Work Text:
He’s not quite sure when it happened — when that thing that kept him going suddenly felt pointless.
Yoongi closes his eyes, feeling the pressure against the bridge of his nose from his glasses that have been on too long. He would take them off, but he’s practically blind now, so the glasses stay on. He leans back in his chair, exhaling deeply, trying not to let all those thoughts that are spinning around in his head become too real. He tries not to envision it, really, he does, but it seems like the computer screen is burned into his retinas. No matter where he looks, it’s a white, blank, document, words typed then deleted, then typed, then deleted, then typed, then deleted. He tried writing on a notepad, too. That’s how he usually does it. But he had thrown away so much paper that it began to feel wasteful, and moved to that Word Document, with the burning white screen that stayed empty.
He continues exhaling and inhaling. In. Hold for three. Out for three. In. Hold for three. Out for three. If he doesn’t count slow enough (one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand), then he starts to count faster and faster, and then he has a panic attack. Is he too old to still have panic attacks? He doesn’t know. He supposes it doesn’t matter. So he counts slowly. Purposefully. He needs to remember to breathe. He needs to remember a lot of things. He needs to remember how to breathe. He needs to remember how to write a song. He needs to remember how to finish a song.
He needs to remember how to live.
With a start, he opens his eyes, sitting up-right in his chair.
This is fine, Yoongi thinks, even though it’s pretty much not fine at all, I’m fine.
He glances around his studio. It’s dark. He did that on purpose; he doesn’t like those bright lights, the ones that make him feel itchy and hot. He likes encasing himself in complete darkness when he works, sometimes. Maybe just a lamp, so he can see his notepad. He thinks that if he did that now, though, he would probably forget how to count properly, so the lights stay on. They have been on for three hours now, and it feels odd — to see such a dark room covered in so much light. It looks wrong. But if they go off, then the dark will suffocate him.
The lights stay on, and he turns to look at the document again.
It’s still blank.
He needs to be reasonable. He’s being useless. He needs to operationalise this, maybe. Rational. Rationality. Yoongi is a pragmatic person. If he knew what was happening to him, if he put it into words, then maybe he could fix it. Right now, his brain feels muddled and weird, and it’s not useful at all.
He types on the document. And they’re not lyrics this time, but they’re words.
‘What’s wrong with me?’
That’s a morbid start. But maybe he has to be morbid to be rational.
He types:
‘I feel sad. Not sad, but I feel nothing. I like song-writing, but I feel like I don’t. It’s an irrational feeling.’
He pauses. Then, he adds,
‘I feel scared that I’ll lose this part of me.’
He chuckles dryly to himself. God. What a depressing train of thought.
‘What can I do?
-
Go on a walk. Namjoon says walks are good. I like being outside, contrary to popular belief.
-
Exercise. Taehyung used to be sad, really sad. He said exercise made him feel better. It’s supported by science, too.
-
Write. Except that’s the source of the problem. I really don’t want to. Even though it used to be how I felt better. This sucks.
-
Talk to somebody. Jiminie is a good listener. So is Seokjin-hyung. I just don’t want them to worry too much.
As he writes, the words get less factual and more like a series of pointless words and thoughts, whatever he thinks of first.
It’s like a diary, Yoongi muses to himself. Am I twelve? Writing in a diary?
He shakes his head. He’s journaling. Namjoon says journaling is good.
A loud knock at the door of his studio breaks him out of his diary/journaling/list-making, and in record time, he switches applications, goes to his producing app. It’s a half-baked, shitty melody, but at least it looks like something, and not the nothing he has been working on all day.
“Come in!” He shouts out, and winces when his voice cracks. He hasn’t used it in several, several hours.
The door swings open, revealing a Hoseok, shining bright, letting out a cheerful hello. He’s dressed nicely, Yoongi thinks. A cream sweater and brown cargo pants. He’s been wearing a lot of brown, lately. It looks nice on him.
“Brown looks nice on you.” Yoongi blurts out, immediately ducking his head to hide the red of his face. He thought he grew out of that habit — of saying whatever was on his mind. He supposes he hasn’t.
“Awww, really?” Hoseok coos, clearly sounding delighted. Yoongi looks back up again, and Hoseok is beaming. Bright, bright, bright. He slips into the room, taking off his shoes. “I think so too! But now that you’ve said it, I know it’s true.”
Yoongi responds with a click of his tongue, too embarrassed at his outburst to say anything else.
“I was wondering if you were still working, but of course you are.” Hoseok continues easily. Always easy. “You’re constantly working so hard. How many songs have you written today, hm? Twenty?”
His tone is joking, teasing, and Yoongi knows he should respond with a laugh, or a bashful comeback, but he just huffs, turning to his computer. “Something like that.”
To his credit, Hoseok immediately picks up on it. He walks over to Yoongi’s desk, standing behind his chair, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that there’s a concerned furrow in Hoseok’s eyebrows. “What’s up?” He asks softly, uncharacteristically.
Yoongi gestures vaguely at the track in front of them. It’s shit.
Hoseok hums. “Can I listen?”
He should say no. He shouldn’t let Hoseok know how shit everything he’s made is. He shouldn’t let Hoseok know. He’s not his responsibility. He’s not anybody’s responsibility but his own.
Hoseok seems to take his silence as rejection. “You can say no, it’s fine, hyung.”
And he doesn’t know why, he really, actually, doesn’t, but Yoongi shakes his head. “Nah,” he mumbles. “It’s fine. But I’m warning you, it’s shit.”
Yoongi presses play. They both listen in silence, Hoseok standing directly behind Yoongi’s chair. Yoongi grimaces a few times, in the especially rough patches, and he tries not to sink in on himself by the time the track ends.
Hoseok is silent for a few more moments. He’s thinking.
“It’s really rough —” Yoongi tries.
“I think the melody here is off.” Hoseok says, cutting off whatever excuse Yoongi was trying to make. He's pointing at a section of the track. “There’s a little too much. It feels like you’re overcompensating.”
Overcompensating. Hah.
Yoongi nods slowly, but he makes no moves to change anything. He glances up at Hoseok, who has an expectant look on his face. Yoongi still doesn’t do anything. He just saves the file, and wordlessly shuts down his computer. He can tell Hoseok is confused, trying to navigate whatever mood Yoongi is in, and it almost feels embarrassing. He’s 33 years old, and he’s acting like he’s a toddler, unable to control his weird temperaments. He spins his chair, and now he’s face-to-face with a Hoseok who’s biting his lip, staring at Yoongi with something, something, something. He has to look up, from where he’s sitting, but he still sees it. He sees that something.
Hoseok is calculating. It’s a look Yoongi recognizes from the dance studio, from when a move doesn’t quite work, and Hoseok tries to find a way to fix it while keeping everybody sane.
Finally, he lets out a breath, and says, “Do you want to walk?”
And Yoongi stares, for just a moment, before he shrugs. “Sure.”
///
It’s nearly midnight. Why are they walking? It’s ridiculous. It’s cold. It’s February. It’s too cold for this. Yoongi shivers, bringing his arms closer to his body, rigid and frozen.
“God, did you not bring a jacket or anything?” Hoseok asks, keeping his tone light. They’re walking along the river. Masks on, hats on. It’s quiet in this area, and it’s…nice. Yoongi likes to think the world breathes at night. He feels like it’s breathing now. In. Hold for three (count slowly). Out for three (count even slower).
“I didn’t expect to go outside today.” He mutters bitterly.
“Aish,” Hoseok starts, before he’s taking off his own coat, a thick, puffy, brown jacket, and shoving it in Yoongi’s direction. “Wear it.”
Yoongi stops in his tracks, glancing wildly between the jacket in front of him and Hoseok’s face, which is staring at him with determination.
“Seriously? Hobi, I’m not your girlfriend.” The words feel bitter on his tongue, which he really doesn’t want to get into right now. “You don’t need to give me your coat.” He swats the coat away, hands returning to his sides, running them up and down and up and down. He walks forward, ignoring how Hoseok’s jaw has dropped beneath the mask.
“Yeah. You’re not.” Hoseok mutters under his breath, and Yoongi pretends he doesn’t hear it.
As quickly as it was said, Hoseok bounces back and runs after Yoongi.
“Hyung, I’m being nice! I run hot, anyways. Seriously!” This time he doesn’t hesitate to throw the jacket over Yoongi. It lands across his head, blocking his eyes from seeing anything.
He scowls, grabbing the jacket and stuffing it in his arms (it’s warm). “I’ll be fine.”
“Oh my god, stop being so self-righteous and take it!” Hoseok groans.
And Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Hoseok. God. He feels like he should be more annoyed, but really, he doesn’t actually care that much. Why is he putting up a fight? It’s not worth it. Why would it be worth it? Hoseok is being nice. He relents, draping the jacket over his body, and letting that warmth in, in, in. It’s warm. It smells like Hoseok (he elects to ignore that last thought).
Hoseok suddenly squeezes in close, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders. “Brown looks good on you too, hyung.” He whispers.
Yoongi shivers. Why is he shivering? He’s warm now. “Okay.” He mumbles, feeling his face heat up. God, he’s too warm now.
Hoseok stays close though, saying it’s for Yoongi’s comfort, but Yoongi suspects he’s just cold and wants the body heat. He doesn’t say anything, though, because Hoseok is warm. He’s always been warm.
The two walk for a while longer. Hoseok talks, and talks, and talks, and Yoongi listens. He pipes in, every now and then, when he’s supposed to, but other than that, he listens. Hoseok’s arms have migrated to loop through Yoongi’s, the two looking like a married couple on a midnight stroll. It’s nice. Yoongi ignores how Hoseok’s breath is close, and if he closes his eyes, he can hear when Hoseok inhales and exhales. Is that creepy? It’s probably creepy.
“So,” Hoseok says with a hum, “want to tell me what’s going on?”
And Yoongi groans internally, because he really was hoping he would forget. Just let them walk.
“Do I have to?” He mumbles. Like a child.
“No.” Hoseok shrugs, looking out towards the river. “But you can if you want.”
Yoongi sniffs. Does he want to? It was on his list. Maybe he should. “I feel…”
He pauses. How does he feel? How could he describe it? He’s a songwriter. He should know how to describe it. He remembers his document, the words he quickly wrote.
I feel sad.
Not sad, but I feel nothing.
I like song-writing, but I feel like I don’t.
I feel scared that I’ll lose this part of me.
He exhales. “I don’t know how I feel. I can explain it, but I can’t name it.”
“Mkay.” Hoseok says, tilting his head a little. It lands close to Yoongi’s shoulder, but not on it. Hoseok is taller than him. But their heads almost hit each other. “Explain it then.”
Yoongi bites his lip. How honest is too honest? How much should he delve into all his issues with his bandmate? He’s done it in the past, but not to Hoseok. Hoseok is different. He’s sunshine and happiness and fun, and Yoongi can’t catch up. He’s years behind.
“Yoongi, you can explain it.” Hoseok says softly, as if sensing where Yoongi’s head is. “It’s okay.”
And then Yoongi does.
“Writing songs is easy.” He says flatly. “I write songs everyday. I write five, ten, songs everyday. It’s easy.”
Hoseok huffs out a breath of laughter.
“But I don’t know.” Yoongi hesitates. “Lately, it’s gotten harder. Not because song-writing itself is harder, because how could it have changed? I can’t have gotten worse. But it feels harder to do it. Like I can’t even get started. And then when I do, it’s shit. God, I’m behind. I’m so behind. And I open up that document, and nothing comes. Which is stupid, because I have all these… thoughts in my brain. So many thoughts. And they’re good thoughts, y’know? Thoughts that would be good songs. But I can’t write them. I feel frozen. I can barely write a word down. I feel like I have to remember how to breathe whenever I have to write. I have to count — fucking count — remembering how to breathe whenever I’m in my studio. It hurts. Can you believe that? It hurts to write. That scares me so bad. It’s so scary.”
And now he stops walking, and he turns. He stares at Hoseok, whose eyes are wide with concern and empathy and all the emotions that Yoongi can place but not write about.
“How could that thing that I love so much scare me?” Yoongi’s voice cracks. “How could I— I fear the thing that makes me happy? How fucking—how f—fucking fucked up is that?”
Oh, god. He’s crying. He’s crying in front of Hoseok. Happy, happy, Hoseok. He’s crying in front of Hoseok. His vision blurs, and he can’t place Hoseok’s expression, but now he doesn’t have to, because the next thing he knows, he’s wrapped into the tightest hug he’s ever experienced in his life. Hoseok’s hands wrap around his back, and move to his hair, running through it.
“Oh, oh hyung,” Hoseok says, broken and cracked, and Yoongi realizes he’s crying too. And that just completely destroys whatever semblance of control Yoongi has left, and he goes limp in Hoseok’s arms, tears running freely. Hoseok’s arms are running up and down, up and down Yoongi’s body, and Yoongi wraps his own arms around Hoseok’s neck. They just stand there, hugging in the cold night, both crying. Yoongi doesn’t know how long it lasts.
“I—” He chokes out. “I don’t know what to do.”
Hoseok sniffles. “H—hyung, you don’t have to do anything right now. Nothing at all.” He says, close enough to whisper, and Yoongi feels his breath through the masks.
Yoongi pulls away, looking at Hoseok’s red-rimmed eyes. “Hobi…”
“Hyung, please.” Hoseok says with a small whimper, hands grasping at Yoongi’s arms. “Hyung, hyung. Stay with me tonight. Please. Just for tonight. S—stay at my place.”
And Yoongi doesn’t know why Hoseok is begging, because even on his best and worst days, Yoongi wouldn’t refuse. “Okay.”
Hoseok exhales, and he seems relieved, nodding up and down as he mutters to himself. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Let’s go. I’ll— I’ll drive.”
Yoongi cracks a smile. “You sure you can while you’re in this state?”
“Oh —” Hoseok’s eyes widen, before he whacks Yoongi’s arm lightly. “God, you asshole. I can.”
///
Hoseok’s place is nice. It’s not as bright as what one might think, but it’s still light. It’s nice. Even at one in the morning, the lights are a nice, warm colour, basking the room in something gentle. Yoongi follows Hoseok into the living room, eyes exploring all the pictures on Hoseok’s wall and TV stand. He’s been here a million times before, but he looks anyway, eyes always landing on a selca the two of them took back during their early days — eyes loaded with heavy eyeliner, not yet crinkled with age, smiles wide and arms wrapped around each other. It’s in a cute little pink, plastic frame, a gag-gift from Seokjin a few years back. But the pink makes it stand out, and it ends up always being the picture Yoongi’s eyes gravitate towards.
Hoseok clears his throat. “You want water?”
Yoongi’s eyes snap back to Hoseok, mind blanking for a second before shaking his head. “I’m fine.”
He sits down on the couch. It’s not very comfortable — one of those couches you see in those fancy, millionaire homes, with barely any cushioning. It’s why they usually don’t sleep over at Hoseok’s. That, and the fact he doesn’t have a guest room.
Yoongi sighs. It’s fine. It’s better than being alone tonight.
“I can lend you some PJs.” Hoseok says, flopping down next to him. His head lands on Yoongi’s lap, and automatically, Yoongi begins to card his hand through Hoseok’s hair. “That cool?”
Yoongi hums, feeling the way Hoseok relaxes into his touch. “Yeah. Do you have enough blankets to cushion this stiff-ass couch?”
Hoseok blinks up at him, looking at him with something akin to maybe disappointment, or surprise, or hurt. Yoongi’s hand stops moving.
“What?” He asks tentatively, almost defensive.
Hoseok blinks, then laughs. Nervously. “Nothing. I just thought it might be better if we shared a bed. My couch is terrible.”
Yoongi exhales, continuing the carding through Hoseok’s hair. For a moment, he had thought he did something wrong. “Sure.”
Hoseok laughs again, still tense, despite the fact that Yoongi’s hand is moving gently across his scalp. “I mean — if you want, I can sleep on the couch. But I’m old. I know you’re older. But we’re both old. But if you’re more comfortable —“
“Hoseok.” Yoongi says, and Hoseok immediately clamps his mouth shut. Yoongi chuckles quietly. “We lived in a dorm for like, ten years. It’s fine.” And Hoseok still looks nervous, and a bit embarrassed, so Yoongi tacks on, “I want to share a bed with you.”
He ignores how it makes his cheeks feel hot, because Hoseok responds with an overjoyed smile.
Bright, bright, bright.
Hoseok lifts his hand and threads it through Yoongi’s free one, letting out a content hum. Yoongi pointedly looks away, because his face is getting even redder.
Hoseok giggles. “Look at me, you fool.”
“Don’t call me a fool. I’m older than you.” Yoongi mutters, but he obeys, looking back down at Hoseok, looking at his pretty, pretty, eyes. Yoongi had always thought his eyes were pretty — a rich, shiny brown colour. They match well with his face, and his smile, always bright, bright, bright. He has a song (or two, or three) in his drafts that may or may not have been inspired by it.
“You’ll still be a fool at 60 years old, hyung.” Hoseok grins. But then his smile fades, ever so slightly, and he looks intently at Yoongi’s face like he’s studying it. His eyes trail across Yoongi’s eyebrows, and nose, and eyes, and cheeks, and lips, before coming back up to meet his eyes. Yoongi would feel embarrassed, except Hoseok is being so genuine about it, and not at all judgemental. He doesn’t feel scrutinized, as he usually does when people look at him. People are always looking at him.
With Hoseok, he feels seen.
It’s quite a different feeling.
Hoseok exhales. “I love you, hyung. You know that, right?” He says softly, eyes darting across Yoongi’s face.
Usually, Yoongi would shove him off. Say something like you brat, or scoff, or roll his eyes. But Hoseok is so bright, bright, bright.
“Aish,” he mutters, but he smiles. “Me too, you brat.”
He still won't say it the proper way. But Hoseok understands anyway, because his smile returns, and he squeaks, hugging Yoongi’s body tight.
Bright, bright, bright.
They both get ready for bed next to each other in a comfortable silence. Yoongi changes into Hoseok’s pajamas — they’re far too big — and feels that little bit of warmth soak into his soul again. Hoseok takes a little longer than him to get ready for bed. His routine is far more rigorous, involves far more dancing and movement. By the time Hoseok is done, Yoongi is on top of his bed, hands clasped on his lap and staring at the ceiling.
“Hyung, why aren’t you under the covers yet?” Hoseok says with a laugh, placing his phone on his night stand. “Aren’t you cold?”
Yoongi frowns a little. “I was waiting for you,” he responds as if it was obvious.
Hoseok’s smile grows, and he practically jumps onto the other side of the bed, face first. He immediately groans into his pillow. “God, I don’t think my back can handle this anymore.”
“Yah,” Yoongi chastises, “you can’t say that. If your back can’t handle it, what would mine do?”
Hoseok, whether consciously or not, rolls closer to Yoongi’s body, until he’s basically on top of him. His arms flop unceremoniously onto Yoongi’s chest, while one of his legs is swung over Yoongi’s. He doesn’t have to look at him to know that Hoseok’s eyes are already closed. “When we can’t dance anymore, we can start a band instead.”
He hums, giving Hoseok a soft smile that he can’t see. “A seven person rock band?”
Hoseok laughs, bringing himself in closer to Yoongi’s chest. Yoongi wasn’t phased — after years of living together, sleeping wherever they could after a long day (the couch, a chair, a table once, in Jeongguk’s case), it wasn’t unusual for them to be close. Use Namjoon’s chest as a pillow, sleep with a head on Seokjin’s broad shoulders. “Yeah. You do guitar, Jin-hyung on bass, Jeonggukkie on drums… what else is there?”
Yoongi sniffs. “Piano, rhythm guitar… triangle. We can give Namjoon the triangle.”
“Hah — yeah. I wouldn’t trust him with anything else.” Hoseok’s voice gets a bit more slurred, a tell-tale sign that sleep was coming.
Yoongi yawns. “Ahh, I want to lay down properly.”
Hoseok groans, but he flops off of Yoongi, and they resituate themselves so that they’re both under Hoseok’s covers, and now without the excuse of “accidentally” flopping onto Yoongi, Hoseok is far.
He’s just on the other end of the bed, in arm’s reach. But it feels far anyway.
Yoongi doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t like it. Hoseok’s room is cold, because his fan is always on, but it isn’t that cold. And maybe it’s a little childish, but hey, Yoongi had a rough day — so he shivers, exaggerated, enough that the blankets rustle.
“Hm?” Hoseok was already facing Yoongi from his side of the bed, a far-away look on his face. But at the sight of Yoongi shivering, his head lifts itself from the pillow. “Are you cold?”
Yoongi ignores the red of his cheeks. “A little.”
Hoseok doesn’t say anything, for just a second. Then, he gives a curt nod. “Good.”
And Hoseok moves, and even though he’s only an arm’s reach away, it feels like the bed is an ocean. An ocean filled with waves and waves, or maybe it’s just the duvet, and slowly, Hoseok crosses the ocean, and ends up right in Yoongi’s face, his sleepy smile inches away. Like an ocean wasn’t hard to cross, like it was fine, as long as Yoongi was on the other end.
He doesn’t know why, but a lump grows in his throat. “Hi.” He whispers, trying not to let his voice crack.
“Hi.” Hoseok responds, matching Yoongi’s whisper. “Can I keep you warm?”
Yoongi blinks, and Hoseok takes it as a yes, because next thing he knows, they’re back to how they were before, but this time, it’s underneath the covers. Hoseok brings his entire body around him, and honestly, he’s not that much bigger than Yoongi, but he feels fully engulfed by Hoseok’s presence.
Maybe, Yoongi thinks, the main difference between them is that Hoseok is larger than life. Yoongi is just living it.
Hoseok sighs into his chest, his breath falling right next to Yoongi’s heart, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so glad you’re here. You can stay here, hyung. That way, I’ll just get to cuddle you whenever I want.”
Yoongi chuckles lowly, giving Hoseok’s arm a soft pat. “You’ll regret saying that in the morning. I’ll never get up.” He says, only half-joking.
“Mmm, good.” Hoseok mumbles, cuddling in tighter to Yoongi’s body, pressing his cheek against his chest.
“Good?” Yoongi muses, running a callused hand against Hoseok’s hair. He’s careful to avoid the face, as per the Rules™ of Hoseok’s face routine.
“Yeah, good.” He sighs again, and Yoongi can tell that he’s about to fall asleep, but not before he mumbles something else, voice thick with something Yoongi couldn’t name. “That way, I get to keep you forever.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond at first, because something in Hoseok’s voice changed. It feels more vulnerable, almost. Like he just told Yoongi a secret. The lump in his throat grows, and he inhales shakily to stop it from growing out of his throat and into his heart. He tries not to move his chest too much, because Hoseok is there.
“You wanna be with me forever?” Yoongi whispers into the dark room, voice sounding uncharacteristically unsure.
Hoseok, fast asleep, doesn’t reply.
///
In the morning, Hoseok gets up before Yoongi. Neither of them are surprised.
Yoongi wakes up with the fan in the room turned to its lowest setting, the covers adjusted so that they practically cocoon him in warmth, no doubt the work of Hoseok. He smiles to himself, spends a couple extra moments lying there, before sitting up. He knows his face his puffy from sleep, which is only confirmed when he grabs his phone from his charger and sees his reflection in the black screen. He checks the time, surprised to see it at 10:13 in the morning, which is far earlier than usual. He takes a moment getting out of the blanket cocoon that Hoseok has wrapped him in, mumbling complaints to himself that really don’t mean anything.
He trudges to the bathroom, splashing his face and making himself generally presentable. He stretches his arms, letting out a small groan. When he comes back out, he hears Hoseok before he sees him.
He’s singing (loudly), a foreign song that Yoongi doesn’t really know. Yoongi’s sure Hoseok doesn’t know the lyrics either, words coming out as a confidence jumble of nonsense. Yoongi pads into the kitchen, standing at the doorway as he watches Hoseok make some kimchi fried rice. He leans against the doorframe, watching as the kitchen light softly illuminates Hoseok’s face, and the sunlight from the window light the rest of him. He’s always known it, always seen it, but he thinks it’s a little bit magical how the light always finds Hoseok. All the light in the room and the sky seems to gravitate towards him, as if he’s the sun, and the world is a sunflower. Yoongi seems to be a sunflower too, because he stares with rapt attention, unabashed, listening to Hoseok sing and cook.
Hoseok lets out a loud, operatic adlib (Yoongi’s sure it isn’t in the original song), turning around with gusto, kimchi fried rice in hand. He lets out a loud yelp when he sees Yoongi at the door, staring at him with that fond smile on his face. He nearly drops the food, too, but he catches himself just in time, instead slamming it forcefully on the counter.
“Fuck. Hyung, you nearly killed me!”
Yoongi gives a slightly malicious smile, finally stepping into the kitchen, immediately zeroing in on Hoseok’s coffee maker. The coffee is still fresh, even though he suspects Hoseok has been up for hours.
“Sorry,” He says, not sorry at all, pouring himself a cup of coffee. No milk, no sugar.
Hoseok moves to sit down at the kitchen island, on one of the few yellow stools. “I didn’t even think you’d be awake.”
Yoongi shrugs, leaning against the counter so he could look at Hoseok, whose set two bowls on the kitchen island. “I didn’t expect it either. Guess I slept well last night.”
Hoseok, for whatever reason, turns red at this. “I’m glad. You deserve to sleep, hyung.” His eyes flit around the room, before he nods at the food he made. “You hungry?”
He isn’t, but he nods anyway, especially because Hoseok clearly cooked for him. He moves to the island, sitting on the stool next to Hoseok. “What song were you singing?”
Hoseok grins, pulling out his phone. “I told you about him before. It’s that guy from Puerto Rico, remember? Good music.”
“Ah.” It clicks in Yoongi’s head. “I remember.”
Hoseok nods, playing the song, humming along quietly. After a moment, he speaks again, almost as an afterthought. “It’s good. I’m actually surprised you remember.”
Yoongi blinks. “Why wouldn’t I?”
What he wants to say is of course I remembered. I remember everything about you. I remember even the things that haven’t happened yet.
He doesn’t say that. Obviously. That’s something he’s keeping in his head for the rest of time.
Hoseok looks at him for a moment, unsure. “I don’t know,” he says finally, his look morphing into one with a smile. “I’m just happy you did.”
The two eat in comfortable silence, music playing in the background. Hoseok has switched from the Puerto Rican guy to the Top 40, phone connected to the speaker Seokjin got him for his birthday.
You guys are such good song-writers, Seokjin had said, but I can’t hear any of it when you play it from your shitty wireless speakers.
Yoongi, as he eats, tries not to think of his own music, but he grows fidgety anyway. It’s almost 10:45. And even though he usually isn’t even awake right now, he grows anxious. I should be working. Why aren’t I working? I’m wasting time. I’m always wasting time. He stopped eating a while ago, now electing to drown in his own thoughts.
Hoseok, as always, notices. He takes Yoongi’s hand, bringing it down from his mouth, where he’s begun chewing on his hangnails again. He hadn’t even realised. Hoseok’s hand wraps around his own, and then they’re there, holding hands in his kitchen.
“You’ll be okay, yeah?” He says softly.
“Yeah.” He responds, automatically. Then he shakes his head, backtracking. “I don’t know.”
“I do know.” Hoseok insists, squeezing his hand tighter. “You’ll figure it out. If not today, then another day.”
Yoongi stares at their intertwined fingers, lost in thought. A thought is biting at the back of his mind, and he has a bad habit of being blunt, so he blurts out, “do you think we’ve peaked?”
He doesn’t have to look up to know Hoseok is frowning, processing Yoongi’s question.
He sighs, slipping his hand out of Hoseok’s. “Sorry —” He starts, but he’s quickly cut off by Hoseok grabbing his hand again, lacing their fingers together again, and saying, “No.”
“No?” He looks up.
“No.” He repeats, a determined look on his face. “We haven’t.” He doesn’t offer anything else, but it’s sufficient enough to quell Yoongi’s boiling anxiety.
“And you shouldn’t think that way.” Hoseok adds, giving Yoongi a look.
Yoongi sighs, running a thumb unconsciously over Hoseok’s hand. “Yeah, I know. Too quick to spiral.”
Hoseok's eyes light up and he's offering a smile. "We haven't even started our band yet."
Yoongi chuckles, amused at how proud Hoseok looks of his joke. "Of course. How could I forget?"
He nods, before tilting his head. “Are you going to try writing today? You don’t have to.”
“I want to write today,” Yoongi says immediately. “I hope I can write today.”
“You will.” Hoseok says easily, a twinkle in his eyes. “And if it’s all trash, you have drafts you can bring up. That’ll inspire you, one way or another.”
Yoongi nods, but he shifts in his seat. “Some of those are so old, I don’t think I could relate to it anymore.”
Hoseok hums. “Yeah. But someone will, right? It might be worth it to open them again. You might find some gold.”
///
Yoongi stares at the computer, his cursor over a file from seven years ago that he hasn’t had the courage to open yet.
He took Hoseok’s advice. They went to the office together, both too busy to ignore the work day, and diligently separated to their own studios. Yoongi, to be completely honest, was scared to walk into his studio. The idea that he’s trapping himself back in this room, where he has to write, has to spill his emotions or else he’ll lose his job, is stressful. He’s stressed. But Hoseok gave him a big smile, and said find something in your drafts. You don’t always have to work on something new.
And it seemed like obvious advice, but he followed it. He stared, hesitantly hovering over the file, debating whether or not to listen to it. Of course, it was the first “old song” he thought of when Hoseok mentioned it. He never had the courge to go further with it than a rough outline, but he still considered it one of the songs closest to his heart.
He exhales. Slowly. Then he clicked play.
The song was definitely lacking in certain places. It was old, after all. It felt a bit all over the place, a whirlwind of emotions and panic and fear that Yoongi was drowning in all that time ago. But, overall, it was good. It was a good start. He doesn’t even remember how much of himself he poured into the song. Funny, because it’s clear some parts didn’t have any lyrics (yet) — just a vague hum of what the melody should be. All bright and sad and scared at once.
The song finishes, and he feels suddenly empty. Quickly, he goes back to the beginning, turns the volume up, and clicks play again.
And again. And again.
It isn’t even because the production is that good. It really isn’t. It has potential, but it’s definitely not worthy of this looping he’s doing. But as he plays it, the memories come flooding back. Memories of hyung, remember to eat something, and you’re worth it and hyung, I love you.
Memories of him, crying himself to sleep, so very quietly so he doesn’t wake up Seokjin, thinking about how easily he would say hyung, I love you, not knowing how much Yoongi really loved him back.
Right in the middle of his forth loop, his headphones are practically thrown across the room.
“Yoongi!”
He startles, practically falling out of his chair, whipping his head towards a very disgruntled Hoseok.
“What the fuck, Hobi?” He breathes out, eyes wide.
“I’ve been calling your name for like, two minutes!” Hoseok says, an unimpressed look on his face. He’s standing above Yoongi, and he reaches out his hand for Yoongi to grab. He takes it, and then they’re standing right across from each other. Yoongi’s still recovering from the scare, but Hoseok ignores it, nodding towards the song. “What’s got you so enraptured? Is it an old draft?”
Yoongi freezes. “It’s — uhm. Yeah. It’s a — yeah.”
Hoseok bursts out laughing. “Is it that bad?”
He quickly shakes his head, moving to the desk to try to get the song out of here, out, out, out, but Hoseok stops him, pulling on his wrist.
“C’mon, let me listen!” He whines. “If it’s bad, we can laugh together.”
Yoongi shakes his head even more, trying to get closer to his computer mouse, but Hoseok is complaining through a fit of giggles, pulling his wrist in the other direction.
“Why are you so red, Yoongi-hyung?” He giggles. “I’ve never seen you so embarrassed over a song before.”
Yoongi hadn’t even realized he had grown so red, but now, he’s even more insistent that Hoseok does not listen to this song. Hoseok, however, does not get the memo, because he gives a rough shove to Yoongi’s chair, letting it roll to the other side of the room, all the while cackling.
Before Yoongi could say anything, Hoseok unplugs the headphones, and presses play.
The song fills the speakers in the room. Yoongi feels like shrinking in on himself, because damn these good speakers. Every sound, every lyric. And Yoongi has half a mind to just shut down the computer, but he glances at Hoseok, who seems ready to provide support and love, and suddenly he thinks all fight has seeped out of him. So, defeated, he sits back down and brings his knees to his chest, rests his forehead on them. He closes his eyes and listens.
God, it’s never been so obvious.
He tells himself that he’s just tired. But as the song plays, and Hoseok is uncharacteristically silent, he thinks that maybe it’s a relief to have it all spilled out in front of him. He kept it in all these years, a point of shame and bitterness and longing and sadness, a secret that he only let out once — in this song. After all, he’s not known to lie in any of his songs. He writes from his own perspective, and with this draft, this draft from years and years ago, his perspective is clear.
The song itself is simple. He never went crazy with the beats or the lyrics, too wrapped up in his own emotions, which somehow, makes it worse. He can’t chalk it up to a metaphor. It’s clear as day that this song is about a person, a person who is sitting right next to him in silence. A person, who is smart enough and knows Yoongi well enough to piece together the message of the song.
The last note rings out, and the silence is almost deafening.
Slowly, Yoongi looks up, his heart beating out of his chest.
Hoseok is staring at Yoongi with something he can only describe as wonder. It isn’t a look often seen on Hoseok’s face — usually reserved for those moments on stage where he’s utterly overtaken by emotions. And now, staring at Yoongi, in Yoongi’s studio, Hoseok looks at him with wonder.
His eyes keep flitting between Yoongi and the computer, as if it would give him any answers to the song.
“You —“ Hoseok says, his voice cracking. Yoongi doesn't know what to expect Hoseok to ask, but it definitely isn't; “how long ago was that?”
Yoongi darts his tongue out to lick at his lips. He debates lying. And then, he wonders if it’s even worth it anymore. What is there to lie about? He could pretend that he got over himself — oh, a few years ago, but it was just a phase. I'm over it. Don't worry. He goes back to his list in his head:
I feel scared that I’ll lose this part of me.
The lump in his throat is back. And he thinks that here, with Hoseok staring right at him, this is the rawest he’s ever felt. With his song and his guts laid out in front of the man he's secretly loved for eight years. And he wonders if he pushes this down, if he brushes it off, will he ever be able to recover? It's one thing to hide your feelings, but when directly confronted with them, would he lie?
And he thinks that, if he pushed it down one more time, this part of him will be lost for good. Like he’ll lock up his passion and love for both music and Hoseok all at once.
He gives Hoseok a look, and it’s so vulnerable that he feels like he’s going to break. “Seven years ago.”
Hoseok nods shakily, still darting his eyes between him and the computer. His eyes look glossy. Yoongi can’t tell if that’s a good or a bad thing.
Probably bad.
But after all this time, he at least owes it to Hoseok to be honest.
“And you— uhm. Sorry.” Hoseok wipes his eyes. “Is it about — about anyone?” He says it like he already knows, because he does. They have been in the same studio more times than they can ever begin to count. Hoseok knows how Yoongi makes his music. And the song couldn’t have been more obvious.
Yoongi nearly laughs at that. “Yeah. It is.” And he nearly chickens out, but he manages to croak out, “you know it is.”
Hoseok isn’t looking at him. Yoongi feels scared. He thinks that maybe Hoseok will never look at him again. But strangely, it feels like Yoongi can breathe. Namjoon always said bottling your emotions was dangerous, and he supposes that Namjoon is right, because once that song played, it felt like the lid of that bottle was finally able to crack.
He intended to leave it at that, but Hoseok seems at a complete loss for words, like he’s close to hyperventilating. He remembers how Hoseok once told him how he loves Yoongi’s voice, how it feels like cool water. He remembers how that made his heart skip, and he told Hoseok a story, a stupid story, because Hoseok said he liked his voice.
“I wrote it in the winter of that year.” He starts slowly. “I — I was scared. I was angry, too. I thought it was so, so, unfair that I loved—" He corrects himself, "love someone that I could never be with. And I didn’t know what it was at the time. I just felt so much, so I went into the studio and didn’t leave for hours. And I came out with a half-finished song, but it had all of these emotions, and I realized I would probably be in love for the rest of my life. And it was scary.” He glances up at Hoseok. “It wasn’t scary that I loved…him."
He pauses, swallowing. He might as well go for it. You only live once. It might ruin his career, his life, his relationship with Hoseok, but the cat is already halfway out the bag. "It isn't scary that I love you. The easiest — most wonderful person to love. What's scary is that I love someone so much and I could never do anything about it.”
Hoseok lets out a choked sob, turning away to hide what Yoongi assumes are tears.
He pauses, eyes wide. “Hoseok—“
“Please don’t."
Yoongi relents. It’s the least he can do. Hoseok didn’t ask him to confess any feelings. Hoseok doesn’t deserve Yoongi’s feelings. He commends himself for being truthful, but now, he needs to reap what he sowed. He briefly wonders if Hoseok still thinks that his voice is like cool water, because right now, it feels like his throat is burning.
He looks at Hoseok, and Hoseok looks back, desperate.
“Eight years?”
He nods, slowly. “I’m sorry.”
He means it.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Yoongi blinks, not expecting the question. “Why would I?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Hoseok fires back. “Why would you — keep that to yourself? Why wouldn’t you say anything?”
“Hobi—“
“No, wait. Let me finish.” He takes a shaky breath. Outside of the dance room, Yoongi has never seen Hoseok so serious. “I knew— I knew at least, in the beginning, you didn’t feel that way. That’s fine, that was okay. But then you—” He wipes his eyes. Even while being angry, his words are laced with tears. “You started, I dunno, changing. And I thought that maybe, maybe you started to feel the same. And so I waited. I waited. And you didn’t say anything. Nothing at all.”
He fumbles for his words, deeply confused. “Waited—? What do you mean, waited? What were you waiting for?”
Hoseok looks at him incredulously. “Are you being for real?”
“Wh—what?”
Hoseok seems to think. He scans Yoongi’s face, searching for any signs of deception. Or a prank. And then, without any warning, he springs forward, grabs Yoongi’s face, and kisses him.
Yoongi had imagined what Hoseok tastes like many times. It was, he admits, in his weakest moments. When he was drowning in fear, he imagined Hoseok coming close, whispering soft murmurs that calmed him down. He imagined tangerines — sweet, electric, maybe a little acidic. He imagined, with shame, the feeling of Hoseok’s lips on his own. Would they fit against his own? Would they feel soft? Would it matter?
Hoseok does not taste like tangerines.
He tastes, quite obviously, like Hoseok. Like the sun — like brightness and light, like love, love, love.
Hoseok separates from Yoongi. It makes sense, because Yoongi had hardly kissed him back, too shocked to move. He guesses, now, that in a fight-flight-or-freeze scenario, he would freeze.
He stares at him for a long time. He’s still standing, eyes wide, like he just came to terms with what he did.
“Fuck, hyung —” His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to, I really— you’re just so dense, and I—”
This time, it’s Yoongi who moves. He stands up, bringing Hoseok closer to him, a desperate noise in his throat. And this time, when their lips touch, they’re both moving. Hoseok’s hands are tangled in Yoongi’s hair, pulling and playing with the loose strands. Yoongi’s hands are settled comfortably on Hoseok’s waist, but it doesn’t last long, because it suddenly isn’t enough. He wants to feel Hoseok. He wants to feel all of him. After the lid of the bottle has cracked, everything has spilled out. Now, he’s desperate to know every inch of Hoseok. His hands move up and down Hoseok’s back, they move to his hair and his nape, all while kissing Hoseok like he'll die if he doesn't.
Hoseok separates for a breath, but Yoongi immediately chases him. He would follow Hoseok to the ends of the Earth — an inch is hardly anything. Hoseok makes a small, surprised noise in the back of his throat, one that is immediately swallowed by Yoongi. The noise brings Yoongi back, and he leaves Hoseok’s lips, but barely — his face is hovering just centimeters away.
“I have loved you for so, so long.” He whispers. The words are close enough where he’s sure Hoseok can feel them on his lips.
“I know.” Hoseok responds. His voice is cracking, and his hands are travelling across Yoongi’s scalp, almost as if to test if Yoongi is actually here. “So have I.”
“I wish you said something.”
Hoseok moves a little farther back, and this time, Yoongi lets him. His face is flushed, but the joy in his eyes in unmistakeable.
Yoongi did that. He did that.
“Why didn’t you?” Hoseok asks softly.
He supposes that was a good point. “I was scared.”
Hoseok nods. “So was I.”
Yoongi almost doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t believe that Hoseok understands the extent to which Yoongi loves him. His bottle of emotions has shattered into dust, and with it, any restraint that he could pretend he still has.
“I thought it would be impossible." Yoongi murmurs. "For you to love me like I love you. You’ve always been the same, you never looked at me differently. I thought— you wouldn’t even come close to developing anything for me. I never— never noticed.”
Hoseok smiles, nearly imperceptively sad. “Of course you never noticed. I treated you like I always have.”
Yoongi blinks. “And how is that?”
“Like I love you.”
Yoongi doesn’t understand the implication of the words, not right away. But when he does, his eyes widen. Hoseok looks back at him, some sort of fierce expression on his face. And Yoongi, he does not cry. But Hoseok does something to him. Something vulnerable. And here, for Hoseok, he bursts into tears.
Hoseok, of course, immediately brings them together. He wraps his arms around him, whispering soft words that Yoongi can’t understand. He is so soft. He is so bright. Yoongi is so dark. He’s so, so dark. How could someone like Hoseok ever love someone like him?
“You always made space for me.” Hoseok answers, even though Yoongi has said nothing out loud. “You always believed in me. How could I not love you? You’re so, so kind. So loving. So beautiful, my love.”
Yoongi tries not to, but he cries harder. “I’m not—” He hiccups. “I’m not kind. I was—I was angry. All my life. How is that kind? How could you like something like that?”
He can feel Hoseok’s smile against the top of his head. “You were kind despite being angry. You have always, always been kind.”
Yoongi has nothing to say, so he stays quiet. He keeps himself in Hoseok’s embrace, just until he begins to calm down. He puts some space in-between the, just so he can look. Hoseok is the most beautiful man he has ever seen in his life. Even with Yoongi’s tears staining the fabric of his shirt, and with ruffled hair and glossy eyes, he is the most beautiful person on Earth.
“I love you.” He repeats.
“I love you too.” Hoseok responds, bringing Yoongi closer in his arms again. He whispers in Yoongi’s ear, “I loved you then. I love you still. I love you now.”
He says it like a mantra. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Yoongi feels warm. And now, he too feels bright, bright, bright. “I love you forever.”
And in the back of his head, he starts humming a new song.