Chapter Text
It’s the middle of the night in Seoul and Min Yoongi is wide awake, leering and once again dumbfounded on his living room carpet. He’s a little tipsy but he knows when he’s about to pass out. Not that night. Not that time. His mind is alive. He’s fully aware of the number of soju bottles and the large, almost empty bottle of whiskey on his coffee table. He can clearly see the remainder of the red pepper paste his guest left on the empty plate that hosted three rows of tuna sashimi two and a half hours ago. He can easily hear Holly’s tiny tip-tap on his wooden floor while walking around the house. Heck, he can still even work on his music right there and then, easy-peasy.
He’s that awake.
And that’s the problem.
Because he can think.
He has thoughts when he plans on forgetting them that night. Silly thoughts. Unworthy of attention. Thoughts that pop up suddenly like poisoned mushrooms in his head. He had a clear mind all day so he thought that they wouldn’t bug him at least until after he woke up the next day. But nope. At 12:04AM, alone in his apartment again after a night of drinks and chill conversations, his brain finds the perfect opportunity to flash him its daily forbidden ideas like a fucking notification bell.
The sickest part of it is that he couldn’t help but succumb. So he thinks thinks thinks—until his mental timeline rewinds to a decade ago. If it were to relive those memories or just to figure it out, he doesn’t know. It’s quite uncharacteristic. For someone who lives off of impulsive decisions and gets work done usually with no intention of prolonging the agony of perfectionism, Min Yoongi couldn’t quite comprehend why he can’t get his head around how and when this thing started.
Stupid thing, to be precise.
Sometimes Yoongi tells himself that it was when they first sat down in the studio to work on a song together. That was also the first time he heard his trained vocals in a while—soft, soothing, and a lullaby in his ears. Soundwaves of his voice charted on his computer felt like magic flowing from the veins of his hands through his heart.
Sometimes Yoongi thinks that it was when they went grocery shopping together during their first private group trip to Jeju. The two of them always went to the supermarket on a normal day to buy food for the dorm. But Yoongi's never gone out with him—just the two of them—until that single faithful twilight for a drive along the beach, just after the sun had set and the indigo sky’s still tinted with streaks of orange and pink like a painting. Yoongi still remembers that silhouette on the driver’s seat forming in his peripherals while staring at the scenery. And how slowly, gradually, the shadow gained color and flashed him a warm, blossomed smile. A spectacle deserving of the word comfort .
Sometimes Yoongi imagines that it happened on the very first day they met. He already knew who the new member of the group was going to be. Bang PD shared his profile prior and held a couple of meetings with him, Namjoon and Hoseok to talk about it. When he came in, this tall, college boy in branded yet obviously overused clothes, standing timidly in their studio and smiling shyly like the goodest guy in the room, Yoongi could easily tell that he was enchanted. Attraction is good for a first impression, he told himself. But he never expected his pulses to hammer wildly against his skin when they were introduced and shook hands. His fingers are odd and Yoongi always, always has an urge to hold them since then.
And since then, a lot more circumstances sent fire blazing in his chest, warming his entire system up for a marathon run.
Sometimes it happens in the middle of photoshoots, music video filming, or even while performing. Sometimes he feels the sudden kick in the heart at 4AM in his studio and he catches himself wanting to text or call him, hear his voice, feel his presence.
But oftentimes, when it comes across his mind for a tenth time in a day, he'd resign with the conclusion that he just knew. With every glance, smile and laughter, every birthday, movie night, unit shoot, with every note, every song, and every heartbeat, he knows that he has the biggest, fattest, most excruciating crush on Kim Seokjin.
And he hates it.
He hates. It.
He hates how he's being reminded of this fact every hour by none other than himself. He’s not in love with him—definitely not. It’s just a silly little crush that he doesn’t want to indulge in but somehow still finds its way to bother him. For over ten fucking years already.
It’s his fault. Seokjin. That hyung. (Maybe it’s a good thing he made sure Yoongi calls him hyung because lord-knows-where the latter’s stupid feelings could lead to if he didn’t.)
Yoongi is honest with himself, and incredibly self-aware. The moment he felt that tang one sleepless night while working on music and hearing Seokjin’s honey vocals through his headphones, transcending his nerve endings into overdrive, he immediately acknowledged the fact that he has a crush on him. It's not really uncommon. Seokjin is a very attractive and talented person and Yoongi's positive that the rest of the members will just nod in agreement if he ever tells them about his secret. But he won't do that. He has decided to keep this vulnerable information to himself until he grows tired of it.
Problem is, he is growing tired of it, but it never disappears. It never wanes.
And it's all Jin-hyung's fault.
Tall and broad and pretty-faced hyung that Yoongi never dares to dream of owning. He keeps his hands away from that burning coal. He doesn't want to touch something he knows he'll regret later. More than that, he just plainly does not want to have anything to do with this stupid boyish attraction. So if ghosts are watching this thing grow over the years, let it be known to the underworld that it's not Yoongi who feeds it. It's hyung. Jin’s fault. Entirely. Completely.
Yoongi finally moves from his spot and decides to clean up. The forbidden thoughts are still in his head even as he focuses on transferring the bottles to his kitchen counter. He stops in front of the sink and hastily pushes the faucet lever at maximum, drowning himself with the sound of running water. White noise must populate his skull so he won’t hear his own damned heart beating fast at an abstract image of Seokjin sleeping soundly that one night Yoongi checked on crying Odengie. He hates how annoying yet oddly pleasant he appears behind closed lids.
Yoongi inhales frustratingly, and then groans when he catches a whiff of Seokjin’s scent lingering in the air of his own apartment. Right, it’s not his fault. It’s not Yoongi’s fault that Seokjin’s omnipresent in literally everything he does. It’s not his fault that he can never stop thinking about him more after they decided to give up their dorm life. How long has it been? Not even two months yet, he calculates. Not even two months, yet Seokjin has probably paid him a visit more times than he can count with his two hands. He frowns, realizing that he’s smiling.
Jail. Yoongi should just surrender himself to authorities that night.
“I must be going crazy,” he blurts in a whisper, stupefied in front of his black overhead cabinets. He shakes his head clear and shifts his thoughts to where he keeps his air freshener—in the utility room along the hallway to his front door. Well, the least he can do is eradicate all evidence of Seokjin’s every visit after he leaves. Cleaning up has become free therapy for him lately. Not even cooking can save his godforsaken soul now.
He pulls the lever shut and strides lazily across the dining area, hands in pockets and wincing at the mess still left in his living room. For a moment, he wonders where Holly is; probably in his bedroom now, fast asleep. Yoongi finds it funny how Holly doesn’t wait on him anymore each time he has these episodes—like he’s also had enough of Yoongi’s random outbursts of annoyance whenever the daily notification rings in his head.
A small smile curves his lips at the thought of his adorable, fluffy boy. He lets his shoulders relax with this refreshing musing as he reaches the turn to his doorway, humming merrily to celebrate the deviation, only to freeze on the spot and drop his jaw to the basement of his building.
Yoongi blinks. He has to blink. And shake his head. And make eye contact with his dog lying down snugly across the hallway, by his doorstep. It took a while. But when Holly finally felt his presence and stood and obediently walked to him, tip-tapping his tiny feet on the floor, Yoongi knew that he wasn't dreaming.
Seokjin is there. On his foyer. Completely passed out.
And all Yoongi can do is bury his face in his hands as he collapses in a defeated crouch, shuffling between sighing and groaning and chanting shit under his breath over and over and over. Oh, this is absolutely, officially and irrevocably Seokjin’s fault.