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The heat is heavy on Hansol’s skin when he steps inside of the recording studio. There’s sweat clinging to his clothes and he can hear the whirr of the air-conditioner working overtime, cooling this box of a room—and god, does it feel good in here, he thinks, dropping his backpack to the floor with a thud.
He checks his watch, red and blocky on his left wrist, and slides into the bigger of the two chairs with a hum.
11:55 a.m.
He’s doing good time. Yoongi is probably on a bathroom break—which is, all things considered, a pretty liberal amount of movement by his standards. Hansol figures he must have finished up on something, allowing himself a quick stretch of limbs and a well needed piss. But before Hansol can lean forward to peek at the flat screen monitor, there are quick hands pulling his chair back with a tsk.
“Hey, I was looking at that!” Hansol whines, tipping his head back to find Yoongi’s partly amused upside down face peering down at him.
“Come on, outta my chair.”
Hansol ignores him, opts for reaching up for Yoongi’s face instead. It’s an awkward position, but Hansol isn’t picky in the affairs of affection—he just wants to kiss him.
Yoongi laughs and avoids Hansol’s attempts to catch him by the cheeks, expression wary. “What the hell are you doing?
“Trying to kiss you, come here.”
“Out of my chair, first.”
“No, like this. It’ll be cute.”
Yoongi doesn’t get it, but well—Hansol is puckering up obnoxiously and there isn’t much he can do to stop him but comply. No one is around to see, so he leans in, soft hands guiding him down until their mouths are pressing. It’s chaste and sweet, but it seems to do the trick. Hansol smiles widely, pats his cheek and slides out of his chair like promised. “See? We’re so cute.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Yoongi can roll his eyes all he wants, but Hansol knows flustered body language when he sees it.
Yoongi falls into his chair with a heavy slump and reaches for his half full cup coffee to sip. “How was class?”
Hansol, following suit, settles down into the chair next to him, scooting close and and reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind Yoongi’s ear. “Long,” he says, watching Yoongi follow the motion, hoping to maybe coerce him into scratching behind his ears. “Boring,” Hansol adds, adding a brief scrape of nails to the spot behind the flap of his pierced lobe. “How is work? Are you hungry?”
In seconds, Hansol works his nails over the spots Yoongi likes—the nape of his neck, the hairline that runs across it.
The noise Yoongi makes is noncommittal, but Hansol can see him contemplating his answers. Like putty in his hands. “Not hungry. Just tired,” he settles with.
Which, as far as Hansol can tell, means that it’s probably just short of a miracle that he’s still awake. Yoongi though, of course, is probably just stubborn enough to will his body out of shutdown mode.
Hansol eyes the studio for a moment in silence. There are a few plastic wrappers pushed off to the side of the desk and another empty disposable coffee cup on the other side of the desk. Yoongi has probably had like, a Twinkie, at most. He’s got the distinct impression that Namjoon had been here at some point, accounting for the other empty wrappers, the empty coffee cup.
“Okay,” Hansol says after minutes of observation, a small air-conditioned rest before he’s back on his feet again. “I’ll be back~.” He dips to press a small kiss to Yoongi’s cheek and turns before he can see the way Yoongi’s eyes him with suspicion.
It’s not like he planned for it to be like this—to come here after roughly three and a half hours of morning classes to occasionally have lunch with an overworked Yoongi. But their schedules don't really sync up so Hansol likes to take the time that he has, tend to his boyfriend because apart from weekends, it’s the only time of the day during most of the week they can see each other.
It’s something of a balancing act, though. He’s tipped the scale over before, crossed the line and tiptoed his way into overbearing. It’s just that Yoongi is so stubborn, forgets too often to eat and sleeps even less. In the beginning, there wasn’t much separating him from being Yoongi’s boyfriend and his actual mother.
Nowadays, he’s got it.
Yoongi doesn’t need to be taken care of, he’s a big boy, he’s got himself for that. But he can look after him in his own way. And that includes not entirely subtle coercions into eating food under the guise of spending quality time with the bae.
That is to say, Hansol doesn’t exactly not coddle Yoongi—he just hides it better.
When he’s back, two cups of coffee and two helpings of japchae in his hands, Yoongi is exactly where he left him. He’s letting the full track play—all of its layers, and Hansol feels like he shouldn’t be here for this. He feels like he shouldn’t be listening in on this, the possibly finished beat of an unfinished track, but here he is and there it goes, in all of its completion as Yoongi hums an indecisive melody to it.
Moving quietly to sit on the small couch against the wall, Hansol tries not to impose too much until it’s over. The song finishes decisively, even without words, and Hansol smiles fondly from where he is. He doesn't expect Yoongi to ask him his opinion when he does, swiveling his chair a little to the side to catch sight of him.
“I need the opinion of fresh ears,” is what he says, waving Hansol over with a final flick of his wrist. And though Hansol has heard variations of this same track at different times of the month, he’s never heard it collectively—in its entirety, like this. He doesn’t think he’s the best judge at these things, but nor Namjoon or Hyosang are around.
“It’s good. It’s really good,” Hansol answers honestly, standing up to drape his arms over the back of Yoongi’s chair so that his arms rest over his shoulders. It’s a nice, balanced hip-hop track—it’s something Hansol can move to, and he tells him just that. “I want to dance to it.”
“Right, because that’s why I make music. So that you can dance to it.”
Hansol grins. “Isn’t it?” From this angle, he can see Yoongi smirk tiredly. Slowly, Hansol turns his chair around so that he can face Yoongi, finally look at him in the poor lighting of the room—but it’s good enough. It’s good enough to the see the slopes of his face, his jaw sharp and eyes tired, but he’s beautiful still. Hansol thinks he’s struck gold.
Because he can, he slides himself into Yoongi’s lap, straddling his hips. The fit is tight, but it works—it has before for more demanding acts than this, and with this new leverage he presses a lingering kiss to his mouth. He feels Yoongi’s palms slide up underneath his tank top, holding firm to his waist as he settles and Hansol is quite certain he never wants to leave. He can spend his life here, in Yoongi’s hands, and be content with it.
“Honestly, though. I’m no expert, but I like it. It sounds good. It sounds like you.”
This seems to please Yoongi enough because he kisses him again; mouth softer than his hands and tongue hotter as it runs along the seam of Hansol’s mouth. It’s tempting—entirely too tempting, even with this heat, to fog up the windows. But Hansol is hungry and Yoongi probably doesn't have enough energy left in his reserves for a quickie. So, alas, he peels away, but not without a parting roll of his hips that has Yoongi grabbing fast to his wrist to pull him back in. “Come back here,” he insists, and Hansol wants to follow through, he does.
He pulls Yoongi up from his seat instead, bodies flush together and kisses him sweetly. It’s short-lived, and Hansol makes use of his grip to pull him over to the couch. “Eat with me, first. I bought food and everything and you want it to go to waste? Come on.”
Yoongi looks reluctant even as he sits, even as he peeks inside the bag to see what's in it. But Hansol has leverage.
“I’ll blow you real good, if you’ll sit here and eat with me,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, pulling out a container and a pair of chopsticks to hand to Yoongi. He eyes it for one, two seconds before he relents and takes it without argument. Hansol grins.
“Thought so.”