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“Hyung, you’re gonna love him,” Namjoon had said, the first time he told Seokjin that Seokjin should meet Yoongi. “Yoongi-hyung is amazing. I just know you two will get along.”
The thing is, Seokjin decidedly does not love Yoongi. It had been something of a running joke among their friends that they had never crossed paths, despite sharing the exact same circle of friends—all of whom, for reasons that completely evaded Seokjin, were convinced it would be the best thing to ever grace the surface of the planet if they met. And so they have made it their life mission to make it happen. Which is apparently why, when Seokjin walked into Taehyung and Jimin’s apartment, the first thing that greeted him was big, sparkly letters that spelled out “Congrats Kim Seokjin and Min Yoongi.”
“Uh…” Seokjin said, staring up at them blankly. “What?”
“Hyung! You’re here,” Taehyung exclaimed, appearing out of thin air into the foyer as he met Seokjin with a grin. “We’re celebrating you and Yoongi-hyung meeting for the first time tonight,” he explained when he noticed Seokjin’s stare.
“I thought this was just a party.”
“It’s a themed party,” Taehyung clarified, “and the theme is you and Yoongi-hyung finally meeting each other.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Also, the banner makes it sound like we’re getting married.”
“Well, you know what they say—getting to know each other is the first step to marriage.”
At this point, Seokjin gave up trying to understand, and just let himself be led into the room and towards his first encounter with the infamous Min Yoongi.
“There he is,” Taehyung raised his voice as he dragged Seokjin rather forcefully through the party crowd, “Yoongi-hyung!”
Yoongi was shorter than Seokjin, but not in a way that made him look feeble. Just the opposite—he had an intensity that cut through his calm, poised appearance. The same curious contrast reflected on his face, too—all soft features with a sharp jawline and a piercing gaze. There was something undeniably attractive about that combination.
It went pretty well for the first three seconds as their eyes met, looking each other over.
And then Yoongi extended a hand, opened his mouth, and said: “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Min Yoongi, Namjoon’s best friend.”
Oh, no, he did not.
Okay, here’s the deal. It’s not like Seokjin is so petty or conceited that he thinks he’s entitled to be the best friend to every one of his friends. But he did not spend four years of his life keeping track of misplaced Airpods and wallets for Namjoon, or packing him leftovers for lunch so he didn’t die of malnutrition, or consoling him through his late night existential crises, only to be reduced to a second best friend by someone he had never even met in all the years he has known Namjoon up until this point.
“Oh,” Seokjin said, making a token effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “so you’re his best friend, huh?”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
An upfront, no-nonsense kind of guy. Seokjin would have liked him, if he didn’t kind of want to punch his cute little face right now. “It’s just I’ve never met you. I’ve known Namjoonie for four years and, you know, we’re pretty close, and I’ve never seen you anywhere near him,” he said, going for passive-aggression now that false politeness was out of the window. “Must have grown apart a little, no?”
There was a brief pause, before Yoongi’s face smoothed into a terrifying total calmness. Seokjin would have been intimidated if he weren’t so busy being pissed off.
“Ah, it’s probably because we’ve known each other for ten years already so we don’t need to be joined at the hip to be secure about it,” Yoongi said, breezy. “I’ve seen him go through his mohawk phase and listened to his embarrassing teenage raps, y’know. Not everybody has.”
“That’s nice,” Seokjin hissed through gritted teeth, “well, I helped him through his master’s thesis. He would have remained in that zombie-like state up until this day if it weren’t for me.”
“Huh,” Yoongi pinched his chin in an obnoxious, pretending-to-think manner, “yeah, now that I think about it, he’s probably mentioned you once or twice.”
If there were some sort of Guinness record for the fastest someone’s ever wanted to strangle another person upon meeting them, Seokjin was certainly beating it right then.
They glared at each other for a long five seconds before Yoongi huffed, said “if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go find some more pleasant company now,” and promptly turned around and walked away, leaving Seokjin to fume at his retreating back.
“Well,” Taehyung commented from the side, munching on a bowl of popcorn that magically appeared in his hands. “That went horribly.”
Seokjin was still too mad to talk. Taehyung gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, wiping popcorn grease all over his shirt, and said helpfully: “I’ll go take down the banner.”
*
Yoongi is unavoidable. Now that Seokjin knows him, suddenly he’s hearing about this guy all the time. He is the one who gets drinks with Namjoon at odd hours after long crunch sessions at the studio, who helps Hoseok with the music arrangement for his dance classes, and who, according to Jungkook, is apparently “the best”. The kid gets a whack to his head for that.
“I’ve basically raised you on my back, but Min Yoongi let you into his studio once and now he’s the best?”
“Ow! That hurt!” Jungkook jumps away from him, a pout on his face like he’s been tragically wronged. “No, Yoongi-hyung said he liked my voice and had me go over to record some backing vocals for one of his tracks so now he’s the best.”
Shit. That is pretty cool. It also makes Seokjin’s hatred for Min Yoongi multiply tenfold, the way it does after one’s role as the resident cool uncle at family gatherings has just been ruthlessly usurped.
It’s gotten to a point where everyone else is concerned, too.
“Seriously, you gotta do something about that, hyung,” Jimin says. “Have you seen the way Namjoon-hyung starts exuding his mediator energy like crazy the moment you and Yoongi-hyung walk into the same room now? It’s like watching a puppy having a stress response.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Seokjin says, mostly to convince himself over the tiny pang of guilt. “And it’s not like it’s my fault. I tried to play nice.”
He really did. But Min Yoongi is just so good at getting on his nerves. Their friends are going out of their way to organize stuff that includes all seven of them now, and Seokjin can only take so many iterations of “oh, do you not know about the time Namjoon did that thing? He must have neglected to tell you, I guess we just spend so much time together that I know everything about him. Also, have I mentioned I’ve known him for ten years?”
Okay, maybe those weren't Yoongi’s exact words, but Seokjin can just hear it in his voice every time he opens his mouth in Seokjin’s vicinity.
And Seokjin knows Yoongi is perfectly capable of being a civilized, pleasant human being. He sees it all the time when Yoongi talks to any of their other friends—all crinkling eyes and soft cheeks and gummy smile. Absolutely revolting. Seokjin is revolted.
“Okay, well, fair warning—if you two can’t sort it out by yourselves, we would have to intervene at some point,” Jimin says, trying to keep a straight face and mostly succeeding, but Seokjin catches the mischievous glint in his eyes.
He suppresses a shudder, and reasons with himself—sure, Jimin may be the harbinger of chaos, but Seokjin doubts whatever he has hatching could actually change anything. He will just have to suffer through whatever it is, and then he and Min Yoongi can go back to being the bane of each other’s existence in peace.
*
Then, before Seokjin knows it, the holiday season rolls around.
Seokjin’s holiday tradition with this particular group of friends mostly consists of getting smashed over Hallmark movie drinking games together at an early Christmas party, before everyone has to leave for their parents’. But this year there has been an insistent push on the younger ones’ side for them to do Secret Santa.
That’s why they all wind up in Taehyung and Jimin’s living room again, at the tail end of Seokjin’s birthday party. Everyone save for Jimin looks positively plastered, which is pretty suspicious in the first place, but then again, everyone is too drunk to notice by this point.
“Alright, kids, gather around,” Jimin says, holding up a bowl with folded pieces of paper inside, sounding way too pleased with himself, “time to settle who gets whom.”
“Can’t you just decide and let us know by text or somethin’?” Seokjin mumbles as a slip of paper is pressed into his hand. He honestly couldn’t care less—if Jimin thinks forcing Yoongi and him to buy gifts for each other would inspire some sort of cordial Christmas spirit between them, he’s sorely mistaken. Seokjin has quite a few pairs of extra socks he doesn’t mind parting with. It’s not even gonna take five minutes for him to prepare his gift for Namjoon.
Wait, what?
Seokjin squints at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. His vision may be a little blurry, but on the paper, without a doubt, is “Namjoon” in Jimin’s cute, round handwriting.
Huh. Maybe Jimin really was just helping facilitate out of the goodness of his heart without any ulterior motive? Sounds unlikely, but whatever, Seokjin isn’t about to complain.
His attention drifts to the person next to him—Min Yoongi again, who is holding up his piece of paper to the light, a light frown on his face. Did he end up getting Seokjin after all? That would truly be the best case scenario. Seokjin doesn’t mind getting dental floss for a present if it means antagonizing Min Yoongi even just for a few hours.
“Not happy with who you got?” Seokjin saunters up to him and slurs, because when he’s drunk he’s drunk and apparently has no manners or inhibitions whatsoever. “Guess Namjoon will actually be gettin’ a good present this year, huh?”
(Yes, he does realize it’s pretty pathetic to try to trash talk at Secret Santa, but he’ll leave the embarrassment to his sober self, thank you.)
Yoongi turns his head toward Seokjin incrementally, like a particularly slow cat. “Yeah, no, that…” he says, frowning harder with a guarded look on his face, “that was my line.”
What? Seokjin blinks a few times. He looks at Yoongi, then looks at the small slip he’s holding up. On it, in Jimin’s cute, round handwriting, unmistakably: Namjoon.
Shit.
“Oh no,” Jimin says, when Seokjin goes up to him about the issue, in the fakest surprised voice Seokjin has ever heard (and he had been to his share of college improv workshops, mind you). “What a mix-up! I guess you’ll just have to get a gift for Namjoon-hyung together!”
“What—how—that’s like the worst possible solution!” Seokjin all but flails. He is rapidly realizing there is no way for him to get out of this, when Jimin has gone out and set this all up, but his alcohol-addled brain has yet to accept this new reality. “Isn’t someone gonna miss their present if the two of us only get one?”
“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just do two people! It was my fault for the mix-up anyway,” Jimin gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “Besides, I know how much both of you must want to get something nice for Namjoon-hyung! I’m sure it’ll be a fun bonding experience.”
“Fun. Yes. I’m sure it will be,” Seokjin says, balling up the stupid piece of paper in his fist, hoping Jimin can read the murderous intent in his eyes. Jimin just smiles at him sweetly.
It’s going to be a long, long December.
*
Seokjin wraps his arms tightly around himself as he scurries into the mall. He’s dressed impeccably—cashmere coat that accentuates his shoulder-to-waist proportions, dress shirt layered with beige sweater vest, his best leather boots—if not way too thin for the brutal Korean winter. People in knee-length puffer coats keep giving him weird looks over hunched shoulders. But that’s fine. He’ll take a few minutes of cold if it means outdressing Min fucking Yoongi.
They had concurred not to drag this out any longer than necessary, and so Seokjin had begrudgingly agreed to meet up with Yoongi a week before their Christmas party this year and pick out something for Namjoon together.
And here’s Seokjin’s plan. He’s going to find a gift so perfect, so exquisitely catered to Namjoon’s wants and needs, that even Min Yoongi and his supposedly ten years of soulmateship or whatever with Namjoon will have to admit defeat. Bonding his ass—this will be the day he will finally reclaim his rightful title as Namjoon’s best friend. Now that’s the Christmas spirit he’s looking for.
He was feeling pretty good about this plan until the moment he locates Yoongi in the crowd.
And fuck—Yoongi looks hot. Has somehow managed to look both warm and hot in his overcoat and beanie and thick scarf, which shouldn’t be possible, but here Seokjin is, pinned to the ground by the sheer amount of horny anger that’s currently coursing through his body.
Great. Now Seokjin will just look like a freezing idiot next to him. Well, a freezing idiot in style, but still.
Yoongi shoots him one of those emotionless glances and nods curtly like some kind of hardboiled detective, when Seokjin has finally calmed himself down enough to approach him. “How are we doing this?"
Okay, Seokjin, remember your plan. “I was thinking we could split up and each find something, then come back together and just get whichever we decide is better?”
Yoongi narrows his eyes in that skeptical way of his again. Seokjin has come up with five separate arguments in his head to convince him when Yoongi sighs, reaches under his beanie to push his hair back—Seokjin’s eyes do not follow the movement of his bony, strong-looking hands—and grunts out, “fine.”
“Really? Just like that?” Seokjin says, and then promptly shuts his mouth when Yoongi gives him a long-suffering, do-you-really-want-to-do-this look. “I mean, great! We’ll meet back here in an hour then.”
Yoongi grunts again, like the old man he is, and turns on his heels to head toward the men’s apparel section. Seokjin fails to resist the impulse to check out his pert little ass as he ambles off.
No, bad! Focus, Seokjin!
In all honesty, if Seokjin had been less focused, he probably would have seen the weather alarm on his phone at some point. At the very least, he would have noticed the way the mall started to empty out suspiciously on a pre-Christmas weekend afternoon. But alas, such are the intricate workings of fate. Or whatever bullshit people say.
As it is, he’s elbow-deep in a pile of ugly sweaters with reindeer jokes stitched across the front when his phone rings. He dismisses it when he sees it’s a number he doesn’t recognize—he’s on a roll now; he has spotted the perfect present for Namjoon ten minutes ago, and has decided to use all this extra time to get his whole Christmas shopping over with. However, whoever's calling is annoyingly persistent.
“Yes?” Seokjin says, a little snappish, when he eventually picks up after the caller’s third attempt.
“There’s a snowstorm.”
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“It’s Min Yoongi. Seokjin-ssi.” It’s pretty impressive how Yoongi can make “ssi” sound exactly like “dickhead” in his brisk monotone. “We have a problem.”
“How do you have my number?”
He can practically hear Yoongi’s eye-roll. “I got it from Taehyung. Now can we please focus on the subject at hand?”
“Oh, relax, will you? Let’s go see how bad it is first. Worst case scenario, we’ll wait for it to die down before heading out.”
The severity of the situation does not dawn on Seokjin until he meets up with Yoongi at the entrance, and walks into an honest-to-god blizzard. They stay out for a total of three seconds before having to scuttle back in.
“It says on here that the worst of it won’t pass until midnight,” Yoongi says, glaring at his phone like it has personally offended him, once they are in the warm embrace of indoor air conditioning again.
“Shit,” Seokjin breathes, raking his fingers through his hair. “I mean—it’s okay. It’ll be okay. There’s a food court, and we’ll hoard all the blankets we can find. It’s just one night. We’ll survive.”
Yoongi stays silent. Seokjin wonders if he’s thinking the same thing as he is—if we don’t end up murdering each other.
Well, if they both make it out alive, maybe they can murder Jimin together instead.
Yoongi snorts. Seokjin looks up with a start. Shit, he said that out loud, didn’t he?
“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Yoongi says, schooling his expression back into a mask of nonchalance, but the quirk to his mouth takes an extra few beats to smooth out. Seokjin finds he doesn’t hate it. It’s a dire situation and he’ll take all the camaraderie he can get. Even if it’s from his mortal enemy.
“I guess there are worse things than being trapped in a mall with my mortal enemy,” he says, wry, in an attempt to lift the mood. And, you know, maybe get another one of those small smirks out of said mortal enemy.
Before he gets to see Yoongi’s reaction, though, everything goes dark.
“What—” Seokjin whisper-squeals, huddled close to Yoongi and clutching onto his arm blindly like a lifeline. “What the fuck just happened?”
“When you said there were worse things,” Yoongi says, calm in a way that’s both annoying and somehow comforting, “I don’t suppose you meant ‘like being trapped in a mall with my mortal enemy without electricity’?”
Fuck. They’re really gonna die here. “Do you think it’s gonna come back on?”
“Dunno. If it’s a power outage, it could take hours for them to fix it with the snowstorm. Doesn’t seem like they’ve got a backup generator either,” Yoongi grumbles, nudging Seokjin with his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go see if we can find any staff.”
They manage to make it to the food court, with Yoongi lighting up the way with the flashlight on his phone and Seokjin clinging to him like an easily startled octopus. Although the dreary, all-encompassing darkness turns to be Seokjin’s downfall, at least it saves him from having to see the look of smug amusement that Yoongi must be wearing right now.
Yoongi dumps him at one of the tables. “Just stay here and turn on your flashlight, you’ll live. I’ll go look around.”
“That’s what they all say in horror films before getting killed off!” Seokjin yells after him.
Luckily, Yoongi is back right before Seokjin really starts spiraling and going over all the ways someone has died when left alone in the dark in horror films.
“Well,” Yoongi says matter-of-factly, “the good news is I found someone in the staff room. The bad news is he looked like he was one trapped customer away from a panic attack, so I don’t think he would be of much help.”
Seokjin groans. “Great. What do we do now?”
His stomach responds with a rumble.
They raid a few display cabinets, leave some bills on the counter, and eat sandwiches and chips while holding up flashlights in silence. It’s surprisingly less awkward than Seokjin imagined—until the sound of his teeth chattering got too loud for both of them to ignore.
“Yes, fine, I’m freezing, okay?” Seokjin says at last, indignant at Yoongi’s wordless stare. “Go ahead, mock away.”
He did not expect Yoongi to slide a shopping bag over the table—the one that he has been carrying all this time they have been bumbling in the dark, now that Seokjin thinks about it. To his further disturbance, Yoongi also starts to unwind his scarf from his neck.
“Uh… what are you doing?”
Yoongi levels him with an unimpressed look. “To stop you from freezing to death? Looks like the heating runs on electricity too, so god knows when it’ll come back on.” He nudges the shopping bag further toward Seokjin, tossing his scarf at him along the way. “There’s a fleece jacket in there. Not much, but it’s better than that coat of yours which doesn’t even button up. It’s in Namjoon’s size so it should fit you too.”
Seokjin has no words. He remains speechless as he reaches into the bag and pulls out—true to Yoongi’s word, a fleece jacket. It feels soft and fluffy and so, so warm. All descriptors opposite to the ones Seokjin has associated with Yoongi in his mind, so you can imagine his shock.
“But…” So many questions are swirling in his head. “Isn’t this gonna be your gift for Namjoon?”
Yoongi shrugs. “He doesn’t need to know he’s not the first person who’s worn it, does he?”
“I… guess that’s true,” Seokjin says, helpless with how out of his depth he feels. What is happening? Why is Min Yoongi being nice to him?
But, at any rate, he is freezing. So Seokjin shucks off his flimsy excuse of a coat and puts on the fleece jacket, wrapping it tightly around himself. It is every bit as soft and fluffy and warm as it seems and feels a bit like being hugged by an alpaca.
The scarf is still lying there on the table. Might as well, he thinks with a sort of reckless resignation, and reaches out and bundles it up around his neck. The wool is bulky and curls snugly against his skin; he buries his cold nose in the fabric, and catches a whiff of what must be Yoongi’s cologne, along with the hint of something being newly worn—the warmth of a body, but in smell. It’s strangely intimate, and Seokjin shrinks further into the scarf to hide the way it gives him the lightest tingles. Stop it, he tells his body, firmly, you’re just reacting to finally being warm. His body retaliates by heating up his cheeks as well. Great.
Yoongi looks at him with an unreadable expression. God, Seokjin really hopes it’s too dark for him to see Seokjin’s face. “Thanks,” he mumbles, muffled by the scarf and his own embarrassment.
There’s a beat before Yoongi replies. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, pushing himself up from his chair a little abruptly, “I’ll go see if I can find something else to help stay warm.”
“It’s fine—” Seokjin starts, but Yoongi is already gone.
What was that? Is his presence so stifling for Yoongi that he just needed to get away so desperately? Seokjin should be the one who wants to run away from all these weird, confusing feelings he’s having. He nuzzles into the slightly scratchy wool and, against his better judgment, inhales deeply again. Warm.
Yoongi returns ten minutes later, presumably having gotten his fix of Seokjin-less fresh air. To Seokjin’s surprise, he actually holds two steaming paper cups in his hands.
“Found a coffee dispenser. Not much left in there, though,” Yoongi says, handing one of the cups to Seokjin, who feels a burst of gratitude that he doesn’t know what to do with, amidst a faint rush of humiliation—here’s Seokjin, proving himself essentially useless in a situation like this as Min Yoongi takes care of him.
“Thanks. Again.” He says awkwardly, looking away as he takes the cup, wrapping his frigid fingers around it and taking a gulp. It’s hot and tart and gets his heart pounding a little.
Yoongi sits down across from him as they sip their respective crappy coffee. “You okay?” Yoongi asks, after a few moments of quietude.
God, not more of the kindness. Seokjin is cold and sulky and reasonably worried for his life while struggling to come to terms with the fact he might have a crush on his mortal enemy, and this may as well be his last straw. “Fine,” he says into his cup, a little miserable, “I just—why do you care?”
Yoongi’s lips press into a hard line. “Gee, sorry for trying to be decent, I guess.”
“No, that’s not what I mean, I—” Seokjin groans, letting his head fall forward and knocking on the table top with a thud. “I’ve been nothing but a dick to you. I talk shit about you to all of our friends! I found the perfect gift for Namjoon and hid it away so you wouldn’t find it!”
What Yoongi wanted to say seems to get sidelined as he raises his eyebrows at Seokjin’s last sentence of impromptu confession. “What was it?”
“Huh? Oh, the gift? A desktop Christmas tree. Alive and everything. You water it once a month and it’ll be good for the next Christmas too.”
“Damn. That is pretty perfect for him.” Yoongi sounds a lot less annoyed and a lot more impressed than Seokjin imagined. “I mean, I don’t know why you went to such lengths. I wouldn’t have thought to look for something like that in the first place.”
“I—I felt like I had to win.” Jesus, that sounded so pathetic out loud. “You’re just—you’re Min Yoongi, you know? You and Namjoon have the same job and you’re both into that hip-hop stuff, and the young ones think you’re, like, the coolest person ever. I’ve always felt a little bit like I’ve become these people’s friend by sheer luck, and meeting you was… I don’t know. I guess I’m worried they would realize I’m just a boring guy who they didn’t need hanging around once they see us side by side.”
It just came out of Seokjin unbidden, like the sudden overflow of carbonation after being shaken and bottled up for too long. He has a full-body cringe once silence settles and he finally hears what he has said. Wow, good job unloading all that onto poor, unsuspecting Yoongi, who was just trying to be nice for once.
The mortification gets more unbearable with every passing second. Seokjin stands up, his chair dragging on the ground jarringly. “I’m just gonna—um—look around. For blankets. Yeah,” he stutters under his breath, and makes his escape.
He doesn’t end up getting too far; the flashlight only does so much, and once the panic and shame wear off, it’s just plain old fear inspired by the total, engulfing darkness. But it would be even more embarrassing if he just goes back empty-handed, so Seokjin curses at fate and then himself, steadies his shaky hands, and makes his way toward where he thinks the escalators are.
It’s a tough trip, but he finds his way to the home and decor section and grabs as many blankets as he can stuff in a shopping bag. He even manages to retrieve the desktop Christmas tree from its hiding spot on the way, now that the secret’s out and he might as well come out of this traumatic experience with a winning present.
It only starts to dawn on him how cold it has gotten on his way back to the food court—the bone-chilling kind of cold, with how long it’s been snowing and how temperature plummets at night this time of the year. A downright dangerous degree without proper heating.
It’s somewhat tolerable since he’s moving, but for someone sitting still, the chill would creep up on them pretty quickly.
Seokjin tucks the scarf tighter around his neck, and starts walking faster.
He feels stupid all the way back for being worried—Yoongi will probably raise a mocking brow upon seeing how out of breath he is—but all of it falls away the moment he steps near the table they were sitting and lays eyes on Yoongi.
Yoongi has wrapped his arms around himself tightly, looking extra pale under the harsh flashlight, lips chapped and colorless.
“Fuck,” Seokjin breathes, forgoing all pretense and running up to him. He grabs Yoongi’s wrist—the skin is icy. “Shit, you’re freezing. Why didn’t you call me? Find someone to help?”
“Phone died. Couldn’t see,” Yoongi mutters through clenched teeth, sounding a little too weak for Seokjin’s liking. His eyes look like they are going to fall shut any second. Shit—Seokjin can give him the jacket and the scarf, but it won’t be enough. He has to do something.
*
Fifteen minutes later, Yoongi finally stops shivering.
“What,” he rasps, blinking like he’s only just regaining awareness of his surroundings, “what did you—what’s happening?”
“You were, like, two seconds from hypothermia. I had to do something,” Seokjin says, hoping he’s covering how flustered he feels with exasperation. “I—I tried to start a fire, in the tin pot that came with the tree, but the branches just wouldn’t light, so I had to give up eventually, and—”
“You tried to… what?” Yoongi blinks harder. God, he looks cute, all confused and disoriented like this. “I… Jesus, it’s probably a good thing it didn’t work. You could have burned this whole place down.”
“I was panicking, okay?! And since I couldn’t make the fire happen, this was the next thing I could think of.”
Yoongi wriggles a little, only succeeding in pressing himself closer to Seokjin, his thigh brushing up against Seokjin’s hipbone—over layers of clothing, but Seokjin still flushes a little. He doesn’t let go of his arms, though, which are wrapped securely around Yoongi’s torso. He has laid a blanket on the ground, stacked two more on top, and snuggled into the makeshift cocoon with Yoongi in his arms. For purely heat conduction purposes.
Yoongi looks at him. They’re so close, Seokjin can feel Yoongi’s breath fanning over his cheeks. “I… thanks,” Yoongi says, with surprise and what seems like a bit of wonder in his eyes. His eyes linger on Seokjin's face. His Adam's apple bobs once, before he comes back to himself with a frown. “Wait, what were you trying to start the fire with?”
Seokjin’s gaze trails guiltily over to where the tin pot sits on the floor, useless. Yoongi follows his line of sight. Seokjin hears his sharp intake of breath.
“Yeah, I kind of obliterated the tree,” he mumbles.
Yoongi stares at him, seemingly speechless for the first time since Seokjin met him. “But… it was gonna be your present. You were gonna win.”
“Eh, it’s fine, it was a stupid competition anyway,” Seokjin averts his eyes. The fluster starts to take over again, dammit. “I mean, you’re a good person. You deserve to be Namjoon’s best friend.”
Yoongi stays quiet, and Seokjin can taste his own uneasy jitters. It feels like they are just about to break out of his skin when Yoongi suddenly speaks up.
“I felt the same way about you too, you know.”
“Huh?” Seokjin’s heart gives an entirely too revealing thump, before realizing Yoongi couldn’t have been talking about that. “What, um. What do you mean?”
“I… ugh, this is embarrassing. But I guess at least you deserve this much from me.” Yoongi wets his lips, and Seokjin’s eyes follow the movement of his pink tongue helplessly. “Namjoon was always going on about how you’re the most handsome guy ever, and Hobi and Jungkook too with the whole ‘oh Jin-hyung is so nice and kind and funny, he’s the best hyung’, you know? And then I actually met you and found out all of those things are true, so… I guess I got a little insecure too.”
Seokjin can feel his heart thudding in his chest, his mouth dry. “Wh—all of what things are true?”
“Oh, for the love of—you’re just loving this, aren’t you?” Yoongi mutters. “Fine. You are nice and kind and funny and unbelievably handsome, okay? It’s honestly insane how good-looking—”
Seokjin cuts the rest of that beautiful sentence off by kissing him.
*
Seokjin wakes up to too much brightness, too much heat, and a perfect amount of Yoongi pressed against him.
He reaches up to rub sleep out of his eyes, and realizes they are still snuggled together, his arm slung over Yoongi’s waist.
The power must have come back on during the night. The lights are on, and it now feels much too hot under three layers of blanket. But Seokjin doesn’t pull away.
Yoongi looks peaceful in his sleep. Younger, almost, with his soft cheeks, cute little noise, fluttering eyelashes, and thin lips—still a little chapped, but way more colored than last night. A pretty pink.
Seokjin puts up a futile fight with his base desire, and quickly gives up. He draws in, presses a light kiss to Yoongi’s mouth.
Yoongi’s eyelashes flutter some more, tickling Seokjin’s skin, before his eyes slowly blink open. “Morning,” he mumbles, pressing up to Seokjin’s lips one more time as if out of instinct. They nuzzle for a second, before Yoongi’s brain seems to finally start registering everything around them, and he groans in relief. “Oh, thank fuck.”
“Yeah,” Seokjin can’t help but grin against his mouth, “we survived.”
“Great. Now we can finally get out of here and go murder Jimin together.”
Neither of them makes an effort to move until ten minutes later, when a haggard-looking guy stumbles out of the staff room, and promptly shrieks at the sight of their motionless bodies.
*
“I mean, I’m really glad both of you are okay, but what exactly happened? You guys were practically at each other’s throat before this, and now suddenly you’re dating?”
Seokjin feels warmth creep up his ears, but it’s a good warmth. “Well, it’s a long story.”
“Okay,” Namjoon says, dubious with a hint of amusement, “does it have anything to do with why Yoongi-hyung told me my Secret Santa gift will be delivered to me by the dry cleaner’s?”
“Maybe,” Seokjin evades.
There’s some noise coming out of the speaker, and then another voice that’s distinctively higher and louder. “Oh my god, is that Jin-hyung? Let me talk to him!”
The sound of the phone being traded, then it’s Jimin’s overly excited squeak. “Hyung! I’m so happy you’re alive! And before you yell at me, I’m sorry for being the indirect cause of your near-death experience, but I’m not sorry for the outcome.”
“You little—” Seokjin breathes in deeply. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. Sorry or not sorry, you need to make it up to me for this. You owe me a favor.”
“Uh… sure,” Jimin says, cautiously curious, “what is it?”
“You need to help me pick something for Yoongi as my sorry-for-being-a-dick and I’m-so-glad-we’re-dating late Christmas present.”
(The look on Yoongi’s face, when Seokjin shows up at his door with a sexy Santa costume under his coat, is priceless.)