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Yoongi started to doze off when a soft bundle fell into his lap.
“The kids have left, too, but I figured you would be staying.” Before he could lift his heavy eyelids, Seokjin had already shuffled to the other room, his gentle voice barely over a whisper.
Catching up, drinking, and talking for hours brought out their old fun. Something he used to take for granted, but now limited to a few times a year. Young souls, weary bones , Namjoon laughed while guiding Hoseok out of Seokjin’s apartment.
Frankly, Yoongi can’t answer what he has or hasn’t planned to do. His body and heart decided for him.
He replies with a quiet grunt that is neither thanks nor sorry for intruding, and that Seokjin can’t even hear from where he’s fluffing up the pillows and taking out a spare thinner duvet.
The t-shirt Yoongi changes into looks familiar. It used to be his once. He catches a whiff of the collar, but the subtle aroma of Seokjin’s detergent has faded, as he hasn’t worn it in almost two years. Something bitter crawls up Yoongi's throat, but it’s stupid, moot. He must be far too tipsy and vulnerable, so he pushes it down. The past is gone. There’s no point in dwelling on things he can’t avoid in the present.
Groaning, he heaves himself up from the couch and follows Seokjin, turning off the lights on his way. Like a moth entranced by the soft beacon of the bedside lamp, he quickly makes his way to the bedroom, finding Seokjin already cosied up with his short hair tousled in different directions. The AC is quietly humming, helping them forget about the scorching June weather and allowing Seokjin to be a madman wrapped in a thick blanket. It’s a psychological need, Yoongi-yah! Isn’t that what you’re studying? Shouldn’t you know about it? I can’t believe, he would say while snickering at Yoongi, who’d been sweating through his threadbare tank top.
As if reading Yoongi’s mind, Seokjin says, “I set a separate one for you.” His toe peeks out and pokes at the second blanket. “Or you can crawl in here with me, but I don’t accept any official complaints nor online anonymous slander if I steam you up.” He pats at the covers, a teasing smile bunching up his cheeks. There’s that boyish glow from earlier, eyes glimmering. The relief and joy must still be cursing in Seokjin’s veins, but the enormous yawn that follows is an unmistakable sign of exhaustion. One can only handle so many events in 48 hours.
He’s beautiful, and Yoongi, suddenly feeling brave, allows himself to stare for a few seconds more before he sighs and crosses to his side of the bed.
“Grandmother, why are your teeth so big?” he asks while folding his round glasses and setting them aside. The comparison to a professor Seokjin flirtatiously mentioned in between the shots lingered in Yoongi’s mind, but with their frequent yawning, it wasn’t the best time to delve into it.
“Why, to chew on your dumpling cheeks, my dear,” Seokjin giggles menacingly and scoots closer. With his fuzzy hair, he reminds Yoongi of a caterpillar. Yoongi decides he doesn’t need his own cocoon, the alcohol keeping him warm enough, so he gets comfortable and throws his leg over a Seokjin-shaped bundle.
Face to face, the purple undertones where Seokjin's skin is the thinnest are more apparent, no longer concealed with heavy makeup and purposely directed lights. Yoongi’s finger itches to trace them. And he can, so he does.
“Even up close, you look seventeen again. I feel indecent,” Seokjin murmurs, which earns him a light flip on the nose.
“I could say the same about you if not for those nasty eye bags. Someone's been out of practice,” Yoongi counters with an evident fondness as Seokjin tries to bite him. He must have been serious about that chewing part.
“Didn't we have them even back then? Nasty eye bags, I mean. Quite a pair with sick ambition,” Seokjin mutters with a wry smile. Their breathing is slowly evening out and getting in sync. His arm stretched out, Seokjin gently combs through Yoongi’s own short hair.
“You didn't need to prove anything this time, though,” Yoongi whispers. There’s a hidden but well-known praise, I always told you, you would be good .
“I did, and I didn’t,” Seokjin sighs. He leans forward and gives a warm kiss to Yoongi’s cheek. Another silent exchange, a thank you. He lies back down, with eyes already closed, and his palm slides along the curve of Yoongi’s neck. Filled with affection and overwhelming pride, Yoongi presses his lips to Seokjin’s wrist before his head drops on a pillow. He counts Seokjin’s deepening inhales, one, two, then five when the sweet, sweet sleep wraps around him and pulls him under.
🌝🌛
The early morning sun starts to fill the room, and its mischievous beams jump across Yoongi’s eyelids, the consequence of having forgotten to draw the heavy curtains. He scrunches his nose and reluctantly peeks through.
The sight that welcomes him chokes him up. He blames it on ungodly hours, his dull hangover, his age and the sentimental nature that came with it. He blames it on the words he hadn’t said but had meant, the words he had said and got reciprocated.
Among Yoongi’s brewing emotional storm, Seokjin is unaware and blissfully asleep, his cheek smushed and full lips slightly parted. The healthy colour returned to his face, now cast in a soft glow, close to a halo.
It’s not Jin illuminated with harsh, flashing lights, back straight and face free of blemishes. It’s not even Jin bowing to fans and holding his happy tears at bay, open and vulnerable for a split second. It’s just Seokjin, Yoongi's hyung, larger than life yet so familiar. Home. Back, present, just inches away and within his reach.
In an attempt to control his overflowing affection, Yoongi swallows an embarrassing whimper on the verge of escaping and inhales sharply. Before he does something unreasonable, he cuddles closer and hides his face in Seokjin's chest. The calming, rhythmic thudding and steady rise and fall, like gentle waves rocking a small raft, lull him back to sleep.
🌝🌛
The heavy boulder pressing on his solar plexus is undeniably purring.
“Good morning, princess. I see you’ve been fed well. I did a good job, hm?” Yoongi croaks out. With a throat parched, his voice is all husky and rough. As he fumbles for his phone on the bedside table, his hand accidentally knocks into a chilly glass. Feeling relieved and grateful, he appreciates someone who cares for him and thinks two steps ahead.
His silent worship turns out to be premature when Seokjin startles him, making Yoongi spill the water down the front of his t-shirt.
“Yoongi-yah, look! Maybe I debuted 25 years too late!” Seokjin is all jovial and scandalously chirpy. His hiccuping laugh fills the room with its jingling. Fresh out of the shower, the towel hangs low on his hips. The droplets are clinging or sliding down here and there, reflecting the morning sun and making him sparkle, but what is supposed to catch Yoongi’s attention is Seokjin’s impromptu-styled hair. The gelled-up spikes are mismatched, crooked and ridiculous, yet confusingly charming. They suit Seokjin perfectly, Yoongi concludes.
The conflicting emotions inside him pose difficulty in deciding whether to attack his hyung with a pillow or seek refuge under the covers. Or to make out with him silly. Instead, he bites the inside of his cheek and replies, “My youngest aunt would love you. Can I get an autograph?”.
“You know what they say. Similar nose, similar great taste.” Seokjin throws finger guns at him, strikes another pose, then swiftly turns around while swinging his hips and humming the chorus of I’m your girl .
Without a doubt, Yoongi’s enamoured grimace is something unsightly. However, the only witness to their cheesy interaction is the serene cat, nestled in his lap, seemingly casting a subtle judgement upon them. They slowly blink at each other for a minute, two kindred spirits. He scratches behind her ear, then scratches at his belly while taking a big stretch, his spine popping.
Yoongi’s feet slap against warm tiles when he waddles to join Seokjin at the sink. They stand side by side, their reflections smudged and unclear in the mirror foggy with condensation. Slumped, with the remains of cosy slumber clinging onto him and weighing him down, he observes Seokjin, who is finishing up his morning routine. Admittedly, Yoongi still needs to adjust to working office hours, but after so many months, it could be that he’s just not meant for it.
With every bump he sways a little like a buoy, their force coming from the vigorous teeth brushing of his companion. Seokjin's vibrant demeanour mirrors the joyous chirping of the birds outside. Despite the continuous and rhythmic knocks, Yoongi is not moving anywhere. It's his spot, and he fits here perfectly.
“Hurry up, I want to kiss you,” Seokjin says after gargling enthusiastically and spitting out the foam.
“You’ve done worse,” Yoongi grumbles, feeling lazy and needy.
“Should I brag about it? Sorry for being blunt and crass, but I’ve been waiting for you to put that tongue of yours to good use since yesterday. Unfortunately, we both reeked of soju and mulhwe, and I was close to throwing up, so!” Impatient, he pats Yoongi’s butt and leaves him behind.
“You are disgusting, and a liar. Jimin forced the mints on us. I slept next to you,” Yoongi whines, his voice rising with each complaint, but grabs his toothbrush obediently. He’s a good boy, and there’s a reward to be had.
“Aigoo, my baby. Why so grumpy today?” he hears the saccharine tutting coming from the bedroom but figures that it’s not meant for him.
🌝🌛
Hunger can manifest itself in various ways. It could be the wandering hands grasping at the firm muscle that eighteen months ago used to be leaner and closer to the bone. Or be the discreet nips, soothing pecks and nonsensical whispers sliding along the collarbones. A swallowed moan and a promise of more.
“When you were taking your sweet time and brooding under the shower, I called my manager. He will bring us food.” Seokjin, still kneeling, looks up at Yoongi, warm hands massaging his bare calves. His lips are swollen and glisten obscenely, and Yoongi feels his insides twisting with a burning, insatiable want that seems to always simmer whenever Seokjin is around, teasing.
“That explains your enthusiasm. Having your mouth busy with a side before the main course arrives?” Yoongi grabs Seokjin’s elbows and helps him up, albeit not without effort. His hyung may not look very bulky, limbs still lanky and flailing, but his broad back stores the strength that Yoongi admires. With how it can cover him or push him against the wall. Reliable, and more.
“Nasty. And so self-deprecating, Yoongi-yah. You are the chef’s favourite,” Seokjin huffs and closes in. The slide of their lips is easy, if not a bit gross, but Yoongi wouldn’t dare complain. Wanting to see the pink bloom, he bites at Seokjin’s lower lip and sucks on it some more. He pulls away to admire his finest artwork. Looking positively debauched, splotches of blush are spreading down past the divots of Seokjin’s collarbones. It turns pale when Yoongi presses with his finger, then pink and hot again when he leans in to leave a kiss.
“Eggs.” Seokjin gasps dramatically when his phone chimes.
“Should I-” Yoongi gestures at himself and then points back to the bedroom.
“Nah, hyung knows you are here. I asked him to put the bags at the door. Although, he warned me he will put you on speaker with make-up noona if my neck is mauled.” Seokjin says and squeezes at Yoongi’s sides before pulling away and heading towards the hall.
“Not an ounce of trust in this household. Aren’t we all pros here?” Yoongi mumbles as he goes to turn Seokjin’s far too-fancy coffee machine on.
🌝🌛
“When do you need to leave?” Yoongi asks in between sips. In front of him, Seokjin is still devouring their breakfast with much gusto and bites too big. Some things just never change.
“Uh, four? It’s only the introductions and the first script reading just to get hold of things. But I don’t want to be late.” Seokjin tries to lick the egg yolk crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth, and Yoongi quickly swipes at them. Sensing another potential embarrassment from Seokjin, Yoongi swiftly interjects.
“I saw your insane schedule.” He sucks at his thumb, eyes challenging.
Seokjin gasps, offended. “Look who’s saying. You are the real comedian, Yoongichi. Do they allow you to carry your portable keyboard everywhere?” Seokjin lets out a snort, his nose scrunching up in amusement as they recall their classic inside joke.
“No, but I wrote some lyrics on the documents once. I caught myself just in time to reprint them minutes before they had to be delivered. Never in my life have I feared and hated those machines more.” Yoongi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in theatrical anguish.
Seokjin barks out a deep laugh and shakes his head, disbelieving. Time seems to slow down as they stare at each other, their faces dopey, silence stretching comfortably. After a while, Seokjin blinks frantically, as if breaking out of the spell, and looks at his phone. His smile turns pensive around the soft lines.
“If I don’t do it now, I’m afraid I will never get back to it.” He pauses, and Yoongi doesn’t press on further. “I should pack,” Seokjin whines. “Could you help me? I need emotional support.”
Covering Seokjin’s upturned palms with his, Yoongi traces slow circles on his wrists. “You are a baby.”
“This I can’t refute. If you fold my boxers quick enough, maybe we will have time for you to return my morning favour?”
Followed by Seokjin’s shrill yelling, Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever run faster.
🌝🌛
Once, in a moment of not entirely sober weakness, he asked Namjoon how he would describe him and Seokjin. Namjoon, good, old and visibly caught off guard Namjoon, looked at him funny and answered, slurring, I guess, despite everything or maybe considering everything, it would be “balance” . And Yoongi accepted. Not because Namjoon’s word is ever final, this is not how the foundations of their friendship came to be, but because, deep down, he felt content with this simple response. He chased it and sealed it, a forever glowing ember and reminder.
Like a metronome’s pendulum, they sway side to side, waiting. Seokjin’s chin rests on Yoongi’s shoulder, and he gently hums a melody that suspiciously sounds similar to the song Yoongi sent him many months ago. No pressure he named it.
“I will send you a postcard,” Seokjin says suddenly.
“Wasn’t the island remote? Do you think they have pigeons?” Yoongi asks, faking concern.
“Smartass. Fine, I will send you one from Paris. You liked it there.” I liked it there with you , Yoongi wants to say, but he only nods, his cheek rubbing at Seokjin’s warm ear.
Left, right, left. The phone pings again, and Yoongi slowly pulls away, still close enough to leave pecks on Seokjin’s rounded cheeks and his perfect nose. He lingers at his lips again, pries them open and allows himself to deepen the kiss. Not a grain of shame or guilt. What’s five minutes more? The world can wait. He drinks up Seokjin’s soft moans, which don’t sound like a warning.
When their dancing stops, their foreheads remain touching. Seokjin nuzzles against him, and Yoongi looks right back. It’s different, it’s the same. The constellations in Seokjin’s eyes, one of them solely for Yoongi. Even kilometres apart, a familiar place to return to. He breathes in.
“Welcome home.”