking his mental list for all his belongings before starting to put on his shoes.
“Wait, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin calls. “Pull up my sleeves for me.”
“And what are your own hands doing?” He continues trying to wiggle his heel into his shoe.
“Washing your dishes,” Seokjin counters.
“That you offered to do.” Yoongi’s laughing, pulling his feet out of his shoes to walk over even as he’s saying it.
“Only because I’m going to work late, which never happens. Shouldn’t you be reveling in one less house chore that you have to do?”
Yoongi doesn’t dignify him with a reply (which Seokjin apparently takes as a win since his face lights up with a victorious smile). He just steps closer, reaching over to pinch the fabric of Seokjin’s sleeves to shift it higher than the pink rubber gloves. Right first, then left. His fingers brush over bare skin as he does so.
“There,” Yoongi says, stepping away. He looks at Seokjin, and finds him already looking back. Yoongi’s breath catches slightly.
“Thanks.” Seokjin’s voice has lowered to a near whisper.
Yoongi blinks, staring for a heartbeat, two—
His alarm to leave goes off.
“Oh shit, I should—”
“Ah, yeah. Go.”
Yoongi speed-walks to the door, quickly shoving his feet in his shoes. He tries to simultaneously grab his bag off the ground and throw on his coat, fumbling with everything.
“See you, hyung.”
“Bye, honey!” Seokjin’s voice is two octaves higher, imitating a housewife bidding goodbye to her working husband. “Have a good day at work! I’ll have dinner ready for you by 7!” He blows a hand kiss that scatters water droplets all over the floor.
“You better clean that up!” Yoongi yells just as he’s going through the door. He hears the echo of Seokjin’s laugh and glances back. He’s smiling in the way that makes his cheeks rise fully, eyes so curled there’s wrinkles at their edges. He watches as Seokjin turns back around, grabbing a dish towel from the side, shoulders still bouncing from laughter.
Then, the door shuts.
As Yoongi walks to the bus station, his thoughts go back to Seokjin’s barely-there hesitation after his joke earlier. The softness to his voice that Yoongi has never heard before. He’s been here before, too: this never-ending cycle of questioning, projecting, and rationalizing. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat.
He scans his bus card and makes his way over to one of the empty seats, sitting down with a soundless exhale.
It’s amazing, the things that cannot be seen in broad daylight.
//
“It’s as clear as day, are you kidding me?” Namjoon says from across the table. He reaches over to point at something in Hoseok’s menu. “You should get the soondubu jjigae, that’s what this place is famous for. I don’t even know why you’re being indecisive.”
“I know it’s famous for that, but I’m in the mood for a noodle dish,” Hoseok says. “And besides, if I get a different thing then we can try each other’s food.”
“Or we can share in the experience of having the exact same thing.”
“This is dumb.” Yoongi physically removes Namjoon’s hand from Hoseok’s menu. “Just let Hoseok have his noodles, we can always just come back here.”
“Thank you!” Hoseok says. “Anyways, now that that’s settled—what were we talking about?”
“I have no idea,” Yoongi says, determined to not go back to what they were talking about.
“I believe we were discussing Yoongi’s tragic love life,” Namjoon says, and Hoseok lights up with an ah! all over his expression. Yoongi stares him down, and Namjoon shrugs. “That’s what you get for letting Hoseok have his noodles.”
“Why are you so against him and his noodles? Also, my love life is not tragic and is not up for discussion—”
“It is tragic and is up for discussion,” Hoseok interrupts with a pointed look. “So anyways—then what happened, Yoongi-yah? You confessed?”
“No, I didn’t confess, he was washing the dishes and I was about to leave for work, why would I—” Yoongi rubs the side of his forehead in a weak attempt to ward off the incoming, inevitable headache that comes with this topic. “Whatever, let’s just move on. I came here for lunch, not therapy.”
“Why not both?” Namjoon interjects. “We always end up talking about therapy-appropriate topics anyway.”
“That’s only because you”—Yoongi jabs his wooden chopsticks towards Hoseok—“are way too obsessed with the details of my life, and you”—the chopsticks get swiftly redirected to Namjoon—“only spur Hoseok on so you can distract yourself from your dissertation.”
“This is true,” Hoseok says with a solemn nod, at the same time as Namjoon says, “That is not true!”
“It is.” Yoongi shakes his head. “And I don’t blame you. If I spent that long writing a paper about god knows what, I’d consider anything a reasonable distraction. I don’t know how you’re still standing, honestly.” Namjoon heaves a long-bearing sigh and takes a few sips of his water.
“I’m sure he has both enough distraction and a reason to still be standing,” Hoseok says nonchalantly. “What with Jimin and all.”
Namjoon chokes on the water.
“Ji—what? Jimin? As in Park Jimin?” he coughs out, patting his mouth with his sleeve.
“The Jimin that we’ve all known for three years?” Yoongi asks dryly. “I’d assume he’s the one we’re talking about.”
“What does he have to do with anything,” Namjoon says. His eyes are darting around rapidly.
“C’mon, Namjoon.” Hoseok stares at him, deadpan. “If you thought Yoongi’s thing was obvious, your thing is just downright painful.”
“To be fair,” Yoongi chimes in, electing to ignore the comment about himself, “I didn’t know anything was happening between them, but now that you mention it—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Namjoon takes another gulp of his water. Yoongi opens his mouth to reply, but then the waiter comes up to their table. The amount of relief that floods Namjoon’s features is wildly comedic. They place their orders, and the waiter briskly collects their menus (though Namjoon fiddles with his for a few seconds longer before handing it over).
“I’m so ready to try this jjigae,” Namjoon says. “I heard from Minah that she practically ascended when she had it—”
“So you and Jimin are a thing,” Yoongi says.
“We are friends is what we are.” Namjoon grits his teeth as he pats his pockets, looking for something. “Just like you and me. Anyway—”
“I don’t know,” Yoongi muses. “I wouldn’t say that you’re my reason I’m still standing.”
“Yeah, because that’s Seokjin-hyung,” Hoseok snickers.
“I swear to god—”
“Where is my phone?” Namjoon hisses. He keeps looking around the table frantically, mumbling to himself, when he seems to realize something.
“Fuck, I must’ve left it at J—” He cuts himself off.
Doesn’t continue.
Yoongi’s brows lift as the silence stretches. “At… ?”
“Uh…” The table begins rattling as Namjoon repeatedly taps his foot against the floor. “At… gym?”
“You left your phone at gym,” Hoseok repeats flatly.
“Wow, looks like the dissertation really has been getting to me,” Namjoon says with an entirely unnatural laugh. “First I’m forgetting direct articles in my sentences, what next, entire dependent clauses?” Another nervous chuckle.
More silence.
“Fine!” Namjoon blurts, and Yoongi holds back a laugh. It’s always been easy to break Namjoon. “I forgot my phone at Jimin’s place! There! Happy now!”
“And exactly why were you at Jimin’s place?” Hoseok seems to have no qualms about letting his own smug grin show.
“Who knows! I sure don’t!” Namjoon’s voice grows in volume with each word that comes out of his mouth. “Because I thought I was coming over just to bounce ideas off of him, but then he kept staring into my eyes and scooting closer and closer until we were pressed right up against each other, and then he put a hand on my shoulder but I freaked out and pushed him away, and then he started apologizing and I had no idea how to explain to him that I didn’t mind at all and in fact would enjoy if he did much more than that, considering I had an offensively detailed sex dream about him the other night!”
“Oh my god.” A short chuckle escapes Yoongi.
Namjoon groans, his head hitting the table. “Please don’t tell Jimin I said that. We haven’t even—nothing’s official, so—” His head snaps up, revealing a deep blush erupting across his cheeks. “Not—not that anything would be official. Honestly, I thought that maybe he might like me back, but the more I think about it the more I feel like it’s nowhere near the extent that I do. And… not that I feel that much towards him anyways, like it’s probably just a passing thing, it’s really nothing—”
“Namjoon.” Hoseok reaches across the table to place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. You can have emotions.”
“I’ve done way too much introspection on my own life to be disrespected like this,” Namjoon says. “I know I can have emotions. All emotions are valid.”
“Right,” Yoongi says. “It’s just these emotions in particular—”
“—that I would rather not be dealing with!” Namjoon finishes, sounding shrill. “Especially considering we’re gonna be going on vacation tomorrow!”
“Relax, we’re all gonna be there. It’s not just you two,” Hoseok says. “Besides, the trip is only three days. I’m sure you can handle it.”
“I can barely handle spending three minutes in his presence,” Namjoon mumbles.
“You’ll survive,” Yoongi says, then to Hoseok, “Hey, remember to bring the tennis balls. You wanted me to remind you.”
Hoseok snaps his fingers. “That’s what I was forgetting! You’re a lifesaver.”
At that moment, the waiter comes out with their side dishes, and shortly after, their orders. Relief sweeps over Namjoon’s face once again. They try their own food and then each other's food, nodding in enthusiastic approval.
The topic changes entirely for the rest of the meal, discussing vacation plans and who’s bringing what. But despite himself, Yoongi's thoughts stray to the way Hoseok asked so you confessed? in a tone that really sounded like how have you not confessed yet?
As if it were a given. As if everyone is simply waiting for the inevitable to happen.
//
The problem is, Yoongi has never been good at being intentional about things, and his love life has gotten the worst of it. He's only ever gone out with people who asked him out first, and besides that he’s just had random late-night hookups—all relationships that had grown from mere convenience.
Once, he’d accidentally spent the night at a guy’s place, and Yoongi basically tripped over himself trying to get out the door when the guy wanted to make him breakfast. He tried to stop Yoongi from leaving, but Yoongi just… didn’t do things like that. He didn’t stay until morning, didn’t drag things out. His relationships with people were a transaction: keep me company for a single night until we part ways and never meet again.
Strangely, breakfasts are also intentional, in a way that the other meals of the day aren’t. Lunches are often rushed, gotta-get-back-to-work types of meals. Dinner is everyone’s final meal of the day, no matter how late it is. But to wake up early enough to have breakfast—that’s a conscious choice, one that many don’t make.
Seokjin has made that choice every day of his life. Yoongi could barely comprehend it for the first few months of living with him, still opting to sleep in until Seokjin started bodily hauling him to the table. Even so, Yoongi never understood why someone would choose to lose an hour or two of sleep just for a small meal that barely holds you over until lunch. Convenience over intention.
But then, the habit of eating breakfast stuck. Yoongi grew to love the early mornings, the hours that stretched yet didn’t drag—it was slow, in the gentlest way.
Connected to this habit was Seokjin’s nonstop talking throughout their entire meal, unfazed by Yoongi’s initial silences. And through this nonstop talking, Yoongi learned that: ever since he moved in, Seokjin had always cooked at least two portions of food without any prompting whatsoever. That although he’s brazen about his looks, his ears still turn the darkest shade of red every time anyone pays him the slightest compliment. That he’s silly and theatrical until it matters—then, he’s all comfort and understanding, offering advice without expecting it to be taken, but simply considered as another option.
(Yoongi has always taken it. He knows Seokjin has his best interests at heart.)
Yoongi’s never been good at being intentional about things. But somewhere along the line, the days spent with Seokjin started being purposeful. The ingredients in the fridge doubled in quantity, their conversations became less and less one-sided, and he began setting earlier alarms than Seokjin.
Somewhere along the line, he realized: it’s intentional.
The way he’s in love with Seokjin.
//
“You’re still not done packing?”
Yoongi looks up from where he’s placing travel-size soap bars in a small bag. Seokjin is standing in his doorway, dressed in loose lavender sweats with a backpack slung over his shoulder.
“I’m just finishing a first-aid kit.” Yoongi turns back to his pouch, sorting through its contents to make sure he didn’t forget anything.
“Two rolls of gauze? Tweezers?” Seokjin’s voice is closer now, and Yoongi doesn’t need to turn around to know that he’s looking over his shoulder to peer into the bag. “You’re packing like we’re all gonna suffer a major injury every hour.”
“You never know.”
Seokjin snorts. “It looks like you only packed for external injuries.”
Yoongi reaches into the bag and pulls out a couple of small bottles. “There’s painkillers in here.” The pills rattle inside the bottles as Yoongi shakes them for emphasis. “I’m detailed like this.”
Seokjin makes a sound of appreciation and shoots him a thumbs up. Then, the smile falls from his face, brows creasing as he places a hand over his chest as if in pain. Worry spikes through Yoongi's body.
“Hyung, you good?” Yoongi steps closer, reaching to touch his shoulder.
Seokjin’s face relaxes a bit, hand dropping from his chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s crazy, for a moment I really thought…”
“Thought?”
“That I was gonna fall for you.”
Every ounce of fear in Yoongi’s body evaporates, shoulders slumping as he glares at Seokjin laughing loudly. “Do you ever take things seriously?”
“I’m serious!” Seokjin exclaims. “Packing medicine for all seven of us? Unprompted? So reliable, Yoongi-yah, so mature!”
Yoongi scoffs, starting to gather his things. “Enough, hyung. It’s already almost 4 AM, we need to eat before we get going if we wanna get there early. It’s gonna be a long ride to get there.” He wheels his suitcase out into the kitchen.
“I know, I know,” Seokjin says, following him out. “I already turned on the water boiler and put the seasoning packs into the ramen. You think I haven’t thought far ahead? Huh? I can be reliable too!”
Yoongi just looks at him, lets out a huff of laughter, and says, “Yeah. I know you are, hyung.”
Seokjin goes quiet, surprise all over his features. Besides his eyes fluttering rapidly, he isn’t moving at all.
“What?” Yoongi says. “You were the one who said it. Do you disagree?”
“No, no, I…” Seokjin lowers his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips—a reaction to a joke Yoongi hadn’t heard. “Just… thanks, Yoongi-yah.”
The water boiler clicks off, the sounds of bubbling already starting to die down.
“You were the one who said it,” Yoongi repeats, picking up the boiler and pouring water into the two ramen bowls. “What is this, fishing for compliments?”
“I don’t need to do that, my adoring fans already shower me in them.”
“What fans,” Yoongi deadpans. “The clients at your company?”
“In a way, they’re fans too, aren’t they?” Seokjin chuckles. “Fans of our auditing and tax preparation strategies.”
“I have no idea where this is going.”
“It’s 4 AM, what do you expect?” Seokjin laughs again, and Yoongi genuinely thinks everything coming out of his mouth at this point is just sleep deprivation.
Three minutes pass and they both tear the paper lid off the bowls. It feels strangely like a liminal space, eating ramen in their kitchen with barely any light outside. Maybe it’s because their mornings are usually filled with more bustle in the kitchen, pans clanging and oil frying, but something about this stillness reminds Yoongi of waiting in airports, waiting in buses, waiting for something to happen. It’s a scratch he can’t itch.
But for now, the quietness of the moment slips beneath his skin, and he lets it settle there.
//
The vacation house in Sokcho is situated just between the beach and local recreation centers, big enough for seven people to not feel cramped in it. Its bright white exterior and black roofs give off a sleek, modern vibe, with plenty of large windows and a balcony on the second floor.
Yoongi and Seokjin are the first to arrive there, and they go shopping for groceries after they stop to get noodles for lunch. Afterwards, they nap and laze around the house, too tired to do anything but wait for everyone else to arrive.
Around 6 PM, Yoongi rises from the living room couch to get started on dinner. From the sound of the sink running and padding around the kitchen, he knows that Seokjin has been in there for a while now.
“Hoseok said he’s about thirty minutes away,” Yoongi reads off his phone as he walks in. “Namjoon and Jimin are with him, too. Do you know how far Taehyung and Jungkook are?”
“They said they left at 4, so they’re probably close too?” Seokjin says. “I tried texting Taehyung again earlier but he’s not answering.”
“He’s probably asleep,” Yoongi says. “It’s fine though, we’ll make enough for all of us and leave the leftovers if they come late.”
They have to search the kitchen and dig through their bags to find all the supplies they need, but before long, Yoongi has all the dakgalbi ingredients laid out in two large pans with a savory smell wafting through the air.
“Yoongi-yah, you’ve made a grave mistake!” Seokjin says, coming over to the stovetop.
“What?”
“The chicken should be on the top.” Seokjin grabs two wooden spoons to help stir one of the pans. “The vegetables die down in volume as they cook, so you start stir-frying the chicken after that.”
Yoongi hums in understanding. “I didn’t know that. We should let the vegetables cook a bit, then.”
They keep at it for a few minutes, and Seokjin makes a big motion of sniffing the air. “Wow, look at us. We’re such professionals,” he says, satisfaction clear in his voice.
“Should we quit our jobs and open a restaurant together?” Yoongi chuckles.
“Why not?” Seokjin says. “You can be the cook, since I don’t want to—”
“No, I’ll be the cashier.”
“…Well, what about me, then?”
“You’ll be the cook, obviously.”
Yoongi hears a pfft, and he looks up to see mirth lighting up Seokjin’s features. His heart leaps, does aerials.
“So cruel, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says, wiping fake tears away. “After I explicitly said—”
“You’re the one giving me all this advice about how to make the food. Obviously you should do it.”
“Can’t I just organize the shoes at the entrance?”
“Sure,” Yoongi says. “So you can be in charge of the shoes and the cooking.”
Seokjin makes an indignant noise, and Yoongi finally bursts into laughter.
“This is injustice!” Seokjin declares. “A grievance! I’m gonna sue you for emotional distress—”
The door slams open, multiple people yelling at the entrance. “We haven’t even gotten here yet and Seokjin-hyung’s already suing Yoongi-hyung?” Taehyung shouts, looking oddly delighted at this turn of events.
“My children!” Seokjin lifts both arms in greeting and nearly whacks Yoongi with his spoon.
A parade of men and suitcases spill through the entrance as their five friends come bustling in. They pile into the kitchen to exchange hugs as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Jungkook throws an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders, and he leans towards the pans to dramatically take a whiff. He’s clearly been spending too much time with Seokjin.
“Mmmm! Smells delicious, hyung! As expected from Min Yoongi,” he says, bumping his hip against Yoongi’s.
“If you’re looking to get a bite of food before dinner, you’re not getting it.”
Jungkook places a hand over his heart. “How could you think that of me, hyung? Your lovely, precious dongsaeng would never—”
His words are cut off by Taehyung leaning over the counter and grabbing a piece of chicken off the pan to pop into his mouth. Jungkook’s eyes widen in shock. “Hey, I was gonna do that!” he says, and Yoongi just stares at him in betrayal.
“You gotta take initiative, Jungkook-ah,” Taehyung says with a wink. Jimin, from beside him, hits his arm.
“Don’t bother them! They’ve been spending all this time cooking, at least wait until they’re done!” Jimin says, dragging Taehyung away. “We’ll be waiting in the living room, hyungs!”
“So much for being my lovely, precious dongsaengs!” Yoongi yells. A sheepish smile gets sent his way from Jungkook as he scurries away.
“These kids,” Namjoon tsks as he drops some bags of chips on the counter. “Not even offering to help with the work.”
“It’s fine, it’s mostly all done anyways,” Seokjin says. “Hoseok-ah, could you hand me those plates over there? We’ll be finished in a couple minutes and we can all eat together.”
They portion out the food for the seven of them and call everyone to gather around the table. As everyone starts eating, they pay their compliments to the chefs in spirited nods and borderline indecent noises.
“So good, hyung!” Hoseok exclaims. “You guys could start a restaurant together!”
“Yeah, we could. What do you think? What do you think?” Seokjin nudges Yoongi’s shoulder repeatedly. “I’ll even let you be the cook!”
Everyone around the table laughs and nods in agreement. “Yeah, you’d be great as the chef, Yoongi-hyung!” Taehyung says.
Yoongi gives Seokjin a sidelong glance, and he looks much too entertained: the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, eyes shining, one eyebrow raised. Yoongi simply goes back to his meal without replying, but he smiles as if it’s their own little secret.
//
Yoongi wakes up late the next day, the beds more comfortable than he was expecting. Judging from the lack of noise in the house, he’s the first one up.
He walks into the brightly lit kitchen, and surveys the fridge. A simple breakfast will do, maybe just toast and coffee. He’ll make rice and rolled omelet for the other members too, so they’ll have a couple options to choose from.
As he’s washing the rice, footsteps sound from behind him. They’re easy to recognize—no need to turn around to confirm who it is.
“Do you want toast, Seokjin-hyung?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Seokjin replies, his voice less rough than Yoongi was expecting. He probably woke up earlier but just laid in bed for a while before coming out, like he does at home sometimes. “Need help with anything?”
Yoongi faces him and hands him the washed rice. “Could you put this in the rice cooker? You can get started on the toast, I’ll cut some stuff for some rolled omelet.”
Seokjin nods, and Yoongi moves to find the things he needs. Carrots, green onion, cutting board, knife, pan. Yoongi begins chopping, the action quick and swift. There’s rustling behind him as Seokjin goes about his own tasks. All Yoongi can hear is the sound of the knife, the toaster ticking, and Seokjin whisking the eggs.
It’s just like how they would make breakfast at home. The space makes it feel different, though, like a new experience. And it must’ve been that—familiar actions in an unfamiliar space—that makes the thought rise in Yoongi’s mind unprompted: I wouldn’t mind doing this every morning for the rest of my life.
The echo of the knife slows to a stop. Yoongi stares at the cutting board, unseeing.
This… isn’t a new feeling.
It’s just the first time Yoongi has put it into words.
“Oh, are you done with the vegetables?”
Yoongi feels a presence behind him, and he turns to see Seokjin hovering over him.
“What, you’re only through with half of them,” he says. “We’re on a schedule, Yoongi-yah! The children will be up any moment now! Chop chop!” Seokjin’s voice rises with each sentence.
Yoongi doesn’t reply, and then everything seems to move in slow motion. He watches as Seokjin’s expression drops immediately into one of concern: his brows knit together, his eyes widen, and his lips stick out in worry.
“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
The change in Seokjin’s tone makes something shift in Yoongi’s head, and time snaps back to normal.
“…I’m fine, hyung.”
“You sure?” There’s a hand on Yoongi’s forehead suddenly, and he stills.
“Jimin didn’t give you his cold, did he?” Seokjin murmurs to himself. “That kid, even if he was getting better he shouldn’t have—”
“Hyung.” Yoongi pulls away, turning back to the cutting board. “I said I’m fine.”
Seokjin is quiet for a bit, and Yoongi resists the urge to glance back at him.
“Alright,” he says neutrally, stepping back to the sink. The knots in Yoongi’s chest twist, tangle.
They continue what they were doing, a mild tension simmering just beneath the surface. Everything for breakfast gets prepped and cooked, and soon they’re both sitting at the dining table with their plates.
“So what are you planning to do today?” Seokjin asks as spreads jam and butter on his toast.
“I might just stay here and read,” Yoongi says. “Namjoon was reading a book yesterday and it looked interesting, I’ll probably steal it from him later.”
Seokjin hums. “I’m gonna play games with Taehyung and Jungkook. They’ve been pestering me forever to join them, and now they’ve trapped me here so I have no excuse anymore.” Yoongi breathes a soft chuckle.
“Oh, by the way.” Seokjin grabs his phone off the table and holds it out to him. “Do you wanna look over this for me?”
Yoongi brushes crumbs off his hand with a napkin before reaching for it. “What is it?”
“My dating profile.”
Yoongi blinks, hand freezing in midair.
“You’re dating again?”
Yoongi blinks again, this time at his thoughts being vocalized by someone not him. He turns around to see Jimin entering the kitchen.
“Well, I—actually, hold on.” Seokjin suddenly gets up and places his hand on Jimin’s forehead.
“This is really intimate for 7 in the morning, hyung.”
Seokjin tsks at him. “Are you still feeling sick?”
“I told you I was getting better! I don't really feel anything today either, I think I'm all good. Why?”
“Yoongi seemed like he wasn’t feeling well, so—”
“No, no,” Yoongi cuts in quickly. “It’s not… don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
“Are you okay, hyung? What happened?”
Oh great, now Jimin's concerned. And if Jimin catches onto his feelings, there’s no way Yoongi will leave this trip without a heartfelt talk from him.
“Nothing, I’m fine, just got caught up thinking about work stuff while I was cooking. It wasn’t a big deal. You know how dramatic Jin-hyung gets.”
“Excuse you, I was concerned for your well-being! Am I not allowed to worry over the state of my beloved roommate?” Seokjin shouts. “Plus, you were holding a knife, my well-being could’ve been in danger too!”
“I literally just stopped cutting the carrots for two seconds. Nobody’s life was in danger.”
“Well anyways,” Jimin says. “Now that we’ve confirmed that Yoongi hyung’s not dying,”—Debatable, Yoongi thinks—“answer me, Jin-hyung! Are you dating again or not?”
More subdued now, Seokjin says, “Well—sorta? I unpaused my profile because I just want to see the people there.”
“So you're bored?”
“I wouldn't say that… I don't know. I guess I am? Not really though.”
This time, Jimin is the one who tsks at him. “The loneliness is getting to you.” He motions towards Seokjin’s phone. “Hand it over, let me see how your profile looks.”
“Why are you so concerned about my dating life?” Seokjin asks even as he gives Jimin his phone. “How’s yours going?”
“Oh, you know,” Jimin says, and doesn’t elaborate.
A few moments pass. “I actually don’t know,” Seokjin says. “Are you—”
“These pictures are great, hyung! Really hot, really sexy, you’ll definitely reel them in with these.” Jimin’s voice is pitched just the slightest bit higher than a minute ago.
“I’m not trying to reel people in, I said I was just bored. Jimin, are you datin—”
“I’m the one that said you’re bored—”
“And I decided that your evaluation was accurate! Answer my—”
“Yoongi-hyung, aren’t these pictures hot? Aren’t they sexy? Isn’t hyung’s profile great?” A phone is shoved in Yoongi’s face, and Jimin and Seokjin are both yelling at this point.
Yoongi has two choices here:
- Avoid looking at Seokjin’s dating profile by prodding Jimin about his love life (of which, Yoongi is absolutely certain Namjoon is involved in).
- Allow Jimin to escape the prying by looking through Seokjin’s dating profile—i.e., looking through the dating profile of the guy that he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with.
Yoongi glances up, and both Jimin and Seokjin are gesticulating furiously to make their point. They look about two seconds away from choking each other.
He takes the phone. He scrolls, and—
Wow.
He has never seen some of these pictures before.
It’s—weird, seeing how Seokjin appeals to strangers to make himself look attractive. How he wants himself to be seen by the world. He makes zero effort to make himself look attractive at home; Yoongi sees him puffy-faced and sleepy-eyed every day, and still feels this way towards him. There are people out there who might reject this cleaned-up, well-groomed version of Seokjin—and Yoongi, who sees the unfiltered version of him every day, has yet to find anything about him that he doesn’t like.
“Yoongi?”
He looks up.
It’s gone silent, at some point.
“How is it? Terrible? Awful?”
Is Yoongi’s mind playing tricks on him, or—or does Seokjin look almost hopeful?
Hopeful for what, though, Yoongi can’t help but think. For Yoongi to like his profile? For Yoongi to dislike his profile?
Both of those options have too many layers to parse through this early in the day.
He looks back at the profile, staring at the photos: Seokjin in a crisp suit, hair slicked back and gaze sharp; Seokjin in a leather jacket standing in front of a city backdrop, looking to the side in a candid shot; a selfie of Seokjin in a soft white turtleneck with slightly wavy bangs, two fingers held up in a V; Seokjin in a blue button-up as he regards the camera, serious but charming.
Different images flash through Yoongi’s mind: Seokjin with a bloated face after he’s just rolled out of bed, squinting at the too-bright sunlight; Seokjin with rumpled clothes after he comes home from work, sighing as he drops himself onto the couch with a tired groan; Seokjin laughing so hard that he nearly falls over, his entire face scrunching up; Seokjin’s vulnerable expression when they’ve drank too much and the hours are too late, murmuring about his worries and saying I usually don’t like talking about this stuff, but I trust you.
Yoongi’s pulse drums in his chest, sends reverberations around the room.
“Looks good, hyung,” he settles on. Whether his voice is strained or not, he can’t tell. “You look good.”
Jimin’s eyes narrow at him.
“Thank you, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says quietly. He’s not looking at Yoongi’s face.
Jimin turns towards Seokjin, then turns back towards Yoongi. His eyes narrow even more, and he opens his mouth.
“Morning, guys,” says a different voice walking in. Namjoon’s, confirmed after all their heads turn towards the new source of sound. “Is there breakfast?”
Yoongi faces Jimin again, whose eyes lingered on Namjoon for just a second too long. Narrows his own eyes at him.
The two stare at each other for a tense moment, a wordless argument of: ‘Is something going on between you and Seokjin-hyung’ and ‘I already know something’s going on between you and Namjoon, so you better not ask.’
Finally, Jimin sits back, arms crossed but eyes un-narrowed. Yoongi smiles. Seokjin brings Namjoon breakfast, and the day goes on.
//
“C’mon, Jin-hyung! I thought you were better than this!” Hoseok yells, bent over and cackling as he wins yet another tennis match against Seokjin later that day.
“I’m losing my touch, Hoseok-ah!” Seokjin shrieks back. “You’re the only one here witnessing the decline of my skills, so now I have no choice but to end your life! Nobody can know!”
“Are you forgetting that I’m here,” Yoongi chuckles from the sidelines. He downs half a water bottle in one go, parched after shooting some hoops from the next court over.
“When did you get there?” Seokjin throws his arms up. “Now I have to cover for two murders! You men are impossible!”
Yoongi just rolls his eyes amusedly while Hoseok goes enough, hyung! Let’s go again! The two of them start on another round and react hysterically each time something happens, kicking up dust and screaming in either glorious victory or humiliating defeat. Yoongi walks and settles down on the bench further back where they’d left all their stuff. He rakes through jackets and bags to find his phone, but then a different phone falls to the ground as he’s moving everything. A concerning crack sounds through the air.
“Shit,” Yoongi mumbles. He picks it up, dusting it off and blowing on the bits of dirt that got stuck on it. The screen isn't cracked, thank god. He turns it on just to make sure it works—and it does. Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief, about to place it back down when a notification catches his eye.
A tiny picture of someone Yoongi doesn’t recognize, with a bold You’ve got a match! floating on the screen from a dating app.
Ah. Seokjin’s phone.
It’s not unexpected that he’s already getting matches, especially with the photos he’s putting out there. But to see… things actually happening makes Yoongi’s insides churn.
Distantly, he hears Hoseok and Seokjin finishing up their game. He looks up just as Seokjin is approaching the bench.
“Yoongi-cchi, Hoseok’s betrayed me by taking my tennis skills and ripping it to shreds. I only have you left,” Seokjin bemoans. He grabs the same water bottle Yoongi drank from and tilts his head back to pour some into his mouth, but his gaze falls to his phone in Yoongi’s hand. He quirks an eyebrow in question.
“Oh. I just dropped it while looking for mine,” Yoongi explains, handing the phone over. “You—have a match, by the way.”
Which Seokjin clearly could’ve seen once he opened his phone. Yoongi might as well have tattooed across his forehead: Hey, I was snooping around on your phone! By the way, I’m deeply bothered by the idea of you dating because I’ve been in love with you for years!
He briefly considers never speaking again.
“You should be my manager,” Seokjin laughs, “keeping up with these things more than I do.”
“A manager for your love life? Is that a thing?”
“You can be the first one,” Seokjin says with a wink and a chuckle that comes from deep in his chest. He sprinkles the last drops of water from the bottle over his head, then slicks his hair back with both hands to get it out of his eyes. The sight is apparently too much for Yoongi’s respiratory system, the air in his lungs immediately ceasing to exist.
“Hyung, get over here!” Hoseok’s voice cuts through Yoongi’s internal crisis. “Why am I the only one picking up the balls!”
Seokjin snorts. “There’s a sex joke in there somewhere, but I’ll spare you!” he calls back. “Just give me a sec!” He unlocks his phone and swipes several times, then begins typing. Yoongi looks away, not wanting to imagine what’s happening on the other side of the screen.
Seokjin pockets his phone and turns around, jogging to go help Hoseok. Yoongi simply watches his retreating back, his voice and presence getting smaller and smaller until it’s like he was never there at all.
//
They leave to go back to Seoul late Sunday afternoon, and Seokjin spends the entire car ride back with a half-smile on his face as he types on his phone. Yoongi has to make an active effort to stop glancing at him in the passenger seat and to keep his eyes on the road.
“Ooh, that guy’s pretty hot,” Jungkook says from the backseat. He’d decided to ride back in their car because Taehyung had crowded his own car with four large paintings he’d done in the three days they spent at the house. Yoongi can only assume that Jungkook is now looking at Seokjin’s phone and commenting on his conquests there.
“Too young,” Seokjin replies. “Anyone your age is practically a baby.”
“Hey! What are you trying to say about—”
“You are a baby. A child. A mere infant.”
A slap! resonates through the car along with a loud “Yah!” from Seokjin. Yoongi glances at him but he doesn’t seem to care too much, his attention falling back on his phone as it vibrates.
“How many people have you been talking to?” Jungkook asks.
“Just one,” Seokjin says. “Swiping on people is fine, but once I start talking to someone I can only do one at a time.”
“Ohhhh.” Jungkook drags out the syllable. “So you’re the commitment type.” Yoongi swallows, his grip on the wheel tightening.
“I guess so,” Seokjin says. “It’s more that I don’t have the energy to talk to multiple people at once. I don’t know how so many people these days can date so casually.”
“Maybe you should try it, hyung,” Yoongi finally says, though it feels like he has to force the words out of his throat. “Hoseok tried it for a bit and it seemed like he had a good time.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I think I… like the idea of commitment,” Seokjin admits. “Of being able to give one person all of your attention, even if it’s just at the beginning stages.”
Breathe in, breathe out. It’s fine, perfectly fine. The idea of Seokjin as a relationship guy, as dedicated and devoted, is absolutely not affecting Yoongi whatsoever.
“Besides, Hoseok is Hoseok.” Seokjin motions vaguely with his hand. “Bright, fun, outgoing.”
“You’re all those things too!” Jungkook says emphatically. Yoongi slows the car to a stop at a red light.
“Not on dates.” Seokjin’s tone is still light despite the implied self-deprecation. “I can be like that around you guys, even complete strangers if I need to break the ice or something, but… I don’t know. If it’s someone I’m trying to impress, I feel like I have to—cover up, or something.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that,” Yoongi says, his mouth moving before he’s even processed the words coming out of it. “You’re practically the full package—tall, handsome, polite, charming. Even if you act ridiculous or tell one of your awful jokes, the right person wouldn’t want to change a single thing about you. The person you are at your core is absolutely worth liking. Trust me.”
Well, fuck.
There’s no response. Yoongi looks over and Seokjin is simply staring back at him, expression unreadable. Yoongi’s throat tightens, heart rate picking up. Was that too much? Something in his tone, something he said? Does Seokjin know? Does he—
“Hyung,” Jungkook says. Yoongi looks at the rearview mirror; Jungkook’s eyes are wide and lips slightly pursed, as if scared to break the silence.
“Huh?”
“It’s a green light.”
“Ah.” Yoongi puts his foot on the gas and clears his throat. “Anyways—I was… just saying, hyung. You don’t need to change yourself for people to like you.”
“Thank you, Yoongi-yah.” His voice is far too gentle and soft for Yoongi’s liking. Jumping straight out of this car onto the jam-packed streets would be a better fate than this.
“You guys are right,” Seokjin says. “I’ve been talking to this guy for a few days and making more jokes than I usually would, and he hasn’t run away yet, so.”
“There you go!” Jungkook exclaims. “Are you gonna go out with him?”
“I think I am.” Yoongi can hear the shy smile in Seokjin’s voice. Death by traffic is sounding more and more inviting by the second. “He’s kind, funny, respectful. It’s been nice talking to him. And I want to get to know him more.”
An excited noise leaves Jungkook’s body. “You have to tell me all about it when you go! When is it? What are you gonna wear? What will…”
Jungkook’s voice fades into the background as they keep talking about the date that, apparently, is going to happen this week. The sun sinks lower and lower into the sky as they continue driving, and Yoongi’s heart sinks right along with it.
//
Silence is what Yoongi wakes up to a few days later, no alarms or shuffling in the kitchen to be heard.
No… shuffling in the kitchen?
Yoongi sits up, his gaze sweeping over his room blearily before he pulls himself out of bed. He wanders out to the kitchen to see nothing on the stove, no lingering smell of Seokjin’s breakfast. Which is normal, assuming he got back late from his date last night and slept in. He probably just hasn’t gotten up yet, which Yoongi confirms after a quick glance into Seokjin’s—
—empty bedroom.
Huh.
He goes back into his room, perching on the edge of his bed as he checks his phone.
hey, Seokjin had sent him at 2:36 AM, i’m gonna be back late, even tho that was probably obvious by now. sorry for not messaging earlier. Then, after a short gap in time, don’t wait up for me.
And now: an empty bedroom at 9 AM.
He left in the early evening last night for his date, then… never came home.
Yoongi calls him.
“Hello?” Seokjin picks up after the second ring, sounding confused. Yoongi never calls him, so. Understandable.
“Just—wanted to make sure you were good,” Yoongi says. His voice is scratchy from lack of use.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just at work now.” There’s distant typing in the background. “I’m assuming you got my texts?”
“Yeah, just now. You had to come in on a weekend?”
A sigh. “Something about a deadline not getting met, so now we have to compensate. But also—you only just got my messages? Wow, this is how much you care about my safety?” Yoongi can hear the smile in Seokjin’s voice. “What if I’d gotten murdered?”
“Well, you clearly didn’t, so congratulations.”
“I could be calling from the afterlife right now. This could be my final wish being granted before I lay to rest in peace forever. Otherwise, my soul would wander Earth forever with an unresolved grudge!”
“I doubt the afterlife has phone service.”
“You really think the advancement of technology only affected the living world? We’re in the future! Anything is possible!”
Yoongi’s eyes close, a smile pulling at his lips. This conversation is ridiculous.
“You had a good time though?” Yoongi asks. That’s the only thing that matters in the end, after all.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“You don’t spend all night with a date and guess that you had a good time.”
A staticky chuckle filters through the speakers. “It was fun. I can… tell you more at home?”
“Leaving me at this cliffhanger?” Yoongi says dryly. “Such torture. I’m practically falling off my seat wanting to know what happened.”
“You’ll live,” Seokjin laughs, louder this time. “If you don’t, think of it as me taking revenge for you not waiting up to see if I made it home alive.”
“You told me not to wait up!”
“After you’d already fallen asleep!”
A ring of a different phone sounds, and Seokjin sighs. “I have to take this.”
“Good, because I didn’t have a comeback to that.”
Another laugh. “I’ll be back around dinnertime. Takeout today?”
“Sure.”
“Alright. See you tonight, Yoongi-ssi.” Seokjin says, his voice dropping to an overly seductive pitch.
“Get back to work,” Yoongi says, and he hears one last snicker from Seokjin.
The phone call ends. He lowers his phone onto his lap and stays seated on his bed for a couple minutes, staring at the wall. The knots in his chest feel more tangled than ever.
For the first time in four years, Yoongi has breakfast alone.
Of course, he and Seokjin haven’t had all of their breakfasts together. Early work days, family trips home, going out with friends—physically, the two of them have had breakfast alone plenty of times.
Emotionally, though.
Emotionally, their breakfasts apart were: Seokjin’s handwriting on the notes labeling which side dish is which, Seokjin’s heavy-handedness with the pepper that Yoongi could taste in his leftover rolled omelets. It was Yoongi leaving garlic out of the seasoned spinach because he didn’t want Seokjin to itch, him adding extra eggs to his fried rice because Seokjin likes it that way. They’re not always there with each other at breakfast, but they’re there.
And this time, Seokjin isn’t.
The entirety of Yoongi preparing his food feels like tripping all over the place. Putting placemats down on the table but forgetting the plated food at the countertop. Hanging his apron up but leaving the utensils behind. Realizing halfway through his meal that he’s parched since he forgot to pour himself a glass of water. The gaps in his routine that Seokjin always fills are so apparent.
Usually, one of Yoongi’s favorite parts of the early mornings is watching the sun rise alongside the wisps of steam from Seokjin’s tea. He would feel the fog lift as light unfurls throughout the apartment, setting the tips of Seokjin ruffled hair aglow. It’s small, those moments, but it would fill him with such simple happiness.
That day, the clouds hide the sun the entire morning.
//
True to his word, Seokjin comes back with two plastic bags full of takeout. As they set the food up, Yoongi realizes they hadn’t even vocalized where they wanted to eat or what to get. Seokjin just knew: Song Chef’s, jjajangmyeon for himself and tangsuyuk for Yoongi.
The last time they got takeout had to be months ago, and yet he remembered. Yoongi’s stomach twists, heart clenching.
They settle down at the table next to each other, taking out the napkins and plastic utensils.
“Water?” Yoongi offers, and Seokjin nods as he’s halfway through a bite of noodles.
He gets up and pours them two glasses of water. With his back towards Seokjin, he says, “So… you really liked that guy.”
There’s a beat, and Yoongi turns around. Seokjin’s expression is blank, apparently not processing Yoongi’s words.
“Your date?” Yoongi tries again, placing the glasses on the table and sitting back down. “I mean, you were with him all night.”
“I…” Seokjin opens his mouth, then closes it. Repeats this a couple times.
“Were you… not? I thought—”
“No, I was,” Seokjin says quietly. “But I… I don’t like him. Like that.”
“Oh,” Yoongi says. “Oh,” he says again, realization dawning. So what is this—a one-night stand? Friends with benefits? “Well, you can sleep with whoever you want, hyung, I don’t know why you’re—”
“No! No, we—nothing happened. We just… talked.”
“The whole night?”
“Not the whole night. But for—a lot of it.”
“Hm. About…?”
“About how he’s clearly not over his ex.”
“Oh shit.” Well that’s… not a great situation to be in. But— “You needed the whole night for that? What did you do, kill him and spend all morning burying his body?”
A laugh punches itself out of Seokjin, as if he weren’t expecting it. “Maybe I should’ve, considering what he knows now.”
He’s being strangely elusive about all of this. What the hell is going on?
“Okay.” Yoongi draws the word out. “What does he know?”
“Well.” Seokjin places his chopsticks down. “A lot. He knows that I’m an accountant, and that I sort of hate it. That I moved to this apartment five years ago. That I love singing and fishing even though I’m not that good at it—” Yoongi holds up a finger, but Seokjin cuts him off before he can even open his mouth. “And yes, I know you think I’m fantastic at both, thank you very much.” Seokjin sighs a little. “What else, what else…”
He’s dancing around the question. Yoongi is about to point this out, when—
“Ah. He also knows,” Seokjin continues, and his voice is so casual that Yoongi almost misses it when he says, “that I’m trying to get over someone, too. Funny coincidence, right?”
Oh.
He hadn’t even known Seokjin had been seeing someone. Who… since when…?
“Oh,” Yoongi stutters, out loud this time. “I’m… sorry, hyung, I—never knew—”
What does he say? In this situation where the guy he likes apparently had someone else he liked the entire time, what does he say?
Seconds tick past. Seokjin doesn’t say anything more, but his eyes close, the crease between his brows sharpening. An exasperated exhale leaves his mouth, and Yoongi watches him helplessly. He looks so distressed. What’s making him so distressed?
“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says. “I—” He pauses. Inhales, exhales.
Then, “I’m—trying to get over you.”
Yoongi stills entirely.
Everything—his breathing, his heartbeat, the blood running through his veins—seems to freeze in time.
“But it’s not working,” Seokjin says, his gaze locked onto his plate. His ears are completely red. “I’ve been trying for months but it’s not working. Not to say that you have no choice but to date me”—Seokjin scoffs, as if the idea is absurd—“but… I needed to tell you. I needed to tell you, and now we can go on and live our lives. I’m—I hope this won’t affect things too much between you and me.”
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
His last sentence sounds too much like an apology. Too—resolute, as if him coming to his own conclusion was enough to make a choice on Yoongi’s behalf. Yoongi can barely even process the fact that Seokjin apparently has feelings for him—reciprocates Yoongi’s feelings for him—but now he’s just decided that everything is over before it even begins?
“It’s—it’s okay,” Seokjin says hurriedly, misinterpreting Yoongi not answering for him being uncomfortable. “You don’t have to say anything, or console me or whatever. This is my own mess I created, and I know you don’t like me back, so—”
I know you don’t like me back.
“Why,” Yoongi finally musters the courage to speak after hearing such a non-truth about the situation they’re in, “would you think that?”
Seokjin blinks, taken aback. “Wh—”
“Why would you think,” Yoongi says, barely breathing, “that I don’t like you back?”
Silence. A string pulled taut as they stare at each other, unmoving.
“You… encouraged me to go on that date,” Seokjin says slowly. “You—”
“And you,” Yoongi leans forward on the table, “were the one who started using dating apps again. Who asked me to look over your profile, like it was no big deal. How could I have thought otherwise?”
“‘Thought otherwise,’” Seokjin repeats. “Thought… that…”
“You liked me too,” Yoongi finishes for him. “How could I have thought that you liked me too?”
Seokjin’s eyes are so wide. He isn’t moving a muscle. Yoongi can read his expression: shocked, disbelieving, in denial. He’s sure he looked like that just a moment ago.
Before Yoongi realizes what he’s doing, he reaches over to touch Seokjin’s arm, and Seokjin looks up. Yoongi swallows past the lump in his throat and meets his gaze. Holds it.
He thinks about how Seokjin has always been a quiet yet constant presence by his side. How he went from a stranger to a trusted friend in a matter of weeks because of how easy it was to get comfortable around him. How Seokjin cares for people, whether it’s through acting silly to break the ice, or by cooking them their favorite foods, or just by sitting with them so they won’t be alone.
Yoongi thinks about breakfasts, about intentions.
Thinks about—
Love.
“Hyung.” Yoongi almost laughs in incredulity. He shakes his head and says, “You’ve been trying to get over me for months? I’ve been trying to get over you for years.”
Seokjin’s eyes somehow get even wider. In other circumstances Yoongi might’ve found it funny, but he’s preoccupied trying to stop his entire heart from beating out of his chest.
“For… years…?” Seokjin’s voice is so thin, as if scared to let hope seep through the syllables.
“For years,” Yoongi says. His own voice sounds a little wet. “But I just… why did you go on that date? If you’ve… liked me for so long.” It sounds unbelievable, coming out of his own mouth.
Seokjin sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s so stupid but… I guess I wanted to see how you’d react? Because for a while, I thought you did like me—yeah, I actually caught on.” Seokjin chuckles as Yoongi’s eyes go big. “But then seeing you encourage me to go and have fun… made me second guess. I don't know.”
“So what, you were expecting me to throw your nice date clothes on the ground and yell at you to not go because I’ve liked you this whole time and I'm the only one you should be paying attention to?”
Seokjin laughs. “What is this, a drama plot?”
“It might as well have been, considering how long this has dragged out.”
Another laugh fills the air, and the sound makes Yoongi’s heart float. Every cell in his body feels so, so light.
“But really, I did want you to have fun.” Yoongi looks down at his hands in his lap. “Honestly, I was jealous. How could I not be? But if this date ended up working out for you, then… who am I to block you from your happiness?” His voice is barely audible by the end.
Seokjin stares at him, seemingly at a loss. “Yoongi…”
“I mean, would that have fucked me over for awhile? Probably, yeah. But at the end of the day… I just want you to be happy. That’s all I want, hyung.”
There’s movement from beside him, and then Seokjin is taking one of his hands gently, bringing it towards him.
“I'm happy with you,” Seokjin whispers. “I'm happy right here.”
He’s so close. When did he get so close?
“Yoongi-yah.”
Fingers brush through Yoongi’s hair, dragging down to caress his forehead, his cheeks, his chin. Seokjin’s hand lays to rest at the back of Yoongi’s neck. Goosebumps prickle across Yoongi’s body, a rush of adrenaline spreading throughout. He feels himself leaning closer, the earth tilting on its axis.
Seokjin leans forward a bit, and his forehead touches Yoongi’s. They share the same air, breathing together, then Seokjin whispers, “Please.”
Yoongi nods, his answer spoken through the language between their two bodies. He tilts his face upwards, closes the distance, and they kiss.
Seokjin’s lips are so warm, soft to the touch. He moves back a bit before meeting Yoongi in the middle again, as if testing the waters. It’s not enough, though, not nearly enough. Yoongi’s hand rises up to hold Seokjin’s arm, fingers tangling in his sweatshirt. He pulls Seokjin closer and feels the way breath hitches against his mouth. The hand against Yoongi’s neck presses more urgently, and a small sound leaves Yoongi as the kiss deepens. Seokjin catches his bottom lip between his and warmth drips down to Yoongi’s stomach, sweet, as if his bones have been soaked in the richest of honey. Yoongi gets lost in the feeling for minutes, hours, days, the only conceivable thought in his head being Seokjin, Seokjin, Seokjin.
After what feels like the end of time itself, they separate. They still lean their foreheads against each other, lips just barely apart.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin mumbles.
Yoongi hums, his eyes still closed.
“Didn’t you read my dating profile?”
Yoongi’s eyes open just enough to look at him. “What?”
“One of the questions I answered,” Seokjin says. “It said that a man who can cook is the key to my heart.”
Yoongi blinks, nonplussed. “I didn’t think you were talking about me.” He pauses. “Also—why would you make your dating profile aimed towards one specific person. What is the point of that.”
Seokjin sits back in order to fully face Yoongi. “The point,” Seokjin says, eyebrows raising, “was to show that specific person my profile so they could come to their senses.”
Yoongi scoffs. “This is unbelievable. We wasted so much time just dancing around each other.”
“I’m sure we can make up for the lost time,” Seokjin says, his voice overly cheesy as he leans towards him again. A smile pushes itself onto Yoongi’s face even as he shakes his head incredulously. He cradles Seokjin’s jaw to bring him closer, eyes closing, and their mouths meet again and again and again.
When they get back to their dinner, it’s long gone cold.
//
The next morning, Yoongi wakes up in Seokjin’s room, led by hand here after Seokjin whispered stay with me tonight. Yoongi followed with no protest.
It wasn’t the first time they’ve slept in the same bed, but it was the first time Yoongi couldn't get his heart to stop racing as he tried to calm down. Seokjin’s eyes closed not long after his head hit the pillow, but with the way his ears stayed red, Yoongi suspected it was just to avoid looking at him.
At some point though, somehow, they fell asleep—an impressive feat, in Yoongi’s opinion. Now, they’re both lying on their side facing each other, Yoongi’s head cuddled up to his chest and Seokjin’s arm slung across Yoongi’s waist. The sheets rustle as their knees bump, as their elbows knock against each other’s.
There’s a gentle press of lips at Yoongi’s forehead, unbearably soft. An incomprehensible string of words leaves Seokjin’s mouth, vaguely sounding like good morning. Yoongi stifles a sleepy chuckle.
Light begins to filter through the curtains. Together, they breathe with the rising sun.
After a few more minutes of cuddling in bed, they get up. They make breakfast with each other—as each other, for the first time.
Their practiced dance commences: Yoongi sets placemats on the table just before Seokjin puts their plates down, like always. The clink of utensils rings in the air as Seokjin finds two sets of spoons, and Yoongi goes to hang up his apron, just as usual—but then Seokjin’s hand bumps into his.
A misstep.
Yoongi looks up in surprise.
Seokjin catches his wrist, backs him up against the door. Yoongi has to tilt his head to be able to meet Seokjin’s eyes. His lungs are refusing to function properly.
“This is too normal,” Seokjin says, eyes sparkling. “I’m making breakfast for the first time with my boyfriend, but it’s all too normal.”
“We—have a routine,” Yoongi stutters, his heart pounding. The word boyfriend echoes through his thoughts, leaving him warm and flustered. “A practiced dance.”
“Well.” Seokjin leans closer, eyes dropping to Yoongi’s mouth. “We’ll just have to think of a different choreography then, won't we?” This time, Yoongi can’t stop the laugh that escapes him.
He answers by simply rising on the tips of his toes, bringing his lips to Seokjin’s, and thinking that this is how the dance should have gone from the very beginning.