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he dreams of cages; more specifically, ribcages. seokjin's ribcage, actually, underneath yoongi's hands, and his smooth soft stomach heaving when he touches him there and there and there. his skin is gold and bruises pink and purple and red under yoongi's lips. the vision is always only half there- seokjin's body, but none of his noises, the quiet little gasps and moans and whines that yoongi is certain would fall out of his mouth. his dreams are silent, the air thick with guilt and want instead of seokjin's pretty voice.
his dreams hurt but waking up is worse, because then there is the real seokjin. after a particularly vivid dream yoongi woke up to a damp patch in his underwear and seokjin passed out shirtless on the opposite bed. he was lying on his back, looking like a model, like a film star. his skin is a faded dreamy sort of gold in the dim light from the lamp they both forgot to turn off and yoongi wishes he could touch, to find out if he is as soft as he looks. there's a delicate little mole near his belly button and yoongi wonders what it would be like to kiss it.
---
seokjin collapses on the floor of the practice room and draws his shirt over his head to try and take the sweat running freely down his face. yoongi is entirely sure they've never practiced this hard for anything in their lives (ok, that's definitely an exaggeration but yoongi prides himself on being a dramatic) and he is thoroughly exhausted. dancing is evil. yoongi feels bad but seokjin is taking it much, much harder. his back is tacky with sweat and sticks to the wooden floors, making a disgusting noise when he arches his spine to get some relief from the heat. yoongi's mouth goes dry and hoseok is staring at him but can he look away? fuck no.
“it's not that bad,” jimin laughs, panting as he stands over him. “you're such a princess.”
“if princesses don't have to practice dancing for six hours straight then sign me up,” seokjin whines, rubbing a hand over his sticky stomach. his long pretty fingers are infuriating and captivating and a million other -ings.
“i'm almost certain that's what princesses do,” jimin continues. “what are you showing off for? where are your abs, hyung?”
“disrespectful,” seokjin sighs, his tongue clicking. “none of you kids treat me right.” the teasing escalates into a playful little squabble that yoongi is oblivious to, because he's too preoccupied with more pressing matters.
jimin is right, he doesn't have abs. that's part of the reason yoongi is hurting so bad. seokjin is soft and warm to hug and yoongi imagines pressing his face against his belly and kissing the mole above his navel just like he does in his dreams. seokjin's fingers would curl into his hair and maybe he would giggle because yoongi's lips tickle-
“take a picture,” hoseok says casually as he passes by yoongi en route to a fresh water bottle. “it'll last longer.” it's supposed to be teasing but he says it like a warning.
you can have anything you want, yoongi, but not this. so naturally he wants it harder than he's ever wanted anything.
“fuck off,” yoongi murmurs, folding his arms hard and staring at his reflection in the mirror across the room instead of at seokjin's bare torso. hoseok is already long gone.
---
“will you dry my hair?” yoongi shuts his laptop abruptly as seokjin steps into their room, a towel slung around his neck and wet hair dripping. his shirt is off, of course it's off, and a rebellious bead of water falls from his hair and onto his chest. yoongi definitely doesn't track its progress as it rolls down jin's torso.
“are your arms broken? you can do it yourself,” yoongi says brusquely, forcing his eyes to meet jin's.
“they might as well be broken,” jin whines, flailing a useless arm dramatically in yoongi's direction. “i worked so hard today and now they hurt. if you dry my hair for me i'll- ok, i don't really know what i'll do but i'll do something nice for you. please?” seokjin is giving him the eyes , big and dark and prettier than anything yoongi has ever seen. he's so weak for him. with a heaving sigh, yoongi relents and moves to jin's bed, scooting back on it so there's room for jin to sit.
yoongi underestimates how large seokjin is. he invades yoongi's space easily and quickly, bare back pressing against the skin of yoongi's knees. seokjin has already plugged in the hair dryer and yoongi takes it from him with a long-suffering sigh. you can do this , he tells himself, but the god honest truth is that he can't. not when there's so much of seokjin, tanned and warm and soft the touch. he smells like all of yoongi's favorite scents wrapped into one and it's killing him slowly.
“might want to get started before i get old and lose all of the hair you're supposed to blow dry,” seokjin sing songs. yoongi resists the urge to smack him with the hair dryer and flicks it on instead so seokjin can't complain anymore.
he preens like a peacock under yoongi's touch, tipping his head back so he can reach easily, lips parting in a sigh when yoongi runs his fingers through his wet blond locks. he's such a princess. yoongi finds that he doesn't really mind spoiling him. seokjin, despite the noise of the hairdryer, starts falling asleep. yoongi can feel it. he sways back against yoongi, slouching and slumping. they had a long day, yoongi remembers. he's not tired, but seokjin is usually asleep at this hour. his hair is only barely dry but yoongi shuts the hairdryer off anyways. it would be cruel to make seokjin stay up anymore.
“why did you stop?” seokjin asks, twisting around and rubbing at his bleary eyes.
“you're practically falling asleep on me,” yoongi pretends to complain. “it's dry enough. you need to sleep.” he sets the dryer down and climbs around seokjin to get back to his own bed. but seokjin stops him before he can retreat back to safety, his pretty fingers wrapping around yoongi's wrist.
“thank you, yoongi,” seokjin yawns out. his hair is a complete and total mess because he hadn't supplied yoongi with a brush.
yoongi sighs, ignoring the burn of seokjin's hand around his wrist as he reaches up with fingers that are only barely shaking to fix seokjin's hair. “you're a mess,” he tells him. it's hard to speak because he feels like he's holding his breath, like the world will end if he exhales the wrong way. seokjin is sleepy eyed and soft around the edges as he stares up at yoongi. yoongi's fingers stutter in his hair as he attempts to finish the task but seokjin doesn't notice. he never notices. sometimes yoongi wishes he would- it would make getting over him a hell of a lot easier.
yoongi smooths a piece of hair down, brushing over the shell of seokjin's ear before pulling away entirely. “go to sleep, baby,” he says, tongue a big dry mass in his mouth. seokjin rolls his eyes, and thank god he took it for the joke it should have been.
“good night, yoongi,” seokjin says softly as yoongi flicks off the light en route to his bed. yoongi hums in response and retreats to his nest of blankets. does he dream of the cute mole at the junction where seokjin's neck and shoulder meet? nobody will ever know. does he dream of kissing it? again, it remains a mystery.
he is completely fucked.
---
“you can tell him, you know. he won't be mad or grossed out,” hoseok says quietly, following yoongi's eyes to where he is (of course) staring at seokjin. they're having a rare night in, all seven of them. taehyung produced a karaoke machine from god knows where and seokjin is currently dominating against namjoon, collapsing against the other in a fit of giggles every time namjoon's voice cracks. yoongi tries to pretend he's not flaring up with jealousy from his seat across the room.
“how do you know?” yoongi mumbles, hand tightening around the neck of his bottle. hoseok is right, though. of course he is. seokjin would accept his confession with grace and a heartfelt apology for not feeling the same way. but it would be too- too embarrassing, and maybe a little heartbreaking.
“i know a lot of things that you don't. much more than you realize.” hoseok flashes him a little crooked grin that makes the corner of his mouth dimple. yoongi returns it with a deadpan stare.
“like what?”
“i'm not saying. but maybe you should consider,” hoseok says, slipping off his chair as he prepares to join the game, “that while you've been looking at him, he's been looking at you.”
“hoseok, what the fuck?” but he's already joined the fray. yoongi sighs and presses the cold bottle to his forehead. he ends up slumped over the table and not understanding much of anything at all.
(he wonders if the eyes he feels on his back are just wishful thinking.)
---
a week later. they're circuiting the radio shows again, answering the same cycle of questions over and over and playing the same games. yoongi was bored of it before they even began. thankfully, they had managed to escape the “ideal type” question until now. taehyung violently knocks his knee against jungkook’s when the MC says it, barely holding back a cheer of victory because he had bet that this would be the time they were finally asked The Question.
the answers are stereotypical and nondescript, only a few creative splashes here and there. (taehyung wants his ideal type to be unique , which could mean something frightening coming from tae.)
yoongi is caught off guard when the mc reaches him, because he had been busy trying to steal glances of seokjin taking careful little sips off his too-hot coffee, eyes scrunching up every time he burnt his tongue. it was adorable and yoongi couldn't control himself-
“tall,” he blurts out, realizing his fatal error a few moments too late. everyone is staring, especially hoseok, but he can't stop himself. “kind. caring. sweet, and, uh, bossy. cute, though, and likes cooking. since i'm hopeless in the kitchen,” he throws in desperately, and it earns a cheesy laugh from the MC. hoseok is raising his eyebrows at him, subtly mouthing tall? yoongi refuses to look at him.
namjoon goes, stuttering a bit after yoongi's odd performance. and then it's seokjin, who yoongi can't bring himself to look at.
“well,” seokjin says thoughtfully, dragging a finger around the rim of his coffee cup. yoongi dares to glance up and sees him staring into his cup like it's going to give him the answers.
“short,” he starts off, and all of the air in yoongi's lungs abruptly evacuates. all girls are short compared to seokjin, he tells himself. get a fucking grip.
but it doesn't stop there.
“hard working. cute, obviously. someone soft on the inside and a little rough on the outside, because it makes it more special to make th- her smile. stubborn. caring, even if they don't think they are. creative. and talented. and, uh,” seokjin trails off, probably realizing how long he's been talking. “my best friend. someone who can be both.”
“how sweet!” the mc coos, but it fades away into a dull roar. seokjin isn't looking at him, he's looking anywhere but him, hands folded neatly on the table and eyed trained on the mc. yoongi feels sick, but- but the good kind of sick, like the queasy feeling you get in your stomach before jumping off a diving board. like you know it isn't that scary, like you know it'll be great once you jump, but you can't quite force yourself.
what is he waiting for? hoseok was right. it's time to jump.
(the next time yoongi looks up, seokjin's eyes are on him. he waits for him to look away, retreat back into himself, but it never comes.)
---
the car ride back from the radio show is quiet save for the tired murmurs of the younger boys. yoongi and seokjin are in the very very back, at hoseok’s insistence. they're almost touching, just quite, but it's not enough.
“so,” seokjin says softly, taking an earbud out so he can speak. he looks out the window instead of at yoongi. “tall.”
yoongi licks his dry lips and stares very intensely at his phone. “tall,” he echoes, flicking his thumb up and down the screen and pretending to read the words.
seokjin only hums and then slips his earbud back in. yoongi is- yoongi doesn't know what he is, or what he feels. he knows that he wants seokjin exactly three inches closer to him and he wants- he wants.
---
“so,” yoongi says gruffly, accepting another dish that seokjin hands him to dry. they got stuck with dish duty, although he could've sworn that it had been namjoon and hoseok's night to do it. interesting. seokjin glances at him curiously out of the corner of his eyes, but doesn't stop scrubbing at the numerous dirty dishes that seven messy boys created.
“so,” yoongi tries again, struggling to find his voice and make it stay with him. “your hypothetical type. short.”
“mhm,” seokjin says. “and cute. really cute, actually, probably much cuter than they realize. stubborn. lazy, but in a good way, because y- they're hardworking too. amazingly talented. competitive, and a little quiet sometimes, and- and really bad at picking up signals.” a glass slips from his fingers and hits a plate on the way down, shattering cleanly in three big pieces. seokjin's face is pink but yoongi doesn't think it's because of the accident. he hopes.
seokjin mumbles something that might be a curse and starts to reach in after the shards but yoongi grabs his wrist to stop him.
“you'll cut yourself,” he says, voice sounding too loud in his ears. everything is too loud. the water running, his heartbeat in his ears. “that- that doesn't sound hypothetical.”
“that’s because it's not,” seokjin says, and it sounds like a sob even though he's not crying. “you're so dumb.”
“how dumb have i been?” his throat is thick and it's a battle to swallow but he does, and he hopes. “show me. show me how dumb i am.”
and then seokjin is upon him, hands wet and soapy as they come up to cup his cheeks. his lips are soft and it's like kissing warm honey, smooth and sweet and homey. it's a chaste, close mouthed kiss, two pairs of lips pressed against each other and nothing more, but yoongi feels like he's falling apart at the seams just from this. seokjin kept his distance at first but when yoongi's lips part a bit in encouragement he makes a happy noise and moves them against the kitchen counter. he's pinned there by seokjin's weight but really, there's nowhere else he would rather be, other than here against the counter in seokjin's soapy hands.
seokjin pulls his lips away but comes back for one more quick, gentle kiss, thumb rubbing back and forth against yoongi's cheek before he pulls away entirely. his arms loop around yoongi's neck instead, resting gently on his shoulders. yoongi hooks his fingers into his belt loops so he can't go too far.
“oh,” yoongi says, voice low.
“oh,” seokjin echoes, lips quirking on a smile. “ that's how dumb."
“i’ve wanted you to kiss me like that for two years now,” yoongi says abruptly, the words rushing out of him like a flood. seokjin's kiss opened the gates. “you're literally- all i can think about, or look at, some days, because you're so beautiful all the time, and you-”
“yoongi,” seokjin interrupts with a breathless little laugh. “you don't have to confess your undying love to me right this moment. i just want to kiss you. can i just kiss you? a lot?”
“a lot,” yoongi repeats. “yeah, i think- i think that's a good solid plan. kiss me a lot.”
---
hoseok comes in to check on them an hour after they started the dishes, because the water has been running a very long time and if-
yoongi is on the counter, legs wrapped loosely around seokjin's waist. seokjin's got a hand gripping his thigh like it's the cure to cancer and another exploring under his shirt, fingernails pushing crescents into the skin of his hip. yoongi is making soft noises that hoseok has never heard before and never ever wants to hear from yoongi ever again. he turns tail and heads straight back to his room without another word, water bill be damned.
(he's happy they finally stopped pining after each other, but they're going to need to implement a “no screwing around in areas outside the bedroom” rule. at least they could pretend to follow it.)