Chapter Text
Yoongi wasn’t in a rut.
From the beginning, he wasn’t like his peers in the art world. There weren’t any feelings in his sketches or his still lifes. He didn’t paint from the “heart”. For Yoongi, it was just a matter of lines and angles. He just enjoyed clean lines and symmetry aligning together in a perfect blended image. Creating such works had always brought his mind peace. That was it. He wasn’t like Taehyung; he didn’t have natural abilities or an “artistic mind”. He couldn’t just sit in his studio all day without rest and pump out masterpiece after masterpiece like the younger painter could.
In fact, that was yet another reason he wasn’t in a rut. He wasn’t out of ideas or going through an art block like Taehyung had once upon a time before he met the love of his life and settled down. No, what Yoongi was wasn’t like that at all.
He was just done.
“Hyung, I don’t understand a thing you’re saying,” Taehyung complained. Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose as he held the phone to his ear. Why had he even tried to explain?
It was a Sunday morning, of all things. Usually Yoongi would still be in bed, his trusty black out curtains in his room drawn tight to block out any possibility of light, fast asleep. Instead he was sitting on the couch in his living room, listening to his much more famous than him junior ramble on about some new art exhibit he had somehow gotten involved with. Ever since Taehyung had announced his plan to take a hiatus from the art world and switch to a more mentor-like role as a consultant and volunteer teacher at one of the art museums in Busan where he now lived with Jimin, the painter had seemed twice as busy than before. He was constantly darting around, meeting up with curators to discuss future exhibits or leading some sort of painting class. And now he was trying to rope Yoongi in this mess as well.
“Look, Taehyung-ah,” the older man said with a sigh. “What I’m saying is that I won’t be joining your little collab show in Busan.”
“But why not?!” Yoongi would have thought someone with such a naturally deep voice would not be capable of such a high-pitched whine but Taehyung always managed to surprise him during their long friendship. Truly, ever since college, the man has been an enigma.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said sarcastically. “Maybe the fact that I hate crowds, people, and joint exhibits?”
“Please please please do it. These are all new and mostly unknown artists. They need a veteran painter in the exhibit with some clout, or no one will show up,” Taehyung tried again, sounding desperate. Yoongi rolled his eyes.
“If that’s all you need then you just do it,” he said dismissively. “If people knew Vante would be there, they’d be beating the door down to get in.”
“Well about that, Jimin and I are actually going out of town that weekend…”
Unbelievable. So he was supposed to be a replacement ?
“I said no.”
“Okay, hyung,” Taehyung said, suddenly switching to a more understanding tone. Yoongi felt his shoulders loosen up a bit; finally the brat understood. “I see you need some more time to consider my fabulous offer.”
He spoke too soon. “I’m pretty sure I just said-”
“I’ll call you again in a few days!” Taehyung interrupted.
“Yah, I’m not-”
“Bye!!”
Yoongi stared in disbelief at his blank phone screen before tossing onto the couch next to him. Talking with Taehyung was so exhausting when he got like this. Yoongi didn’t even know why that annoying brat was so hung up on getting him to do this. Taehyung knew so many painters in Korea, for God’s sake. Why did he need Yoongi?
He didn’t think he had no talent as a painter, of course. Staying beside a genius like Taehyung for all of one’s art career would dishearten most people, but not Yoongi. He was more realistic than that. And in the first place, what each of them were good at was insanely different. Taehyung was good at turning his every emotion into a multicolored masterpiece on canvas, while Yoongi was just good with his hands in general. It didn’t have to be paint, as the artist had recently proven to himself with sculpting.
He had taken it up as a hobby at first, something for his hands to do while he tried to figure out what his next still life would be, but now it was all he worked on. His studio had steadily changed from carrying paint and brushes to chisels and clay before Yoongi had even known what happened. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He was done with the painting phase of his life. Though it was still too early to do so, Yoongi planned to display some of his new works sometime next year and officially make his debut as a sculptor, not a painter.
He just needed to get around to telling Taehyung that.
Yoongi was so deep in thought he didn’t hear the soft footsteps coming down the stairs, didn’t notice the presence of another until arms were circling around his neck. Instead of flinching away from the sudden skin on skin contact, the moody man found himself instantly relaxing into the warm hold, his annoyance slowly ebbing away. Yoongi normally didn’t enjoy being touched, but somehow he didn’t mind it when Hoseok did it.
“There you are,” Hoseok said, a playful heart-shaped smile dancing on his lips. Yoongi never saw the man not smiling. “I woke up by myself.”
“My bad,” Yoongi replied. He had to tilt his head all the way back to properly see Hoseok’s face from where he stood behind the couch. The teacher was in a large T-shirt, the white material a stark contrast against his golden skin, tanned from playing in the sun with kids every day. Hoseok’s dark brown hair was wild and unkept, hairs sticking up oddly in the back and his bangs ruffled. Yoongi smirked at the memory of how the other’s hair had gotten so messed up in the first place.
“What was that phone call about?” Hoseok asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. “It was TaeTae, right?”
Yoongi nodded and immediately sighed. “He called first thing in the morning to bother me about some exhibit he wants me to be in.”
“Exhibit?” Hoseok tilted his head in thought. “Oh, wait, I think Jimin might’ve mentioned this at work actually. A mutual friend of his and Namjoon is going to be in it too, I think, and he was debating going or not. Why? You don’t want to?”
“Of course not,” Yoongi snorted.
Hoseok nodded quietly, coming around the couch to sit beside him. Wordlessly, he reached over and softly stroked the back of Yoongi’s head. The touch was firm but comfortable, a dependable pressure. Yoongi found himself sinking into it until before he knew it his head was resting on Hoseok’s shoulder. It was… nice. Nicer than Yoongi thought. He found his face relaxing fully, eyebrows no longer drawn together so tightly. He hadn’t even realized he had been so tense. Maybe that had been the brown-haired teacher’s intention all along.
“Taetae isn’t the type to give up on something he wants,” Hoseok eventually said as he continued to run his hands through Yoongi’s hair. “I’ve seen it firsthand.”
He twitched. There it was. “Believe me, I remember as well as you. But that little busybody needs to know when no means no,” Yoongi responded evenly.
“If it’s because you don’t have any new paintings, you could always send him some of your old works, you know.”
Yoongi smiled. Hoseok wasn’t the type to pry or ask too many questions, a quality the artist quite appreciated in a person as he wasn’t one to talk about himself, but that didn’t mean the brown-haired man wasn’t observant. Being a teacher had definitely honed his ability to catch nonverbal clues, so Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised if Hoseok had noticed the random clumps of clay that were sometimes on his hair or gray-like smudges on his clothes while they were fooling around in bed.
“He won’t stop at that,” Yoongi said knowingly. “He’ll end up wanting me to attend as well, and drag me all the way to Busan.”
Hoseok seemed to be pondering something as he carefully asked the next question. “Would that be so bad?”
“Of course! I hate traveling,” Yoongi huffed in annoyance. “I just want to work in peace in my own home. Is that so wrong?”
“Well, no… but Busan could be fun,” Hoseok finished quietly.
Yoongi didn’t know what the other man was trying to get at by defending Busan to him. Did Hoseok think he was refusing because of the location?
“Well, fun or not, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “I have no reason to go to Busan.”
Hoseok’s fingers suddenly stilled in Yoongi’s hair. The artist felt the air shift and knew immediately he had said something wrong. Slowly, he lifted his head from the other’s shoulder. Whatever expression Hoseok had been wearing was gone though, replaced by a smile. But this smile wasn’t any of the typical ones that Yoongi had become used to seeing on the kindergarten teacher’s tan face. No, this smile was off.
“You’re right,” Hoseok said, almost a bit too positively. “I guess you don’t.”
Yoongi felt his heart sink. Shit, he fucked up. “Hoseok, I didn’t mean-”
The other man cut him off with a laugh. “Why the serious look?” he asked, standing up and leaving Yoongi alone on the couch. “Just because I’m in Busan doesn’t mean you have a reason to go.. I know that. ”
Yoongi looked at him helplessly. He didn’t know what to say.
And Hoseok wasn’t about to wait around for him. He promptly turned and headed for the kitchen. “Come on, I’m hungry! Let’s make breakfast real quick, and then I’ll get out of your hair. I’m sure you wanna get to work and I need to rest tonight before Monday rolls around again. Those kids are so full of energy first thing in the morning, let me tell you.”
Yoongi followed Hoseok into the kitchen and watched as the chipper man busied himself inspecting the fridge for ingredients while humming. His hands tapped a beat and his legs swayed to the rhythm almost unconsciously; a dancer’s instincts never fully died it would seem.
“You don’t have anything in here,” Hoseok complained.
His eyes searched Hoseok’s, but the brown-haired man’s face was drawn into a perfect mask of contented ease. Yoongi didn’t know how to get past it. Or if he even had the right to.
Yoongi shrugged in response. “Not unusual for me.”
…it’s not like they were dating.