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Even though Yoongi’s older than Namjoon, and could probably talk himself out of any kind of disastrous situation with his sharp mind and sharper tongue, it doesn’t stop Namjoon from worrying when Yoongi disappears from his side at Seokjin’s party. Especially when Namjoon last saw him with Taehyung and Jimin, who probably couldn’t point out where the liver is in the body, much less know what alcohol does to it.
So he sends Yoongi maybe too many snapchats and texts about stupid shit under the guise of checking up on Yoongi’s alcohol consumption, to see just how much Yoongi’s drinking, to know whether that means he should go pick Yoongi up from whatever room he’s confined himself to before someone else does.
Because Yoongi, for all his tough exterior and rough words and perpetual stubborness, isn’t really someone who would last very long in a fight. Not when his arms are packing almost nothing, and the only thing he really has going for him are bony elbows and quick feet. And Yoongi likes to think he can take on the whole entire world, but Yoongi also likes to think he’s five inches taller than he actually is.
“Dude,” Donghyuk nudges him with the toe of his shoe, from where he’s sitting across from Namjoon. A few of his friends have claimed the couches in one of the less crowded rooms of Seokjin’s house – probably more of a mansion, really – but Namjoon still feels the slight discomfort of loneliness in his chest when his eyes can’t find Yoongi in his immediate surroundings.
(He kind of always misses Yoongi when he’s gone.)
“Dude,” Donghyuk says again. “He’s literally in this house. Stop moping around so much, you’re making me sad.”
“Fuck off,” Namjoon groans, leaning over to set the empty beer bottle onto the coffee table. There are fucking coasters, because that’s just how Seokjin is.
“You’re such a clingy boyfriend, you know that?” Donghyuk snickers, and Namjoon can only shrug in agreement, because, well, yeah. Namjoon is.
He settles back into the couch, knees bent and feet planted to the floor, and he tilts his head back to stare up at the ceiling. He’s not even drunk, barely even tipsy, and doesn’t even feel the urge to drink any more when all he really wants to do is find his cute boyfriend and maybe bite a few more hickeys into the soft skin of Yoongi’s neck.
(Once he’s gotten passed Yoongi’s cute, stubborn glare and cute, stubborn, “They look like bug bites!! What are you, a mosquito???”)
The booming bass vibrating throughout Seokjin’s house is kind of like a white noise blocking out sounds just over a foot away, and it’s probably why Namjoon doesn’t hear the sound of someone stumbling through the half-closed door, or the drunk giggles that escape pink lips, but Namjoon’s does feel the sudden weight of a small body plopping down onto his lap.
It’s Yoongi, drunk Yoongi, straddling Namjoon’s lap and snaking thin, bare arms around Namjoon’s neck.
Yoongi smiles down at him, wide and gummy, eyes crinkling into crescents. The pot light above him shines a halo glowing around pastel green hair. “Did you miss me?”
Namjoon blinks up at him for a few seconds, almost stunned at the pure delightedness painted across Yoongi’s features, at his willingness to sit in Namjoon’s lap when usually he’d kick Namjoon in the shins when Namjoon tries to play footsies under the table with him. Where no one else can see.
But then Namjoon gathers his wits and smiles back up at his excited boyfriend, resting warm hands on slim hips. The knot of lonely discomfort unravels in his chest and he relaxes under the warm, easy weight of Yoongi in his lap. “Hey. Having fun?”
“Mmm,” Yoongi nods very seriously, like he’s taking time to consider Namjoon’s question. His eyes are a little unfocused and his speech is a little slurred, but he’s not drunk enough that he’ll be sick in the morning. “Jimin and Taehyung gave me something to drink, and it made me feel really good. Happy. I’m bubbly inside!”
Namjoon frowns. “What did they give you?”
Yoongi shrugs, eyelids droopy when he brings one hand up to smooth the crease in Namjoon’s forehead from his furrowed brows. “I don’t know, but it tastes like strawberries. I love strawberries.”
Namjoon’s still frowning, and he reaches for his phone to send a quick text to Jimin to make sure he didn’t put anything too weird into Yoongi’s drink, but Donghyuk stops him. “It’s the strawberry vodka that Hoseok brought,” he says. “Hoseok made some kind of punch with it. He probably just had a bit too much of it.”
Namjoon nods in thanks, and Donghyuk leaves them alone, crossing the room to talk with the rest of their friends. Namjoon turns his gaze back onto the small boy in his lap, who’s almost begging for his attention at that point, if the insistent tugs on Namjoon’s sweater are anything to go by.
“Pay attention to me!”
Yoongi’s petulant voice almost makes Namjoon chuckle, but he manages to hold back. Yoongi always gets really honest when he’s drunk, saying things that his sober self would deny ever even thinking.
“Okay,” Namjoon agrees easily, leaning up to press a wet kiss to the underside of Yoongi’s jaw. The smaller boy sighs blissfully, inebriated expression so honest that Namjoon almost feels bad for teasing him. Almost. “I’ll look only at you, if you make it worth my while. So what are you going to do to keep my attention on you?”
Namjoon murmurs the words into Yoongi’s ear, leaning back after dropping a kiss to the skin, and Yoongi lets out the softest whine, shivering in Namjoon’s hands.
And that makes Namjoon frown, noticing, for the first time, that Yoongi’s not wearing the sweater that he left Namjoon’s house in. He’s dressed only in a thin tank top that hangs precariously off his narrow shoulders.
“Where’s your sweater?” Namjoon asks. “Yoongi, what did you do with it?”
“Huh?” Yoongi asks, small hands coming up to grab hold of Namjoon’s steady shoulders.
Namjoon nudges Yoongi’s jaw up to look into his eyes. “What happened to the sweater you were wearing?”
“I took it off,” Yoongi says after a pause, and looks really pleased that he remembers. “I was too hot. I’m still really hot.” He says it like it’s an afterthought.
And Namjoon’s a little irked that so many people got to see Yoongi’s slender shoulders and small frame and the delicate lines down his back, but there’s also the reassuring presence of three possessive hickeys left by Namjoon on Yoongi’s neck. Namjoon settles down under Yoongi’s familiar weight on his thighs, and Yoongi’s pink lips pulled into a bright smile, and the way Yoongi’s so soft under Namjoon’s hands.
Drunk Yoongi is always softer than sober Yoongi, more open about his emotions and more expressive in his desires, but even then, Namjoon wouldn’t say he prefers one Yoongi over the other. Because seeing sober Yoongi go soft under Namjoon’s hands is something Namjoon has burned into his mind, something he never wants to forget, something that only he can do.
But drunk Yoongi’s also a lot more straightforward, and lacking any inhibitions, and Yoongi leans forward to wrap both arms around Namjoon’s head, smooshing Namjoon’s face into his chest, and stage whispers, “I want you to fuck me please.”
“You’re so unromantic, you know that?” Namjoon says, like his dick isn’t half hard already.
Yoongi leans back then, making a face down at Namjoon. “What, you want me to ask you to make love to me? Are you stupid?”
There’s the Yoongi he knows.
“I can’t wait to tell you all about this tomorrow morning,” is all Namjoon says, standing then, and Yoongi makes this choked noise of surprise and punches at Namjoon’s shoulder when he’s suddenly lifted high off the ground.
“Let me down! You’re so freakishly tall, did you know that? You can’t just lift me up whenever you feel like it-”
Yoongi’s voice fades into the booming bass as Namjoon carries him out the door.
While half the city panics about the three feet of snow that falls overnight and covers everything in a blanket of white, the other half panic about the plunging drop in temperature, from a mild, sunny winter, into dark skies and freezing winds.
Namjoon’s not too upset about it, since the blocked roads means he has a day off work, even though he can technically shows up to work whenever he wants since he’s his own boss at the recording studio.
He knows it’s better to shovel the snow from his driveway sooner, and not to let it sit and freeze over, so he heads outside, and braces the cold weather, even though the biting wind almost forces him back inside.
He has half his driveway done when he hears a weak, “Namjoon”, and there’s a sudden weight on his back, the slumped form of someone’s body leaning entirely against him, and it’s Yoongi.
Yoongi, whose jeans are wet up to his knees and whose nose is bright red and who’s shivering so hard that his lips can barely form words.
Namjoon gapes at him for a few seconds, and then demands, “Did you walk here?”
Yoongi can only nod, his lips almost blue, and that shocks Namjoon out of his disbelief, and he drops his shovel to pick Yoongi up, and Yoongi clings to him immediately, ice cold nose pressed to Namjoon’s warm cheek.
He pushes sideways through his door and sets Yoongi down to strip off his coat and boots, and Yoongi can barely move his fingers, stands there shivering while Namjoon strips him of his wet jeans too. He picks Yoongi back up, and Yoongi goes easily, curling into the warmth of Namjoon’s larger body and deliriously telling Namjoon again and again, “I’m c-c-cold, N-namj-joon.”
“I know,” Namjoon says soothingly, as soothingly as he can when he’s so worried about the smaller boy. Yoongi’s shivering violently. “You’re going to be really warm soon, okay?”
“’Kay,” Yoongi says, curling into a ball when Namjoon sets him down on his bed. But he doesn’t resist when Namjoon uncurls his form to tug on sweatpants and woolen socks, and one of Namjoon’s thick sweaters. Before Namjoon can even move to pick Yoongi back up, the smaller boy reaches for him with his hands, asking silently to be lifted, and Namjoon moves immediately, pressing worried kisses into Yoongi’s hair.
“What were you thinking?” Namjoon says, when he settles them down on his couch and covers them in two blankets. It’s a bit too hot for Namjoon, almost stifling, but Yoongi’s still shivering in his seat between Namjoon’s legs. Namjoon leans forward to press a kiss to Yoongi’s ear.
The older boy doesn’t respond, only settles deeper into Namjoon’s arms and lets Namjoon hold onto him even tighter.
Yoongi dozes off at some point, snuggled under two blankets and Namjoon’s arms, when his shivering has finally stopped. And Namjoon’s still worried, but at least Yoongi’s warmed up a little bit beneath his palms, and his voice no longer shakes when he speaks. And even though it’s almost a sticky, uncomfortable warmth beneath the blankets, Namjoon doesn’t move because his concern for his small boyfriend outweighs any discomfort Namjoon could ever have.
When Yoongi wakes up about an hour later, groggy and eyelids half-lidded in sleepiness, but much more coherent, Namjoon finally lets himself have some measure of relief.
“My heater’s broken,” Yoongi explains. “And they said they couldn’t send someone to fix it because of the roads. And you wouldn’t answer your phone! Why wouldn’t you answer your phone?!”
Yoongi’s voice is still heavy with sleep, and the petulance comes out like more of a soft whine, and Namjoon tightens his grip around Yoongi’s waist so that his back is pressed snug against Namjoon’s front. It’s probably just a little bit uncomfortable for the smaller boy, but Yoongi doesn’t complain.
Namjoon would be more surprised at how soft Yoongi is under his hands, but he’s gotten used to this. He’s gotten to know this side of Yoongi. Because of all things in the world, Yoongi hates being cold the most. It’s what makes him seek out Namjoon, grab one of Namjoon’s sweater when he thinks the taller boy isn’t looking, and work himself under Namjoon’s heavy arm because, ‘You’re like a living space heater, god, give some to the rest of us.’
“I left my phone inside when I went out to shovel the snow,” Namjoon says, mentally kicking himself for unintentionally abandoning Yoongi when he needed him most. “You couldn’t fix the heater? Usually you’re really good at that kind of stuff.”
Yoongi harrumphs. “What’s that supposed to mean? At least I didn’t step on my new iPhone the day after I got it.”
Namjoon winces. “I thought we agreed never to bring that up again.”
“You started it!”
And this is Yoongi back to normal, no longer in the scary state of deliriousness and confusion, and Namjoon’s so relieved that he leans forward to bury his face into the curve of Yoongi’s neck. “I was so scared.” He whispers warm puffs of air into the skin, and Yoongi shivers a little bit.
“I…” Yoongi starts, softly, hesitantly, and Namjoon waits. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s not your fault,” Namjoon says. “I should’ve had my phone on me. Just, next time, promise me you won’t do something so stupid like that, okay? Wait for me to come and get you.”
Yoongi lets out this scoffing noise, but he doesn’t move from the confines of Namjoon’s arms and chest. “Fine, whatever. I promise.” Namjoon catches the pink across Yoongi’s cheeks before he burrows deeper into the blankets, and hides the blush.
Namjoon leans back, starts to move out from under the blankets, and that makes Yoongi startle. “Wait! Where are you going?”
“To boil some water for tea,” Namjoon says, turning back to tuck the loose ends of the blankets around the smaller boy. “You’re still cold and it’s the best way to warm you up.”
“I’ll come,” is all Yoongi says, standing too, and bringing the blanket with him like he’s wrapped in a cocoon.
Yoongi hops up onto the counter beside Namjoon while he waits for the kettle to finish boiling, two mugs set down in front of him. And it’s quiet for a moment, with the only noise coming from the steaming kettle, and then Namjoon’s eyes catch on Yoongi, wrapped up in a blanket. The blanket’s long enough – or maybe Yoongi’s short enough – that only his woollen-socked toes and messy hair peek out. Yoongi’s swaying his legs a little bit, lost in thought, and his cheeks and nose are still a little pink from the frostbite. His eyelids are dropping in sleepiness, and Yoongi’s lips are chapped, and half his hair is plastered to one side of his head from how he was sleeping on Namjoon’s chest. And Namjoon think he’s never seen someone more beautiful in his whole life.
He moves then, planting two heavy hands on the counter on either side of Yoongi, and the older boy startles. “Huh?”
“You’re really cute, you know that?”
Yoongi immediately flushes, making some kind of floundering noise of embarrassment, and one hand emerges from the tangle of his blanket to shove at Namjoon’s chest. Namjoon barely rocks backwards.
“You are,” Namjoon says.
“You look so stupid right now,” Yoongi groans in embarrassment, but he lets Namjoon stay close to him, the hand on Namjoon’s chest curling into a fist around the thick sweater.
And yeah, Namjoon probably does, he knows he’s smiling wide enough for his dimples to come out, but none of that really matter when Yoongi looks so soft right now, so comfortable curled up against Namjoon like this is where he belongs. He’s almost preening under Namjoon’s attention, because as much as Yoongi tries to deny it, he likes being the centre of attention when it comes to being with the people closest to him.
Namjoon practically tosses their mugs into the sink when they’re finished the tea, and Yoongi rolls his eyes with an exasperated, “careful”, and Namjoon’s belatedly happy that he didn’t grab Yoongi’s kumamon mug earlier, because Yoongi would’ve thrown a fit if Namjoon had so much as picked it up wrong.
“Let’s go take a shower,” Namjoon says.
“What, together?” Yoongi asks.
“Yeah,” Namjoon’s hands find their way to Yoongi’s hips covering by a thick cocoon of blanket. “You’re still cold.”
“I’m warming up!” Yoongi protests, but he lets Namjoon help him down from the counter. “You’d do anything to get me naked, wouldn’t you?”
Namjoon just grins down at him, because, yeah.
Yoongi rolls his eyes and then saunters out of the kitchen with a, “I’m standing under the hot water. You can freeze your ass off since this is your idea.”
“Okay.” It’s not like Namjoon would be far enough away from Yoongi to freeze anyway.
Yoongi comes over on Friday so they can make dinner together, since Namjoon’s just finished up with the album he’s writing and finally has enough free time to eat more than just instant ramen.
Or well, Yoongi’s making dinner. Namjoon’s been assigned to onion duty, the only thing he can really manage without fucking it up too badly, but he’s abandoned it ten minutes ago in favour of watching his small boyfriend struggle with the zucchini noodle peeler.
Because Yoongi looks like he’s about to fight the thing.
“Why. Won’t. You. Work?!” Yoongi almost flings the peeler in one direction and the zucchini in the other, and all that’s on the plate are broken pieces of thin zucchini strips. He takes a deep breath. “I give up.”
Namjoon can’t help the snort of laughter.
“What, you think you could do better?” Yoongi turns blazing eyes on him, tongue sharp and voice filled with irritation, but all Namjoon can really focus on is the way the apron’s tied around Yoongi’s slender waist or the way Yoongi’s hair sticks up slightly in the back, since he showered after he came over and his hair was left to air dry.
Namjoon moves then, not answering the smaller boy, taking the zucchini and the peeler from Yoongi’s fingers to set them down on the counter. And he thinks, Yoongi’s really it for him, Yoongi’s the only person Namjoon really, genuinely misses when he’s gone. Yoongi’s the only person Namjoon goes out of his way to make time to see every day, because Namjoon doesn’t want to miss anything when it comes to the smaller boy. He wants to spend the rest of his life with Yoongi, to watch Yoongi struggle with the zucchini peeler or to listen to Yoongi complain when Namjoon leaves too many marks on his neck – even though Namjoon catches Yoongi absentmindedly trailing his fingers over them. He wants to be the only one who knows that sometimes Yoongi sings to really catchy pop songs on the radio, even though he’d deny knowing the lyrics to his dying day.
And all these little things, these tiny details, build up inside Namjoon, so that all he can do is give a disgruntled Yoongi a stupid, loving look, and say, “I love you.”
Yoongi immediately stills, eyes widening, and mouth opening and closing but no sounds coming out.
Because Yoongi’s maybe been in too many relationships where he was never told ‘I love you’, and been in not enough relationships where he was loved even a fraction of the extent that he needed, and been in maybe too many that ended with ‘I never loved you in the first place’.
And Namjoon knows about them, as much as Yoongi sometimes whispers to him at night when everything’s dark and quiet and still, and Namjoon presses kisses to Yoongi’s cheeks and nose and lips trying to convey what words sometimes can’t. That he loves Yoongi, that he has no intention of leaving Yoongi, that he was half in love with Yoongi the first time he ever saw the small musician at the university bookstore trying, and failing, to reach a book on the highest shelf.
Yoongi clears his throat. “What are you saying?”
The words are dismissive but the tone is not. It’s insecure, breathless, and timid, and he’s looking up at Namjoon in a way that makes Namjoon’s heart ache a little bit, like maybe Yoongi wasn’t told he was loved enough.
“I love you,” Namjoon says again, curling both arm around the smaller boy, and Yoongi goes easily into him, shuffling forward the few inches until he’s buried into the broadness of Namjoon’s chest.
“God,” Namjoon kind of lets out a breathless laugh then, and his hands are shaking a little bit, and he wishes there was more than just the three words to tell Yoongi how much of Namjoon’s heart doesn’t belong to the taller boy anymore. “I love you so much.”
Yoongi’s quiet for a moment, while Namjoon buries his nose into the messy locks, catching the scent of his own shampoo and it makes Namjoon’s heart maybe skip a few essential beats. And Namjoon thinks about how much he wants Yoongi to move in with him, how scared he’s been to bring it up in the first place, even though they spend most of their time at Namjoon’s house instead of at Yoongi’s tiny bachelor apartment, where the heating is temperamental and the hot water never lasts long enough.
“Hey,” Namjoon says quietly, nudging the side of Yoongi’s head with his chin. “Move in with me?”
Yoongi leans back a bit at that, to look up at Namjoon. “What?”
Namjoon clears his throat. (His heart’s somewhat stuck there.)
“Move in with me,” he doesn’t ask it this time, and it’s barely a suggestion, because he needs Yoongi to understand that this is real. That Namjoon’s so committed to them.
“That’s a big step,” Yoongi says after a moment, but it’s kind of weak, like he’s struggling to think of a way to protest against Namjoon when he doesn’t really want to in the first place.
Namjoon shrugs.
Yoongi looks away, pursing his lips and letting his fringe cover his eyes. “I’ll move in with you,” he says it like he’s doing Namjoon a favour.
And Namjoon grins, pulling Yoongi back to him so he can kiss soft, trembling lips, and Yoongi goes so easily, like putty underneath Namjoon’s hands. And it took them so long to get here, for Yoongi to realize Namjoon’s hands weren’t restraints but were support, that the weight of Namjoon wasn’t restricting him but reassuring to him. And Namjoon doesn’t mind if Yoongi rolls his eyes or if Yoongi dances away from his reaching fingers, because at the end of the day, Yoongi’s soft beneath him. Yoongi flushes pink under Namjoon’s gaze and responds so beautifully to Namjoon’s hands.
And later, when Yoongi’s pressing cold toes to Namjoon’s calves and pretending that he’s not the one who reached for Namjoon’s hand first, he says, so softly, “Say it again.”
Namjoon meets the shy eyes barely hiding luminous delight.
“I love you.”