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You had always been in love with New York City at sunset. There was something about sitting on a roof in the heart of the city and seeing the oranges and pinks and early stars reflecting off the surrounding buildings. The only thing that could beat a rooftop sunset was a rooftop sunset surrounded by some of your best friends, and an alcoholic drink in your hand.
Which, conveniently, was where you found yourself.
You were lounged on a wrought iron couch, your legs draped casually over Yoongi’s legs, as you listened to your best friends from college reminisce about your younger years. Your boyfriend was listening attentively. You were proud of how little clarification he needed, having spent the few months after his surgery alternating between watching Netflix and studying English.
“I didn’t think we were going to make it that night,” your friend Caroline was saying. Her curly blonde hair was pulled up into a high messy bun, and she wore a scarf with cats on it over a blue sweater dress and cardigan. She looked good, and exactly how you remembered her. “It dropped like three inches in two hours. We were stuck, what? 45 minutes from school?”
“Probably closer to an hour,” her fiance, Andrew, added, tugging on his close-shaven beard. “It just wouldn’t stop snowing.”
“It took two hours, and we screeched like pterodactyls the entire time, and we almost drove off the road like four times.”
“But did you die?” You questioned, taking a sip of your John Collins. The bourbon was smooth, top-shelf stuff.
Your friends laughed, and for a second, the conversation lulled as you settled into a comfortable silence. Yoongi’s hand was warm on your ankle, his thumb rubbing circles gently into your skin. Caroline watched him as she took a drink of her Jack and Coke, a small smile on her lips.
“I missed this,” she admitted softly. Andrew nodded in agreement, his tousled dark hair bouncing with the action.
You hummed. “Y’all can always come visit us.” Yoongi snorted. “What?”
“Y’all?”
You laughed. “Listen, honey boy. Don’t start with me. We’re in America now. We speak American.” He chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. You shook your head and shot him an amused smile before turning back to your friends. “Seriously. You don’t have to get married every time you want to get together. It’s only a 20 hour flight.”
“Oh, only ?” Andrew questioned with a laugh, raising his eyebrow as he sipped at his cosmopolitan. “That’s actually shorter than I thought it was going to be.”
“Jet lag’s a bit of a bitch, but Seoul’s pretty. You would like Lotte World.”
“Maybe someday,” Caroline said, sitting her glass aside. “But tell us about your life. I haven’t heard hardly anything about your job since that guy tried to Callahan you.”
“Oh right.” You tried to sneakily glance at Yoongi. You weren’t sure how much he knew about your life before that night at the karaoke bar a year and a half ago, and this wasn’t really how you had intended to broach the subject with him.
Your boyfriend was looking at you curiously, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He mouthed the word “ Callahan? ” to you. You looked away.
“Yeah, uh… he fired me,” you said bluntly, picking the cherry out of your drink. “He’s still with that company, I think.”
“That’s bullshit.” Andrew’s tone was harsh. Caroline quickly reprimanded him. “Well it is,” he insisted. “I mean, Jesus Christ.”
“It’s the culture,” you said with a shrug. Yoongi squeezed your ankle, but you refused to look at him. You knew he had questions, but you didn’t want to get into it in front of your friends. “And it’s not a huge deal. Not any more. I freelance with a company, and I have some of my own students now. I uh… have some connections, which helped.” You sighed. “Jimin let me use his name on stuff.” Your friends nodded.
You noticed that Caroline’s eyes were on Yoongi, gauging his reaction. Her parents were therapists and she was working on her doctorate in music therapy, so she had learned how to read people fairly accurately. After a moment, she glanced at her watch and stretched.
“We should head to bed,” she said, patting Andrew’s knee. “We have brunch with your parents in the morning.”
“Ah, the life of a married couple,” you joked, winking at her. She stood, and you and Yoongi followed suit. You gave her a tight hug.
“He’s cute,” Caroline whispered in your ear. “I like him.” She winked at you when you pulled apart.
You didn’t have time to respond before Andrew was pulling you into a hug, rocking you back and forth. “Tell Nancy I said hi,” you mumbled, meussing his hair when you pulled away.
“You’ll see her at the rehearsal,” he reminded you. You rolled your eyes and he laughed. “Right. You and mom still aren’t talking.”
“Look, if she hadn’t threatened to throw me out of the Christmas show for getting laryngitis senior year…”
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Caroline interrupted, waving at Yoongi. He waved back politely before shaking Andrew’s outstretched hand.
The two wandered away then, and after a moment, you heard the click of the door shutting. You stood for a moment, staring up at the sky and watching the stars appear above you. It wasn’t particularly late, maybe nine thirty in the evening.
“They’re off to have ridiculous amounts of wild, passionate sex,” you told Yoongi, taking the last sip of your drink and setting the glass down on the table. You’d have to remember to take those back to the bar when you were done.
You heard Yoongi chuckle softly, and you turned to him, smiling softly before settling back onto the wrought iron couch. He sat beside you after a moment, lifting up your legs and placing them back in his lap. You watched him observe your surroundings--the many ferns and bushes that dotted the rooftop lounge and separated the space into different sitting areas, the sky reflected in the windows of the high rise buildings around you, the sounds of the city still bustling below.
“Who’s Callahan?” he asked after a moment, his voice soft. He was looking straight ahead, at the Target across the street.
You sighed. “He’s the professor in Legally Blonde .”
“And he…?” Yoongi trailed off, the confusion evident in both his tone and his expression.
“Jimin didn’t tell you?” He shook his head. “Weird. I thought PD-nim made him tell you guys.”
“Tell us what?” His hand came up to squeeze your shin.
“Why I left the company I worked for when I met Jimin.”
“He said he did you a favor.”
You nodded, looking away. It had been years since the incident, and while it didn’t upset you as much as it used to, you were still mad about the whole situation. “He did. I would have had to move home if he hadn’t helped me out.” Yoongi stayed silent, letting you collect your thoughts before you continued. His hand moved to your knee and gave a light squeeze. “My boss was a jerk. Long hours, too many students, hostile work environment. But he controlled the raises and the assignments, so if you wanted to grow, you had to do what he wanted.”
“What did he want you to do?” he asked darkly. You knew he had an idea where this was going.
“He kissed me after one of my students left one day. I slapped him. He fired me.” You shrugged. “I’m over it now. But it was upsetting at the time.”
He hummed, his thumb rubbing circles into your kneecap. You watched him clench and unclench his jaw. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I wish there were more protections for things like that.”
“It’s fine. Jimin helped me get set up on my own. It’s actually probably for the best that I got out of there.” You sighed loudly. After a second, you made eye contact. Quickly, you tried to change the subject. “Are you excited for the wedding?”
“They’re your friends.”
“Right, but you’re my hot date.”
He laughed at that, his eyes crinkling with the action. “Yeah, okay.”
“You are ! Look at you with your undercut and your pushed back hair and your glasses.” You leaned forward to run your fingers through his hair. “Admit it, Yoon. You’re hot.”
He coughed once and pushed up his glasses. “Your friends seem nice,” he stuttered out. You could see the pink tinge of his cheeks in the dim light of the rooftop.
“They’re great. I wouldn’t have survived university without them.” You adjusted how you were sitting and grabbed Yoongi’s hand with your free one, intertwining your fingers together. Your other hand toyed with the short, soft strands of hair above his ear. “I was there when she asked him out. It was a whole will-they-won’t-they thing for like a year before it happened. The whole cohort was trying to push them together.”
He laughed. “Really?”
You hummed. “Actually it wasn’t unlike Jimin’s meddling.” He turned to you, a soft smile on his lips. “Although, I will say, we never went as far as abandoning them somewhere to sort themselves out.”
“It worked.” He squeezed your hand.
“That it did.” You stopped playing with his hair to slide your arm around his shoulders.
The moon peeking out above the neighboring buildings drew your attention. It was full and bright, and it lit the rooftop lounge delicately. Maybe your brain was addled from the jetlag, but you couldn’t help thinking about how you never had thanked Jimin for his meddling. It was possible that, without his pushing, you and Yoongi still would have gotten together, but no way would it have happened as quickly as it did. You rubbed circles into Yoongi’s shoulder as you thought, and he leaned ever so slightly into you.
God, you loved him.
And maybe it was the jetlag, or maybe it was the fact that your two best friends were getting married in three days, but you had been thinking about the future more and more lately. You weren’t entirely sold on the idea of marriage--weddings seemed expensive and stressful, and really, was there any actual benefit to being married?--but the thought had crossed your mind once or twice ever since you had asked Yoongi to be your plus one. You had helped him pick out what to wear to Caroline and Andrew’s wedding, and ever since, you couldn’t get the image of him standing at the end of an aisle out of your mind.
The thoughts made you flustered, and you could tell Yoongi could feel the nervous energy radiating off you. He squeezed your hand and looked up at you, his eyes full of confusion. You shook your head once, ever so slightly, to let him know it was nothing. Because really, it wasn’t. You loved him. That was nothing new. And whether the two of you ended up perpetually dating, or engaged, or married, you weren’t sure that you cared. As long as you got to pass the time with him.
You took a deep breath and enjoyed the city air for a few more moments. New York had its own smell--grimy and urban and alive--but you had missed it. You loved Seoul, but it was dense and smoggy and so much more difficult to navigate. You had lived in New York for only slightly longer than you had lived in Seoul, but it would forever be in your heart.
With a sigh, you patted Yoongi’s shoulder. “We should head in, too. I’m not sure when they lock the doors.” After a second, he stood, groaning and stretching his arms above his head. “You okay there, grandpa?” You laughed as he pulled you to your feet and into his chest.
His arms wrapped tightly around you. “I have work to do,” he mumbled into your hair, barely stifling a yawn.
You hummed, breaking loose of his hold and pulling him toward the door. “Anything I can help with?”
He pushed his glasses up with his free hand, grinning at you as you re-entered the hotel. “I’m sure I can find something for you.”
You sat in the stylist’s chair in a side room at the church. So far, you, Yoongi, Caroline, and Andrew were the only ones there. Caroline had asked you to come early, both to keep her company and so that you could be in place to play the piano when the doors opened an hour before the ceremony.
Yoongi sat just slightly to your left in a chair against the wall. Once again, he looked radiant, with his dark hair pushed back so it was off his face and his black suit coat and grey floral patterned shirt and perfectly fitted pants. You watched him scroll idly through his phone, sipping on an iced Americano every once in a while.
You felt a jab of pain in your scalp as the woman doing your hair stabbed you with her styling comb. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, you pulled out your phone, darkening the screen before tapping Yoongi’s contact in your messages app.
If she stabs me in the head one more time, I’m going nuclear. Just a warning.
After a second, he looked up at you, confusion on his face. You made a face as she tugged a little too hard on a chunk of hair on the back of your head.
Honey Boy💙: You know we speak a language that she doesn’t, right? You don’t have to text me? And then, a few seconds later: That looked like it hurt 🙁
You can’t just assume people don’t know how to speak a language. This is New York. Just assume that everyone can speak every language. It’s safer. But if you want me to stop texting you, I can.
Honey Boy💙: I didn’t say that.
Honey Boy💙: What’s she trying to do to you, anyway?
He looked up at you and made eye contact. You knew you looked ridiculous. Half of your hair was up in some sort of wavy tangle that you assumed was going to end up being a crown braid. Yoongi smiled fondly, a small gummy smile tugging at his lips, and you watched him attempt to get a discreet photo of you. You typed out a quick message, barely even needing to look at your phone so you could maintain intense eye contact with him.
I will fight you. Do not.
He laughed at that, covering his mouth with his hand. He took the photo anyway.
Honey Boy💙: You look lovely.
Honey Boy💙: Don’t the pins hurt? She’s really pushing them in there.
Truth be told, you had no idea the stylist had started to pin your hair. You felt some pressure every once in a while, but you couldn’t feel the stabbing you had expected with the pins.
I think my head has gone numb 😂😂😂
When the stylist was done, you stood to thank her. You could hear Yoongi chuckle when you ducked your head and then immediately straightened. Polite bows had become so ingrained in you, it was hard to shake them.
Silently, you checked your hair in the mirror. The braid sat like a tiara on your head, a few loose, wavy strands hung in front of your ears. It looked nice, despite how much pain you had been in to get it that way. You had done your own make-up that morning, and at this point, you were glad you did. You weren’t sure you wanted the stylist anywhere near your eyes with a mascara wand.
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Yoongi looking at you. When you made eye contact with him, he immediately looked away. You could see his cheeks start to turn pink. You walked toward the rack that held the dresses, reaching out to squeeze his hand as you passed him. He returned the gesture, breathing out a soft “you look nice” that only you could hear.
You grabbed your dress off the rack and handed it to him. “Hold,” you commanded, your hand going to the belt of the silk robe Caroline had had custom-made for all the wedding party.
“Wait, you’re just going to change right here?” He sounded nervous, his eyes darting from Caroline and the stylist across the room to the couple other members of the wedding party that had wandered in.
“Yes?” You rolled your eyes, but you smiled softly at him. It was cute. He’d seen you undress before, but you could tell it was more than just the other women in the room that was making him nervous. “It’s fine. Turn your head if it makes you uncomfortable. Just hold my dress up so it doesn’t drag.”
He did as he was told, lifting your dress higher so the bottom was barely touching the floor and turning his head so he was staring at the door. You shrugged out of the silk robe, admiring it as you hung it on Yoongi’s outstretched arm. It was black, with little pink cats all over it. Perfectly Caroline. You pulled your dress off the hanger and stepped into it, careful not to tug too hard on the embroidered net that covered the bodice.
The dress itself was a deep wine color. It was floor-length with a high neckline and no sleeves. The net of the bodice continued onto the skirt, giving the dress a layered tulle look. You loved this dress, and you were glad that Caroline had given the entire wedding party the option to choose their own dresses. You had found this one at a shop in Seoul, and had shipped it to your friend after having it tailored to better fit your body.
“Zip me up?” you asked Yoongi, turning around to give him access to the zipper.
After a second, you felt him gently tug the metal upwards. When he was done, you turned around. His brown eyes were glued to you, and you could almost feel the strain as he tried not to let them wander. You didn’t wear dresses often--they just weren’t the most practical for your job--but you had made an exception for Caroline and Andrew.
“What do you think?” you asked softly, reaching out and flattening his lapels.
From across the room, Caroline groaned. “Oh my god, stop flirting. You look hot. He thinks you look hot.”
You threw your head back and laughed loudly, holding on to Yoongi’s forearm for support. “Thank you, dear.”
“Any time.” You could hear the smile in Caroline’s voice. The stylist had finished with her hair quickly and had moved on to the maid of honor--one of Caroline’s sisters. Her long blonde hair was down, cascading curls draped over her shoulder. She looked like a goddess.
“We’ll be out there,” you informed her, pointing your thumb toward the door. “Text me if you need anything.”
She waved you off, trying to look calm and collected, but you could see the nerves just below the surface. “Play good.”
The ceremony was long, but the reception had been even longer. The downsides of a Catholic wedding, you explained to Yoongi. It was just after one in the morning, but you weren’t particularly tired. You laid on your side on the hotel bed, watching as Yoongi finished up with some last-minute work. He had been trying to get some songs ready for another mixtape before they left for another tour.
He sat at the table, a pair of headphones hanging around his neck. His suit jacket was draped over the back of the other chair and he had unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt so that you could see his collarbones peeking out from under the material of his floral print shirt. He had taken his contacts out as soon as you had gotten back to the hotel room, and his horn rimmed glasses had slipped about halfway down the bridge of his nose.
You knew he knew you were watching him judging by the small blush and the smirk that hadn’t left his lips since you had flopped down on the bed in your pajamas. “See something interesting?” He tapped a couple keys on his keyboard.
You smiled, pulling your arm up so you were laying on it. “I love you.”
“You’re tipsy.”
“Still love you. Tipsy or not.”
Yoongi chuckled, the blush that dusted his cheeks becoming more prominent as his eyes and nose scrunched up. “I love you, too,” he said softly. He smiled fondly at you before turning his attention back to his computer.
It took a half hour, but finally, he finished what he was working on and changed out of his clothes, joining you in bed wearing a soft t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He pulled you to him immediately, one of your legs slotting between his and your head finding his shoulder. You held him tightly, your arms around his waist, and you felt him sigh in contentment. You slid one of your hands under his shirt slightly and rested against the bare skin of his stomach.
He jumped ever so slightly, hissing in protest. “Your hands are cold!”
You hummed, rubbing circles into his skin with your thumb. After a second, his muscles relaxed under your touch.
“It was a nice wedding,” Yoongi said quietly, his hand running through your hair, gently tugging out the tangles left from the pins.
“It was. I know you don’t know them that well, but it was very Caroline and Andrew.” You sighed. “The jazz band at the reception was a nice touch. Her brother has talented friends.”
The two of you fell silent. When you shifted to look at him, you could see that he was thinking hard about something--his eyes were focused on the ceiling and his mouth set in a hard line. You settled back against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. It was calm, slow, and you knew if you let yourself, you could fall asleep listening to the steady rhythm.
After a moment, you looked back up at him. Something wasn’t right. You saw it, then, glinting from his ears.
“You didn’t take out your earrings,” you chided softly.
“It’s fine. I’m going to wear them tomorrow.”
“You wonder why your ears hurt in the morning sometimes. This is why.” You poked at the dangling cross and cone hanging from his ear. “Do you want me to take them out for you?”
He hummed. “If it bothers you that much.” You could hear the hint of a chuckle in his tone.
You could feel his eyes on you as you sat up slightly and gently undid the metal clasp for both earrings. With a gentle tug, the hoops fell into your hand. You held them there with your last three fingers and he tilted his head so you could reach his other ear. When his other earrings were in your hand, you twisted so you could put them on the nightstand behind you. You snuggled back into him, his arm tightening around you.
The comfortable silence returned, and you had half a mind to turn off the light and just let yourself fall asleep. But when you attempted to roll over, Yoongi’s arm kept you in place. You readjusted so you could look at him.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “How long have Caroline and Andrew been together?”
You hummed, confused. “Seven years. Why?”
He shook his head, his eyes on the ceiling, refusing to meet your own. You watched him for a moment before attempting to roll over again. This time, he let you, and you were able to turn out the light.
The hotel room wasn’t completely dark--the neon lights from businesses across the street bled in through the windows, even with the curtains closed--but it was enough to immediately make you tired. Suddenly, you could feel the fact that you had been on your feet all day and that you had been awake for nearly 24-hours straight deep in your bones. You sighed into Yoongi’s arms as your leg slid back between his own and your arms wrapped around him. You could sleep for a year.
You had almost drifted off when you felt him shift under you nervously. His thumb rubbed circles into your shoulder. “Do you ever think about it?” You hummed, your sleepy brain not really sure what he was talking about. “Do you ever think about the future?”
“You mean like… us?” His heart was pounding out a samba in his chest. You felt him nod and hum an affirmative. Absently, you started to draw shapes into the fabric of his t-shirt in an attempt to soothe him. “Of course I do.” You swallowed thickly. “Do you?”
“Yeah.” Yoongi answered almost immediately, his voice breathy and delicate. “There’s still a lot I want to do, but someday…” He sighed, pulling you closer to him. “I mean, I don’t know how you feel about it, but-”
“I don’t either,” you admitted, sitting up so you were looking at him. Really, you didn’t. As much as you had been thinking about the future recently, you still had no idea how you wanted it to shake out. All you knew was that it wanted to be with Yoongi.
“We don’t have to make any decisions now,” he continued, a small smile on his lips. The light from the window made his eyes look dark and sparkly.
“Someday,” you confirmed, kissing him gently. “You’re gonna be the cutest little old man, and I’ll be the crotchety old woman right beside you.”
He laughed, his lips chasing after yours for another kiss. “You should learn to knit. Make an investment in our future.”
“How many plans are you going to make for our retirement, honey boy?” You nudged your nose against his. “First we’re going to be an old people jam band, now you want me to knit?”
Yoongi laughed, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before pulling you closer. You moved against him lazily, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. His hand squeezed your hip, holding you tightly to his side. After a moment, you broke away. You would have happily continued, but you really were starting to feel the exhaustion. You kissed his cheek softly, stifling a yawn.
He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly to his chest. You let him, collapsing into his side with a hum. With another yawn, you snuggled in, throwing an arm around his waist. You sighed, feeling Yoongi press a lingering kiss into your hair.
You didn’t know what the future held. You didn’t know how you felt about marriage, despite thinking a lot about it recently. You had only known him for two years, you had only been dating for a little over a year. But you wanted to be with him when he was an old man, and you knew you would agree to almost any arrangement to make that happen.