Work Text:
Making sure to keep his rapping very light, in case Yoongi is already immersed in work, Jeongguk knocks on the door of Genius Lab. He glances down at the keypad. He knows this latest code, just as he’s known every code combination before this one. He could punch in the right numbers, hear the lock click open, and waltz right through the door as he’s done countless times before.
Except now they’re on a hiatus, or a break, or an extended leave, or whatever corporate speak makes the most sense for press releases and bottom lines. They aren’t making music as a group at the current moment, and really it all means that whatever Yoongi is doing in his studio has absolutely nothing to do with Jeongguk. The problem is that he’s thrilled to be taking steps forward; each of them are working alone, trying to make their debut as their own artist beyond being one part of a seven-piece whole. This is good. This is healthy. This is something they all chose, years ago actually, and it’s finally coming to fruition and it’s good. It’s been good, and it will continue to be good, but there is a distance between them all now which he hadn’t fully anticipated.
Or perhaps the distance is solely perceived in Jeongguk’s head, but that doesn’t really make it any better.
They haven’t formally lived together in quite some time, which had been an adjustment too, when they began to trickle out of the shared dorm for quieter, personal apartments and living arrangements. Jeongguk has always been the one chomping at the bit for more, the plight of being the youngest, he supposes, eager to do everything as fast and as well as the others, often barreling ahead at a fever pitch. He’s the same way with his brother; it’s an itch under his skin to prove himself to those who have already accomplished and experienced so much more than him, his heart beating with relentless rigour to keep up, stay in step, push himself harder to not fall behind. Passion and competition thrum in his blood, outweighing any slow burning fatigue at the ruthlessness of an industry that has tried to chew him up and spit him out so many times already. They’ve all dealt with it, both separately and together, he’s certainly not special.
They each have their own ways of coping with the current situation, one they all craved and yet still struggle with on a daily basis. The group chat buzzes with constant updates, mostly from Jimin and Taehyung, but the others chime in regularly, even Yoongi. The only one who doesn’t have anything to say is Jeongguk. He reads everything, stays updated on everyone in less personal ways as well - social media, press updates, company emails. He doesn’t reach out much to the others, not as much as he should, and he’d just gotten nailed for it during their first Run BTS filming in months.
“Where have you been, Jeongguk? If I believed the press, I’d think you’ve been traveling all over the world, but I don’t think you’ve actually been anywhere.”
“So you are still alive! Thank the gods, I was close to alerting the authorities.”
“You have read receipts turned on in the group chat, that’s the only reason I haven’t been concerned you’d found a way to film a G.C.F. from the moon.”
“You were supposed to come to the States with me, we were gonna cheer on Hobi-hyung together.”
Yoongi had metaphorically saved him from the onslaught of commentary from the perpetual peanut gallery of his life, which had felt endless at the time, holding out his hand palm up and waiting for Jeongguk to accept his offered respite. Jeongguk had reached out and taken it, squeezing briefly before he let Yoongi’s hand drop. Four of them were getting styled for filming, sitting in a row, Yoongi, Jeongguk, Hoseok, and Taehyung, while the others were already finished.
The expression on Yoongi’s face had been unreadable, before he turned away to chat with Namjoon, who hovered behind him. Hoseok and Taehyung had both stared at Jeongguk, as though willing him to figure out what they were screaming silently to him from the other makeup chairs. When Jeongguk blankly stared back, they turned in tandem back to the mirrors, and he felt as though he’d let them both down.
Shooting their variety show again had felt both mildly awkward and completely natural. The air has shifted around them ever since they made their decision and are finally able to make good on it. And yet, the ease with which they all fall together when in a group, either for part of their schedule or for something casual and private, never fails to remind Jeongguk how incredibly fortunate he is to have them. They would say the same, that they wouldn’t be them without him, and he believes it. Not because he’s arrogant about his importance in their lives - at this point the seven of them are a reality as solid as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west - but because destiny brought them all together. He’s certain of it down to the marrow in his bones.
The door to Genius Lab swings open, and Yoongi’s mouth hangs agape when he sees that it’s Jeongguk on his doorstep. “Jeongguk-ah, why didn’t you just come in?”
Sometimes Jeongguk wonders if Fate has more in store for him than bringing him to the other six. Sometimes Jeongguk wonders if he’s greedy for even considering it, longing for one more thing, hoping for the crimson string tied around his finger to be connected to someone already firmly woven into the fabric of his life. Ever the romantic, dreaming of finding his perfect partner, he should be pleased if he’s paired with anyone, but his sights have been set on someone in particular for years now. He hadn’t fully realized his feelings for quite some time, ignoring the fizzy champagne bubbles in his throat whenever one specific person entered the room, but even when he did, he had still felt like a cartoon anvil had struck him in the head, Cupid’s arrow lodged firmly in his chest.
Cheeks warming despite the air conditioning turned way too low, Jeongguk blinks owlishly at Yoongi. He still looks warm and cuddly in his loose knit cardigan and light wash jeans, hair tousled and longer than he can ever recall seeing on Yoongi. Jeongguk idly wishes he’d thought to change his clothes before stopping by, shivers already nipping at his arms and legs, but it’s been a busy day of filming countless things for upcoming releases, and if he’d gone home first, he wouldn’t have returned to the company building.
“Gguk-ah?” Yoongi looks concerned as he waits for a response.
Jeongguk snaps out of his head. Unfortunately, that leaves his mind blank of everything that would be considered a decent reason for disturbing Yoongi’s work after a long day for them all, doing separate things, before joining up for their variety show. “I just… wanted to see what you were up to.”
“Okay,” nods Yoongi, confusion drawing his eyebrows even tighter together. He tips his head and scrutinizes Jeongguk. It’s clear that he’s trying to sift through all of the unspoken words, read the body language as though he’s fluent. He must come up short. “That doesn’t really explain why you didn’t slink in like you normally do.”
Jeongguk still doesn’t understand what normal looks like anymore. Everything feels different, even though most of it is exactly the same. He should be doing more, stepping outside of his comfort zone more readily than he did before. He has no idea when living with boundless zeal for each and every opportunity became a little harder to muster on some days, too many days.
“I don’t slink, hyung.”
“Fine. Bounce in.”
“Not the bunny stuff again,” groans Jeongguk, feigning annoyance. He smacks his palm loudly against his forehead.
Yoongi snorts, crossing his arms across his chest, accentuating his more defined muscles, even in a relaxed white tee. “Crash in? Slide in? Roll in? Deign to grace me with your elusive golden presence? I wasn’t trying to take a dig at you.”
“Okay,” agrees Jeongguk, fascinated by the slight rosy tinge sitting high on Yoongi’s cheeks. He wants to press his lips against the blush to see how warm it feels.
“You don’t walk in like everyone else, you have different energy. And bunnies are cu-” Yoongi grimaces as he cuts himself off, and casually shrugs one shoulder. His eyes widen and he sighs. “Will you just come in already, this is weird. Don’t hover outside my door like an unwanted guest, Gguk-ah.”
At being officially invited in, Jeongguk lets the unexpected weight slip off his shoulders. He gazes around, everything exactly as it had been the last time he was here, a few months ago when he’d been enthusiastically sharing his latest vocal guide with Yoongi. He was trying to take on even more responsibility, to lighten the load for Namjoon and Yoongi and Hoseok. Sometimes he’s nearly bursting with all of the ideas and riffs and lyrics and possibilities which threaten to spill out of him uncontained; he might as well put that energy to good use. Usually, he creates songs that languish in his hard drive because it’s hard to pick and choose in order to narrow it all down to something that makes sense to anyone else but him. Hoseok had gushed, Namjoon had given a thumbs up, and Yoongi had smiled a small closed lip smile while he nodded, while Jeongguk’s heart swelled with pride.
“Jeongguk,” croons Yoongi, already plopping down in his cushioned, high-back chair. Jeongguk adores that chair. Someday, when he thinks he’s done enough to earn the right to a fancy studio chair, he wants one just like Yoongi’s. The fact that Jeongguk harbors explicit fantasies about that chair is irrelevant to the moment at hand. “Your brain is really loud today, isn’t it?”
“It was a busy day, hyung. Like days we used to have all the time. But it’s not the same.”
“No, it’s not the same. We have a little more freedom now. Not a lot, but a little.”
Freedom. It’s a perplexing, unattainable concept. Jeongguk considers what he would do if he didn’t live a life under constant scrutiny and contractual obligations. He pictures the first thing he would do if he really had freedom from everything for even just one day. He thinks he’d still be right here in this studio, but doing far more than standing around like a dumbstruck idiot.
Jeongguk longs to be an idiot in a very different way, urging one of the wisest people he’s ever known be an idiot right alongside him.
Jeongguk licks his lips. His eyes flit around the room, glancing at the wall art and knick-knacks, the high-end speakers and recording equipment, the couch which he’s quite familiar with when he’s in desperate need of an undisturbed nap and can’t be alone with his rampaging thoughts. His hands pick at his pants, the nylon slippery between his fingers. His tongue plays with his lip ring, and he should probably go home. He’s exhausted even though he’s been put through scheduled paces far more grueling than today’s activities. He shouldn’t feel so unmoored and fatigued, although the idea of sleep seems impossible enough as to be comical. Hysterical, even.
Too much is the same to feel as different as he feels right now. Nothing has changed, but Jeongguk craves more.
More, always more. His pulse races with it.
“Is it enough for you, hyung?” Jeongguk closes his eyes as he hears the creak of Yoongi’s chair, spinning to face the computer screens. A few swift taps, and then quiet instrumental music pulses out of the speakers.
Yoongi hums as though he hears all the unasked questions buried beneath the vague query. “It has to be, I suppose.”
Forcing himself to find some composure, Jeongguk shuffles over until he stands directly behind Yoongi. Wordlessly, Yoongi lifts up his arm, the hair elastic he’d been wearing around his wrist held out in an offering. Jeongguk takes it and holds it between his teeth. He begins to comb his fingers through Yoongi’s dark, long waves, some of his hair almost down to his broad shoulders. Gently, he scratches at Yoongi’s scalp in a rhythmic pattern, before dragging his fingers through silky locks of hair, already healthier than after he’d dyed it a vibrant ginger hue. Yoongi’s hair is thinner than his own thick, unruly mop, and there is no resistance to each stroke of his fingers. He allows the repetitive motion to soothe his simmering distress, until it evaporates into nothing, whisked away as though it never existed. It’ll surely be back, Jeongguk’s mind never at rest for very long, but he appreciates the moments of utter silence when they come.
After several long peaceful minutes spent keeping his hands busy, fingers buried in Yoongi’s hair, Jeongguk begins to gather every strand into a short ponytail at the nape of Yoongi’s neck. He sweeps back the left side, followed by the right, holding all of the hair tightly in one fist, as he makes sure the top is smooth. He works his fingers through every section of hair until he has a perfect little bundle held in his hand. He takes the elastic out of his mouth, and winds it around and around, delicately pulling and twisting the band until a neat little ponytail rests at the back of Yoongi’s head.
Jeongguk should spin the chair around and arrange the framing locks of fringe around Yoongi’s face. He should make sure hair isn’t in his eyes or bothering him in any way. He should step back and go sit down or do anything that isn’t hovering behind Yoongi with idle hands, an empty mouth, and a heart that is suddenly thundering in his chest like a racehorse straining for the finish line.
The bare, pale expanse of Yoongi’s neck beckons Jeongguk, like a tease of something he mustn’t think about. Nothing has changed, nothing is any different than when they first went on a group break, but then why does Jeongguk feel as though this is the moment to seize?
Like being lured by a siren out at sea, Jeongguk leans in towards Yoongi, as his hands lightly rest on sturdy shoulders. He wishes he’d reapplied his lip gloss, the good one, the scarlet one in a heart-shaped tube which costs way too much and has a name like “Midnight Tramp” but makes his lips shiny and swollen like he’s been kissed to within an inch of his life.
Puckering his lips, sanity a mere phantom at the edge of his consciousness, Jeongguk gets so close he’s sure Yoongi can feel every heated, frantic exhale on his skin. He longs to leave his mark, proof of adoration on a porcelain canvas. Just as his mouth is about to make contact, his lips a breath away from Yoongi’s neck, his brain shrieks at him that nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed.
All of the reasons Jeongguk has refrained from doing this exact thing are still present, still looming, still pressing down on him from all sides. Just because he’s harbored a crush for someone - his friend, his bandmate, another man - that’s no reason to throw all carefully curated caution to the wind now, of all times. They are on a temporary break, not in an entirely new reality where Jeongguk can crawl into Yoongi’s lap, press his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck and inhale his inviting smoky cedar musk, confessions of every non-platonic urge spilling off of his tongue.
Jerking back, Jeongguk practically trips and lands on his ass, but he manages to stay upright, which is fortunate since Yoongi spins around in his chair right at that moment. He gapes at Jeongguk, short curls perfectly hanging around his face, elegant cheekbones and sharp jawline on full display. His mouth is open, and Jeongguk has to physically hold himself back from erasing the distance between them and licking into it like he’s ravenous.
“Your hair looks nice, hyung,” murmurs Jeongguk, feeling wildly out of breath. He takes a step back, even though he can’t take his eyes off of Yoongi.
Yoongi smiles, tight at the corners, but it’s soft and sincere. “You did it, so it’s all thanks to you.”
Jeongguk shakes his head, too fast, too anxious, and he almost makes himself dizzy with it. “No, it’s your, uhh, hair, and your face, and so that’s why it looks so good, everything on you looks, umm, good.”
Somehow, Jeongguk tears his gaze away from Yoongi and spins around. To anyone else, it might appear as though he’s simply admiring the wall decor, when in actuality, he’s desperately attempting to rein in his fleeing dignity. He hears a rustle of fabric and the squeak of the chair again, and he squeezes his eyes shut. His face is burning hot, surely an unflattering shade of pink, more Pepto than peony, and he prays Yoongi is ignoring him, not paying him any mind.
A large, warm hand presses tentatively against Jeongguk’s upper back, a steadying presence. The comforting heat spreads like syrup, melts like butter, sticky and rich through his bloodstream. Jeongguk should allow himself to sink into it and bask; Yoongi effortlessly provides a sense of grounding calm, one that Jeongguk has learned to rely on, seek out, crave like oxygen to breathe. He’s such a fool.
Jeongguk flinches, his shoulders held taut until Yoongi moves a step away. His breath catches in his lungs, sears his throat as he tries to inhale properly.
“Jeongguk.”
Yoongi is so quiet behind him, there’s no movement, and that should be exactly what Jeongguk wants, he’s the one that made it awkward in the first place. It’s always been so easy between them, but somehow Jeongguk captured the air in the room and spun it into a storm. He waits, willing Yoongi to go sit back down, giving him space to escape the sudden tension.
(What Jeongguk wants is for Yoongi to glide closer, place his hands around the curve of Jeongguk’s waist to urgently tug him in, until his back rests flush against Yoongi’s chest. He wants Yoongi to dip his head into the crook of his neck, lips pressing soft and sweet kisses along his throat, tongue darting out hot and wet against Jeongguk’s skin, teasing, tasting. He wants Yoongi to slide his palms around to Jeongguk’s abdomen, tantalizing and deliberate, long fingers tracing the shape of his muscles as Jeongguk nestles against the firm, broad lines of him.
Jeongguk wants to straddle Yoongi’s lap and feel the warmth of him against his thighs, he wants to be laid out on the studio couch and taken apart, he wants Yoongi to play him like his beloved piano, he wants to pluck every string of Yoongi like a guitar. He aches for Yoongi, desire always scorching the periphery of his dreams, a white hot pulse. He wants Yoongi, he wants and wants and wants. )
Hooking a finger into Jeongguk’s sleeve, Yoongi makes a come hither motion, wordlessly urging Jeongguk to turn around. He shakes his head, stubbornly facing the wall as though he’s a child trying to avoid being scolded. He wonders what Yoongi’s thinking, but doesn’t feel brave enough to ask. He thinks his voice might fail him right now even if he tried to speak. Words have never been his area of expertise.
“Jeongguk-ah, talk to me.” Yoongi whispers, tone soothing as though approaching a cornered feral animal. Jeongguk opens his eyes and turns his head, not quite seeking out Yoongi, trying to get his bearings. He is completely untethered in one of his safest spaces, and he did this to himself. He did this to them, placid still waters churned into a turbulent, muddy mess.
Forcing a swallow, Jeongguk gathers his fraying nerves. “What do you want me to say?”
The frown is audible in Yoongi’s huff. “I don’t know.”
“Well that makes two of us, hyung.”
“Let’s try it the other way. What do you want me to say, Gguk-ah?”
“I want-” Jeongguk slams his mouth shut and chokes on the words before they tumble out, unbidden and disastrous. Taehyung has gotten the truth out of him, having recognized the signs of debilitating, unrequited attraction, and Hoseok knows because Jeongguk and Hoseok tell each other everything. Seokjin hasn’t specifically inquired, yet Jeongguk is certain that his eldest hyung is aware of the situation since he’s always somehow managed to see right through Jeongguk and his hastily constructed walls, a bird bone rib cage protecting a rice paper heart.
The music in Genius Lab plays on, a melodic symphony as a soundtrack to Jeongguk’s lack of poise. He hears the swell of strings and thinks of home, although not the waves lapping at the shores in Busan, but a person shaped like a song, a heart that beats in a three-fourths time signature.
Yoongi lets go of Jeongguk’s sleeve, trailing his hand carefully down Jeongguk’s bare arm, pausing to outline the edge of the clouds that darken his inner elbow. He slides his palm further along Jeongguk’s forearm, fingertips dancing against the thin skin of his wrist, before seamlessly weaving their fingers together. Jeongguk has held hands with Yoongi a thousand times before, except this feels leagues away from those experiences. This is private, quiet, an overwhelmingly delicate intimacy clasped between them.
Jeongguk is scared to move, he refuses to stretch the gossamer wisps of the moment until they break. He closes his eyes again and focuses on breathing, glad that he’s still facing the wall. He tries to hush his mind, calm his heart, owing Yoongi more honesty than he’s delivered so far.
He remembers when he first came out to them all, years ago now, practically a whole lifetime since Jeongguk had still been a child at the time, early on in their time as a group. There had been a loud response, delighted chaos and satisfied cacophony, and in that moment Jeongguk had felt so loved, so seen, so accepted. Yoongi hadn’t said much, but mouthed an “I’m proud of you” with a serene, understanding smile. Jeongguk practically walked on air all the way to the bedroom that night.
This isn’t the same, not at all, but Yoongi deserves that same level of respect and trust.
“Yoongi,” murmurs Jeongguk, grasping at every shred of courage. People always call him a fearless thrill-seeker, and yet conjuring up the correct words for an overdue confession seems insurmountable. Facing this is perhaps the true test of his supposed bravery. Yoongi might find him silly and lacking, juvenile and unappealing; Jeongguk can’t recall any of Yoongi’s past partners being anything like Jeongguk, a living contradiction in a hundred little ways.
Ever patient, Yoongi waits without a word, giving his hand one tender squeeze, then rubbing his own thumb in a calming gesture up and down along Jeongguk’s thumb.
“Do you remember on Inkigayo when Namjoon tore my shirt?” Jeongguk flushes as everything about that day’s filming slams back into his mind.
Yoongi pauses, the abrupt tension nearly palpable, thumb held still. “Of course.”
Jeongguk sighs. “Well, backstage, when everyone was kind of playing around and teasing me and being loud dumb idiots about it, you were the only one who wasn’t.”
Yoongi’s thumb resumes its pattern, up and down, up and down. He hums.
“Do you… do you remember what you said to me after we were all done with the schedule that day?” It’s a memory that plays in vivid technicolor in Jeongguk’s mind.
Yoongi’s voice sounds strained as he answers, rough at the corners, but it’s only discernible because Jeongguk has long envied Yoongi’s unflappable demeanor. “Remind me.”
With one last figurative squaring of his shoulders, Jeongguk turns around. He needs to face Yoongi for this stroll down memory lane. He maneuvers their hands so they’re still held together, reaching out and grabbing Yoongi’s other hand as well. They intertwine their fingers. Jeongguk is so grateful for the music, otherwise he fears Yoongi would be able to hear the thunderous pounding of his heartbeat, deafening in his own ears.
“You pulled me aside, away from all the makeup artists and wardrobe stylists and backstage crew. You made sure all the others weren’t paying us any attention.” Jeongguk remembers how special he felt at that very second, the focus of Yoongi’s precious attention. He hadn’t cared if the other was simply going to beg him to record some personal guide for him, or ask to show him the proper technique for a deadlift, or request a deep cleaning of his home oven. Whatever it was, Jeongguk had been thrilled to be set apart. When he’s reliving the scene, the same butterflies still flutter around his stomach.
Jeongguk releases Yoongi’s left hand, to demonstrate. He places his palm over Yoongi’s heart, underneath his cardigan, fingers splayed wide against soft white cotton. “You were facing me, just like this, and you reached out to touch me, just like this.”
“Mhmm,” rasps Yoongi, a barely audible response.
“You said ‘Namjoonie is clumsy, but it’s good he ripped your shirt and showed your big, soft, pretty heart to the world.’” Jeongguk tries to grit out the words in his best Yoongi impression, gratified when a tiny smile graces Yoongi’s face. “You thought I was still upset about my chest being exposed, when I was already a little embarrassed about the whole abs situation of the choreo. It was very sweet, hyung.”
An attractive blush spreads along Yoongi’s collarbones, crawling up his neck, wine spilled in water. “I didn’t want you to feel bad. I never want you to feel bad. You should always be feeling good, Gguk-ah. I want to make you feel good.”
Fire flares in Jeongguk’s gut, low and tight. He shakes his head like a soaked dog trying to dispel water, needing to stay on track, lest he never completes his thought. He started this, he needs to finish it. “I want you to make me feel good, Yoongi, but… that’s the thing. You said the kindest things, you’re always so wise. But all I wanted, when we were tucked away in a dark corner…”
“Go on,” mutters Yoongi, leaning forward as if he can coax the words more quickly out of Jeongguk’s mouth.
“All I wanted was to rip my shirt again so your hand would have been touching me, touching my bare skin.” Jeongguk lowers his gaze, tracking the movement of Yoongi’s tongue as it flicks out to wet his top lip. “And I was aware that I had kind of a puppy crush on you already, but I knew right then that it was so much more than that.”
“What?”
“Do you want me to stop, hyung?”
“No,” exclaims Yoongi, crowding into Jeongguk’s space, his hand still pressed flat against Yoongi’s chest, arm trapped tight between them. He wonders if Yoongi notices the way his chest heaves for breath, hopes he doesn’t have any idea how scattered Jeongguk feels. “Back then, you felt more? Jeongguk, that was years ago by now.”
Jeongguk forces himself to look into Yoongi’s mesmerizing eyes. He doesn’t know how he spends any time not gazing at Yoongi, everything about him is soft and beautiful. His tongue fidgets with his lip ring, and he stops that habit, only to gnaw on his bottom lip instead. “Back then, I felt more.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows pinch together, his jaw clenches, his expression flickers with brief disappointment before it smooths back out. “Okay. Well that’s… okay then, isn’t it.”
Tipping his head, batting away the whispers of doubt that tickle at his thoughts, Jeongguk nods. “Back then, over the last few years. Still now.”
“Still now, what?” Yoongi looks pained.
“Hyung,” whines Jeongguk, heart hammering in his throat. “Still now. I felt more, I feel more, still. Right now. This very second. With you. For you.”
Without saying a word, Yoongi steps back and opens his hand, Jeongguk’s arms dropping like leaden weights to his side, the scant space between them gaping like an insurmountable chasm. Jeongguk feels the tremble start in his fingers, spreading up his arms while his knees quake beneath him. When he starts to splinter apart, just like this, he always wonders if others can tell, if they perceive him like he perceives himself. He clamps his bottom lip between his goofy oversized teeth to prevent it from wobbling. A familiar, humiliating pressure tingles in his eyelids, and he spins on his heel, facing the wall again.
Stupid. He shouldn’t have come down here. As soon as he hesitated to punch in the code, he should have known it’d be best to scuttle away. Instead, he’d knocked on the door, and invited himself in to be flayed open, emotionally eviscerated.
“Jeongguk. Gguk-ah.” Yoongi’s voice sounds wrecked, and a tiny, petty part of Jeongguk is happy that he sounds miserable. A much larger part of him that enjoys being tortured needs to hear whatever Yoongi has to say. “Please come look at this.”
As if pulled by an invisible force, Jeongguk turns and walks over to Yoongi’s desk, where Yoongi is back in his chair. Sitting down, while Jeongguk stands, somehow he appears small, hands held in between his thighs as he peers up at Jeongguk as though awaiting his fate. As though Jeongguk has any control left in this situation.
It’s Yoongi’s turn. Jeongguk can’t possibly dredge up anymore humility to lose. He stares at Yoongi and waits, hoping he’s not about to get his heart clobbered.
With an enormous sigh, although Jeongguk is self-aware enough to realize any frustration isn’t directed at him, Yoongi spins to face the monitor. His shoulders are high, drawn around his ears like armor.
Jeongguk feels as though he missed a step.
Yoongi clicks around until he gets to a folder titled: 160523. Obviously, Jeongguk recognizes it as a date, but despite how he wracks his brain, he can’t quite place it as anything significant. When Yoongi opens it, what appears to be an endless list of files fill the screen. The file names are all flower names, more flowers than Jeongguk could possibly recite off the top of his head. Narcissus, Crocus, Snow Drop, Myrtle, Primrose, Columbine.
Bewildered, Jeongguk watches as Yoongi gulps, his throat bobbing with the effort. The back of his neck flushes, and Jeongguk is infinitely grateful that his hair is pulled up in that cute little ponytail so that he can see it. Despite being rejected, Jeongguk can’t turn off his feelings for Yoongi like a light switch. He’s larger than life for Jeongguk, attractive and thoughtful and brilliant and insightful. The tender soft stuffing of him yearns to curl up like a pill bug and hide in shame, but the pathetic hopeful part of him yearns even more for Yoongi.
Stupid.
Jeongguk sees Yoongi peruse the files, until he deliberately selects Azalea, and warm, bright piano music fills the studio. The song is happy and lilting, optimistic as though better days are right around the corner. Jeongguk closes his eyes and imagines the lyrics that should accompany the chords, already singing harmony in his head. He wants to open his mouth and free his throat, using his voice to turn the embarrassment of the evening into something far more pleasant. He stays silent, curious what he’s listening to, what he’s listening for, if there’s something he’s missing.
“Do you like it?” Yoongi asks, voice stripped raw with hope as he gazes up at Jeongguk.
A sense of determined peace washing over him, Jeongguk nods as he looks at Yoongi. Even with an adoration based on mutual love and trust that he will need to crush beneath the heel of Jimin’s sharpest Chelsea boot, this is still his Yoongi.
“Jeongguk-ah, please listen to another one.”
There’s a muted desperation to Yoongi as he opens another file. Oleander. Sweet, romantic music spills into Genius Lab, and Jeongguk feels like dancing. He longs to pull Yoongi to his feet and hold him as they waltz in step. If he imagines just right, he can feel the imagined press of Yoongi’s fingers along his waist, longing for them to slip lower until they rest on his hips, using his grip to pull their bodies impossibly close as they move sinuously as one.
“Gguk-ah. Baby, what do you think?” Yoongi’s voice is gravelly, lower than normal, his eyes dark as he watches Jeongguk sway beside him.
“I don’t…” Jeongguk trails off as he flails, his heart a staccato rhythm. Baby. Yoongi speaks like he’s trying to communicate something important to Jeongguk, except Jeongguk has cracked open his chest and bared everything for Yoongi already, he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have the capacity to decipher Yoongi’s message, to parse his words and find the hidden meaning.
“Jeongguk, I’ve messed this up.”
“You haven’t messed anything up, hyung. I did that all on my own. I’ve ruined everything.”
“No, baby,” argues Yoongi, with a firm shake of his head. He rapidly opens another file, too quickly for Jeongguk to catch the name of it. It’s heavy with a rich bass line, a driving beat that resounds in the room, pressing in on them.
Baby, baby, baby.
Yoongi grimaces, scrubs a hand down his face, then blows out a breath. He clicks back out of the expanded files, back to the 160523 folder. “This is when I knew my feelings for you were, well, different from what I feel for the others. This day. You were still underage, Jeongguk. And even after you were an adult, it felt… like I was taking advantage. Like waiting for one specific date takes something that’s wrong and turns it into something right.”
Jeongguk’s brain goes fuzzy and blurry around the edges, Yoongi’s words making everything inside of him a little gooey. “Your feelings for me?”
“Is that all you heard?” Yoongi says incredulously. He opens the folder again, scrolling down and then back up again along the list of flowers. “These are all for you, baby. Every song in this list, I wrote when I was dealing with how I felt about you. I like you, Jeongguk. I’ve liked you for a very long time. If I was certain it wouldn’t scare you away, I’d say that I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you for a very long time.”
“Yoongi, that’s…”
“I know, Gguk-ah. I know.”
“I’ve been an adult for a while now,” protests Jeongguk, trying to sound less needy and more confident, although he thinks his petulant tone undermines his words. “Years and years, hyung.”
Yoongi blows out a breath. “I didn’t know how you felt. I felt guilty about how it started for me. I still wonder if I’ve influenced you in some way. Even though you’re, uhh, very obviously a grown man.”
“Very obviously?” Jeongguk grins, his pulse a lively tap dance sonatina. “You look at me as though I’m a grown man now?”
Yoongi scoots his chair back, rolling across his floor until he’s put some space between them. “Don’t be full of yourself. You know you’re hot.”
Jeongguk’s jaw drops. “You think I’m hot?”
“I said that you think you’re hot, don’t get it twisted.” Yoongi scowls and rises from his seat, grumbling under his breath. “But yes I do.”
“Do what?” Jeongguk asks, stepping towards Yoongi. He’s itching to reach out, but his bruised ego still demands Yoongi meet him in the middle, even after seeing years of songs composed in his name.
Yoongi whimpers, then clears his throat to try and mask it. He walks forward until he’s toe to toe with Jeongguk. He chucks Jeongguk’s chin. “You’re very attractive, baby. You know it, I know it. There, that’s all the confusion cleared right up.”
“You’re pretty hot yourself, hyung.” Jeongguk smirks as he runs a finger from Yoongi’s shoulder down to the waistband of his pants. Then he curls his hand around Yoongi’s bicep and squeezes. He allows himself to be distracted by Yoongi’s pouty mouth for only a moment, before he remembers that they haven’t talked enough. His sanity demands further clarity.
“So you like me? And I like you?”
“We like each other, Gguk-ah.”
“That seems like a good place to be. Together, in one spot. The same page and all,” rambles Jeongguk, leaning forward, almost as though he can’t help but be drawn to Yoongi. “You wrote me music.”
“Yes, I did. And I’ll write you even more.” Yoongi gently cups Jeongguk’s cheeks, handling Jeongguk as though he’s something delicate, something pretty, something worth holding with care. Jeongguk wishes he understood swooning so he could do it. “What do you want to happen, Jeongguk?”
Jeongguk grabs onto Yoongi, fingers tapping against his waist. “You. I mean, us… I-I want us.”
Yoongi curls his fingers a little, drawing Jeongguk’s face closer. His eyes flutter shut, and Jeongguk watches for as long as possible, until he closes his eyes too, just as Yoongi presses their mouths together. His lips are warm and soft, and Jeongguk pushes forward, deepening the kiss. He’s always enjoyed kissing, connecting with people in that way, but with Yoongi it feels like falling, like flying, the ground swooping out from underneath him.
With a shudder, Jeongguk tugs Yoongi closer, their hips pressing against each other. Yoongi licks Jeongguk’s bottom lip, encouraging him to open up and let him inside. Jeongguk parts his lips, and Yoongi wastes no time licking into his mouth. Their tongues tease and stroke one another, and heat pools heavy between Jeongguk’s legs. He ignores it, content for now to bank the flames instead of fanning them into something hotter. His fingers skitter along Yoongi’s sides, over the cozy fabric of Yoongi’s cardigan. He revels in every quiet gasp, every sharp exhale, every noise he pulls out of Yoongi.
Jeongguk moans, as Yoongi sucks on his tongue, then pulls back as he can feel the blush blooming on his face. He’s certain Yoongi can feel the warmth. He peers at Yoongi. Yoongi’s mouth lifts into a slow syrupy smile as he gazes back at him.
“And here I thought I’d heard every pretty sound you can make, but that last one was new. I need to hear it again.” Yoongi lifts his eyebrows suggestively, and Jeongguk’s face heats even further. His skin is probably glowing by now. “And I want to be the cause of it.”
“You will be, Yoongi. I want to make that sound again for you,” promises Jeongguk, hands tucking stray locks of hair behind Yoongi’s ear, first on one side, then the other. He reaches around and tightens the little ponytail at the nape of Yoongi’s neck. He steps back to give them a little space before they dive right back into one another.
Reluctantly, Yoongi lets go of him. “Do you want to come over to my place, Gguk-ah? Or is it too late to continue all of this?”
“Yes, of course I’ll come over.” Jeongguk considers the implications. “And no, it’s not too late. I really, really want to continue this. Especially since it’ll definitely be more than just… this, right? This is very, very good, I’m definitely, enthusiastically on board with this. But are we going to try making you and me an ‘us’? Are we going to be more?”
Yoongi cackles, likely at Jeongguk’s verbal fumbling. “As nice as it is, I don’t want just a hookup with you, Jeon Jeongguk. I want to try and be an ‘us’, as you so eloquently put it.”
“Okay, hyung,” agrees Jeongguk happily. His heart feels so buoyant he thinks he might be able to float away, confident Yoongi wouldn’t let him get too far away. Despite all the possible obstacles still surrounding them, maybe more finally feels like enough. “We. You and me. Us.”
Jeongguk watches Yoongi close his files, turn down his lights, and then wait by the door. For as methodical as Yoongi usually is, his movements look somewhat hurried and slightly disorganized. He’s rushing to go, which mollifies any lingering unease within Jeongguk. He glances back at Jeongguk, who still stands motionless in the middle of the studio. He holds out his hand. “Ready?”
Jeongguk nods, smiling at the rollercoaster of the entire day. He hustles over to connect them once more, winding their fingers together, soul settled at being beside Yoongi. He’s longed for this for years, Yoongi has longed for this for years, they’ve both been a mess of pining and wishing and daydreaming about the other. It’s all worth it if they’re going to try and be together now. His littlest finger throbs with satisfaction, and he battles the urge to see if there’s a tidy red bow tied around it.
“I’m ready to follow you anywhere, hyung.”