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Hoseok sits at a bench.
From the warm fresh wind, the taste of new life in the air, Hoseok knows it’s already spring and yet, he can’t help but wish it’s snowing. The past winter hadn’t been a particularly unkind one, and while wind chill always leaves him shivering to the bone, he sorts of misses the cold. He liked how everyone would bundle up warmly and stalk the streets like they were all fat bulgy caterpillars. And more importantly, nobody liked walking outside during winter. Nobody desecrated public property by placing a plucked flower behind their girlfriend’s ear during winter, or sipped at an iced drink with the same unhygienic straw, or chased their significant other down a path like they were a bunch of stupid pre-teens. Nobody held hands and cooed at each other like a pair of demented parakeets during winter.
Hoseok likes the winter. Everyone was cold. And miserable. And alone.
When Hoseok was young, he used to love spring. It’s when green buds would pop up amongst the white snow, the sky turning a brilliant blue from the usual gloomy grey. The hot soups were to be missed, but next to ice-cream, they held no compare. Spring. Spring. Spring. Warmth. Flowers. Love. But now, Hoseok could only stare at the budding trees hatefully, knowing that it wouldn’t take long before they would explode into pretty white blooms while the entire park became swamped with new couples and gag-worthy scenes.
The entire world has been infected and if Hoseok didn’t know better, he would have thought that everyone has gotten a disease that only he was impervious to. The snow had barely thawed before Namjoon finally grew a pair and asked Seokjin out. Which is all fine and dandy since Hoseok had spent two years watching them swoon over each other already, and in his opinion, Namjoon is a slow ass bitch. Hoseok fully expects to be the best man, or at least the assistant to the best man for them but what Hoseok doesn’t expect is for Jungkook to come bounding in with his arm around his first boyfriend.
“You’re in my spot.”
Hoseok learns that Taehyung is a really sweet boyfriend. The fact that he learns this while said boy is trying to conceal Jungkook’s erection after a heated make-out session on the communal sofa, is determinedly less sweet. With all the tribulations, at least Hoseok used to be able to complain to Jimin about Seokjin only feeding Namjoon samgyeopsal, or Jungkook looking at Taehyung as if he hung the moon with his ass, but now even this lowly pleasure has been robbed from him.
“It’s not going to be that bad,” Hoseok mumbles grumpily under his breath. “It’s just some girl I met. Some girl, my ass.”
And so Hoseok spends his Saturday afternoon staring at the sunlight filtering through the leaves at the park. Because Seokjin has taken Namjoon to the doctor’s for his sprained finger, Jimin is off gallivanting with “some girl” and Hoseok really doesn’t want to know what the maknae and his beau are doing.
He never thought it would end up like this.
“You’re in my spot.”
Hoseok frowns. It isn’t like he is ugly. Sure, he smiles too wide sometimes, and maybe over-exaggerated when he’s dancing to girl groups. Maybe his aegyo borders the point of nauseating when he tries hard but that’s no reason for his relationship status. Hoseok can hip-thrust any person to the moon and back. That has to count for something, surely. And out of all of them, with the exception of Seokjin who is a veritable fairy princess, Hoseok thinks he’s the one who sets the most store in true fucking love. It’s as if life is rewarding him for his naiveté with being forever alone for the rest of his life.
“You’re in my spot.”
A hand grabs the hood of his jacket.
And suddenly, Hoseok finds himself on the ground.
Dazed shock aside, because why he was on the ground? Hoseok instantly drags a hand over the back of his jeans and grimaces at the soil that it comes away with. With a wet butt that Seokjin will judge him disapprovingly for when he walks through the door, Hoseok scrambles to get himself off the grass to confront the little asshole that dragged him off the bench.
If Hoseok has to describe the man in one word, it would have to be miserable. He reminds Hoseok of winter, of the quiet frozen water and soft-falling snow. His mouth is twisted sullenly, sharp dark eyes regarding Hoseok like there was nothing that he’d rather do other than drown Hoseok in the nearby pond. Running a hand through his mint green hair, the man looks as if he’d rather be residing in the comfortable darkness of a basement rather than under the warm sunshine.
“Why’d you drag me off?” Hoseok asks, slightly less angry but no less annoyed.
“I told you it was my spot,” the man says sharply, eyes regarding Hoseok disagreeably.
“What makes it your spot? I don’t see your name on it.”
“Yes, you do. Look here. Min Yoongi, you see?” the man says, lifting his ass just the tiniest bit so that Hoseok can just barely make out the carved scratching of a name on the worn wood. “I come here for sun therapy every day at twelve. And this is my spot.”
“There’s barely any sun here! This is the spot with the most shade in the entire park. What kind of fucking sun therapy are you going for?”
“The one with no sun.”
By the time Hoseok has managed to plant his ass on the bench right beside his original position, the man had already popped his earphones in looking smugger than Namjoon when he wins an argument. There really isn’t a big difference, Hoseok could still see the pond, the weeping willows, the macking couple feeling each other up behind said willows, everything. But the principle of the matter is that some punk had just dragged him off the bench and stolen his spot, and Hoseok was nothing if he didn’t stand for justice and fair compliance to the city’s municipal laws.
He glares at this Yoongi-thing-person-gremlin. He has a plan.
Hoseok tucks his lunch under his arm, a cup of a deliciously brewed latte in hand, and strides up to his bench. The cool breeze against Hoseok’s face feels lovely, lovely enough to avoid annoyance at the aggressively snogging couple at the other bench a few metres away. Hoseok plugs in his playlist for such afternoons and unwraps his chopsticks.
Seokjin’s kimbaps are a thing of magnificence.
It is a pity that Seokjin seems so gone on Namjoon, Hoseok thought distractedly. He would have proposed to Seokjin on his culinary skills alone. Today’s fare is kimbap because Seokjin had more time before work this morning, which meant no fried rice, but not enough to merit a full-blown three course meal with soup and dessert.
That is fine with Hoseok. He only had an hour’s break before he was due back at the studio for his afternoon session anyway and a date with all the pretty kimbaps was fine with him. The bright sunshine made finding sympathy for Jimin, who is still stuck in the studio, difficult. As much as Hoseok positively adores children doing the twist, having some time away from the near-constant screaming did wonders for his mental state, which is why he always begs off supervising Jimin’s teenage hip-hop class. The only regret Hoseok has is not being able to worm out of his Wednesday afternoon adult classes. He sets aside one kimbap. He’ll make it up to Jimin later.
Before he was with done chewing the second kimbap, an expected shadow obscured Hoseok’s perfect view of quacking ducks and a smoking octogenarian.
The man’s—Yoongi’s hair is more ruffled than it was yesterday and there are dark circles underneath his eyes. A bad night, perhaps? Or maybe he had to do the walk of shame straight to work. Hoseok doesn’t know and doesn’t care. Hoseok’s butt muscles clenches instinctively, as if bracing themselves for the oncoming assault, imagining the vicious sight other passers-by might see if the scrawny pale man attempted to wrestle him off the bench today.
“You’re in my spot,” Yoongi monotones, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. If Hoseok hadn’t bothered to listen to his comeback yesterday, he would have assumed that it was the only thing the man learnt how to say.
“I’m eating lunch,” Hoseok says calmly, popping another kimbap in his mouth. “You can sit beside me if you want, I can share.”
His eomma had always told him to “kill them with kindness, Hobi” and Hoseok is a good boy who listens to his mother. Some might say that this would be conceding to Yoongi’s unlawful sovereignty claim over the park bench, but Hoseok saw it more as a peace offering to retain strategic possession or at least, that was what he told Seokjin in the morning to get him to put more of his kimbap rolls into Hoseok’s Pororo lunchbox. Jimin had felt very aggrieved when his Hello Kitty lunchbox saw a lesser generous portion.
Those dark eyes stare suspiciously at Hoseok, flicking back and forth between the lunchbox full of kimbap and Hoseok’s sure-to-be obnoxious smile. Hoseok internally suppresses a smirk when Yoongi sits down. No one is capable of resisting Seokjin’s food. Not even Jungkook and Jimin when they were on one of their ridiculous diets that Seokjin breaks down with hot spicy bulgogi and onion soup.
Putting his earphones back in, Hoseok settles back to listening to tinkling piano melodies.
The octogenarian discards his cigarette by his feet and stamps it out with the heel of his boot.
Over the next few weeks, Seokjin dutifully places more food into Hoseok’s lunchbox and shushes Namjoon or Jimin when they complain at the blatant favouritism. Jungkook continues making out with his weird boyfriend all over their shared apartment—technically it belongs to Namjoon’s parents but they all mutually agreed that Namjoon needed keepers to prevent certain death by his own hand. How they had managed to collect Jimin, Seokjin, Jungkook and now his boyfriend, Taehyung, along the way, Hoseok had no idea—and so doesn’t give a shit.
Sometimes Hoseok comes late, and his spot is usurped by the pale gremlin interloper, but since Yoongi brings him an iced tea in exchange for Seokjin’s food, Hoseok contents himself with the slightly less shady spot on the bench. They rarely talk, Hoseok likes to listen to the calm cascades of the piano and violins while he relaxes and judging from the bass thumping out of Yoongi’s headphones, the man does the same. So they don’t talk. But sometimes Yoongi smacks his fingers when he reaches for the last kimbap and Hoseok smiles and his fingers beat a hasty retreat. Having a lunch buddy to sit next to in silence felt nice in the afternoons; Hoseok barely even notices the stupid couples anymore.
Hoseok thought the idyll would last forever.
But with the harkening of spring, there came spring showers.
It was stupid. But Hoseok has always been a romantic, so even if sitting next to a relative stranger on a park bench was not something normal people commemorated, Hoseok felt the need to prepare—or well, bring—a nice set of lunch. Pleading with Seokjin had resulted in a prettily packed box of fruit pudding and a sulky Namjoon so Hoseok counted that as a win.
As Hoseok watches the rain sluice down the glass doors of the dance studio, he feels his heart drop disappointingly. The weight of lunch pulls heavily at his fingers and he makes to turn back to the pantry before realizing that his feet wouldn’t let him. It’s stupid. So stupid. But Hoseok likes to eat lunch at the park, damn it, not listening to some thumping bassline from Jimin’s ongoing dance class.
Hoseok’s shoes are wet but the umbrella is large enough to keep most of him dry. Enough. And since his shoes are already soaked, he takes the opportunity to step into as many puddles as he can along the way. He sees people running past him, dashing for cover, holding newspapers and jackets above their heads. And then he jumps into another puddle.
Hoseok didn’t really expect Yoongi to be there.
But where Hoseok expects to see only an empty bench, there is an umbrella. And when Hoseok approaches, a very grumpy man.
“You’re late.”
“It’s raining.”
“You’re late and I’m hungry.”
Hoseok juggles the umbrella as he sets lunch on Yoongi’s lap, using the edge of his jacket to wipe the seat dry before sitting down. Seokjin’s patiently packed lunchbox of love is opened to two ravenous mouths, and Yoongi even half-smiles at the pudding. Today, neither of them pull out their earphones but Hoseok likes to think that the thunder of raindrops against both their umbrellas is every bit as relaxing as a piano sonata.
“You bought iced tea,” Hoseok whines, wincing when the cold liquid hits his mouth. If it was a nice warm afternoon, Hoseok would slurp the entire cup down in relish. As it is, he thinks he can feel the cold in his bones. “Why would you buy iced tea when it’s raining?!”
“I always buy iced tea. No one told you to drink it.” Yoongi turns to give Hoseok a withering look. His eyes betray genuine offense and Hoseok wants to ruffle his damp green hair. Yoongi scrunches his nose in distaste when Hoseok does and it makes Hoseok want to laugh. He takes another sip of the ice-cold drink, even if he’s sure that the moment he walks back into the air-conditioned studio he’ll regret this foolish venture.
The ripples from falling rain intersect with each other in spiraling concentric circles. Hoseok can feel the chill of the wind start to seep in through his half-damp sleeves and his arm aches from holding the umbrella aloft, but he smiles and continues sipping at the drink.
The music filters through his veins, the beat lazy and smooth, bass just this side of sultry. It has been awhile since Hoseok has moved to music like this, preferring something with a bit more bite. But the melody sweeps him in, as do the indolent vocals, and Hoseok likes this. He likes the languid rolls from his chest down to his hips, likes how he can close his eyes and just move.
The thing about working as a dance instructor is that sometimes, Hoseok forgets what he’s doing this all for. He likes ballet or interpretive dance well enough and his one true love will always be hip-hop, but he misses just moving. He used to spend hours like this back at home, closing his eyes and moving to whatever that was playing on the radio, his body and heart feeling more alive than completing any other maths question. Breathing evening out to a meditative rhythm, Hoseok dances. When he watches himself in the mirror, he doesn’t force himself to move accurately or powerfully, he just moves.
Hoseok doesn’t know how long he’s been fooling around the empty studio with the same lazy bassline on loop but when he doesn’t stop until there is a knock on the door and Jimin bursts in.
“Hyung! Namjoon-hyung brought his friend from work to the studio. He says that his friend needs the exercise or he will have a heart attack sitting up,” Jimin says cheerfully, turning off Hoseok’s music, and therefore, dissipating the hazy tranquility that filled the room before.
“Get him to sign up for the adult classes then,” Hoseok answers, bereaved at the loss of his quiet practice time. Half of the classes Jimin teaches are filled with middle-aged women all clamouring for a glimpse of the younger man’s washboard abs. Hoseok’s sure that Namjoon’s friend will be a welcome change from the awkward flirting Jimin is subjected to every other day.
“I did! But since he’s only free on Wednesday afternoons, I thought you’d like to meet him. Since, you know, Wednesdays are sort of your thing.”
Reaching for his towel, Hoseok dabs away the sweat at his forehead before nodding, motioning for Jimin to lead the way. Namjoon must either hate this man or be very close to him to get him to sign up for Wednesday class, Hoseok thinks privately. His classes aren’t exactly catered for everyone but he isn’t one to judge if there’s a new student.
They turn the corner and Hoseok doesn’t even hear Namjoon’s greeting over the rush of blood in his ears.
To Hoseok’s credit, Yoongi’s face grows red as well which makes things significantly less one-sided. They were just digging into kimchi fried rice at the park hours ago and Yoongi had even brought a slice of cake for both of them to share. Hoseok didn’t even know Namjoon knew Yoongi; how could he not have known that?! They lived under the same roof. It’s incredulous that Hoseok knows how many holes are in Namjoon’s pink boxers and not this.
“You teach here?” Yoongi asks after they’re done gaping at each other. “You never said.”
“You never told me you knew Namjoon,” Hoseok ripostes. “You’re always too busy eating my lunch.”
Jimin nearly shouts in excitement. “You’re the one that Jin-hyung cooks for every morning? We were starting to think that Hoseok-hyung was feeding stray cats or something. Taehyung thought Hoseok-hyung was becoming a crazy cat lady.”
Hoseok bats Jimin away. The children are ridiculous. He doesn’t even like cats.
Leaning over the counter and grabbing the sign-up sheet, Hoseok hands a clipboard to Yoongi and tells him to fill it out. Jimin buzzes annoyingly around Yoongi, orange hair flouncing up and down as he asks the older man all sorts of stupid questions. Hoseok sort of wants to both strangle Jimin and beat him. Realising that the two choices aren’t mutually exclusive, Hoseok pulls Jimin away by the ear.
Meanwhile, Namjoon stands there like the creepy tree that he is and regards the both of them silently. Hoseok would have said something but he has his hands literally full wrangling an over-excited Jimin away from what the younger sees as a potential best friend. Yoongi finishes the form under Namjoon’s gaze and hands it back, announcing that he’s going to wait in the car for Namjoon.
Namjoon nods and walks to the door. He’s almost out before he stops. “Wait,” Namjoon says slowly and Hoseok would have believed the man genuinely confused if there isn’t an infuriating smirk adorning his face. “So does this mean that Jin will have to pack lunch for Wednesdays as well?”
Hoseok throws the clipboard at Namjoon’s rapidly retreating back.
It’s a warm spring day and after five minutes of intense scrutiny, Hoseok is still wondering how the young couple hasn’t come up for air already. He assumes that obstruction by tongue would be reasonable grounds to detach for oxygen, but no, he’s wrong. When Yoongi walks over, Hoseok doesn’t even bother looking away, holding his hand out for his iced tea.
“So are we going to talk about yesterday?” Hoseok asks, still disgusted and amazed by the impressive feat occurring less than ten feet away.
“No.”
And that’s that.
Hoseok supposes it’s just his luck. He has been a dance instructor, on-and-off choreographer ever since he graduated from school, and while he’s not short on inappropriate advances by his students, Hoseok still enjoys the attention. It reminds him, in this dearth of spring flings, that he still has it. Sure, he doesn’t get bouquets and numbers scribbled on his forearm like Jimin does every other day, but Hoseok is no stranger to a friendly grope of the ass from time to time. A salacious wink, quirk of lipsticked lips usually has Hoseok’s cheeks flushing in less than a second.
The class on Wednesdays is unprecedented in its female tutelage. The studio is used to seeing a majority of females in class—dancing is seen to be “emasculating” apparently but Hoseok fails to see how Jimin’s washboard abs make him less of a man—and this one is no exception. A hundred percent female, however, is new. Although, Jimin remains unsurprised.
“You’re teaching girl group dances, hyung,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Not many guys want to drop it to Ice Cream Cake like you.”
Which is a pity, Hoseok thinks, because it is astoundingly easy to get the point move of Ice Cream Cake down. And it’s remarkably sexy as well.
As it is, this Wednesday heralds the class’ milestone.
Their first boy.
The girls are already tittering, acting like fifteen-year-old students instead of the dominant businesswomen Hoseok knows them to be. The class sighs in disappointment when they realise its simply Hoseok instead of their new mystery man. Hoseok shakes his head with a smile. Some of these women were mothers, they really shouldn’t be preying on awkward pale producers with a penchant for iced tea.
“Seonsaengnim, what does he look like?” Gaeul asks. Hoseok knows her well, has seen her husband linger around after lessons before, and knows that he isn’t letting that cougar sink her claws into Yoongi.
“Not your type,” Hoseok replies curtly, leading the class to chorus into giggles. He really shouldn’t have accepted Yoongi’s enrolment into Wednesday class. Hoseok loves his girls, he loves the bitching and the snide remarks and the ever-so-subtle shading when it comes to insulting some “hoe at work” or the “hussy from two doors down” and he likes how he’s been informally absorbed into the sisterhood by way of proximity. Even if the fond pats to the ass from Suji remains mildly creepy.
It’s five minutes before class is due to start and Hoseok is beginning to think that Yoongi isn’t going to show when the door flies open and a ghost darts in. The class shrieks in excitement and Hoseok is partially chagrined that they’re reacting like that without even hearing that they’re learning Up&Down next. Before this moment, Hoseok didn’t know that a penis was that valued.
“Sorry I’m late, Hoseok,” Yoongi says, throwing his duffel bag in the corner of the practice room. “Namjoon said I couldn’t dance in a hoodie so we made a detour and he gave me some clothes.”
Eyeing the randomly cut holes around the collar, Hoseok assumes that Namjoon has generously donated Taehyung’s creations for the greater good. He doesn’t think the younger boy will even notice it’s missing. Yoongi barely gets to take a decent look around the room before the women start circling.
Hoseok coughs. “Ladies, gentleman, we should start the lesson proper now! Myeongjoo, lead us into the warm-ups.”
Walking around the class, Hoseok sees that the girls instantly fall neatly into lines with the new student relegated to an awkward position in the centre of the room. Hoseok isn’t sure if Yoongi is distressed or nauseated, but as Gaeul approaches, offering to help correct his stance for warm-ups, Hoseok hopes its both. For both her sake and Yoongi’ since Gaeul’s husband is six foot two with a black belt in taekwondo; there is not one scenario where this can end well. Gaeul flutters her lashes and Yoongi’s face turns paler.
Hoseok is used to being the focus of attention but apparently none of his usual charm can compete with Yoongi whose shirt is slipping down his shoulder. Not that Hoseok can blame them, his eyes keep drifting back to the steep cut of a particular man’s collarbones and the purple shadows behind them. They aren’t even a quarter in before Yoongi’s fair skin is glistening with perspiration. Hoseok swallows nervously when he catches himself in a daze, gaze trained around a bead of sweat running down the slope of Yoongi’s slender neck.
Shaking his head to clear the image out of his mind’s eye, Hoseok falls back to the beat. He concentrates on the girls’ progress instead, correcting Jieun’s stance and telling Seungwan to put a little more energy into her moves. And moves Gaeul far far away from an obviously lagging Yoongi. He’s doing his job, what he’s paid for, what he wants to do.
“You should call me noona,” Gaeul says when the class stops for break. She smiles winningly at an entirely oblivious Yoongi, more occupied at wiping away the sweat on his brow. “I can help you catch up with the class if you want?”
Hoseok snorts. “Your husband collects you after class, Gaeul and I know he isn’t exactly the most patient of people. I can help Yoongi here keep up with the rest of you, not to worry.”
Gaeul pouts at Hoseok but he guides her away. He always has the best interest of his students at heart and as naturally flirtatious as Gaeul is, Hoseok sees the way she swoons like a high schooler whenever her husband comes around with dinner in one hand and their daughter in the other. It’s slightly disgusting and also why Jimin refuses to take the class, claiming “third-wheel syndrome” as an aggressively debilitating condition that interferes with his mental state. Unfortunately, Hoseok has gotten too used to the uncomfortable ache in the pit of his stomache to beg off.
Yoongi inches closer to Hoseok and the class starts back up with Gaeul looking significantly more disappointed than before.
Good.
The lunch dates—because if people can have study dates, Hoseok doesn’t see why lunch dates have to mean anything weird—continue as per usual. Except Hoseok jokes about Yoongi’s apparently lack of grace and Yoongi offensively alleges that Hoseok’s ass looks lumpy. It’s the biggest affront to Hoseok’s dignity since the time Jimin said Jungkook’s aegyo was cuter than his.
But Yoongi makes up for it by letting Hoseok take long drawn-out sips of his own peach tea and listening to him complain about the toddler that bit his arm that morning. And Hoseok lets Yoongi lean his head against his shoulder when the producer looks too tired at one in the afternoon. Their afternoons become obscenely calm, chatter drifting into comfortable silence. Hoseok wakes Yoongi when he has to go back for his next lesson and Yoongi after waking from his nap, rubbing his eyes like a confused child, is the meanest motherfucker in the world.
“Your face makes me sick.” Yoongi’s gaze drips with poorly-concealed revulsion.
Hoseok pats him on the head and smiles.
He feels like he’s in kindergarten again. All merry-go-rounds, superhero lunchboxes and pulling pigtails. Hoseok feels like he is more mature than the latter and so he resorts to suffocating Yoongi with sunshine and happiness, confident that the older would hate it more. Every day, Hoseok would inch that bit closer, smile that bit wider and compliment the way Yoongi’s lashes brush against his cheek when he looks down or the way he flushes so daintily pink. And Hoseok watches how Yoongi grows jumpier.
The older jerks away when Hoseok’s fingers skitter over his hand like he had been scalded and with every compliment dropped, Yoongi’s reaction becomes steadily more exasperated. Hoseok doesn’t really know if he’s doing this right, but he likes the way Yoongi narrows his eyes and wrinkles his nose before turning away in a huff. It makes him want to try harder to ruffle the guy’s feathers, and to make him pay attention again. And that was actually the plan today. Hoseok intends to leave a grumpy Yoongi more flabbergasted than he was yesterday, to gently praise Yoongi’s growing skill in the dance studio and his focused dedication.
But the words fall apart when Yoongi sighs and pouts.
“My eomma always hugs me when I wake up,” he begins, eyes glaring accusingly at Hoseok. “I think you should hug me too.”
Yoongi burrows into Hoseok’s arms like it’s the most natural thing to do, his soft hair tickling Hoseok’s chin, feeling like the sweetest thing Hoseok has ever the pleasure of holding. His heart starts to race and Hoseok doesn’t dare breathe. His arm feels detached from his body when his fingers skim over Yoongi’s back, patting him dazedly, unsure what to do when the boy he’s been chasing for about a fortnight does a 180 and reciprocates. Yoongi’s grin when he detaches leaves Hoseok discombobulated.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Yoongi says, his mouth settling back into a line even as his cheeks burn with a delighted rosiness. Hoseok makes it back to the studio ten minutes late for his lesson.
Yoongi brings chocolates the next day and shoves it in Hoseok’s mouth roughly, like he didn’t mean to bring them to share. When he wakes up from his nap, he curls into Hoseok and they hug. Hoseok isn’t sure what it means yet, but he likes it so he doesn’t ask.
It isn’t until dinnertime a week later that Hoseok catches on.
“So,” Seokjin begins over the dinner table, smiling proudly. Most of their dinners begin like this, with Seokjin unofficially fulfilling the role of their mothers in the nagging and prying capacity in the absence of their real ones. Feeling uncomfortable at having eyes bore into his head, Hoseok reluctantly looks up. “Tell us all about your new boyfriend, Hobi.”
Like old gossiping fishwives, the younger ones put down their chopsticks and lean in immediately, a stark contrast from a second ago when they were practically inhaling the food before them. Namjoon kicks Seokjin but the oldest continues to smile serenely, expecting a reply. Hoseok stares at Seokjin as if he’s grown a third head.
“What boyfriend?”
Seokjin shakes his head and smiles. “Joonie’s friend, of course. Joonie says that Yoongi has been writing songs about you for the past week.”
Hoseok stares at Namjoon who only shrugs.
Fuck.
“You never said we were boyfriends!” Hoseok shouts over the phone. It was Namjoon’s phone actually, which he had only loaned after Hoseok went on a panicked rampage trying to reach Yoongi. The rest of the house is still sitting around the table, watching Hoseok go crazy.
“I told you to hug me,” Yoongi’s tinny voice said over the speakers. “I don’t just ask anyone to hug me you dumb asshole. What do you think I am? A cuddle-whore?”
“But, hyung!” Hoseok persists, half-aware that he’s whining at this point. He ignores the judging stares of his dongsaengs, although Taehyung’s dead-eyed stare does unsettle him a bit. “I didn’t even get to formally confess to you. I wanted to choreograph a dance and everything, you can’t just make me your boyfriend without even telling me!”
“If you don’t stop being stupid, Seok-seok, I’m breaking up with you and you’ll never be able to choreograph a dance for me,” Yoongi threatens and Hoseok’s words fall dead in his mouth. “I’ll write a breakup song so good you’ll wish you shut the fuck up right now.”
Hoseok shuts the fuck up.
“Seok-seok,” Jungkook whispers reverently.
Hoseok sits at a bench.
It’s summer. The spring hadn’t been a particularly fresh one and although Hoseok doesn’t really notice the new budding green leaves or the warmer winds, he sorts of misses it. He still hates how people would impugn his eyes by kissing their significant others against a tree, or slip hands into inappropriate places while in a public park, but he finds he minds it less when he has someone beside him to listen and agree to his complaints.
Yoongi leans his head against Hoseok’s shoulder and like complete hypocrites, they twine fingers and decry insipid teenagers. Hoseok hopes that they will do the same fifty years later when they’re old and grey, on this very same bench with Hoseok feeling as if nothing in the world can ever go wrong. Turning to face his better half, Hoseok smiles and wipes a smudge of ice-cream off Yoongi’s upper lip with his finger before leaning down to kiss the boyfriend. He has fifteen minutes left before he’s due for class and it isn’t Wednesday so Hoseok tries to make best of lunch and get his dessert.
These days, Hoseok wakes up in Yoongi’s apartment more often than not, so they do without Seokjin’s lunchbox of love. But Hoseok learns a thing or two about cooking and he likes having Yoongi pad out of his bedroom, smiling sleepily at whatever fare Hoseok has scrounged up for the morning. It’s watching all the razor-sharp edges that Yoongi arms himself in melt away and have warm fondness pooling in Hoseok’s stomach as he watches Yoongi eat that makes this thing that they have so worthwhile. After they’re done, Hoseok can walk back to the bedroom and reach into his part of the cupboard and change for work.
It’s disgustingly domestic.
Sometimes Yoongi makes them go back to Hoseok’s—Namjoon’s—to remind themselves that at least they’re not Seokjin and Namjoon.
“Remember when you pushed me off the bench?” Hoseok asks, nuzzling into Yoongi’s hair and closing his eyes.
“You were in my spot. I have been coming for months and suddenly some strange man was in my spot and continued to sit there in spite.” Yoongi says, voice rising. “Actually.” Yoongi pauses. “You’re still in my spot.”
“Really?” Hoseok asks, opening one eye. “You want me to move now?”
Yoongi contemplates it for a long moment, pink lips pursed in thought. But as cute as Yoongi is, Hoseok really doesn’t want to move an inch on this lazy afternoon and regrets giving the older the option. Yoongi’s eyes narrow and he looks up at Hoseok before nodding firmly. Hoseok sighs in resignation. He should have saw this one coming.
Yoongi shrieks like a banshee when Hoseok lifts him slightly and pulls him into his lap, hooking his chin over Yoongi’s shoulder and closing his eyes again. Aside from sex and making out, Hoseok is hard-pressed to find something he likes more than back-hugging Yoongi. The other always gets so flustered. They’re both in the spot now and not only does Hoseok not have to shift, he has a bundle of gorgeous in his lap.
After a half-hearted struggle where Hoseok’s hold on Yoongi holds tight, Yoongi gives up and leans back into Hoseok’s arms.
“I hate you.”
Hoseok laughs and hums in acknowledgement.
“I love you too.”