Chapter Text
Yoongi threw back his third shot of the evening, courage burning in his veins (or maybe that was the liquor) and steadied himself against the bar. “Okay,” he declared. “Okay, I’m gonna do it.”
“Are you actually, or is this gonna be like the past thirty five minutes?” Namjoon looked up from where he was slumped over, a hand around his ridiculously pink and fruity drink, and leveled an irritatingly skeptical look at Yoongi — who didn’t appreciate that, not one fuckin’ bit, because like Namjoon could talk when it came to picking up people at a bar.
“Shut up, you’re gonna make him lose his nerve.” Hoseok leaned across, excitement evident on his features. The strobe lights were casting his smile in neon hues every second, and it was almost disorienting. “Yoongi, c’mon, I’m so bored back here. Please, I don’t let you guys use my employee discount to just sit at the bar and whine. Let’s get some action, for chrissake.”
Yoongi’s stomach did somersaults, and he looked up from his annoying gaggle just in time to see Blond-And-Gorgeous glance his way, a small smile gracing his features.
Blond-And-Gorgeous was a new installment in their club of choice, which was mostly their club of choice for the fact that Hoseok bartended so everything was cheaper and it was far enough from all the universities that Yoongi didn’t have to worry about sleeping with an eighteen year old by accident. And yeah, Yoongi didn’t mind their weekly visits — they were usually low-key enough, and when he was really in the mood to party it was safest to have all his friends around — but this was a new level. This went from “didn’t mind” to “if he’s here I’ll come every night of the goddamn week, because guys, have you seen his ass?”
Blond-and-Gorgeous was currently leaning against the wall talking animatedly to two much taller boys than him, throwing his head back in laughter every few minutes and sending pointed, flirtatious glances in Yoongi’s direction.
At least, he hoped it was his direction, or this was about to get really fuckin’ awkward.
“No, I’m gonna do it.” Yoongi murmured. “Alright. If I actually get somewhere with this none of you better talk to me for the rest of the night. Namjoon, I swear, I don’t care if you cut your goddamn hand off, we’re not gonna have a repeat of last time.”
“She looked like an existentialist, how was I supposed to know she wouldn’t appreciate Nietzsche?”
“Nobody in a club appreciates Nietzsche, they can’t even pronounce his name.” Yoongi snapped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Blond-and-Gorgeous giggle again, one of those full body laughs that shook his delicate frame, and groaned inwardly. He was about to strike out so bad.
Yoongi released the death grip he had on his shot glass, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the bar. Apparently Blond-And-Gorgeous saw him coming, because he straightened up and stepped away from the wall too, a kind of smug anticipation on his face. God, Yoongi wanted to kiss that stupid, beautiful, smug face.
The music was deafening, and it took about three seconds for Yoongi to realize he had absolutely no plan.
Fuck.
Blond-And-Gorgeous was waiting.
He panicked, but his legs wouldn’t stop moving. Oh god. This wasn’t good. What did he do when he got there? What was a normal way to start a conversation with someone you maybe wanted to sleep with and maybe wanted to marry? Was Yoongi even capable of starting a conversation?
He came to a sharp stop in front of Blond-And-Gorgeous, and up close he was even more dizzying. Hell, Yoongi could probably count the individual lashes that curled out from his eyes, black and lush and long. His golden hair fell down into his face, and he looked at Yoongi with a coy smile.
So he said the first thing that came to mind.
“Wanna dance?”
Blond-And-Gorgeous was obviously surprised. “Dance?”
Oh god, now he’d have to stick with this. He didn’t even know how to dance. He swallowed thickly and nodded, praying that his nervousness wasn’t visible on his face.
Blond-And-Gorgeous grinned suddenly, wide and glowing, and nodded. “Yeah, okay, let’s dance.” He laughed. “I’m Jimin, by the way.”
Blond-And-Gorgeous had a name, and it was just as cute as he was. “Yoongi,” He managed, before Jimin had him by his wrist and was towing him out to the dance floor. He shot his friends a frantic look, and saw their eyes trained on him with just as much terror in their eyes.
Jimin settled in front of him, hands light and burning on Yoongi’s hips, and dipped forward to whisper in his ear. “Are you a good dancer, Yoongi?”
Shit. “Not in the slightest,” he admitted.
Jimin laughed, and the sound was like warm honey. “That’s good to know.” Yoongi could see his curving lips from the corner of his eye. “Because I’m a choreographer, and I teach private dance classes. At my own studio.”
Yoongi’s entire throat was dry. “Is that so?” He croaked out.
“Mm-hmm,” Jimin pulled back, mischief in his eyes. “I usually don’t dance for free, but you’re so cute that I’m going to have to make an exception.”
Yoongi wasn’t sure if this was about to be the best night of his life or the worst.