Work Text:
Winter 2024
Lunar New Year always leaves a bitter taste in Yoongi’s mouth. He used to like it. Family has always been important to him, as detached as he was to his own. But people... Gosh, people are unbearable. Boasting about their new year’s resolutions, trying to make themselves look better than they were.
Everyone fails but everyone loves to appear better than others for the first few days of the year.
Yoongi always chooses to stay holed up during those days. The outside world feels like a huge bragging contest. Who is the best person? Who has the better ambitions? Oh, you’re trying to get better mentally? Well, I’m going for a run every day, hope you feel miserable!
Yoongi isn’t the most joyful person there is. But that’s fine! He sticks to himself. He doesn’t mingle. And it works just fine.
So why? Why is there a drunk man at his front door, looking a thousand times more miserable than Yoongi, trying to pick him up like some hooker?
“Do you want a glass of water?”
He sounds colder than death itself. He should close the door, let the guy handle himself. But there’s something about the man’s lame punchlines and hollow eyes that makes his heart ache. He hasn't turned fully apathetic yet apparently.
“I could use some, I’m thiiirsty...” the man drawls. It’s probably meant as a pick-up line with dirty innuendos, but the poor guy can barely stand and he looks minutes from collapsing or bursting into tears. Or both.
“Come on in.”
This is absolutely crazy.
So, this is how Min Yoongi, struggling music producer, meets Kim Seokjin, miserable office worker, both sporting a terrible headache and a deep hatred for capitalism.
“Why are people so happy to be exploited?” Seokjin groans somewhere around one in the morning. They switched from water to tea. Seokjin almost wept when Yoongi poured him a cup.
“You tell me...”
“They were all so happy, bragging about their gross margin and their profit and benefits and how hard they worked so that our fucking boss can go on vacation this summer. It’s a fucking shit show...”
Yoongi laughs into his cup. Seokjin is funny. He’s certain that, when sober and with better styled hair, he looks like the perfect employee. Clean, tidy, tall and handsome, with a polite smile. His coworkers probably know nothing about this Kim Seokjin.
It makes Yoongi feel oddly proud. He doesn’t know that man who feels like shit after celebrating new year with his team, and yet, it feels like he knows him better than anyone.
“People suck,” someone says at some point. He isn’t sure who. It doesn’t really matter. The sentiment is shared.
“But you don’t,” echoes around the room, unspoken but still heard.
Their conversation stretches until dawn rises. It’s filled with silence and understanding. It’s speckled with little confessions and gentle secrets. They don’t know each other, there’s no consequence to this night. It knows no bound, like it could stretch into time eternally.
Seokjin’s voice lost its douche touch. It feels genuine, it sounds soft. Like poetry read from an old book in an even older café, if it could have a voice. Yoongi’s heart feels a little bit tender by the time light tickles his blinds.
Seokjin crashes on Yoongi’s couch, because Yoongi feels high on his hatred for capitalism and on the beauty of that stranger’s eyes, so he makes stupid decisions.
In the morning, Yoongi wakes up to the bitter sight of a goodbye note and the sad smell of apology pancakes.
Spring 2024
Time passes, as it does. Grey starts to turn green; the sun becomes less shy. Yoongi relishes in the fact that he can sleep with the window slightly open, letting the morning sun and the birds wake him up softly.
It doesn’t make music flow magically from his fingers, the writer’s block is still desperately there, but it helps.
He still thinks about Kim Seokjin every other day, and it doesn’t help. What happened to that sad man? Did the start of 2024 treat him kindly? It’d be nice. He seems like the kind of guy who deserves some kindness. But the world isn’t kind.
Yoongi’s piano feels dusty and rusty. Anxiety swirls in his stomach, curling up on itself like a snake ready to jump every time he looks at the instrument for too long.
He thinks of Kim Seokjin and of his rusty dusty piano and life gets confusing.
Yoongi turned 32 this year. Well, 31 a few weeks ago according to the new age system, whatever that meant. 31 feels better to hear. Less dreading. Like 2023 didn’t count. He can just do this year again, better this time.
But nothing is better. The birds are singing, and his hands are grey. They feel like stone, unable to pick up a pen and write some notes. Several updates piled up in his computer’s software, ready to be launched for months. Yoongi doesn't dare to open it.
What if it’s bad?
But it’ll be something.
Reason never wins.
But the birds are singing. Maybe he can at least indulge a little. He’s never been an outside person, but people do say fresh air and soft sunlight heal a poet’s wounds (or something).
He pretends it’s not for him as he takes out bread to make a few sandwiches, as he mixes up tuna and mayo to lather on crackers. The fruit he’s cutting is for someone else, someone meaningful, that’s why he needs to be careful and do it well.
Pretending helps. It’s easier to take care of himself when he thinks he’s taking care of someone else. He’s kinder this way. Kindness heals, too.
The walk to the park is uneventful. It feels odd, both familiar and foreign. Yoongi feels as though the dust of his piano, falling from the eroding stone of his hands, made its way to his eyes. Everything feels a little bit grey, a little bit foggy. There’s a veil between him and the world. He’s distant. Like he’s fading away from reality. He has nothing (no one) to grab onto.
It’s sunny and beautiful too.
When he finally sits down in the park, on a little blanket a friend knitted a few years ago (he forgot which year, forgot which friend even), the grass feels pricky and the sun too abrasive.
Overstimulation is quite common in people with ADHD.
He hates it. He wishes he were able to enjoy happy things anytime, and not just when his brain decides to be so kind. He wants to be okay. Why is it so hard? Why is everything always so hard?
He perseveres. He stays. Time stretches and the prickly feeling recedes. The sun becomes more bearable. Yoongi can finally breathe. He’s not gonna find inspiration today but at least, he’s getting some vitamin D. It can’t hurt.
He’s about to grab a sandwich when the world decides to prove him wrong in a shrilling scream.
“AAISH, go away go away go away go away,” the man a few meters away from him curses, trying to get something off his probably way too expensive suit.
Yoongi knows that suit.
“Kim Seokjin?”
“What?”
The man stops flailing, standing still in the middle of the park, jacket barely hanging from his shoulders. Staring at Yoongi.
It’s slow and terrible and embarrassing, how shame creeps up on someone.
He doesn’t recognize you.
But just as Yoongi tries to turn away and pretend nothing ever happened, Seokjin’s face lights up in a million shades of red. Oh.
“Oh, you— Oh, my god! I— I’m— I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
Yoongi watches, amusement making the dust in his stomach go up in clouds, as Seokjin fumbles with his words the way he did with his hands earlier.
“You don’t have to apologize, it’s all good,” Yoongi smiles. Because it’s funny and surprising and it makes him happy. So, he smiles, and it’s genuine.
“You’re too kind,” Seokjin grumbles, making his way to Yoongi and finally, he can see what he was screaming about.
There are cobwebs all over his expensive suit, and in his hair too. Expensive hair. (They look soft, too soft, and Yoongi feels a bit lightheaded.)
“What happened to you?” Yoongi laughs, warm and giddy. He almost reaches out to get some cobwebs out of Seokjin’s hair. There’s something magnetic about that man that has him feel unhinged. He doesn’t recognize himself but somehow, he never felt more real.
“I… I tried to take a shortcut. Shouldn’t have. It happens.”
“A shortcut to the park?”
“Anything to escape the claws of my coworkers faster,” Seokjin smiles. It’s brighter than anything Yoongi has gotten to see since spring started. It’s brighter than the sun. Yet, he isn’t blinded by it. It feels warm and safe.
“Do you want to sit? I have spare sandwiches.”
Something shines in Seokjin’s eyes, so genuine it makes Yoongi want to kick his feet. Joy.
“Gosh, yes. I’ll repay you, I’m starving.”
Most people would have probably refused out of politeness. Seokjin isn’t most people, not with Yoongi at least. There’s an understanding between them that makes everything easier and smoother. Yoongi felt it all those months ago, and still feels it today.
Silence stretches between them as they enjoy the food. It’s not awkward. It’s peaceful, there’s no rush to fill it, no rush to pretend. They can just be.
“Did you make them?” Seokjin asks eventually, looking at the almost empty basket sitting in front of them.
“Yeah. Liked them?”
“Are you a chef? It was so good! Felt like I was ascending to heaven with every bite, or something like that.”
It’s an exaggeration, made on purpose to be flattering. It works. Yoongi feels his cheeks warm up and his stomach do little flips. Giddiness again.
“No, I’m not a cook, but I’m glad you liked them.”
“What are you then? With hands like this, you should be handling 5 stars restaurants, nothing less.”
Yoongi’s smile turns slightly grey, matching his stoney hands.
“I’m a musician, but those hands haven’t made anything very significant in a while…”
More silence. A touch. One hand covering the other. A smile. A squeeze.
“It’ll come back.”
A promise.
Not an empty one.
“Like you?” Yoongi asks, daring with his chest full of sunshine.
Seokjin smiles.
“Since my drunk ass apparently didn’t scare you off, sure.”
This promise isn’t empty either.
Summer 2024
“I’m gonna diiiie,” Yoongi whines, as petulant as a five years-old child. “Four hours in a car? In that heat? I’m not making it out alive.”
“Sure, buddy,” Seokjin pats Yoongi’s head in a way that is entirely condescending and shouldn’t have Yoongi’s stomach wiggle like this. (There really is no other way to describe the way Yoongi’s heart and body behave around Jin.) “Sure.”
“You’re acting like I’m gonna follow you, like you’re soooo confident,” Yoongi nags, trying to sound cocky and daring, whatever hot people do. (Don’t ask him why he’s trying to be hot people.)
“What? Like I’m wrong?” Jin asks with a knowing smile, grabbing the bag Yoongi definitely did not pack last night in anticipation to this god forsaken trip.
Jin has two full weeks off and it’s august and apparently, “it’d be a damn shame not to go check out to the sea”. Yoongi is gonna die on the way there, once more the minute they get out of the car, and a last time on their way back. He usually spends his summer holed up in a dark room, blasting air conditioning on his withering body. Not in direct exposition to the blazing sun.
“We’ll go fishing! It’s gonna be fun, fishing is always fun!”
“Sure,” Yoongi groans, already following Jin out. “I’m not driving one single minute.”
“Hyung’s taking care of everything, Yoongichi!”
The smile Jin throws at Yoongi has his toes curl a little bit. How embarrassing.
He hates that stage in relationships. (He’s not sure what odd spirit possesses him for him to be thinking about this whole thing as a relationship but oh, well.) The part where they both know it’s heading somewhere, but no one is sure where, or how, or what to call it. They’re walking on a thin wire between friendship and something else, something more. It’s a game on who will fall first.
Yoongi is losing (or winning, depending on the point of view), but he would be damned to admit it.
“I’m picking the music.”
“Of course, who else?”
His cheeks feel warm up again. In his thirty-two/one years of life, he’s never blushed so much. He’s not sure how to feel about it. Seokjin has officially been a part of his life, as a friend and sometimes more, for three months now. It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions Yoongi hasn’t experienced in years.
He’s grateful for it. He’s also terrified.
“Take a nap, sleepyhead, I’ll wake you up once we’re there. I know your anxious ass didn’t sleep last night.”
There’s some embarrassment, of course, to being caught red handed, but Yoongi doesn’t think that’s what’s warming up his insides. He lets his eyes fall close. It’s easier than to face Seokjin’s glowing smile.
When he isn’t trampled by his work, Yoongi found out, Seokjin is a wonderful person. He glows, he shines, he laughs and he lives so brightly. He’s like a little part of the sun helping Yoongi’s soul grow back to full bloom. It’s terribly cheesy but also incredibly true.
Yoongi’s hands don’t feel so stoney anymore. Somewhere in Seokjin’s trunk, Yoongi’s laptop is fully charged and updated, ready to create once again.
The sky hasn’t been grey in months. The foggy veil lifted.
“I’m gonna diiiie…”
“You’re so overdramatic, Yoongi-yah.”
“It’s so hot, why is it so hot?” Yoongi wails, following behind Jin as he leads them toward the boat he rented for the day. It’s a small one, just enough for two people to fish. Yoongi is gonna melt under the scorching sun. It’s his end.
They dropped their bags to the little cabin they (Seokjin) rented and Yoongi hates himself for not staying there. The bed (not beds, bed. Yoongi didn’t question it. Seokjin just smiled.) looked fluffy and comfortable and the bathroom has a whole bathtub. Yoongi could be taking his best nap, all cleaned up in soft sheets.
Instead, he’s climbing on a rocky boat, about to drown probably, skin sticky with sunscreen and eyes burning because he forgot his sunglasses.
“It’s more windy at sea, you’ll be fine! And isn’t my presence so refreshing?” Jin asks with a wink.
“I hate you.”
A lie has never been so obvious.
Yoongi likes to think that it’s on this specific day that everything changes. The Big Boom. There, on that little boat, hair full of sweat, salt and water, eyes slightly crossed due to the sun, the few hours of poor sleep and the long drive. Messy but happy under the not so scorching sun.
Yoongi would probably tell the story like this in the future: Jin made a silly joke and there, under the bright blue sky, wearing the silliest hat in the universe, he looked like a deity walking the earth. There, under the bright blue sky, wearing the less flattering shirt in the universe, Yoongi felt his heart tumble and fall.
He lost the game. He slipped from the tightrope.
But in reality, Yoongi isn’t surprised. He knows it’s long overdue. So when Jin cracks his joke, when his entire being sparkles under the sun, when their bodies lean toward each other, Yoongi isn’t surprised. His lips find Seokjin's andand it’s perfect and it’s right and there’s no surprise. Seokjin presses back into the kiss immediately and Yoongi's soul sings at how natural it all feels.
It’s hot and fuzzy because it’s new, but it’s also warm and familiar because it’s them.
Kim Seokjin has been part of Min Yoongi’s life for months. Officially since may. Less officially, since January. But if you ask Jin’s heart, it all feels like it happened yesterday. If you ask Yoongi’s soul, they’ve known each other forever.
“It was about time,” Seokjin snickers, letting go of his stupid fishing rod to finally grab Yoongi’s waist,to finally hold him. Everything feels right and Yoongi thinks this would be the perfect setting for a nap. Relaxation washes over him and suddenly, his eyes feel heavier than Mount Everest.
Relaxation washes over him and suddenly, the tip of his fingers tingle. No more stone, no more dust.
When their bodies mend together that night, messing up the sheets and clearing up their heads, foreign and familiar, Yoongi finally feels home. When his lips part around the breathiest moans, and when his cheeks blush under Jin's oh so easy compliments, Yoongi feels like he's discovering life for the first time. When the sun rises in the morning, Yoongi finds that Seokjin’s snores make the most inspiring melody. Sitting on his bed, the crisp morning air making his bare skin feel as soft as clouds, Yoongi creates notes, harmonies and lyrics, watches them flow and dance on his notebook.
No more dust. Time for peace.
Seokjin grumbles. His arm snakes across Yoongi’s thighs under the cover. He hums, pleased. Yoongi forgets how to breathe.
Maybe peace is too strong of a word, for now.
Fall 2024
“You’re gonna catch a cold,” Yoongi says distractedly, out of habit.
“The only thing that could make me sick is you,” Jin snipes back with a wink.
Yoongi stares at him, waiting patiently for the moment his idiot of a boyfriend realizes what he just said. It doesn’t miss. Understanding dawns on Jin’s face and horror twists his features in the most hilarious grimace.
“Oh, no, I—”
“You’re so—!” Yoongi bursts out laughing, putting down his cup to ensure no coffee spills on his very delicate, very new wooden table.
“I meant lovesickness!” Seokjin all but yells, ears absolutely scarlet, grabbing the jacket he was about to forget as a distraction. Yoongi’s laughter softens, tamed by the surge of adoration in his chest. “I’m sick of love, my love, your love! I hate you!” Jin continues, hands flailing everywhere. He’d be so easy to tease, but Yoongi doesn’t get the time. A stupid punchline is sitting on the tip of his tongue when Jin hauls him up from his chair to kiss him and steal his breath, like he always does.
Yoongi’s mind blanks and his body melts, adjusting to Seokjin’s like that’s his most natural predicament. Standing on his own? No, he doesn’t think so.
“I hate you,” he whispers against his boyfriend’s lips, clinging to the back of his shirt like it would prevent him to leave for the awful clutches of the capitalism. “Do you have to work today?”
Jin hums, pressing another kiss to Yoongi’s pouty lips before answering. “I fear so, but I’ll get takeout on my way home, and it’s Friday. We can sleep in tomorrow and I’ll cook lunch.”
Yoongi doesn’t fake the shiver that shakes his body at the prospect of eating Jin’s homemade food. “God, you’re perfect. They write songs about people like you.”
“I mean, you do,” Jin snickers, giving Yoongi one last, fleeting kiss before escaping his embarrassed wrath.
“You!”
“Love you too! See you soon! Don’t forget your call in the afternoon and keep me updated! Mwah!”
Yoongi stands for a few minutes, alone in his house, staring at the remnants of Kim Seokjin’s presence. They don’t live together officially, but Jin had been crashing at Yoongi’s house long before they even got together. Almost every weekend, sometimes during the week, bringing food, lame jokes, ridiculous anecdotes and warmth with him.
Yoongi's house feels distorted and empty now without him. It should be terrifying. But the silence of Jin’s absence feels like a new melody, too. That’s the magic of it all. Everything sings to Yoongi’s ears now that Jin is part of his life. Every shadow, every shape, every ray of light is the spark of new songs. Not much has changed and yet, everything feels different.
This afternoon, Yoongi has an important call. He sent his very first album to a producing company. That’s Jin, too. He would have never been brave enough to do so himself a few months ago. But Jin encouraged him, told him that even though the music he made for other people was amazing, the one he made for himself deserved to be shown to the world.
Yoongi doesn’t believe that everything has to be monetized. Making music only for yourself to hear is perfectly fine and could be entirely fulfilling. But Yoongi would lie if he said he never wanted to be heard by others, to be recognized.
So, he sent his album. And today, he has a call with a certain Kim Namjoon for maybe a contract or something.
He has to look into it. He agreed one week ago but he’s been too stunned and too scared to look into the details.
“You’ve got this.”
It feels like Jin is with him when he opens the email to check the information, and when he picks up the call, and when he schedules a proper meeting.
“I know it’s a bit short notice, it’s already October, but do you think a late November release would be good? We’ll have to rush a little but I think it’s doable. Your music is perfect to fill dark rainy days with hope.”
Namjoon asked that at some point in the call. Yoongi agreed, and he almost answered: “That’s Jin-hyung, not me.”
That day, rain pours. Raindrops hit Yoongi’s windows, making the city barely discernible. Usually, such weather makes Yoongi’s bones ache and soul stirs, restless. That day, Yoongi curls up on his couch with a cup of tea and a blanket that smells like Jin, and it feels okay. The candle slowly burning on his coffee tables seems to agree.
It feels like peace.
When Jin comes home, Yoongi hasn’t moved.
“Gosh, I could just eat you up.”
And if Kim Seokjin is one thing, it’s a man of his word.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispers later to Yoongi’s ears, and the giggle Yoongi lets out is entirely to be blamed on the mind-blowing orgasm he just had, nothing else.
Winter 2025
“We truly are two losers, aren’t we?” Jin asks from the couch where he’s picking the drama they’re about to binge watch overnight.
Yoongi cackles, almost spilling soup over his own hand. “I guess, but I’d pick that over a crowded bar and deafening fireworks.”
“And that’s why I married you. Oh, I found something!”
Yoongi’s laugh cracks a little, and he turns around to wash his hand, hoping that’s enough to hide the blush turning his face crimson. “We’re not married.”
“Yah, Yoongichi! Aren’t you supposed to be a poet? Dream a little, let the magic spark!”
“Well, I married an idiot then,” Yoongi snickers, carrying the two bowls of soup to the coffee table where the rest of their feast awaits.
“And you were happy to do so! Come here, I need a kiss or I will die!”
“Oh no, whatever shall we do!” Yoongi gasps dramatically, making his way over to Jin nonetheless and letting himself get dragged on his oh so comfortable lap.
“I really got myself the best husband, uh?” Jin smiles and it shines brighter than any of the fireworks that will light up Seoul’s sky tonight.
“Yeah, hope you thank whatever god graced you by putting me in your life.”
“Hm, thank you, whoever made Soju to be so deceptively strong then,” Jin says and Yoongi laughs, again.
That’s something new that came with Jin, too. Laughter. Yoongi wasn’t a taciturn beast living in anger and resentment before, but he was definitely not the most joyful there was. Jin and his silly jokes changed that. Yoongi laughs so much his cheeks hurt now. And he wouldn’t dream to complain about it.
Their lips meet like they always do whenever they’re in close proximity. It’s magnetic, they can’t fight it. They don’t want to. Outside, the dark sky lights up in thousands of colors.
“Happy anniversary, Jin-hyung,” Yoongi whispers, cuddling up to Jin’s stupidly big shoulder and letting his eyes fall close.
“Hm, what? You mean happy new year?”
“Same difference.”
Silence stretches before Jin finally understands. When he kisses Yoongi again, hot and a bit more desperate, Yoongi isn’t surprised. His beautiful, slow, cheesy and funny non-husband. He got so lucky. He giggles as his back hits the couch.
“You romantic motherfucker, I love you so much,” Seokjin whispers in the crux of Yoongi’s ear.
“Happy new year to you too, Jin-hyung, love of my life or whatever.”
“And here I thought I was the master of taking people aback. I’ll get my revenge. Happy anniversary to me, to Soju, and to us. Thanks capitalism I guess…”
“Hell no…”
Yoongi’s never heard so much love concentrated in so little words.