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The convenience store ramyeon is terrible, overcooked noodles bloated in oily broth, but it is 2 AM and every other shop in the neighborhood has long since closed. Yoongi picks half-heartedly at the strands, trying to untangle them without splashing soup on his uniform pants, while across from him Hoseok slurps his portion like he has not eaten in days. Knowing Hoseok‘s endless practice schedule, he probably hasn‘t. His chopsticks move with the same speed as his feet in the studio, and his cheeks hollow in and out as if even the act of eating is a kind of rhythm he cannot break.
They are crammed into the tiny plastic seating area of the 7-Eleven near school, their backpacks dumped in a heap on the ground like they had been dropped mid-flee from something. To the passing eye they look like the sort of delinquents the ahjummas complain about on buses. Slouched shoulders, half-tied shoelaces, hair too long and messy for most school rules.
In truth, they are just two exhausted seventeen-year-olds delaying the walk home to empty houses, staving off the thought of another morning that will start too early and end too late. School. Self-study. Hagwon. Repeat. With the suneung so close, even the air feels tense.
“Did you hear about Mina from our class?” Hoseok asks, his words muffled by noodles still hanging out of his mouth.
“The one with the really long hair?” Yoongi keeps his tone flat, like he has no interest in where this is going.
“That‘s her. Apparently she‘s been saving herself for her soulmate. She won‘t even hold hands with anyone because she doesn‘t want to ‘waste her first touch‘ on the wrong person.”
Yoongi makes a sound halfway between a scoff and a groan, stabbing at a sausage that has gone rubbery in the broth. “That‘s the stupidest thing I‘ve ever heard.”
“I know, right?” Hoseok‘s eyes light up the way they always do when he gets worked up about something. “Like, what if her soulmate has sweaty palms? What if they‘re boring? What if they‘re a terrible kisser? What if—” He drops his voice to a whisper, eyes widening, “—he has shit stains on his underwear?”
“Worse,” Yoongi mutters, his chopsticks puncturing the sausage until it splits in two. “What if they don‘t exist at all? The whole red string of fate thing just feels like another way to control people. Keeps them waiting around for some mythical perfect person instead of living their own damn lives.”
Soulmate talk fills every classroom and cafeteria corner these days. It apparently coils from the heart and threads out through the pinky, or so they say, and it never tangles or breaks no matter how far apart they are.
The legend says that when one half of a destined pair turns twenty-two, a thin red thread may appear to them, visible only to the pair and it completes when the other turns twenty-two. Some never see a thread at all. Some live with a one-sided thread, never completed. Families whisper about those like curses.
What most people do not talk about as loudly are the gaps. Not everyone receives a string. Some wait all their lives for the first shimmer of red to appear and are met with nothing but empty air. Those people are called ‘unthreaded‘.
Some get one-sided threads, crueler than absence, where only one pair of eyes can see the filament and the other remains blind to it forever. Families whisper about those cases like curses. Teachers gloss over them. The media romanticizes the successful stories and buries the rest. And around all of it blooms a prejudice. To be unthreaded is to be considered incomplete, pitied in the best of cases, ridiculed in the worst.
Yoongi has never liked that. He has never liked any rule that tells him who to love or how to live.
Hoseok leans back in his chair, his chopsticks tapping against the side of his empty cup. He studies Yoongi‘s face, eyebrows furrowed the same way whenever he tries to break down a difficult dance routine, the corners of his mouth pulling into tiny dimples that come and go like a metronome as he chews his last bite of ramyeon. “You really think it‘s fake?”
Yoongi shrugs, deliberately casual. “Some people swear it‘s real. Some people have had the thread and built whole lives around it. But I don‘t buy the idea that fate is smart enough to match people. Humans are too complicated for some otherworldly power to decide their future, Seok-ah.” He tips the bottle of his peach soda back, the carbonation prickling sharp in his throat. “What about you? Do you believe in it?”
Hoseok twirls his chopsticks slowly, his wrist loose, the same limp arc Yoongi recognizes from every time he is deep in thought. “I don‘t know. It would be cool, right? To know someone is out there for you? But the waiting part sounds stupid. What if you miss out on something amazing because you‘re holding out for a hypothetical perfect person?”
“Exactly.” Yoongi feelsa surge of vindication. “You should kiss who you want, date who you want, fall in love with who you want. Not sit around holding your breath for some cosmic lottery ticket.”
“But hypothetically…” Hoseok holds his chopsticks in the air, squinting at Yoongi. “What if we ended up being soulmates?”
Yoongi‘s heart skips, a heavy flip that makes his chest feel crowded. Dangerous thoughts have been creeping up on him lately, sneaky as shadows. He notices how Hoseok‘s eyes vanish into crescents when he smiles, how he moves unconsciously to music even when they are just walking down empty streets looking for late-night snacks, how his hand always seems to find Yoongi‘s shoulder when he laughs like he needs an anchor to keep from falling over. He notices Hoseok‘s mouth too. Has it always been shaped like a soft heart? He has been noticing far too much.
All thoughts too big for friendship. All thoughts that trap people into waiting for things they might never get.
“Then we‘d be fucked.” Yoongi tries for nonchalant, but his voice wavers just enough to betray how much the thought unsettles him.
“But seriously.” Hoseok leans forward, curious and guileless. “What would we do?”
Yoongi looks at his best friend, at the sweet face and the subtle pout he never notices he makes when he wants something from Yoongi, and a sharp, terrifying ache unfurls in his chest.
“We‘d date other people first,” he says easily. But it‘s not easy at all. Yoongi has been secretly imagining Hoseok asking that exact question for who knows how long and rehearsing every possible answer in his head. “If we‘re really soulmates, then we should know what we‘re choosing. We should have experience. We should know what love feels like with different people. Maybe we‘d be platonic soulmates. Maybe we‘d want something else. But if, after all that, we still want each other…”
“Then we‘d know it‘s genuine,” Hoseok finishes, chewing on a string of melted cheese that clings to his chopsticks.
“Right.” Yoongi nods, perhaps a bit too emphatically. “Not just because some invisible thread told us to.”
Hoseok grows quiet, his eyes lowered to the banana milk bottle in his hands. He peels at the label until it comes off in strips. Then he looks up, and that bright smile hits Yoongi like a heat wave in summer that makes his vision slightly blurry.
“Promise?” Hoseok holds out his pinky.
It is ridiculous. They are seventeen, talking about futures they cannot even picture, making vows about a destiny that might never include them. The odds of them being tied together by some legendary string are close to nothing. This should be harmless, a thought experiment, an argument against waiting.
So why do Yoongi‘s hands tremble as he links his pinky with Hoseok‘s?
“Promise,” he says. And the word tastes foolish in Yoongi‘s mouth.
What Yoongi doesn‘t know is that Hoseok‘s hands are trembling too.
𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃
College separates them. Yoongi gets admitted to a university in Seoul for music production, and Hoseok to one in Busan for dance education. But the distance changes nothing about their friendship. It just forces them to be present in a way that isn‘t physical. They text constantly, call each other drunk at 3 AM, and plan visits a couple of times a month, or whenever Hoseok is back in Seoul to see his parents.
Hoseok comes to Seoul first, during Yoongi‘s second semester. He crashes on Yoongi‘s dorm room floor for four days, Friday to Monday, charming Yoongi‘s roommate without even trying, leaving the tiny room impossibly empty when he leaves.
“Your friends are cool,” Hoseok sprawls across Yoongi’s narrow bed while Yoongi works at his desk. “That Namjoon guy knows everything about music.”
“He‘s pretentious,” Yoongi mutters, but his lips twitch into a smile. Hoseok has slipped seamlessly into his Seoul life. He chats with Namjoon about their favorite rap albums, joins a few classmates from his production class for a quick lunch, and jokes around with the ahjumma who sells steaming tteokbokki near the noraebang just outside the south campus gate.
“You‘re just jealous he understood your song better than you did.”
Yoongi glances up from his laptop. Hoseok‘s shirt has ridden up slightly, revealing the faint line of his waist, dancer legs toned and long in the red shorts he‘s wearing. One arm props his head, the other draped lazily across the bed, hair tumbling over his forehead in that careless way that is painfully sexy.
Yoongi‘s hands falter on the keys for a beat, and the melody that had been taking shape in his mind vanishes as quickly as mist, tangled with thoughts he shouldn‘t be having. Thoughts about Hoseok, his best friend, lying on his bed in different situations. Sexier situations.
“I understood it fine.” Yoongi tries to shove the thought down, fingers finding the keyboard again.
“Mmm.” Hoseok rolls onto his side, eyes following Yoongi‘s fingers on the keyboard. “Play it for me again, please?”
Yoongi freezes. He‘s been sculpting this track for two weeks, a slow, melancholic R&B piece with layered synth pads and a minimalistic percussion pattern, something outside his usual palette. When he started it, he‘d just hung up a call with Hoseok, listening to him gush about his crush, and he needed an outlet, some way to channel the frustration and longing. Now, every note, every drawn-out chord, every subtle pitch bend, makes him think of Hoseok. His laugh, the tilt of his smile, the way he would move if he were dancing along to it.
Of course, Hoseok wouldn‘t pick up on that from the harmonic structure or the sparse, syncopated rhythms alone, right?
“It‘s not finished.” Yoongi stares at the screen, not quite meeting Hoseok's eyes.
“So? I like your unfinished stuff.” That pout is infuriatingly effective, and Yoongi hates it.
“Alright,” Yoongi exhales and presses.
Hoseok closes his eyes, drumming lightly on the bed to the rhythm with his fingertips, the motion casual but precise, like every beat is a small, unspoken conversation. His chest rises and falls slowly, relaxed, and the faint scent of his cologne drifts down to Yoongi as he watches from the desk.
The track fades, but Hoseok remains still, quiet, and Yoongi can‘t shake the thought that maybe what he‘s making is as shit as his anxious brain tells him, after all.
At last, Hoseok exhales, the sound long and low, and the tight knot of tension loosens in the room. “It‘s beautiful,” he finally says. “Sad, but beautiful.”
“Why sad?”
“I don‘t know. You tell me.”
Yoongi looks at his hands, at the empty soju bottle on his desk, at anything but Hoseok‘s too-knowing eyes.
“Missing someone, maybe.”
“Who?”
You, Yoongi thinks. Instead, he says, “nobody specific. It‘s just the feeling… of missing someone.”
“Hm… look at you, all soft and mellow now,” Hoseok teases, letting his eyes peek over the rim of his lashes, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips, as if he‘s silently daring Yoongi to react. “Did graduating high school finally mellow you out, or am I just lucky to see this side of you?”
Yoongi flushes, fiddling with the scroll wheel of his mouse. “You‘re imagining things.”
“Nope,” Hoseok objects, grinning from ear to ear. “I like it. Makes me curious what else you‘ve been hiding.”
“None, because I‘ve shown you literally all of my stuff.” Another lie. They're piling up tonight.
A lie, because Yoongi does have more things he‘s been hiding from Hoseok, though none of them have anything to do with music.
Hoseok yawns, and Yoongi glances at the clock. It‘s past midnight. Hoseok will be on the train back to Busan first thing in the morning.
“Sleep, Seok-ah,” Yoongi says softly.
“Promise me I get to hear the finished track later, yeah?”
“You know I will.” It's a promise Yoongi knows he'll keep.
𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃
Two months pass, and Yoongi finally makes the trip to Busan. The track he‘d last shown Hoseok is now painstakingly finished between assignments, class projects, and sleepless nights. He‘d imagined spending the day with Hoseok, maybe a few of the friends he‘d gotten to know over past visits, and giving a private listening of the finished track he had titled ‘Chasing the Sun‘.
When he arrives, Hoseok beams at him, a radiant, uncontainable smile. He looks happier than the last time Yoongi saw him. He pulls Yoongi into a tight hug despite Yoongi‘s usual discomfort with public displays of affection. And then, as effortlessly as turning a page in a book, Hoseok introduces Miyeon. His crush, the girl Yoongi had heard about endlessly, now officially Hoseok‘s girlfriend.
Yoongi‘s stomach twists. The promise he‘d made at seventeen, pinky intertwined with Hoseok‘s, tastes bitter on his tongue now. His pinky itches as if mocking him, reminding him that his secret hope for it to be tied to his best friend of more than ten years will probably never come true. Maybe Hoseok‘s red string will find its end on Miyeon once he turns twenty-two. Maybe Yoongi is destined for someone else. Or no one at all.
“She‘s great.” Yoongi's chopsticks hover above the steaming tteokbokki. A table away, Miyeon waves at her seniors, bowing politely before settling back down with them.
“You think so?” Hoseok beams, leaning across the tiny red table and nearly knocking over their soju bottle. He catches it at the last second, laughing. “I was nervous you wouldn‘t like her.”
“Why wouldn‘t I?” Yoongi asks, deadpan, nudging the bottle back to the center.
“You‘re picky.” There's affection in the accusation.
“I have standards.”
“Oh?” Hoseok props his chin on his hand, waiting. “What kind?”
Yoongi takes his time, rolling a piece of odeng in his broth. The tent is noisy with clattering dishes, laughter spilling from the next table, the busker‘s guitar thrumming faintly outside. Hoseok waits, swaying along to the beat.
He‘s too much, Yoongi thinks. Hoseok is too bright for this sticky plastic tent and too bright for Busan cloudy nights.
Yoongi knows exactly what his standards are, and they‘re sitting across from him, unattainable.
“They have to make me laugh,” he finally says, pushing food around his plate.
Hoseok grins immediately. “So… Me, then.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “And they can‘t be boring.”
“Definitely me.” Hoseok leans in, exaggeratedly smug, nudging Yoongi's knee under the table. The touch lingers a second longer than necessary, warm even through denim.
Yoongi shakes his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Your ego‘s insufferable.”
“Hyung, please. You laugh at my jokes all the time. You just try to hide it.”
“I laugh at you, not your jokes.” But Yoongi's fighting a smile even as he says it.
“Same thing!” Hoseok's voice rises enough to earn a glance from the ahjumma clearing dishes nearby. He smiles apologetically at her, then drops his voice a few decibels, still grinning. His hand finds Yoongi‘s wrist across the table, fingers curling around it gently. “Anyway, what happened with Minjun? I thought you liked him.”
Yoongi stares at where Hoseok‘s fingers rest against his pulse point. Hoseok is touchy, always has been. This doesn‘t mean anything. It‘s just how he is with everyone he cares about.
Yoongi shrugs, popping a rice cake into his mouth. Well, he‘s not you. “We‘re better off as friends.”
“You‘ve said that about everyone, yeah.” Hoseok‘s thumb traces a small circle on Yoongi‘s wrist before he pulls away to reach for more food. “Well, you‘ll find someone. Maybe they‘ll even think your terrible sense of humor is charming.”
Yoongi snorts. “Charming‘s your department.”
“You admit it, then!” Hoseok‘s smile is all sunshine, smug and delighted at once.
Yoongi hides his mouth behind his glass, muttering, “Delusional.”
“Okay, serious talk, though.” Hoseok tips back the rest of his soju in one gulp, the glass hitting the table with a soft clink. His cheeks are flushed pink. He‘s three bottles in, and he‘s still as much of a lightweight as he was at nineteen. Yoongi should probably cut him off, but it‘s hard when Hoseok looks this happy. “Try not to push people away, ‘kay, hyung? You‘re always the one saying we need to experience different loves, right? What if you haven‘t by the time you‘re twenty-two?”
”That doesn‘t mean I‘ll find them right away.” Yoongi fiddles with the cap of the soju bottle, turning it back and forth between his hands. “And who says I‘ll even have one? Or that I can‘t date someone else after finding them?”
Hoseok leans forward, chin resting in his palm, eyes narrowing like he‘s actually considering it. Then he grins, crooked and easy. “Fair. But…” He draws the word out, tapping Yoongi‘s arm with the end of his chopsticks. “I know you, hyung. You‘ll find some excuse to overthink it. Just promise me you‘ll give someone great a chance, yeah? You deserve to be happy too.”
“Fine.” Yoongi yields eventually. The word tastes like surrender, but he says it anyway. His eyes flick across the tent as Miyeon heads back toward their table, her ponytail swaying with each step.
The ballad the busker sings threads through Yoongi‘s chest, a stabbing echo of his seventeen-year-old self, tangled in promises he can‘t undo.
Later, when they‘re back at Hoseok‘s place, Yoongi perches on the beat-up loveseat Hoseok scavenged from the previous tenant, the cushions sagging under him. Hoseok stretches across the couch, hair mussed from the night air, a soft grin lingering on his lips. Yoongi‘s eyes catch the faint smudge of cherry-pink lipstick at the corner of Hoseok‘s mouth. He looks away quickly, pretending not to notice, but his mind keeps circling back to it like a moth around a flame.
“Do you think Miyeon… is your soulmate?” Yoongi blurts, the alcohol loosening his tongue more than he expected.
Hoseok laughs, caught off guard, but his face softens when he sees the seriousness in Yoongi‘s eyes. “Soulmate? I don‘t know. But she makes me happy. Isn‘t that enough? You‘re the one who told me to love whoever I want, remember?”
“I did?”
“Don‘t act clueless, hyung.” Hoseok stretches back, letting his arm fall lazily over the back of the couch. “Why so curious? Are you jealous or something?”
Yoongi swallows, shoots Hoseok a glare, which is returned with nothing but a chuckle. “Of course not.” Yoongi takes a slow sip. “Just… wondering if your thoughts about soulmates and strings of fate have changed.”
“Not really. Maybe I like the idea sometimes, but I‘m not gonna wait around for a string to pull me somewhere. Life‘s too short. You said that too.”
“Right. That‘s good.” Yoongi takes a bigger gulp, letting the alcohol burn down his throat.
“See? Sometimes you‘re wise.”
“Sometimes?” Yoongi feigns offense, his gaze drifting again to the faint pink mark on Hoseok‘s mouth. He bites his inner cheek to stop himself from making a snarky joke about it in return.
“Okay, maybe a lot of times,” Hoseok admits. “That‘s why you‘re my hyung.”
After getting ready for bed, Yoongi kneels by his bag in Hoseok‘s room, fishing out a clean pair of clothes. Hoseok flops dramatically onto his bed, hair falling across his forehead, and pats the small space beside him with a grin. “You want to sleep here?”
Yoongi feels heat creep up his neck. He glances at the inviting mess of blankets and pillows. Even if he said yes, it wouldn‘t be weird. It‘s not the first time they‘ve slept on the same bed. Still, he shakes off the thought.
“The couch is fine,” he refuses but still thanks Hoseok when he tosses him a pillow and a blanket.
The couch is narrow but Yoongi arranges himself carefully, tucking the blanket snug around his shoulders. The fabric smells faintly of Hoseok and Yoongi forces himself not to inhale too deeply, though his senses ache to.
Yoongi debates whether to tiptoe back into Hoseok‘s bedroom and ask if he wants to hear the finished track he‘d first played for him in Seoul. Sleepiness and the lingering warmth of soju in his stomach have dulled his confidence, leaving him second-guessing himself.
He lies there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then sits up. Suddenly waiting until tomorrow seems stupid. He came all the way to Busan with the finished track. He should just show Hoseok now.
Yoongi pads quietly back to Hoseok‘s bedroom, laptop tucked under his arm.
He knocks softly on the doorframe. “Seok-ah? You still awake?”
“Mm?” Hoseok‘s voice is muffled by his pillow. He rolls over, squinting at Yoongi in the pitch-black room. “Hyung? What‘s wrong?”
“Nothing‘s wrong. I just—” Yoongi shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Remember that track I played for you in Seoul? The unfinished one?”
Hoseok sits up immediately, suddenly alert. “You finished it?”
“Yeah. You want to hear it now?”
“Now?” Hoseok checks his phone.”It‘s almost one in the morning.”
“I know. Stupid timing. Never mind, I‘ll—”
“Hyung, get in here.” Hoseok pats the space beside him on the bed. “Of course I want to hear it.”
So Yoongi climbs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged with his laptop balanced on his knees. Hoseok scoots closer until their shoulders press together, peering at the screen as Yoongi pulls up the file titled ‘Chasing the Sun.‘
“Ready?” Yoongi‘s finger hovers over the play button.
“Always.”
The track fills the quiet room. Layered synths, minimalistic percussion, that melancholic melody Yoongi‘s been carrying in his chest for months. He can feel the warmth of Hoseok‘s body next to him, hear his breathing even out as he listens. Yoongi watches Hoseok‘s reaction, watches his eyes close, the way his fingers tap against his thigh in time with the beat.
When it fades out, the silence feels heavy. Sacred, almost.
“So?” Yoongi asks when the track ends. Somehow he feels more nervous than he usually is. “What do you think?”
Hoseok doesn‘t answer right away. Just sits there, eyes still closed. Then he opens them and turns to look at Yoongi and they‘re so close that Yoongi can count his eyelashes.
“It‘s beautiful, hyung. It‘s... it‘s like…” He trails off. “Longing, you know? Like quite literally the title. Chasing something you can‘t quite reach but you can‘t stop trying anyway.” He pauses. “Who were you thinking about when you made this, hyung? Did someone break your heart this bad and I didn’t know?” Hoseok chuckles.
Yoongi rolls his eyes playfully. “Nobody specific.”
“Liar.” Hoseok nudges him with his elbow. “You always say that.”
“Maybe I‘m just getting better at lying.”
“Or maybe you‘re getting worse at it.” Hoseok shifts, and now they‘re even closer somehow. Their knees are touching. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Yoongi looks at the literal muse of the track and god, he wants to tell Hoseok everything. That the track is about him. That everything Yoongi makes these days is somehow about him. That he‘s been in love with his best friend for years and it‘s killing him slowly.
But Miyeon exists, and Hoseok looks so content, and Yoongi can‘t. He won‘t ruin this.
“I know.” Yoongi manages a small smile. “But there‘s nothing to tell. Just... feelings. You know how it is.”
Hoseok studies him for a long moment, like he‘s trying to read between the lines. Then he nods slowly. “Okay. Just want to remind you that I‘m here, yeah?"
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Hoseok yawns, stretching his arms like a cat. “Thanks for showing me, hyung. It‘s really beautiful. You should be proud.”
“Thanks, Seok-ah.”
Hoseok flops back down onto his pillows. “You sure you don‘t want to just sleep here? The couch is terrible.”
“The couch is fine. Get some sleep.”
“Stubborn.” But Hoseok‘s already half-asleep again, words slurring together.
Yoongi takes his laptop and heads back to the couch. But as he settles under the blanket again, he can still feel the warmth of where their shoulders touched, and can still imagine the way Hoseok looked at him in the darkness.
Sleep doesn‘t come easy after that.
𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃
Yoongi dates a few people over the following months. Nothing serious. A guy from his production class who talked too much about himself. A girl he met at a party who was sweet but they had nothing in common. Someone Namjoon introduced him to who was nice enough but the chemistry just wasn‘t there. None of them last more than a few weeks, and Yoongi tells himself it‘s because he‘s too busy with school, too focused on his music.
It has nothing to do with the way his heart still stutters when Hoseok calls at midnight, voice low and drowsy in that way Yoongi will never admit out loud he finds unfairly sexy, asking if he‘s still awake because he can‘t sleep and he misses him.
Miyeon stays in the picture, their relationship stretching through months that blur into a year. “We‘re doing alright,” Hoseok tells Yoongi over the phone one night, and there‘s something in his voice that sounds almost like he‘s trying to convince himself.
Life continues its familiar rhythm. Classes, studio time, late nights bent over his laptop with headphones on. They still make time to catch up with one another over the phone, and when they have time for visits, it feels shorter and shorter every time.
By the time Yoongi‘s twenty-second birthday rolls around, he‘s single again. Has been for months, actually. The thought of turning twenty-two fills him with a strange cocktail of dread and anticipation. What if the string appears and it‘s not Hoseok? What if it doesn‘t appear at all? What if it does appear and points toward Busan, toward his best friend who‘s in a relationship, and Yoongi has to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life?
He‘d planned to ignore his birthday entirely, maybe order chicken and work on music until he passed out. Celebrate alone, where no one would see if the string appeared or didn‘t, where he could process whatever happened in private.
But Hoseok had other plans.
“Surprise!” Hoseok bursts into Yoongi‘s tiny Seoul apartment fifteen minutes before midnight, arms full of convenience store snacks and a small cake that looked suspiciously homemade. “Happy almost birthday, hyung!”
Yoongi opened the door wider, half annoyed, half… Well, his heart was doing that dumb flutter thing again. “You didn‘t have to—”
“Didn‘t have to? Hyung, are you kidding me? This is historic. The great Min Yoongi is potentially getting his red string of fate.” Hoseok walks past him, kicking off his shoes, one foot then the other without bothering to use his hands. He sets the cake down on Yoongi‘s small table with care, then dumps the bag of snacks next to it. “I couldn‘t miss this for the world.”
“Assuming I‘ll get it.”
“Don‘t be such a pessimist.” Hoseok shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. “Also, I needed to come home for a bit anyway for my noona‘s wedding planning stuff, so lucky timing! I get to celebrate your birthday in person. I‘ll have to get back to Busan tomorrow evening, though.”
“Well, you should‘ve gone home and rested, then, Hoseok-ah.”
But Hoseok ignores him, already checking the clock on the wall frantically. “Where are your knives? We need to be ready to cut the cake right at midnight.”
“Cabinet next to the sink,” Yoongi mutters, watching as Hoseok bustles around his kitchen like he lives there.
Hoseok retrieves a knife, tests its sharpness with his thumb, then sets it on the table next to the cake. He plops down on the floor, patting the space beside him. “Come on, sit. We‘ve got—” he checks his phone, “—twelve minutes.”
Yoongi lowers himself to the floor, crossing his legs. The apartment feels smaller with Hoseok in it, or maybe homey is the word he‘s looking for. “You really didn‘t have to come all this way.”
“Of course I did.” Hoseok tears open a bag of honey butter chips, offering them to Yoongi first. “This is a big deal. Even if you pretend it‘s not.”
They talk as the minutes tick down, Hoseok filling him in on his sister‘s wedding drama, Yoongi complaining about his production professor. It feels normal and comfortable and perfect, the way it always does when they‘re together.
“Three minutes,” Hoseok announces, checking his phone.
Yoongi‘s stomach churns. “That went fast.”
“Time always flies when we‘re together.” Hoseok shifts closer, their shoulders pressing together. His hand finds Yoongi‘s knee, squeezes once. “So… Last three minutes of being twenty-one and possibly string-free. Any final thoughts?”
“Why do you make it sound like I‘m about to die?”
“Come on, drama is important for memorable moments, hyung.” Hoseok grumbles, but his hand is still on Yoongi‘s knee, warm and grounding. “Seriously, though. Are you feeling okay?”
Yoongi looks down at his hands, at his left pinky specifically. “It‘s weird that you won‘t be able to see it if it appears. Like, what if I‘m freaking out and you can‘t tell why?”
“Then you‘ll tell me,” Hoseok says simply. “With words. Like we always do.”
“What if I can‘t find the words?”
“Then I‘ll wait until you can.” Hoseok bumps their knees together. He absentmindedly draws a small circle on Yoongi‘s knee. “I‘m not going anywhere, hyung. String or no string, you‘re stuck with me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Hoseok‘s smile is so genuine it hurts to look at. “One minute!”
As the seconds tick down, Yoongi‘s chest feels like it‘s trying to escape his ribcage. He can almost feel the weight of something unseen, pulling at his pinky, teasing him.
Thirty seconds.
Twenty.
Ten.
Hoseok counts down under his breath. “Three, two, one, happy birthday, hyung!”
Then, a shimmer flickers across the apartment. Yoongi blinks, thinking it‘s a trick of the lamplight at first. But it solidifies; a thin red line curling from his left pinky, stretching across the room and disappearing only ten centimeters away from him. That meant his soulmate hadn‘t turned twenty-two yet and couldn‘t complete the string.
“Oh… Holy shit.” His voice cracks. He stands up abruptly, the movement so sudden that he knocks over the bag of chips, sending them scattering across the floor. “It‘s… Fuck, Hoseok, it‘s—”
Hoseok scrambles to his feet. He can‘t see the string, Yoongi knows, but he follows Yoongi‘s gaze anyway. “Oh my god. Do you have one? You actually have a red string, hyung?”
Yoongi freezes. His mind spins, a whirlpool of thoughts he can‘t organize. Someone out there, somewhere, is connected to him. The storm of mixed feelings roars inside him and his chest heaves with each breath. His hand trembles as he holds it up, watching the string pulse faintly with light only he can see.
“Are you good?” Hoseok steps closer, hands hovering near Yoongi's shoulders like he wants to touch but isn‘t sure if he should. “Hey, hyung, it‘s alright. It must be overwhelming.”
Yoongi stares at the incomplete string. “Yeah, I just... Um, I can‘t believe it‘s real and it‘s…” He holds up his hand. “You can‘t see it but it‘s around my fucking pinky, Seok-ah.”
“What does it look like?” Hoseok leans closer, squinting at Yoongi‘s pinky like maybe if he tries hard enough he‘ll see it too.
“Red. Thin. Like a silk thread, maybe? It just goes—” Yoongi gestures vaguely, “—out into nothing. My soulmate hasn‘t turned twenty-two yet.”
“So you‘ll have to wait.”
“Yeah.” Yoongi sinks back down to the floor, suddenly exhausted. “I guess I will.”
“Hey. This is good, right? You have someone out there.”
“Maybe,” Yoongi whispers. He looks at the string again, then at Hoseok‘s face, memorizing the worried curve of his mouth and the crease between his eyebrows.
“Come on,” Hoseok says, reaching for the knife. “Let‘s cut this cake. We should celebrate!”
They cut the cake and eat in comfortable silence, but Yoongi‘s eyes keep drifting back to the red string on his pinky, and to the empty space where Hoseok‘s should have been.
𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃
The months crawl by. Yoongi watches the string, tries to map its direction, and wonders about the person on the other end. He doesn‘t date anyone. Can‘t bring himself to, knowing someone out there is tied to him.
Hoseok calls him every week, sometimes more. They talk about everything and nothing. Hoseok never asks about the string directly, but Yoongi can feel the question hovering in the spaces between their words.
Hoseok mentions Miyeon less and less. When he does, there‘s strain in his voice. He’s been busier lately, juggling rehearsals, part-time work, and classes, doing his best to make time for her. But Miyeon wants more, needs more. She gets upset when he doesn’t text back fast enough during practice and rehearsal. She’s also always been a little jealous, Hoseok admits once, laughing softly, though it doesn’t sound funny. His dance partner, his classmates, even the friends he goes out for drinks with, everyone seems to be a threat. It doesn’t help that Hoseok’s open about being bisexual.
They end things in August, just after the heat begins to fade. Yoongi finds out through a short call that barely lasts five minutes. Hoseok doesn‘t say much—rare for someone who never runs out of words—which only makes Yoongi more worried. When the call ends, he sits in silence, phone still in his hand as the screen dims to black. He feels for Hoseok, of course he does, but beneath the sympathy, buried deep where he doesn‘t dare look too closely, something flickers to life. Hope. Small and shameful. And the guilt that follows is immediate.
After that, they talk more often. Hoseok says he‘s okay, but Yoongi knows better. On some nights, Hoseok rambles about dance routines or the way the rain never seems to stop in Busan, about songs stuck in his head, or the cat that keeps showing up at the dance studio door. Yoongi listens, lets the words wash over him,replies when needed, pretending things are just as they‘ve always been. He figures Hoseok needs that small comfort of normalcy.
September drifts by. The heat gives way to softer air, and Hoseok begins posting again. Photos and videos from the studio, dinners with friends, a blur of lights from a weekend out. By October, Hoseok looks like someone new. The sadness has thinned out of him. Even through a screen, Hoseok seems to pull light toward him. The calls stretch later now, long enough that sometimes Hoseok falls asleep mid-sentence, breath evening out on the other end. Yoongi stays on the line a little longer, just listening, before hanging up.
When December comes, Hoseok sends him a picture of the first snow together with streetlamps blurred into halos of white, a flash of his grin in the corner of the frame. ‘Wish you were here,‘ the message says. Yoongi stares at it longer than he should before replying, ‘Looks cold.‘
Two weeks before Hoseok‘s birthday, he calls again. Yoongi‘s still drying his hands from washing dishes when the ringtone blares through the quiet. Hoseok‘s voice bursts through the line.
“I‘m having a small party for my birthday,” he says. “Just some friends and people from my dance crew. I know you hate parties, but would you come? I really want you there.”
Yoongi doesn‘t even think. “Of course. It‘s your birthday. Of course I‘ll be there.”
“Good.” Hoseok sounds almost giddy, a smile audible in his voice. “Good. I‘ll see you then, hyung.”
So that‘s how Yoongi finds himself on the KTX a couple of weeks later toward Busan, while he people-watches to distract himself. His thumb keeps finding the red string on his left pinky, worrying at it like a nervous habit. For eleven months now, it‘s been there, incomplete.
He‘s nervous for reasons he can‘t quite name. It‘s just Hoseok‘s birthday. Just a party. But something feels different this time.
The train pulls into Busan station, and Yoongi takes a taxi to Hoseok‘s apartment. From the hallway, he can already hear music and laughter spilling from Hoseok‘s door.
He knocks.
Hoseok opens the door, face splitting into that sun-bright smile that still does stupid things to Yoongi‘s pulse. “Hyung! You made it!” He pulls Yoongi into a hug before Yoongi can protest. “Come on, I‘ll introduce you to everyone.”
The apartment is packed with maybe fifteen or twenty people. Fairy lights are strung around the living room, music thrums from a speaker in the corner. It‘s warm and loud and full of life.
Yoongi blinks, momentarily frozen. He’s not sure what Hoseok’s definition of small is, but it clearly doesn’t match his own. Yoongi had imagined maybe five to ten people at most. Not… this.
“Everyone, this is Yoongi hyung,” Hoseok announces, pulling him into the living room. His hand lingers on Yoongi‘s lower back, guiding him through the crowd. “Hyung, this is… well, everyone.”
The names blur together. Although Jimin and Taehyung stand out, maybe because Yoongi recognizes them from Hoseok’s Instagram, their faces are familiar from countless tagged photos and stories.
“Hoseok hyung talks about you constantly, by the way.” Taehyung says, grinning.
“Does he?”
“Oh yeah. We‘ve heard all the stories.”
Yoongi glances at Hoseok, who‘s turned pink. “I hope none of my embarrassing stories.”
“Hmmm, maybe a couple.”
“Stop, Tae.” Hoseok swats at Taehyung’s arm
“I‘m not embarrassing you, I‘m establishing hyung‘s credentials.” Taehyung‘s grin widens. “Also, Jimin wants to meet you properly.”
“Hi.” Jimin offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry about Tae, he has no filter sometimes. Especially when he‘s drinking.”
“None whatsoever,” Taehyung agrees cheerfully, slinging an arm around Jimin‘s shoulders.
Yoongi notices it then. The way Taehyung‘s hand finds Jimin‘s lower back, how Jimin leans into the touch, and when Taehyung reaches for his drink, Jimin automatically steadies it before he can knock it over.
“We‘re soulmates,” Jimin says, catching Yoongi‘s observation. “The string was completed two months ago. On Taehyung‘s birthday.”
Taehyung beams, pressing a quick kiss to Jimin‘s temple. “Best birthday present ever.”
This is what the red string is supposed to do, Yoongi thinks. Find people who make sense together. People who would have found each other anyway, string or no string.
He wonders if his own soulmate will make this much sense. If he‘ll look at them and think, oh, of course.
“Yoongi?”
He startles a little, dragging his focus back to the present, the noise of the room rushing in all at once. “Sorry, um,” Yoongi clears his throat, refocusing. “I was going to ask… Was it overwhelming?”
Jimin‘s smile goes soft. “Very. In a good way. We‘d been dating for a few months already, so it felt like confirmation more than surprise.”
“You‘re lucky,” Yoongi replies.
“We are,” Taehyung agrees, hugging Jimin closer. Then he tilts his head curiously at Yoongi. “What about you? Do you have one?”
“Yeah.” Yoongi lifts his hand. The string stretches across the room, pulling toward where Hoseok stands on the other side of the apartment, but he doesn’t let himself follow it with his eyes. “Hasn‘t completed yet.”
“Any idea who it is?”
“No.” Yoongi shrugs. His idea is more like hope, but he shouldn‘t be thinking about it. It feels inappropriate especially when Hoseok is dating someone and so is he. “I haven‘t tried to track them down.”
“Why not?” Genuine curiosity flickers across Taehyung's face. “Aren‘t you curious?”
Because I‘m afraid of what I‘ll find.
“I want them to live their life,” Yoongi says instead. “We‘ll meet when we meet.”
“Well, I hope you‘ll find them.” Jimin responds.
“You want a drink?” Taehyung points toward the makeshift bar. “You look like you need a drink.”
“Yeah, that‘d be nice.” Anything to settle his nerves.
“Right over here.” Taehyung steers Yoongi toward the kitchen, Jimin trailing behind them. “Hoseok hyung mentioned you‘re not great with crowds.”
“I‘m fine.”
“Sure.” Taehyung presses a cold beer into his hand. “Most people here are pretty chill. We‘re not going to, like, force you to play party games or whatever.”
“Tae wanted to play beer pong,” Jimin informs Yoongi solemnly. “I vetoed it.”
“You‘re no fun,” Taehyung complains, but he‘s smiling.
“Hoseokie hyung is a lightweight. He won‘t enjoy his birthday if he‘s drunk out of his mind, Tae!”
Taehyung is studying art, Yoongi discovers, and has opinions about everything from art to the best late-night food spots in Busan, to why modern dance is superior to classical ballet (a statement that makes Jimin roll his eyes fondly). Jimin is quieter but has a great sense of humor. They ask about Yoongi‘s music, about Seoul, about how exactly he and Hoseok became friends from his perspective.
“School,” Yoongi says. “That‘s how most good friendships start, right?”
“Ours started because Tae spilled coffee on me.”
“It was an accident,” Taehyung protests. “And I bought you like three replacement coffees to make up for it.”
“You bought me one coffee and then asked for my number.”
“Bla bla bla, details.” Taehyung waves a dismissive hand.
Watching them bicker makes Yoongi relax for a bit. Maybe this won‘t be so bad. Maybe he can get through one night, smile through the countdown, and then go back to Seoul and his normal life where he doesn‘t have to think about red strings and stupid promises made at seventeen.
The hour passes easier than Yoongi expected. Hoseok‘s friends are warm and welcoming, and they include him in conversations without making him feel like an outsider. But his awareness keeps drifting to the red string on his pinky, to the way Hoseok‘s eyes keep finding Yoongi across the room.
“You want another drink?” Taehyung asks, and Yoongi realizes his plastic glass is empty.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Taehyung disappears into the kitchen. Jimin shifts closer, whispering so only Yoongi can hear. “Hoseok hyung is worried about you.”
“He worries too much.”
“Maybe.” Jimin smiles fondly. “But he cares about you a lot. He talks about you like you‘re the most important person in his life.”
Yoongi doesn‘t know what to say to that.
“I hope tonight goes well for you,” Jimin continues. “Whatever happens.”
Before Yoongi can ask what he means by that, Taehyung returns with drinks, and the moment passes. Then someone is checking their phone, announcing that it‘s fifteen minutes to midnight, and Yoongi‘s heart starts racing.
Everyone gathers around Hoseok, who is flushed and loose-limbed from alcohol. Someone puts a makeshift crown on his head, the metallic foil paper glinting under the lights.
Yoongi finds himself pushed to the front of the group somehow, close enough to see the nervousness in Hoseok‘s eyes.
“Fifteen minutes,” Taehyung announces loudly. “Hobi hyung, how are you feeling?”
“Terrified,” Hoseok admits with a laugh that sounds slightly forced. His eyes find Yoongi‘s across the circle. “What if nothing happens? What if I‘m unthreaded?”
“Then you‘re still you,” Jimin says gently. “Still our Hobi hyung.”
“Yeah, but...” Hoseok trails off. He‘s looking at Yoongi and there‘s something in his expression that Yoongi can‘t read.
Yoongi wants to say something, anything, but the words dissolve before they reach his tongue. The string on his finger feels heavier than it has in months.
Please, he thinks. Please let it be him.
“Ten minutes!” someone shouts.
Hoseok laughs, but it sounds nervous. “You know what would be really cliché?” He‘s still looking at Yoongi. “If the universe decided my soulmate was someone I already know. Like, how predictable would that be?”
All Yoongi can do is laugh at the statement to hide his own nervousness. Of course Hoseok would think that. Would think being tied to someone he already knows would be boring and predictable.
“I think that would be kind of beautiful,” Taehyung says. “Like the universe is saying, ‘hey, you already found them, dummy.‘”
“Or it could mean fate is lazy,” Hoseok counters, but his eyes haven‘t left Yoongi‘s face. “Like it couldn‘t be bothered to expand my horizons, so it just... picked the obvious choice.”
Yoongi looks down at his hands. Right. The obvious choice. Nothing special about that.
“Five minutes!” Taehyung calls out.
Everyone‘s watching Hoseok now, waiting. Yoongi‘s palms are sweating.
“Hyung.” Hoseok‘s voice cuts through the noise. Yoongi looks up to find Hoseok has moved closer, standing right in front of him now. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
“I‘m fine.”
“Liar.” Hoseok‘s hand finds Yoongi‘s elbow, steadying him. “You‘re kind of shaking.”
“Just nervous for you.”
“For me?” Hoseok chuckles. “Why would you be nervous for me?”
Because he‘s hoping for something he shouldn‘t hope for. Because if the string completes and it‘s not Hoseok, he doesn‘t know how he‘ll survive it.
“Three minutes!” someone yells.
Hoseok‘s hand is still on Yoongi‘s elbow. His thumb traces a small circle there, probably unconscious. Probably meaningless. Probably just Hoseok being affectionate, the same way he is with everyone.
“Two minutes!” The room grows louder, more excited.
“Hyung,” Hoseok whispers, close enough that Yoongi can see the flicker of nerves in his eyes. “I need to tell you something. Before… Before whatever happens happens.”
“What?” The word barely makes it past the tightness in his throat.
“I—”
“TEN SECONDS!” The entire room erupts in noise.
Hoseok’s mouth snaps shut. Whatever he was going to say is lost to the swell of sound of everyone counting down.
“Nine! Eight!
Yoongi‘s vision tunnels. All he can see is Hoseok‘s face, the nervousness there, the hope, the fear. All he can feel is the string on his finger pulling, pulling, and pulling.
“Seven! Six!”
Hoseok‘s hand slides down from Yoongi‘s elbow to his wrist, fingers wrapping around it.
“Five! Four!”
Yoongi stares at their joined hands. At the red string he can see that Hoseok can‘t. On the way it‘s pulling toward Hoseok like a compass finding north.
“Three!”
Please, Yoongi thinks again.
“Two!”
Please let it be him.
“One!”
The room explodes with noise. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
And then it happens.
Yoongi sees the red string that has been stretching from his pinky for months suddenly surge forward, the end becoming more visible as it reaches toward completion. At the exact same moment, a brand new thread blooms into existence from Hoseok‘s left pinky.
The strings meet in the middle, connecting them with a soft glow that only they can see.
Hoseok.
His Hoseok.
They stare at each other, disbelief mirrored in both their faces. Then Yoongi sees the relief softening Hoseok’s face,
“Hyung,” Hoseok exhales the word more than says it. His fingers flex open, then close again, like he’s testing if the string is real. His eyes darts from the thread to Yoongi’s face, throat working hard to swallow. “Oh my god. You… It‘s—”
Around them, people are cheering, asking Hoseok if anything happened, but Yoongi can‘t hear any of it. All he can hear is the pounding of his own heart. All he can see is the red thread connecting them, the promise they made at seventeen, and the way Hoseok is looking at him like he‘s seeing everything Yoongi has been hiding for years.
“I need air,” Yoongi manages, and he doesn‘t wait for a response. He pushes through the crowd toward the door. He makes it to the hallway outside the apartment before he hears footsteps behind him.
“Hyung, wait!”
Yoongi turns. His heart hammers as Hoseok stumbles to a stop in front of him, looking like the world might end if Yoongi takes another step.
“Don‘t run,” Hoseok's chest heaves, the paper crown askew on his head. “Please.”
“Hoseok, I...” Yoongi doesn't know how to finish that sentence.
“It‘s you.” Hoseok takes a step closer. “It‘s been you this whole time. God, I hoped so badly. Every time you visited, every phone call, every time I saw you looking at your pinky... I kept thinking what if. What if it‘s you? What if we‘re connected and I just can‘t see it yet?”
“Then why didn‘t you…” Yoongi can‘t finish the sentence.
“Because what if I was wrong? What if I told you how I felt and it ruined everything? We made that promise, hyung. We said we‘d date other people first, that we‘d know what we were choosing. I thought if I just stuck to it, if I waited until we knew for sure...” He drags a hand through his hair, messing up the crown even more. “But no one else ever felt right. No one else was you.”
“That thing you said earlier,” Yoongi says. “About it being cliché if your soulmate was someone you already knew—”
“I‘m an idiot.” Hoseok moves closer, cutting him off. “I said that because I was terrified. Because if it was you, that would mean... everything. It would mean all those years of trying to convince myself we were just friends were a lie.”
“What are you trying to say, Hoseok?” Yoongi needs to hear it, needs the words.
“I‘m in love with you,” Hoseok confesses, all in a rush. “I have been for years. Since before college, maybe since we were seventeen making stupid promises over convenience store ramyeon.”
“You…” Yoongi can‘t breathe. “You love me?”
“Yeah.” Hoseok chuckles. “Surprise?”
“You idiot.” It comes out half a laugh, half a sob, and then Yoongi is closing the distance between them, hands coming up to cup Hoseok‘s face. “You absolute idiot. I‘ve been in love with you since we were seventeen too. That promise was the stupidest thing I ever suggested.”
“Really?” His eyes shine with tears and hope.
“Really. I made that promise because I was terrified we‘d end up soulmates and you wouldn‘t feel the same way. I thought if we dated other people first, maybe I could get over you. Or maybe you‘d fall in love with someone else and I wouldn‘t have to deal with wanting something I couldn‘t have.”
They stand there in the hallway, the party noise muffled through the door, the red string finally completed, hanging loose between them.
“So what now?” Hoseok asks.
“Now?” Yoongi‘s thumb traces along Hoseok‘s cheekbone. “Now we stop being idiots.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Yoongi pulls him closer until their foreheads touch. “We wasted enough time, don‘t you think?”
“So much time,” Hoseok agrees. His hands come up to rest on Yoongi‘s waist. “Can I?”
“Yes,” Yoongi says before Hoseok can finish the question.
The kiss is soft and sweet and everything Yoongi has been dreaming about for years. Hoseok tastes like sweets and soju, and his hands are warm where they slide around Yoongi‘s back, pulling him closer. The paper crown falls off at some point, clattering to the floor, but neither of them care.
When they finally pull apart, Hoseok is smiling so wide it must hurt.
“Happy birthday,” Yoongi says.
Hoseok’s answering laugh ghosts against his mouth before he leans in for a kiss again. “Best birthday ever.”
Someone wolf-whistles from inside the apartment, and they break apart to find Taehyung and Jimin peeking out the door with matching grins.
“Finally!” Taehyung half-shouts. “Jiminie, you owe me twenty thousand won!”
“You bet on us?” Yoongi asks, incredulous.
“I mean, we already knew there was something going on between you guys even before we met, Yoongi hyung,” Jimin says brightly. “Sorry, but Hoseokie hyung isn’t exactly subtle whenever he talks about you. Tae said you’d get together tonight. I said it’d take at least another week.”
“Wow, I have terrible friends,” Hoseok tells Yoongi.
“The worst,” Yoongi agrees, but he‘s smiling.
“Come back inside,” Jimin says. “It‘s still Hobi hyung‘s birthday. We have cake to eat.”
Yoongi laces their fingers together, the red string wrapping around both their pinkies. “Lead the way.”
They go back inside together, hand in hand, and if everyone cheers when they walk through the door, well. Yoongi finds he doesn‘t mind so much. Later, when the party has wound down and it‘s just the two of them cleaning up, Hoseok says, “You know what the funny thing is?”
“What?”
“That promise we made. About dating other people first, making sure we knew what we were choosing.” Hoseok picks up the fallen paper crown, smoothing out the creases. “It actually worked. Just not the way we thought it would.”
“What do you mean?”
“We did date other people. We did try to fall in love with someone else. And it didn‘t work because we already knew who we wanted.” Hoseok sets the crown down and turns to face Yoongi. “So now, choosing each other... It is genuine. It‘s not just because of the string. It‘s because we already tried everything else and kept coming back to this. To each other.”
Yoongi thinks about all the people he dated, all the times he tried to make himself feel something that wasn‘t there. All the years of loving Hoseok from a distance, thinking it was hopeless.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I guess you‘re right.”
“I‘m always right,” Hoseok says, grinning.
“Don‘t push your luck.” Yoongi rolls his eyes fondly.
Hoseok laughs and pulls him into another kiss, and Yoongi thinks that maybe fate isn‘t so bad after all. Maybe the universe knew what it was doing, giving them this string, this connection, this chance.
Or maybe it was never about fate at all. Maybe it was always just two people, finding their way back to each other despite everything.
Either way, Yoongi‘s not complaining.
𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃
Yoongi sits in the same 7-Eleven where they made that stupid promise, eating ramyeon that’s somehow still as comforting as it was five years ago. Across from him, Hoseok slurps his noodles with the same unrestrained gusto, and Yoongi finds himself smiling before he even realizes it.
The autumn afternoon light filters through the store windows, softer than the harsh fluorescent glow of their 2 AM visits. Outside, the neighborhood is not as busy, most families gathered for Chuseok. Yoongi and Hoseok had spent the morning with their respective families, fielding the same questions, the same teasing smiles from their mothers who swore they had known all along.
Now it‘s just them, stealing a few hours together before they have to head back for evening festivities.
“What?” Hoseok asks, catching him staring at his face with a smile.
“Nothing.” Yoongi shrugs. “Just thinking about that one time we were here.”
“Ah...” Recognition and affection blend in Hoseok's expression. “The promise.”
“The stupid promise.” Yoongi shakes his head at the memory.
“Hey, it worked out in the end, didn‘t it?” Hoseok reaches across the table, fingers finding Yoongi‘s. The red string wraps around their joined hands, visible only to them.
“You’re right,” Yoongi agrees.
“And now we‘re stuck together forever. Soulmates and all that.”
“Terrible fate,” Yoongi says dryly.
“The worst,” Hoseok agrees, grinning. Then he leans across the table, clearly intending to kiss Yoongi right there in the middle of the convenience store.
Yoongi pulls back slightly, feeling his ears heat up. “Seok-ah, people can see.”
“So what, hyung?” Hoseok‘s grin widens. He stands up and moves around to Yoongi‘s side of the table instead, sliding into the seat next to him. The plastic chairs are tiny, forcing them to press close together. “We‘re dating. We‘re soulmates. Let them see.”
“You‘re impossible,” Yoongi mutters, but he doesn‘t move away when Hoseok‘s arm drapes over his shoulders.
“You love it,” Hoseok says confidently. His free hand finds Yoongi‘s, threading their fingers together under the table where it‘s less visible. A compromise.
“Maybe,” Yoongi concedes.
They eat in comfortable silence for a while. Hoseok‘s thumb traces idle patterns on Yoongi‘s shoulder, a touch that‘s become as familiar as breathing. Every so often, he‘ll lean in close to steal a piece of Yoongi‘s sausage or whisper something ridiculous that makes Yoongi‘s lips twitch.
“Hyung,” Hoseok says eventually. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not giving up on us. For... for loving me even when you thought it was hopeless. For making that stupid promise that somehow led us here.” Hoseok‘s head tilts to rest against Yoongi‘s. “For being you.”
Yoongi‘s chest feels tight in the best way. He turns his head slightly, pressing a quick kiss to Hoseok‘s temple before he can overthink it. “You make it pretty easy, Seok-ah.”
Hoseok beams, that sun-bright smile that still does stupid things to Yoongi‘s heart. “I love you, hyung.”
“I love you too.”
The afternoon stretches long and lazy around them. Through the window, Yoongi can see the same streets they walked as teenagers, the same neighborhood that witnessed their friendship grow into something more. The 7-Eleven hasn‘t changed much. But everything else is different now.
Hoseok nudges his knee against Yoongi’s under the table. His fingers play with the red string that connects them, weaving it between their hands like he still can‘t quite believe it‘s real.
“We should probably head back soon,” Hoseok says, but makes no move to leave. “Your mom said dinner would be ready by five.”
“We have time,” Yoongi replies, not ready to let this moment end.
“Thirty more minutes,” Hoseok negotiates, and Yoongi can hear the smile in his voice.
“Deal.”
There’s a new cashier behind the counter, the plastic spoon still bends too easily in his hand, and the air conditioner now rattles like it’s dying. But Hoseok is here, and Yoongi thinks he could live a thousand lives and still end up right in this spot. Exactly where he’s supposed to be.
With Hoseok. Always with Hoseok.