Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Say, hyung, if I... If I told you I was planning to switch courses," Taehyung begins, pausing to twist his mouth at the same time that he peers through the narrow slits of his bangs. "If I... told you I was planning to ditch Theatre for ArtsMan or something, what would you do?"

Yoongi furrows his eyebrows. His alcohol tolerance is laughable at best, and it's been a good two weeks since he's last had anything remotely alcoholic — no, Hoseok, root beer doesn't count — because he and Taehyung entered some weird roommate pact where they swore to not drink until they passed their last mid-term paper, but he's pretty darn sure he isn't drunk enough to be making things up in his head yet. He's only halfway through his first bottle of beer. He might not have had enough rest the past few days prior to dumping his music theory paper in his professor's pigeon hole, but he was able to nap earlier before Taehyung barged into their shared dorm room and used his lap as a pillow for an hour-long rest. And Taehyung's lips are still parted, proof that he'd just lost their little game of who-can-stay-quiet-while-drinking-longer-than-the-other.

To be fair to Taehyung, the kid lasted a good ten minutes, but only because he spent half of that grunting under his breath as he tried one of those Youtube tricks, fumbling with a spoon and his bottle of beer.

Yoongi laughs to himself. Close to half a decade later and Taehyung still hasn't learned his lesson, still keeps indulging Yoongi in his little games even with the knowledge that he'll never win. They've been bumping into each other along the same hallways but never in the same classes for four years now; been roommates for three. Two years ago, they started doing these little gigs in bars in Hapjeong, and a year ago they'd literally taken their music to the streets, busking on the off-chance that they had time to do more than try to survive through another year of university. Yoongi still has a good two years of school left, and Taehyung... can easily finish the following year, if he stops staggering his subjects and actually takes all twelve units in one go, so if they stick with each other up until they have to leave the university already with their diplomas in hand, if they somehow manage to not drift apart sometime during now and hell period that is thesis, then—

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me. That's just rude, hyung. Rude!" comes Taehyung's voice, faint enough to pass as a whisper but just rough enough to be a grumble. He sticks one foot in Yoongi's side, wiggles his toes a little in an effort to tickle Yoongi, but all he ends up doing is twisting his ankle a bit too much. "Fuck, that hurts. Ah, crap—"

Right, crap — that's what this whole thing is. Taehyung first mentioned wanting to go for a different course six months into being his roommate, then made a passing comment about it again a year after. He managed to one-up himself the following year, securing a copy of the transfer form one fine Wednesday afternoon, but he somehow lost the document even before he could fill it out. Not that Yoongi's been keeping track of everything Taehyung does — it's just easy to notice things when Taehyung takes up half of his line of sight all the time.

"Don't think I've forgotten, hyung, because I haven't. I remember everything," Taehyung grumbles. Two beats, then Yoongi gets a whiff of the scent of beer in Taehyung's breath, the faint touch of cucumber and melon shampoo in Taehyung's hair, and feels warmth bloom on the bridge of his nose when Taehyung leans much, much closer. "Now, again: I'm telling you I've made plans of saying 'goodbye' to Theatre forever—"

"Because your blockmates are boring as hell and go by whatever acting textbook you guys have every single time."

"Because — shut up, hyung — because I think I'm not... fit for acting anymore—"

"Because you think your life's actually a Disney movie instead of a badly-written TV show."

"Because pretending gets— Hey, there's nothing wrong about Disney movies!"

Yoongi shrugs. "I'm not saying anything's wrong with them," he argues, "I'm just saying you'd rather have your fairytale ending than some... I dunno, dramatic chase scene in the airport where the love of your life confesses to you and begs you to stay or something." He thins his lips into a small smile, then takes a long swig of his drink. He quickly regrets it, though, because the next thing he knows, Taehyung's reaching over, slapping him on the chest wailing, my life is not a fucking telenovela! the loudest his sore throat will allow at the same time that he straddles him.

"Hey—Hey! Enough— Taehyung, get off—" His breath catches in his throat when Taehyung starts digging fingers in his sides in a desperate effort to tickle him. "Kim Taehyung, I swear to God, if you don't get off me right this fucking moment, I'm going to rip your balls off—"

"No, not getting off," Taehyung retorts, voice firm, resolute, and that's what has Yoongi looking up to meet Taehyung in the eye. Taehyung isn't the best actor in his program, not by a long shot, but Yoongi knows a serious Taehyung when he sees it — lips pressed together into a thin, thin line, eyebrows slightly furrowed, and the shock on his own face so clear and crisp in his reflection on Taehyung's irises. "I'm staying here 'til you give me an answer, so you better speak up. Now."

Yoongi takes a deep, shaky breath. There are a number of ways this can pan out. He can tell Taehyung to go, have fun, follow his heart or whatever bullshit supportive friends are supposed to say. He can... tell Taehyung to not throw away all the hard work he's poured into being the actor that he is now, just stay in the Theatre program, you're almost done with your course work, anyway. Unless you want to torture yourself and start over, I dunno. Maybe that's a kink of yours. Not that I wanted to know. Or he can be really, really upfront with Taehyung, tell his friend that he's always chickened out of every attempt, no matter how close he already is to reaching his goal, so what gives? How's this try any different from the others? Why don't you just stay?

He says none of those though, instead asking, "Arts management?" Taehyung nods immediately, sucks in his lower lip, and traces the bridge of Yoongi's nose with his gaze before looking back up and meeting Yoongi in the eye. "That's in Seocho, right?"

Taehyung scrunches his nose. "It's less than an hour away, hyung," he murmurs, even kind of groans, but Yoongi can very well hear the little lilt in his tone. Now this is the Taehyung he's known for nearly half a decade already, the Taehyung he used to find more annoying than amusing. The Taehyung he's more familiar navigating, because for all of Taehyung saying everything he feels he has to say, there are still parts of him he doesn't share with everyone, not even the people who supposedly know him best — that kid from Technical Theatre, Jimin, Yoongi. "Line 6, then line 2. You don't even have to walk that far—"

"Still time wasted on the train instead of doing real stuff. If you really want to make the most of your... course time or whatever, you should dorm there or something. Move your stuff. Stay in campus," Yoongi argues. His palms are sweaty and the tips of his fingers are cold and Taehyung keeps leaning closer, like it's impossible to hear him with the very little space between them, so he tightens his grip around the neck of his bottle, gulps down hard, tries to breathe. "Wait, you're not— You're not planning to move to Seocho, are you?"

Taehyung arches his eyebrows and widens his eyes. There's something there, in the way they crinkle at the corners, that makes Yoongi's insides lurch, but it's gone just as quickly as Taehyung breathes out, "That doesn't answer my question, hyung."

Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek. "Fuck you," he grits out, doesn't say, Of course, it does. You're just not listening closely, and, instead, wedges his bottle of beer between them. Tries to buy himself more time. He already has the perfect words for an answer, a comeback, maybe even a confession, but the thundering pulse at the base of his throat won't let on. So in a fit of panic, or whatever the hell it's called when all the voices in one's head are screaming in different tones, he coughs out a laugh and lets out a loud, heavy sigh.

For a quick and easy ending, try A.

A. "Doesn't matter what I have to say. You'll end up doing whatever the hell you want, anyway." Yoongi scoffs. When Taehyung doesn't utter a word, just stares at him with slightly dilated eyes and lips parted into a small and soft 'o', he rolls his eyes. "What? C'mon, you know I'm right!"

Taehyung twists his mouth to the side, then juts out his lower lip. It's the face he makes when he's getting ready to throw a sharp retort at Yoongi, or at least try his hardest to come up with something that won't bite him in the ass, the same face he makes when he's looking for ways to get out of trouble. Yoongi remembers it from one of those parties back in Namjoon's place — Halloween of second year? Or was it Valentines' of third year? — when Taehyung challenged Seokjin to a drinking game and declared that he could down five shots of Cuervo in succession. "You mean you're willing to drown in hell five times. Alright, cool. Don't do it," Yoongi'd said as a warning that time, but nope. Taehyung got his sorry ass out there and held Seokjin's gaze as he took one shot after another for a chance at scoring one free appearance from Seokjin in one of his film projects. He had groaned in Yoongi's shirt, soon after, because he couldn't feel his face anymore and he had to park himself in the nearest bathroom because he was dead sure he was gonna throw up in a few minutes. Taehyung might have lost, and he might have been the talk of the campus the entire week, thanks to the unflattering photos of the kid that Seokjin had posted (Yoongi tried to convince Seokjin, at one point, that the pictures were going to make his Facebook feed look bad, but Seokjin didn't seem to care), but in the very end he earned Seokjin's respect and adoration. And, well, performance passes to the bars Seokjin worked part-time in, too, which was the only good thing that ever came out of Taehyung brushing off Yoongi's attempts at saving his ass, but still—

"That's it?" Taehyung asks one last time, then lets his shoulders slump forward. Yoongi parts his lips to speak, tries to pull whatever well-crafted answer he has from everywhere but out of his ass, but only ever ends up making a weird, choked sound at the back of his throat. "Just... 'Tae, you're stubborn as fuck and you'll never listen to anything I say'? That's—That's all you have to say?"

No, because I have at least a hundred other things to grumble about, whispers a voice at the back of Yoongi's head, the sound cracking when he grinds his teeth. Taehyung doesn't have to know that, though, doesn't need to know Yoongi thinks the dorm will feel weird without someone breaking the surface of silence with laughter, so he just shrugs, drops his gaze to where Taehyung has already inched away from him already, and swallows around the thickening lump in his throat.

"Do whatever makes you happy. If you want to move to Seocho, then go. Nobody's stopping you."

Taehyung nods. Snatches Yoongi's beer, presses the rim to his lips, then chugs down whatever's left of the liquor inside to kickstart whatever Plan B he'd come up with at the back of his head.

"I won't."

B. It takes another term to iron out transition plans, but Taehyung manages to pull things off in the very end. He wouldn't have been able to do it without the help of some of his friends, though: Seokjin (who's been in the university for eight years already; don't ask why, just ask 'so which courses have you covered so far, and are you planning to stick with the current one for real'), Namjoon (who knows more about school policies than he does about the different kinds of cheese), and Yoongi who's been diligent enough to point out that, "The last day you'll be able to score a good enough place in the campus is tomorrow, kid, so if you don't want to freeze your ass off during winter then go look for a new roommate already." He's already come up with several different answers, if anybody even asks why he's being nice all of a sudden, and, after a lot of thinking, he's managed to narrow the options down to three: 'It's the decent thing to do', 'I don't have time to give him a sending-away gift so he'll have to make do with that', and 'uh, big deal?'

"Say it: you'll miss him," whispers Seokjin beside him as they watch the train Taehyung had boarded speed past them, leaving nothing but a blur of colors. When Yoongi doesn't answer, instead just walking ahead with his hands deep in his pockets, Seokjin calls out, "I won't tell anyone, I promise!"

Yoongi snorts. "Whatever. You never play fair," he mumbles after a while, when he catches Seokjin falling into step with him, then cranes his neck. It's impossible to make out the train anymore from where they are, and there's no point in following it with his gaze, but he keeps his eyes trained on the tracks, anyway. He imagines Taehyung looking over his shoulder and waving his hands to the best of his ability, even if he'd complained about feeling a dull ache in his limbs from all the dragging and carrying he'd had to do while lugging around his things. Fifty-two minutes is a long time, when you've spent the past half decade with someone who's breathed music into an otherwise quiet room, a very long time, and Yoongi would be damned if he ever thought of saying 'no'. So he gulps down the 'yeah, what else' threatening to spill from his lips, clears his throat, then replies, "I don't trust you."

"And yet you never denied a thing," Seokjin hums, then nudges Yoongi in his side. Yoongi just lets him — and keeps staring into the distance, watching, waiting.

For an inevitable ending, try C. For another shot at romance, try F.

"You didn't even try."

C. Whoever said the bullshit about absence making the heart grow fonder is sorely mistaken. Maybe in movies, it does work that way, or in books that wrap up nicely with a happy ending, but in real life? In real friendships? When it comes to two people who used to be in each other's personal space ninety percent of the time but eventually had to part ways because someone decided to go off to (not-so-) far away Seocho and fulfil his dreams?

When it comes to Yoongi, who'd tried to keep up with Taehyung's daily texts and emails and messages up until 'course requirements' and 'work' gobbled Taehyung up, spit him out alive, and sent him scurrying back to his threatre-loving roots but not to the dorm room he and Yoongi used to share?

"In the Heights. Hah. You mean he's probably getting high with his new friends, fucking some hot Seocho guy, getting dicked—" Yoongi lets out a deep, shaky breath. Mumbles an apology to the group of high school students he runs into on his way to the station, then tightens his slippery hold on his phone. Busy. You guys go and have fun, he types as a response to Seokjin's invitation to see Taehyung's first ever theatre performance because he knows Seokjin will be hounding him with messages otherwise, then slips his phone back in his pocket. He'll need it to make distressed calls to his friends later in the guise of business dinners. He'll need it for... for real work, not the thing Taehyung keeps pulling out of his ass as an excuse to not meet up. He'll need it for sanity, later. "Whatever. Good riddance. He's gonna flop eventually, anyway. Kid can't act for shit. He can't even pretend he's okay. He can't—"

You can't believe he ended up moving to a new school to get rid of you, and then get everything he holds dear to him back, whispers a voice at the back of his head, and that's what makes him stop dead in his tracks. His phone is buzzing in his pocket and his head is buzzing with questions, but the niggling thought at the back of his head remains — why didn't you just come back, asshole? Why didn't you just—

What have you done, Min Yoongi?

Why did you even let him leave?

"'Guess miracles do happen, huh?" Seokjin says, then reaches out to give Yoongi a high-five. "You're actually alive."

It's not as if I died, Yoongi is tempted to retort, to shove in Seokjin's face in thoughtless retaliation, but then it's not the best thing to greet a friend with after 'disappearing', sort of, for a good month and a half. He drowned himself in work after getting that invitation to see Taehyung's play, ignored any and all messages from Seokjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok that weren't related to work. He had bailed out on at least five meet-ups, citing indigestion, when he could have easily said he wasn't feeling up for it, I'm still mulling over being dropped without warning by a good friend, don't mind me. I'll be okay soon, just not now. Besides, they're gathered to celebrate Hoseok's birthday, not for a sob session, so he only scrunches his face in his best attempt at telling Seokjin without uttering a word, Thanks, asshole. Thanks for being a good friend. It's nice to know that some good things still haven't changed.

"You're looking better, too. Which is weird, because I know you've been working on the debut album—" Namjoon's voice trails off. Two beats, then Namjoon's widening his eyes, slapping Yoongi on the arm, grinning as he asks, "Oh my God, did you actually— Who's the new guy? Girl? Whoever?"

Yoongi snorts. Maybe three, four years ago, he'd would have answered, you seriously think I'd go looking for another rascal? but those days are long gone. He still gets the urge to reconnect with Taehyung from time to time, sure, still thinks of dragging his ass to one of Taehyung's shows and showing up backstage — with either a punch to Taehyung's face or praise about Taehyung being great at fooling people into believing whatever shit he says — but— "Nah, there's no new guy." He's not holding on — he's just holding himself up. And, right now, what he needs is food in his tummy, not the sight of an old friend to take him through the last few days of winter. "I'm just better now. Finally."

The third song about Taehyung that Yoongi writes, the one about breaking free from the ghosts of the past, wins the idol group he'd created the song for their first ever mutizen. He writes more songs of the same theme after that, but none of them about a friend he used to know. Ten years down the line, he and Taehyung run into each other one Friday night in Sinsa, but then they've been apart for too long already to make conversation, so instead they quietly acknowledge they have nothing to say to each other, step to the side, then go on their merry way. They live happy lives, regardless — only separately.

This is the end of the story.

D. "You're drunk, kid. Go to bed. You're saying stupid things again," Yoongi mumbles all in one breath. He shifts in his seat, leans back as much as he can, and clutches his bottle of beer close to his chest in an effort to keep those few safe inches between them. "If you're not gonna move then I'm dragging your ass to your room and—"

And he'll stay until Taehyung stops twitching in his sleep and finally falls into a comfortable enough slumber. It's always been that way, after all — ever since they first shared a bottle of soju and a bag of chips, because they'd used up all of their extra money on school requirements, on whatever they had to submit to their professor seven in the morning that same day. That was the first time Yoongi ever got drunk in the company of someone he'd known for less than a year, too, but then Taehyung didn't make it feel as if they'd only been breathing the same air, moving around in the same space, living with each other and sharing secrets on how to improve their favorite instant ramyun in three easy steps for six short months. "Felt longer. Living with you is torture," Yoongi recalls telling Taehyung about four shots into their little end-of-the-semester celebration, and Taehyung's only response had been an ugly, ugly cackle. The type that scrunched up his face until the corners of his eyes were crinkling and making his easy, lazy gaze feel like Taehyung was eyeing him carefully, clawing at his core. So yeah, it wasn't ugly; it was... alright, but still not okay. If if made Yoongi's insides lurch in several different directions then nothing about it had to be 'okay'. "If you think you're the best roommate anyone can ever have, then you're wrong—"

"And yet you still stuck with me," Taehyung had hummed, then snatched Yoongi's cup to down the shot in one big gulp. He resurfaced with a smug smile, even if his shoulders were slumped and his limbs looked like jelly, but it's not as if Yoongi could focus on anything but the thin sheen of soju on Taehyung's lips. If he were just a tad more drunk to the point that he would strip if Taehyung asked him to, he probably would've leaned over to lick it off already, sucked on Taehyung's lower lip, given Taehyung a kiss, but then logic chose a bad time to kick into overdrive and yank him back to his sense by the back of his shirt. Hard. "Y'know, the first month, I kept telling myself: ah, maybe we're not a good fit. I think he's gonna throw me out soon. He's got to hate my guts, right? But then... I dunno, you started acting kind of nice, and then the music thing happened, and now—"

The music thing. The music thing. Of course, Yoongi would find it nigh impossible to not soften up at the knowledge that Taehyung liked more than half of the indie artists he found himself enamoured with. Granted, Taehyung was all about pop and EDM ninety percent of the time, like most theatre majors Yoongi knew — not that he knew a lot, but Taehyung's friends were also his acquaintances, by extension — but when he was in the mood for something other than the Billboard Top 100, he could sit still with his hands clasped together as he listened to Yoongi rave about whichever obscure artist it was he'd recently discovered for hours on end.

And now, Taehyung is staring. Not watching Yoongi or studying him, as if he holds the answers to all the questions in the world, or like he thinks Yoongi is keeping something from him, like news on flunking a subject or him accidentally heating up earlier Taehyung's share of the leftover (take out) jjigae. No. His lips are parted. His breathing is steady and even, faint. And he isn't blinking. It's almost as if he fears he'll miss something if he does, or that something big and bad will hit him if he does, but then Taehyung is weird eighty percent of the time and it means that, seven times out of ten, the look scrawled all over his features say nothing about what's running through his mind.

Half of Yoongi likes having to scratch the surface for clues, but half of him kind of wants to... claw at his face or something. He wants to grab Taehyung by the shoulders and shake him, if he can, until Taehyung spills whatever he's been meaning to say for the longest time already. In the very end, he's always just shrugged it off, the urge to figure Taehyung out, but from time to time the itch will resurface, coax him to lean in closer so he can examine Taehyung better, convince him to take that big leap of faith and crush his lips against Taehyung's in a kiss.

You can do that, y'know. If he freaks out, you can always tell him you're just really fucking drunk, mumbles a voice in his head. He pushes that further back, breathes in deeply, then says, "You're just drained from finals. Or bored with all the theoretical shit. Once you start doing practicals again, I'm sure you'll change your mind, so don't do something you'll regret—"

"But what if—what if I'm actually better at the theoretical stuff? What if—What if I do flop in real theatre?" Taehyung's voice cracks into low laughter. His voice is rough, almost scratchy, the kind that makes Yoongi wince because you shouldn't be drinking if your throat's that bad, but he knows better than to wrestle Taehyung into submission when he's desperately asking for answers. "I was a talking banana plant in my first play—"

"I kinda liked that one, y'know," Yoongi offers, then frowns at his bottle of beer when he realizes that it's already empty. Dammit, he should've opened a new bottle before Taehyung sprung the stupid question at him. He never learns. "The script sounded like a no budget high school production, but you really captured the banana-ness of your character. I don't think the play would've been the same if you weren't feeling it, y'know. It was very fruitful."

"—then I was an ice cream vendor who appeared in just five scenes in the next—" Taehyung chokes on his own words. Two beats, then he's slapping Yoongi on the chest, tilting his head back, groaning out loud, and Yoongi has never felt more relieved that Taehyung is at arm's length instead of a hitch of a breath away. "Oh God, I can't believe you just— Why do I even listen to you, seriously? Why?"

Because we all do weird shit when we're scared, Yoongi is tempted to say, but instead he brushes it off and snorts. Reaches over to give the tuft of Taehyung's hair a light fluff, careful not to brush the pads of his fingers against Taehyung's scalp because he knows what that does to the kid, then shakes his head when Taehyung quiets down to a whimper. He always does this when Taehyung slips into one of his hysteric moods, when Taehyung is in need of a calming presence or a touch a lot less impersonal than that of a classmate's or a fan's (who would've thought Taehyung's banana role would snag him at least ten fans). He'd discovered it winter of his fourth year in the program, when Seoul got hit by the strongest snow storm the country had seen in years and all the students who'd been staying on campus were forced to stay in during Seollal. For him, it was normal, having to build a pillow fort for himself during the holidays; for Taehyung, it felt like hell.

So when Taehyung had said, "I miss them, hyung. It's been a year— The whole year's been shit and all I wanted was to see them for the holidays, but—" voice cracking as he squeezed his eyes shut, Yoongi reached over and gave Taehyung's head a light pat. Murmured, "C'mere," as he pulled Taehyung a bit closer so he wouldn't feel the dull ache in his side anymore, then took a deep, deep breath when Taehyung buried his face in the crook of his neck. It was an awkward fit more than anything, the way their bodies aligned, but a hug was a hug. Hugs were supposed to make people better. And Taehyung still felt incredibly warm, despite how cold the tip of his nose was when it dug into the slope of Yoongi's neck. So Yoongi just... stayed, didn't move, and only jerked a little as he tried to breathe where he had his face smushed in Taehyung's hair.

Taehyung smelled like menthol from some topical cream and instant ramyun and books then, with just a hint of sweat.

Yoongi gulped hard. Whispered, "Gross," when Taehyung sniffed against his shirt, but laughed when he felt Taehyung twist his knuckles in his stomach. "If you get snot on my shirt, Kim Taehyung, I swear to God—"

Taehyung smelled like home.

"You really think I should stay, hyung?" comes Taehyung's voice now, faint enough to pass off as a murmur, but just loud enough to jerk Yoongi out of his trance. Yoongi blinks, then, presses the rim of his bottle to his lips, and tries to focus on the thick scent of alcohol slithering up his nose. It's impossible with the very little space between them, though, what with Taehyung licking his lips and sucking in his lower lip in intervals, but Yoongi is anything but dedicated to his craft. He's spent the past year or so coming up with at least a hundred reasons why he shouldn't be staring at Taehyung's mouth for too long. "I mean, if I'm gonna really push through with the transfer then I should... do that pretty soon. Before the next term starts or something— God, do I even have ti— Or I can start taking ArtsMan subjects now so, when I transfer, I won't have to take 'em anymore—"

Or you can just drop the plan and stick with your program. Or you can just move to the music department or something, that'd be better. "Or maybe you're just really, really drunk, so you're making all these weird plans for the future when you don't even do that shit, on a normal day. What the fuck?" Yoongi laughs. His throat feels too tight and dry and scratchy and he knows he should probably shut up already, but Taehyung has taken on that look again, a question in the gentle upward quirk of his lips and the tilt of his head. "Look: you're drunk. And drained, but mostly drunk. So go to bed and just... sleep on it or whatever." He makes shooing motions at Taehyung, but the kid's still sitting on him, just a little farther now. If one can consider six inches enough room for breathing versus the three they had wedged between them earlier, at least, but even Yoongi thinks they need more space.

He needs more space to wiggle around and feel comfortable again. There's just too much of Taehyung right now and he has too little restraint that if Taehyung hooks his fingers on Yoongi's shirt, then Yoongi might just—

"If you wake up still wanting to do the move then go, Have fun. Do whatever you want," he rushes. He locks his arms overhead, closing his eyes as he stretches, and he's never felt more relieved that he knows it takes Taehyung exactly eleven seconds to switch from one emotion to another. He'll take any respite his heart can get. "If you don't, then thank me for keeping you from doing something you'll regret—"

"Then you'll say 'you're welcome, Taetae. I just did what any good friend would do,' " Taehyung singsongs after a while, more than fifteen seconds after. Yoongi takes that as his cue to open his eyes, then, looking up at his friend through the slants of his eyelashes. "And that you just didn't want your favorite person in the whole world to die a painful death in another campus—"

Favorite. Yoongi scoffs. Grits out while trying his hardest to maintain the smile on his lips, "I don't want you to die, yeah, but you're not my favorite," and doesn't say, You're my favoritest. Still, he allows himself to stare for a while, to take in the slow-forming smile curling up at the corners of Taehyung's lips, before blinking the image, the sinking sensation in his gut, the shiver draped across his back, away. "So, are we gonna drink or are you gonna go existentialist banana on me?"

"We're gonna drink," Taehyung replies, curt, then sucks in his lower lip. Two blinks, then he's getting off of Yoongi in earnest, getting back on his feet, pulling away. "And we're gonna talk about me going bananas over life decisions. And you'll help me make up my mind—"

"And you're treating me to breakfast tomorrow—"

"And we're gonna have a breakfast date tomorrow, yes," Taehyung croons as he makes himself comfortable right beside Yoongi, dropping one hand to Yoongi's thigh at the same time that he leans on Yoongi's shoulder. Never mind that they're sticky with sweat, and that Yoongi's limbs feel like logs right now, sore from all those restless, sleepless nights before D-Day, and that the pinpricks of Taehyung's laughter are prickling Yoongi's cheek — the fit of their bodies feels nice. And the way the syllables for 'date' roll off of Taehyung's tongue sound pretty good, too, so Yoongi isn't complaining. Instead, he tries to even his ragged breathing, to still the racing in his chest, to make the pulse in his palms slow down because Taehyung is slowly reaching for his hand now, tracing figures on his palm, tapping a beat where his pulse throbs the strongest. "I'm gonna get you all the coffee you want because you're cranky as fuck when you're hungover—"

Yoongi shivers. "I am not gonna get a hangover," he argues, yanking his hand away from Taehyung as he does so, but alcohol and his body betrays him when he feels a nasty pain shoot up his elbows, making him go too loose-limbed, loose-lipped, losing all control— "Taehyung, let me drink— Let go—"

He wakes up with a dull ache in his limbs five hours after. Through the blur of sleep, he can make out the uncapped bottle of soju near the edge of the table, the bag of chips at the foot of the couch, their phones lying on the floor. He can feel something big and heavy on his chest, keeping him from breathing easy. His shirt sticks to his skin and there's Taehyung's drool seeping through the material of his top, tickling him, waking him up, but he can't be assed to move. In a few minutes, Taehyung will rouse and drag Yoongi's ass across town so they can have quality coffee, the perfect cure for a hangover, a breakfast date, and Yoongi will have to make certain preparations, like putting bandaids on the things that hurt and securing the wild and wicked thoughts at the back of his mind, so he'll make full use of this brief respite, bury his nose in Taehyung's hair that still ridiculously smells of their shampoo, and breathe Taehyung in.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his hold on Taehyung, curling his arm around Taehyung's waist. Pulls up one of those little fantasies he's started building years ago — a sort-of-hopeful ending in option E, the inevitable end in option C.

He dreams.

E. Taehyung pushes through with his 'Seocho plans', anyway. He spends the next semester taking classes he'll benefit from once he finally makes the move to Arts Management, spends more time than Yoongi insists is necessary, be it during breaks, or during weekends (if they even realize it's already the weekend and not another school day). Sometimes even late at night, when they'd usually be working on opposite ends of their place, earphones plugged in, lost in their own kind of music. More recently, Yoongi has been going through One Direction's discography, but only to find ways on how to improve their music. "Not my kind of pop, but it's... workable," he'd always tell Taehyung whenever the latter cocked an eyebrow at him and flashed him one of his 'I can see right through you, Min Yoongi' looks, then roll his eyes if Taehyung didn't let on. "I'm not saying they suck or anything, because, obviously, they've been winning awards. I'm just saying, they're not my usual jam, so I'm trying to see if I can fit their music to my tastes—"

"And accommodate," Taehyung hummed one time, "because you like pleasing everybody. Kinky, hyung. Very kinky."

"And be able to appreciate their— What?" Yoongi furrowed his eyebrows. The teasing glint in Taehyung's eyes hadn't waned just yet, but his lips were now drawn into the softest smile that Yoongi felt like Taehyung... wasn't playing games anymore. "Whatever. You go listen to your 1D and I'll listen to my indie—"

Taehyung let out a loud, exaggerated gasp, then let himself fall on his back to the couch. Maybe Taehyung was a better fit in sit-coms than plays or dramas, Yoongi mused. The kid looked strangely nice in his threadbare shirt, in pajama pants that looked like they'd seen better days, as he lounged on the — their — couch. "Did you just make a music pun?"

"This is your last chance to confess, hyung," Taehyung singsongs now, just two, three feet away from Yoongi, hands behind his back. He looks like the same kid who walked up to Yoongi's door in his second year in university, sweat trickling along the curve of his cheeks, bangs matted to his forehead. The same kid who heaved a loud, loud sigh and cackled when Yoongi finally cracked a smile after the long staring game because, "I thought you were gonna quiz me or something. Or that I got the wrong house number. Which would've been really, really embarrassing— Um, right. Hi. Kim Taehyung, your... new roommate? Hello?" He looks like the guy who'd asked in the softest, softest voice the first time Yoongi went home from a gig drunk off of his ass, one hand on Yoongi's arm and the other rested at the small of his back, "You need anything, hyung? Water, ice, blankets? Uh, a bucket? A hug?"

Yoongi had stared Taehyung dead in the eye that time. Grabbed him by the shoulders not to shake him, but to ground himself. His body was thirty percent alcohol, thirty percent music, and forty percent emotions at that time, and it was probably the best way to stun his roommate of twenty-four long months, pulling him closer to crush their mouths together, but instead Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut, willed the thundering pulse at the base of his throat to go away, and whispered, "Shut up."

"Right. I'm shutting up. I—" Taehyung shook his head, then took a deep breath. Stared at Yoongi for a while, just stared at him, then let his shoulders fall forward. For a second, Yoongi thought Taehyung was finally going to let him through, but, soon, Taehyung was scooping him up, carrying him on his shoulder, trying not to drop him on their way to the couch. It was the worst set up to a confession, Yoongi knew it, it was probably even the worst way to die if he absolutely had to go right then and there, but he let out a faint 'thanks', anyway, rushed after that in the most garbled way the could 'yer th' best, I l—'.

"I know. Now sleep," Taehyung had whispered, and, the next thing Yoongi knew, Taehyung was retreating to his room, Yoongi's sleep shirt sticking to the slope of his back, Yoongi's tattered slippers groaning where he was dragging his feet on the wooden floor. The image haunted Yoongi up until this day, Taehyung's figure disappearing into the dark, but not before what was supposedly unflattering yellow light plopped on the crown of his head, slithered down the slope of his neck, then the gentle curve of his back. But as it turns out, nothing scares him more than the actual thing happening again right in front of him, this time in broad daylight.

"You gonna say you'll miss me now?" Taehyung tries, then gives Yoongi's feet a light kick. Yoongi only furrows his eyebrows in response, but he doesn't kick Taehyung right back. He does, however, blow at his bangs, then holds Taehyung's gaze for a little over ten seconds. Or up until he feels his eyes dry up, whichever comes first. "I mean, I know you will, but it'll be nice if you actually said it before my train gets here—"

"You'll write and call and text everyday, anyway," Yoongi mumbles in response. When Taehyung bites back a cackle, he scrunches his nose. "Fine, I'll miss you. Big deal. It's not as if—"

"I'll miss you, too, hyung."

"—we're not gonna see each other again soon or someth— Huh?"

"I said," Taehyung repeats, pausing only to pick up the handle of his luggage. When he looks up, there's a thin sheen of pink on his cheeks and the softest, shyest smile on his lips. "I'm gonna miss you, too. So I'll make it a point to Kakao you everyday and send selcas and—"

And the train is approaching. A little later than expected, but it's slowly pulling up now, opening its doors as soon as it gets settled, ushering previous occupants to head out and go on their merry way. Taehyung still has his lips parted, and his hold on his luggage is a bit too loose, but if he ever thinks of throwing away six months' worth of planning and recalibrating, he only ever reaches for Yoongi's hand to give it a light squeeze before saying, "Hyung, I—"

"Go," Yoongi grits out through the shittiest smile he's ever mustered in his entire life (he's exaggerating, but goodbyes always leave him feeling weird, in the need of recalibration), but he gives Taehyung's hand a brief squeeze anyway. He doesn't even thread their fingers together — just wraps his hand around Taehyung's own and hopes Taehyung will feel the heavy beating there. Then Taehyung's nodding, heaving a sigh, pulling away, shuffling past the doors with his luggage and a part of Yoongi in tow.

"I miss him already," Seokjin murmurs after a while, once the train has well sped past them and the crowd around them has thinned. His lips are pressed to his scarf, but Yoongi has shared enough silence and noise with Seokjin to know when his friend wants him to listen, or when he just needs to speak out. "Do you? Miss Tae already? I mean, I know it's ridiculous since he was just here five minutes ago, but—"

Another train arrives. Behind them, Yoongi can hear a herd of people stomping, so he moves closer to Seokjin, looks up, falls into step with him. Both Namjoon and Hoseok were too busy to drag their asses all the way to the station so Yoongi and Seokjin... they're the only one each other has right now. So yes, it makes sense to grab Seokjin by the sleeve of his jacket. Yes, it makes sense to agree, because nobody else will find out anyway. And yes, Yoongi probably misses Taehyung already; it's just taking a while to sink in. After all, four years is a long time. Four years is a very long time when you're used to a deafening kind of silence that Kim Taehyung hates with every fibre of his being.

"Mhmm," Yoongi hums after a beat, then wiggles his fingers in his pocket when he catches Seokjin's soft laughter. Doesn't say, All the time.

F. They keep in touch. Of course, they do — Taehyung makes it impossible to not stay on the radar, or at least pop in from time to time, after all. Yoongi's last year in university is hell and Taehyung's first in the new program is, too, but they make things work out, somehow. They meet in Hapjeong twice a month, to busk and to have fun hopping from one bar to another during Club Day, because just being trapped in the gates of the university makes them feel so choked up. They meet on certain Thursdays, as well, just because, and, a semester into the new arrangement, Yoongi finds that he's been going out more. Literally getting out of his dorm or his studio or wherever Seokjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok decide to drag him for lunch, or dinner, or just plain fun.

"Notebook's looking packed, huh?" Namjoon comments one time, one of those spring days they decided to work on whatever course requirement they still had out in the field instead of in their separate rooms. Granted, all four of them had headphones slung on, and Seokjin and Hoseok spent half the time trying not to laugh at each other for whatever reason, but it still feels like hanging out for a few laughs. Except now, they're all handing each other silence. The good kind, not the type that leaves Yoongi shivering in the cold. "Got a lot of things to say?"

Yoongi thumbs through the pages and snorts. He still has to string all these random lyrics together, sew them into something that makes sense and doesn't just sound like gibberish he'd probably be blubbering into the receiver during a drunken call to Taehyung, if he ever got that drunk, but having scattered ideas is better than not having anything at all. Getting the strangest urge to create whatever the hell it is his hands will allow is better than wanting to but not having the drive to do more than clasp his hands together. He's been going through a drought for the past four years and, man, he's pretty sure it's time for a change of scenery, a new track to belt out. Something like one of those pop songs Taehyung loves listening to, except better. Louder.

"Yeah, I guess," he answers. He runs the pads of his fingers along the lines he'd written for 'Meanwhile', and adds, "I've been getting ideas from everything, lately. Just short stuff. Keywords, sometimes, but usually they're... hooks, you know what I mean? I have more on my phone, but I haven't transcribed 'em yet—"

"You've got to set aside, like, an entire day for that."

Yoongi snorts. "Or more."

"Lock yourself up in a studio or in your room and—" Namjoon laughs. A deep breath, then he's twisting his mouth to the side, squinting a little as he says, "Can't believe Tae actually got you to go out more. I mean, I know you party and stuff, as long as it's free, but—"

But Taehyung's changed me, Yoongi singsongs in his head in his best impression of Namjoon. His friend will tease him to no end, anyway, regardless of whether he nods his head or shakes it. Might as well dig his own grave before Namjoon can push him off the cliff, right? But then it never comes, and Namjoon only laughs on, and the simmering heat at the pit of his stomach comes to a boil as the realization hits him—

No, he hasn't. He's just brought out the best in you.

Yoongi heads straight to the studios after study session. He records and scraps and re-records until he's satisfied with what he's put together — or at least until he can finally make sense of all the things he wants to say. It takes another week to send Taehyung the demo, and then three more until Yoongi decides to check his inbox for a response, a curt reply, a confession.

For a heart-breaker, go back to C. For a bitter taste of reality, try G.

For a bit of hope, well... Take a shot at I.

G. On a normal Saturday afternoon, Yoongi would probably still be in bed and kicking his blankets off of his limbs in some pathetic attempt at getting up. He'd see some success a few more minutes after, finally lying on his back instead of on his tummy, but, after a while, he'd fall right back into slumber, slip back into la la land, pick up where he'd left off in his dream. He'd be snoring his way through the next thirty minutes. He'd be... He'd be dead to the world, even to his phone buzzing on the floor, possibly signaling a call from Seokjin or Hoseok. Only half an hour later would he realize that he'd just wasted a good portion of his day just lounging around when he could have gotten up at eight o' clock in the morning, sharp, just like what his alarm tried to make him do before he'd snoozed it.

Then he'd remember alarms were shit and never quite served their purpose for him, not even when he was much younger and had more time to rest.

Then he'd recall that the only reason he got out of the dorm back in college, or his studio after three failed attempts at being a producer, or out of his pajamas, at all, was because Taehyung wouldn't stop bugging him to sober up. It didn't matter if it was from alcohol or coffee — Taehyung would probably be yelling at him from the other side of his door, or calling him again and again, or tugging at his ankles, literally dragging him in some desperate attempt to get some sunshine into his system, whatever the hell that meant. Half the time, Yoongi regretted it, having little to no energy to fight Taehyung off, but then he kind of liked the whole breakfast outdoors thing, too, the window shopping for whatever Taehyung was in the mood for, seeing his friends and eating free food because, apparently, his presence in gatherings must be celebrated. "See, hyung? Getting out of your little shell is nice. Make it a weekly habit, even if I'm not around. I can't be the only one trying to make you happy all the time, hyung. I can't— Hey, I'm not kidding!"

"—So I said, 'I'm not kidding, I'm okay with doing the first run pro bono, but you have to give me the job if I get at least five buyers to bid on your paintings.'" Taehyung says now, pressing his lips to the straw of his drink but never really taking a sip, then shrugs his shoulders at the same time that he juts out his lower lip in a weird cross between a smile and a frown. He does this often, when he's trying his hardest to not make his frustration show but fails miserably at it, anyway — but it's not because he sucks at conning people into believing he's okay. Yoongi just knows him well, that's all, because when you've been friends for the past decade it's supposed to be a given already that he still has memorized, like the back of his hand, the meaning behind every little jerk of Taehyung's facial muscles, or quirk of his lips, or the dips and cracks in Taehyung's voice when he sounds as if he's going to lose his sanity in three, two—

Not that he has a catalogue of Taehyung's expressions filed at the back of his mind. Of course, he doesn't. He's just spent a ridiculous amount of time living with Taehyung, that's all. It's impossible not to remember the habits of your roommate of four years, or your friend of possibly an entire lifetime. It's not as if he actively thinks back on their days in university, when Taehyung would look him in the eye and stare, just stare at him, until one of them decided to break off with a snort. It's not Wednesday. You're not allowed to be weird. Only Wednesdays are supposed to be weird days. Every other day's supposed to be safe.

Taehyung drops his gaze to his hands, then to the mostly full plate in front of him. He picks up his chopsticks and pokes at some of the tteok on his plate before taking a piece and dipping it in soy sauce — just like old times. It kind of makes Yoongi want to laugh, or to snort, because man. Years later and Taehyung still hasn't changed. He still likes his tteokbokki a tad saltier than usual. He still forgets to eat his food when he really gets into a conversation. He rarely ever touches his drink unless he's halfway through a narration already — and, even then, he'd only take a sip. It's funny that even if it's been nine solid months since they'd last seen each other, before work stole every ounce of freedom that they had, Yoongi still knows how this whole sequence will turn out — Taehyung will look up at him, tilt his head a little, then say something along the lines of, "What, you've never seen someone dip something in soy sauce before? You think I'm the only one who likes his tteokbokki salty? You think— Why is your face so weird?"

No, your face is weird, Yoongi would always retort, but Taehyung isn't even making a face at his food right now. Instead, he's popping a couple of slices of tteok in his mouth, munching on them, then swallowing them all in one big gulp. Doing something else. And sure, people change, Taehyung more often than most, but there are a couple of habits Taehyung has found difficult to let go of even from when he was much, much younger.

Ten years of knowing each other is a long time to know each other, mumbles a voice in Yoongi's head. Two beats, then he's cracking his neck, wincing at the sharp jolt of pain that shoots up to his nape, wrinkling his nose when the same voice goes on to say, But ten years is also long enough for people to start getting into something new—

"But he took that the wrong way and thought I was actually shitting on his marketing strat — which I totally was doing, fine, but he didn't have to know that." Taehyung pauses to balance a slice of tteok between his lips, then sucks it in. It makes Yoongi's insides lurch a little, but hey — nobody needs to know that. He bites the inside of his cheek, then tries his hardest to not stare or gulp hard, whichever comes to him more easily. You'd think that after nine long months of little to no contact, he would've stopped having Taehyung as stimulus to anything, anything at all, but then he's never been good at controlling muscles. Even the one in his chest. "So I said no, really, I meant what I said, and when he finally gave in, the ass actually had the balls to say I wasn't gonna get anything from sales even if I sold more than five because, well, I was doing OJT then, but— Bro, I don't need your money in my bank! I need your company's name on my resume—"

"Well, I dunno. If experience is anything to go by, then I'm telling you: it's the richest people that are usually the biggest asses. I should know. I work with a lot of 'em. Everyday." Yoongi shrugs. Opposite him, Taehyung is narrowing his eyes into slits, thinning his lips into a straight, straight line, and huffing through his nose, but come on. He's not fooling anyone with the subtle upward tug of his cheeks, or the glimmer in his eyes, or in the way his eyebrows are arched up just a little. So yeah, maybe Taehyung never was meant to be an actor, both on the big screen and on stage. Maybe he's always been shit at pretending and trying to be someone else. Even then, he's still a better actor than Yoongi; Yoongi just happens to be pretty darn good at biting down hard on his tongue when he feels like saying something stupid. "I'm just saying, everything kinda goes back to square one post-military because, y'know, two years is a long time, so you're starting over. You need the money as much as you need the guy's name in your creds in your portfolio. And you're still trying to figure whatever the hell it is that you want, or if you want to stick with what you're currently doing. Which is pretty shitty — I mean the day job, okay, I don't care what you get up to at night — but if you like your pain with pleasure, then, okay, I won't shame you for your kinks—"

"That is not my kink," Taehyung argues, eyebrows knit tightly as he narrows his eyes.

Yoongi snorts. "Wasn't asking for a confirmation."

"Well, now you know it isn't. And besides—" Taehyung shakes his head. Two beats, then a smile is cracking across his features, easing the furrow of his eyebrows and coaxing the corners of his mouth to curl up into a smile. It's a look Yoongi has only seen in movies, the type of look that has his stomach twisted in knots and acid crawling up his throat. And it's bad, it should be bad, except his chest feels incredibly light and he feels warm all over. If this is familiarity at work, then goddamn, more people should be writing it in novels, movies, music.

If it isn't, then... He doesn't want to know what it is.

"You're changing the topic. Hyung—" Taehyung heaves a long and loud sigh. His features are still relaxed, though, lit up by the small smile stretched across his lips, and Yoongi wonders which Taehyung he hates more — the one from second year in university, or this one beaming up at him with knowing eyes and a defiant smile on his lips as he goes on to say, "Anyway, as I was saying, I slammed the asshole in the face by selling fifteen of his works, so he gave me a tiny something and recommended me to his friends—"

"And you're a sucker for curator jobs. And you're too nice when you're doing something you like. Geez, Tae, love yourself a little." Yoongi heaves a sigh. He sinks his teeth in the carrot stick in his hand when Taehyung starts making gurgling sounds a the back of his throat, and oh. Oh. The stick's sweet and crunchy. It's exactly how Taehyung likes his carrots, except maybe that has changed in the past few years they haven't been living with each other, breathing the same air, munching on the same food. If Taehyung doesn't slip into his little trances as often anymore, then who's to say nothing has changed in his eating preferences? For all Yoongi knows, Taehyung likes black coffee over sweet now. Someone just discovered that pigs can fly, and Namjoon can carry out a conversation without bringing his existential crisis into it. Seokjin's actually (finally, strangely) mastered modern street dance after ten million year of practice, and Hoseok has discovered a way to stay in the same position for five long minutes without wiggling every ten seconds. Miracles do happen, after all. Just not for him. "You worked for the asshole, so he should've paid you. You can sue, if there's no con—"

Yoongi squints. Two beats, then Taehyung's widening his eyes and thinning his lips into a tense smile, one that quivers only when Yoongi gives Taehyung a light kick on the foot under the table. "Oh God. You signed a thing with him," Yoongi groans, a bit too loud for his own liking, but it does get the job done. It gets his message across when he catches Taehyung touching his food again, stuffing his mouth with tteok, trying to maneuver his way out. It kind of reminds him of that one time, when he found out Taehyung had been skipping lunch everyday just to be able to save up for one of the productions he had to do for school, and Taehyung tried to brush it off by saying Jimin and that other friend of his fed him candies during breaks, anyway.

"That's not even food," Yoongi had argued then, and Taehyung's only response — at least for a good five minutes — was a snort, a shrug, and a full body shiver. "Come. We're getting food. Real food, not the shit your friends keep feeding you—"

"You're the one to talk," Taehyung grumbled after a while, breaking the thin sheet of silence, "When you miss your meals often because you keep locking yourself up in the studios where nobody can reach you," and Yoongi swore he'd never felt more conflicted in his entire life. Should he knee Taehyung in the groin, or drag Taehyung to the closest food cart he could find so Taehyung wouldn't have to go starving anymore? Punch Taehyung smack in the face to put him in his place, or grab Taehyung by the shoulders, shake him, and say, Care looks different on different people and you're staring care in face right now, so fucking eat your lunch or else I'm making you. Should he tell Taehyung not to be stupid because Yoongi'd done that in the past already, and It's not right, kid. It'll never work out if you keep treating yourself like shit, or should he just heave a sigh and say, You're gonna be the end of me, kid. The end of me— "I can't believe you. Do you really hate yourself that much?"

"No," Taehyung answers, faster than Yoongi can cock an eyebrow in question. Soon, however, he's waving his hands in front of him, shaking his head, scrunching his face probably so that it will be impossible for Yoongi to read anything scrawled there, or to dispose any kind of proof Yoongi has on him. Part of Yoongi wants to groan out loud, What gives? but then Taehyung loves having little play times at random times of the day — right after Yoongi takes his first sip of coffee, while they watch water for their glorious instant noodles come to a boil, and at 2 a.m., in Yoongi's pajama that are too short for him, gripping a bottle of beer tightly in one hand and his shirt in the other as he asks, Say, hyung, if I told you I was... planning to switch programs, what would you do? Would you... I dunno, hyung. What would you do? "I mean, yeah, fine, there was an agreement of sorts, but it wasn't a contract and I gave him my terms, too, and the deal's done now, so!"

So stop harping on me about it. Stop sounding so concerned. Stop worrying too much because all that ever does is make your tummy go funky, anyway. So Yoongi leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for a follow up. Maybe, years ago, he would've brushed off whatever Taehyung had to say just so he could put his opinion there, above the rest, on a fucking pedestal, but time changes people, sobers 'em up, makes them think just a tad more clearly than before.

Too many years later and the tips of his fingers still get tingly whenever Taehyung gives him one of those impossible smiles, though.

Some things just don't change.

"So relax," Taehyung says after a while, voice thinning into faint laughter, a whisper. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips, shadowed only by his bangs when he looks down for a second, then he's tilting his chin up again, meeting Yoongi in the eye, looking at him like... that time, back in their little dorm room, when they were half-awake and half-drunk, and they were too close. Taehyung was sitting on his lap, asking him if he wanted him to stay, and Yoongi's only response was I think you should go to bed and sleep on it. Yeah. Go to your room, kid. You still have to treat me to breakfast tomorrow. He could have said at least three other things then, could've given Taehyung a real answer instead of creating another for his own — what would've happened if I'd just said 'yes' — but Yoongi isn't Yoongi without an ounce of regret every once in a while. "Everything's okay now. The guy actually hooked me up with some really great leads, and I just got a cheque from one of my stints the other day. And hey, hey, you have to admit: the whole drama got me the job. You have to give me credit for that—"

"Whatever. You suck at acting. You ditched theatre for a good reason," Yoongi retorts. Two beats, then he's biting the inside of his cheek, rolling his eyes, heaving a sigh, rushing even before Taehyung can get in a word, "I bet the job isn't paying you much—"

"I don't need the money from this job. That's what I have my freelance stuff for," Taehyung counters, voice lilting in that matter-of-factly tone of his that Yoongi has come to... be less annoyed by. It took six months to get used to it, then another six to stop getting the urge to throw a pillow in Taehyung's direction whenever Taehyung used the voice on him. Three and a half years after that, he'd come to miss it, sort of, but only because anything was infinitely better than the deafening silence in his dorm. "I charge lower than most designers, and no agency's ever not in need of people to off-load their poor slaves, and seriously, who wouldn't want to have a Twitter sensation as a freelancer?"

"Uh, companies that aren't into voice acting? Because they're supposed to be getting you for your design work and not for your impersonations?"

Taehyung narrows his eyes. "Shut up. I still have two million followers," he says, voice thinning into something akin to a snarl, and now, this is the Taehyung Yoongi's more familiar with. The one who throws sharp remarks at him while blushing the brightest shade of red, the one who addresses him with a focused, meaningful gaze while fumbling with the hem of his shirt. The one looking at him in the eye and fighting off the grin on his lips at this very moment, because that would mean losing, and while Taehyung is all about fun and games, when it comes to Yoongi, winning is top priority. "You have 3M, I know, but that's because you work with K-Pop idols and—"

And Taehyung's features light up. Not with a shit-eating grin, or with bright, bright eyes blinding the shit out of Yoongi — no. This one's softer, subtler, like the gentle arching of his eyebrows, or the slight widening of his eyes. It's there, in the tiny upward quirk of his lips, indiscernible if not for all the years of friendship stretched between them, in the touch of color flashing across his cheeks at the same time that the smile on his lips blooms, a little more pronounced now. And it's in the way his shoulders fall forward at an exhalation, in the shy cock of his head, in the way he says, kind of breathes out, "Hey."

"Hey—" The voice dips into a tiny gasp, then Taehyung is pushing himself off of his seat, dropping the conversation, walking past Yoongi. Not that he's never done it before; it's just that things have never happened in this sequence. Everything sounds slightly off-key. Yoongi... doesn't know this guy Taehyung is tugging closer to where they are, doesn't know what kind of smile it is that Taehyung is wearing right now, wiping the softer look from five seconds ago off of his features. He doesn't know what to do with the hand stretched out in front of him — does he yank it off of the guy's arm, or does he try to examine the guy's fingers one by one, to see if he can ever bring harm—

Stop. Don't bite. You don't have enough energy for this. Choose your battles, Yoongi reminds himself, then takes a deep, shaky breath. To Taehyung who's dragging the newcomer closer to where they are by the sleeve, he says, "Your friend?"

Taehyung scrunches his face a little, then twists his mouth. Okay, that's a 'no', mumbles a voice in Yoongi's head, but it's gone as soon as Taehyung starts making small and strange gurgling noises at the back of his throat. He waits, then, keeps staring until Taehyung unthaws — or at least until the guy looks to his side and gives Taehyung a light nudge, a pinch in the arm, a small smile. It breathes some color into Taehyung, a bit of life, but then it's nothing a good bowl of kimchi jjigae can't offer. Yoongi has seen Taehyung jolt back to life at the prompt of many different things — coffee, ice cream, cake. Hoseok warm voice, booming across the hallway, calling for 'his favorite', and Namjoon reaching over to thread his fingers through Taehyung's hair and give it a light fluff.

"Jeon Jeongguk. He, uh, he went to the same uni as we did." Taehyung presses his lips firmly together into a tight and tense smile. "You... don't remember him?"

Do I remember him? Does he remember the guy? Well, the face looks pretty familiar. Probably someone he'd bumped into back in university, but then who is he? He remembers the important people from more than a decade ago — Youngjin and Seonwoong, the greatest music instructors he's ever had, then Taehyung and Seokjin. Namjoon and Hoseok, then that sweet friend of Taehyung who never forgets birthdays. And, well, there's also that other kid from one of Taehyung's production classes who just sort of stuck, but then—

But then he never took time to get to know the guy better. He'd glanced at him a couple of times, more to ward him off than to take in the subtle details of his features, how his eyes lit up whenever Taehyung regarded him in such a bright voice, or how they crinkled at the corners whenever Taehyung dropped a compliment or two, but other than that, he'd pushed the guy's existence to the very back of his head until he just... forgot him. Sort of.

Fast forward a decade and a half later, and here they are.

"Ah," Yoongi grunts out, then coaxes the corners of his lips to pull up into a smile, one bright enough that even Taehyung will be convinced he remembers nothing but the good things about the creeper — the cupcakes he 'baked' (bought) for Taehyung's birthday (to get in Taehyung's pants), the tickets he gave to both Taehyung and Yoongi so they could attend that really cool music festival in Ilsan (that he was part of, so that hardly counts as kindness; kid just wants to show off). That one time he sort of clued Yoongi in on a dog cafe and turned out to be doing part-time there, what a coincidence! We just picked up a new bunch of pups, so you guys came at the right time. They're at the back; wanna check 'em out? So yeah, the guy is alright, all things considered, but take Taehyung out of the equation and Yoongi's pretty sure things will change. Drastically.

"Technical theatre guy," he adds after a while. Doesn't say, the creeper who'd stalked Tae up until the big move. Yeah, of course, how could I forget? He looks to his side, arching his eyebrows, then mouths at Taehyung, Didn't know he had a name.

Taehyung flashes him a wry smile, then inches just a bit closer to pinch Yoongi's cheeks and whisper, "Play nice."

"I am playing nice," Yoongi says through gritted teeth, trying to keep the grin there, but eh. Too much effort. Taehyung's close enough to see through the whole act, anyway, to catch his eyebrows twitching and the smile on his lips quivering oh-so-subtly. But it's true — he is being a good boy. If he wasn't then he would have kneed the guy in the groin already as soon as he'd realized who he was. Creeper. Stalker. That's some serious devotion right— Nope, still scary. Go away, kid. Go away— "And wow, kid — yes, you — you really followed this guy all the way to Seocho?"

The guy widens his eyes, thins his lips into a small smile, furrows his eyebrows for a bit, or at least until Taehyung nudges him in his side. A blink, then the knots in his cheeks are coming loose, easing into something more... relaxed, a lot more reminiscent of the bright-eyed boy he'd bumped into countless times, whenever he had to bail Taehyung out of tight spots (that weren't really troublesome, but whatever).

"Well, not really," says the guy, voice faint, barely above a whisper, but, soon, he's clearing his throat, nodding to himself, beaming at Yoongi. "We met in the agency, and we, uh, kinda... bonded over the voice acting stuff? Since I... also have a Vine for my, uh, dubbing projects. Hah." He pauses, scratching the back of his head, and ah, Yoongi kind of gets it now, why Taehyung hasn't brushed off this kid yet. There's an underlying charm in the shy twist of his mouth, in way he keeps biting the sides of his mouth between sentences, in the way he digs his hands in his pockets and wiggles his fingers there, like he's scared to screw up for whatever reason when they're just doing introductions before having dinner. Easy as pie. Big deal. "Then we... enlisted in the army around the same time. He just got out earlier than I did because, well, his knee—"

"His knee?" Yoongi asks, lifting an eyebrow, then turns to look at Taehyung to find the latter staring at the kid with wide, wide eyes. "You have a knee injury?"

Taehyung gulps down hard. "It was a just a gash. Nasty fall from training," he says, voice dropping to a whisper as he laughs. Soon, however, Yoongi is reaching over, pinching his earlobe and pulling at it just enough to sting. It shouldn't hurt much, shouldn't even linger for more than a few seconds, but what's a reaction from Taehyung without theatrics, a loud and resounding retort, and a small, apologetic smile that quickly dissolves into a scowl? "Ow! See, this is why I never told you about it! I knew you'd get—"

Worried, hostile, caring in the weirdest way possible — there are a lot of things Taehyung could be saying right now, huffing out as he swats Yoongi's hand away, but instead he just seethes and gives Yoongi's cheeks a light pinch. Maybe it's the age talking, all the years of tough experiences at work, but if Taehyung ever thinks of throwing a fit, he doesn't. He just stands there, juts out his lower lip in his best attempt at a retort, waiting for Yoongi to say something, anything, asking him again — what would you do, hyung? What would you do?

"Tell me," Yoongi mumbles after a while, then turns on his heel to make his way back to his seat. Tell me what's happened in the past year. Tell me about this new Taehyung I don't know. Tell me how all of this happened. He's been out of the loop for a few good years, more because of work piling up on him than him burrowing his way deep in work just so he could escape, so this might be the perfect time to catch up, to be updated. This might be the best time to figure out what he could have done differently so he wouldn't have to be sitting opposite this Jeongguk person and seeing Taehyung smiling at him out of the corner of his eye. "We're all here now and you're paying for dinner, anyway, so fire away."

Taehyung nods. "Long story," he says, letting out low laughter as he makes his way back to his seat, but Yoongi doesn't miss the way he reaches for Jeongguk's hand — instinctively. It's so soft and subtle, almost unnoticeable if not for the fact that they passed right beside him, but then he won't put it past himself to not pick up something like this. There are a lot of things he chooses to ignore and brush off, and none of them involve Taehyung. He can't even look away when Taehyung leans on Jeongguk a little, shifts, and Jeongguk's lips quirk up in thoughtless response.

"Oh boy," Taehyung hums, then clasps his hands on the dining table. Yoongi lets out a heavy, heavy sigh. "Where do I even begin?"

H. They have separate lives. Or try to, as much as self-preservation would allow, because when you've already invested so much time and effort in someone, anyone, it's just too hard to break away. And both of them are stubborn as fuck, they know it, so why fight it? If Yoongi feels weird not clocking out at seven in the evening every Friday so he can meet up with Taehyung and Jeongguk for dinner and a couple of drinks, sometimes even coffee, then why should he rewrite old habits? If it feels strange not fishing for his phone from his pocket whenever he sees a dog Taehyung will probably find cute, then why fight what he's become so accustomed to doing already? If Taehyung has already become such a huge part of his life, maybe even as much as music has been, then why the hell change things and take Taehyung out?

"I can't believe you're making the new group sing about your teenage heartache," says Seokjin in between sips of his whiskey. The corners of his lips are caught in a strange twist between a smile and a frown. "When he finds out, you're dead—"

Yoongi snorts. He's pretty sure Taehyung has known for a while already — the kid's just slow to process things; he's not stupid or dense or blind — maybe since the first time Taehyung threw up in the bathroom sink and Yoongi actually rubbed circles on his back instead of leaving him there to suffer, but if Taehyung has ever thought of teasing him about it, he's never pushed through with it. Besides, what gives? They're both living the dream now — Yoongi creating music for some of the biggest names in the entertainment industry, and Taehyung organizing exhibits for aspiring, young artists, teaching them design, actually doing some voice acting projects on the side — and Yoongi doesn't hate himself enough to ruin his happily-ever-after.

He's okay with this, for now. He likes where he is. It took him a while to get here and feel a hundred percent comfortable with himself, so he'll enjoy this taste of heaven. It might not be as good as Seokjin's whiskey — "Wow, thanks. You could've just ordered some, y'know," Seokjin grumbles when Yoongi snatches his drink — but it's good enough to pass as a happy ending.

He'll make it better in the years to come. He's determined to.

"Well, he doesn't have to find out. It doesn't matter anymore," he hums after a while, but his words trail off when he catches Seokjin craning his neck, squinting, waving at a couple of figures approaching — are those Namjoon and Hoseok? Seokjin said it would be a quiet birthday celebration, if at all, because Lord knows what Namjoon and Hoseok can get up to when they're drunk, but— It doesn't matter. If he must absolutely spend twenty-four hours or more drinking like he's never drank before, it's with these people. He won't even mind spending an extra twenty, as long as there's food.

"You're welcome," Seokjin says, voice firm, resolute, then flashes him a cheeky, cheeky grin. Yoongi only rolls his eyes, laughs in thoughtless retaliation, and waves a hand in Namjoon's and Hoseok's direction as he lets the muscle memory of a bright and blinding smile take control.

They all get drunk. Seokjin manages to score them two rounds of free beer after charming one of the bartenders (who turns out to be Jimin; small world, and an even smaller kid) and giving him his number. They don't get kicked out of the bar, miraculously, even if Namjoon and Hoseok started getting a bit too frisky only five shots in. And Yoongi somehow survives his tenth shot of tequila without having to curl up on the couch right after — which is both good and bad, because he knows all too well the boys will be coaxing him to drink more tequila now. It's a strange way to celebrate so many years of existence, now that he's well past his mid-thirties, but he kind of likes it, the music ringing in his ears — Namjoon's carefree laughter, Hoseok's hiccuped cries of when did you get so fucking hilarious?, and Seokjin's dry wheezing of I've been fucking hilarious since I was twelve, asshole!

Yoongi shakes his head. He's going to regret drinking and laughing this much tomorrow, he knows it. But, for now, he joins in, raises his glass, proposes a toast.

This is the end of the story. But for a second chance at romance, go back to F. Then take a shot at I.

I. It's funny how they find themselves dragging their luggages to the same place again, years after they ceased to move around in the same space 24/7. They're not even traveling — they're just moving districts, alighting the train running through Line 2, making their way down three blocks to get to their destination. They could've easily gotten a cab or asked Seokjin to pick them up from two separate places and get them to Hapjeong really quick, but nope. Taehyung actually made a schedule for when they would meet in Hapjeong. Taehyung was to leave his house at 4:15, at the very latest, so he could hop on the first train to Sadang, then switch rails so he could take the green line to Hapjeong. Yoongi was to lock his flat up forever at 4 p.m., sharp, so he could catch bus 200 to Hapjeong, then just walk for a bit until he got to exit 2 of the station. They could meet at the staircase, or at the dumpling place, or just outside Tous le Jours — it didn't matter; they were all just a couple of meters of distance each other, anyway. Then once they'd caught their breaths, still ragged from carrying their things, they could either grab dinner before depositing the last of their things in their new flat, if they're really that hungry, or they just grab take out from Mapo Mandu, eat it in the modest apartment, maybe even have some drinks and celebrate their successful moving in.

Yoongi wasn't so sold on the idea at first, because luck was a thing and, on most Tuesdays, it wasn't on his side. But then they were going to move in on a Wednesday. It hadn't been raining the past few days. He wasn't working on any critical deadlines, either, and that meant he could actually take the day off and not have to drag his luggage from the office to the train station (and the office was more than ten long minutes by foot; do not ask him how he's managed for years). So there was his green light. Taehyung was already waiting on the other side, waving a hand in his direction and mouthing at him, C'mon, faster! I can't wait for you forever!, and all he had to do was to cross over to the other side.

So he said yes, grudgingly, and over the phone where he made sure to let Taehyung know he was only in this so they could get things done and over with, but at least there was the promise of sharing laughter over good food and even better liquor. He was going to have yummy dumplings with beer. Taehyung was going to be right in front of him, munching on his ramyun. They were going to share two rolls of kimbap and two bottles of soju, and whatever it was they'd failed to tell each other in those weeks, months, years they hadn't been orbiting each other. They were probably going to stay up 'til four, and they were going to regret it, Yoongi was sure, but then who the hell cared? They hadn't done this in a decade and a half. He wasn't that stupid to let the opportunity to relive their memories from university pass.

Except things don't go as planned. Summertime means the weather forecast being more inaccurate than ever, which means slippery roads for those commuting by bus, and delayed trains for those traveling by the subway. Taehyung misses his train by two minutes, and Yoongi oversleeps. Taehyung accidentally packs his keys in his big bag, and Yoongi nearly slips on the rough asphalt because fuck the rain, fuck his luggage, fuck the motorcycle that sped right beside him without preamble. They finally manage to get their asses in their flat and breathe some semblance of order into their place by eight in the evening, but nobody's accepting delivery anymore. Sorry, sir, the weather's really bad. We don't want to compromise the safety of our riders. We hope you understand. And, honestly, they'll survive on just chips for the next twenty-four hours, but—

"No, we're not eating chips. That reminds me too much of finals, God," Taehyung groans. Two beats, then he's shifting in his position, lying flat on his back, looking up from where he has his head rested on Yoongi's lap and into Yoongi's eyes. Yoongi feels something drop to the pit of his stomach, and it blooms to something warmer, weirder, when Taehyung licks his lips. If this is punishment for waking up late then dammit, he's sorry, but he's pretty darn sure life isn't that cruel to throw him a curveball like this. "C.U.? Just like old times?"

Just like old times. "You mean I'm gonna buy you rice and beer because you're cheap as fuck, right." Yoongi snorts. "You could've just said that outright. I would've said 'no', just the same." It's always been that way — Taehyung would drag him to whatever food cart or convenience store, suggest that they buy this and that, and Yoongi would, nine and a half times out of ten, pay for everything that they got. Granted, if he actually converted Taehyung's time and effort in making their dorm not look so much like a dumpster, more for his own benefit than Yoongi's, it would amount to more than what he's spent keeping Taehyung alive, but still— "Unless you're paying this time, in which case—"

Which is how they end up sitting side by side in a convenience store, freshly microwaved porridge sitting in front of them, alongside a handful of dumplings, pickled anchovies, eggs, cup noodles. They each have a bottle of soju to themselves, unopened and untouched from the time they started digging into their little feast, and there's probably enough convenience store food to feed three people, but they don't care — nobody's going to judge. Nobody knows them here. They're starting over in a new neighborhood because Taehyung had to move away from Gwacheon where every street, every narrow alley, every shop and crack on the street and food cart that sells odeng for 500 won reminded him of Jeongguk and what they used to be. Yoongi... Yoongi just wanted to spend less time on the train and more time in his studio so he can start writing more, wanted a change in atmosphere because Ilsan was fast becoming an extension of broken dreams that took too long to turn into fulfilled ones. So the second Taehyung called him up, told him about his plans of moving to a new place, "What d'you think, hyung?", he said, "Have you ever thought of, y'know, getting a roommate and splitting costs—"

"And living with you again?"

"And sharing— Well." Yoongi scrunched his nose. He wasn't too big on taking phone calls, especially when he was in the studio, but he'd never been more thankful Taehyung decided to ring him instead of showing up at the lobby of the company. "It... doesn't have to be me, but—"

But Taehyung shouldn't have been laughing. Taehyung should have been humming that time, clicking his tongue, thinking Yoongi's suggestion through. And he definitely shouldn't have hummed as he said, "Yeah, hyung, whatever," and laughed into the receiver because that was a serious question. Yoongi wasn't about to move in with someone who was only half certain with spending nearly every damned second of the day together, breathing each other in. That wasn't fair — to him, or to Taehyung. That wasn't the reaction he was hoping for.

And yet—

"Really glad we went out instead of having chips. I love the view here. Very romantic," Taehyung comments out of the blue, speech muffled by the dumpling he has trapped between his teeth. Nearing his forties and he still hasn't quite outgrown that bad habit yet, but it's not as if he does it when he's not in the company of his really tight circle of friends. He only started eating with his mouth full around six months into knowing Seokjin and Namjoon. With Jimin, it took him... around three weeks? Which was a long time, considering Taehyung found it easy to make friends (but difficult to find really good ones). Then with Hoseok, it took him three months, but, even then, Yoongi and Jimin had to be there. It was one of those few times they could eat lunch together, and Hoseok was telling them about some of the funniest (most embarrassing) training stories he had with Jimin when Taehyung looked up, eyebrows knit together, and grumbled through the japchae in his mouth, "Wait, what? You farted in front of hyung during practice? You two have only known each other for, what, six months, and we've been friends since freshman orientation, and you're still not comfortable farting in front of me?"

Yoongi laughs to himself. Trust Taehyung to get worked about the extremes — the really small things, and the really big ones, Jimin feeling comfortable enough to accidentally pass gas in front of a stranger, and Yoongi not having an answer to his spontaneous 'what would you do' question. The ones in the middle, Taehyung claims he doesn't care about, but come on. Who is he kidding? Yoongi hasn't spent a good four years of his life living with Taehyung to not know that Taehyung thinks about every damned thing — how he can fit in some of Yoongi's clothes, how Yoongi finds it so easy to use his. How, at one point, they've started not minding sharing gross things, because it's impossible to know which toothbrush is whose at ass o' clock in the morning and they both wear black underwear, anyway, and why they never bothered to talk about it until Hoseok said, in his most grossed-out voice, "Either you two are secretly fucking each other or you're just really, really disgusting—"

"He wouldn't let me do this whenever we were out," comes Taehyung's voice, just loud enough to jolt Yoongi out of his trance. Only then does he realize that Taehyung has stopped poking at his food, that they're much closer now, close enough that he can feel Taehyung's skin, cool from the rain, where their arms are pressed to each other. It's only now that he realizes that Taehyung has rested his head on his shoulder and that his fingers are curled into loose fists, like he's trying to do everything to keep himself from doing something he'll regret. He's learned a great deal from you, Yoongi. You should be proud of him. Aren't you proud? "Kook, I mean," Taehyung goes on to say, "When we were still, y'know, a thing," then his voice is thinning into laughter, a small smile, a wrinkle of the nose. "I can't believe it's only been five months. It feels longer—"

Yoongi gulps down hard. "Four and a half," he corrects, then reaches for his bottle of soju, slowly uncapping it. He's pretty sure he'd seen Taehyung and Jeongguk holding hands under the table on three separate occasions, all of them over dinner and while sober, so it makes no sense, no sense at all. Maybe Taehyung's just tired and drained and drunk with the scent of a new place, a new phase of his life. Maybe he just needs more food — or some alcohol in his system, to calm his brain. Yoongi tilts the bottle a little in Taehyung's direction, then, lifts his eyebrows a little, then jerks his shoulders when Taehyung doesn't budge. "I thought he was okay with PDA?"

"Well." Taehyung heaves a sigh. He tilts his head up a little, meeting Yoongi's gaze through thick eyelashes, and then smiles a little as he wraps his fingers around the bottle. Takes a sip of the drink before sitting up, taking a swig, then slumping back against Yoongi once he's done. "Depends on the crowd, I guess," he adds after a while, then he's handing the bottle back to Yoongi, pressing the cool surface to Yoongi's chest, keeping his hand there. "When it's just you guys, he's okay with hand-holding, but outside — y'know, outside — he doesn't... He'd rather keep distance? So unless I'm really lucky and it's super crowded out, he'll—"

—keep two feet between you. Right. I never— Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek. Jeongguk had a habit of looking around while walking, even if Taehyung was talking to him about the weather or his most recent freelance venture or missing his hometown, but Yoong had never... picked up on the whole distance thing until now. Whenever the three of them went out, it would always be him and Taehyung getting into really long conversations and heated arguments about anything, everything. And that's normal, really, because, even when they were still in university, they've always had strong and, sometimes, conflicting opinions on things, but still. You're with your boyfriend, who's with his good friend. The least you could have done was to listen and pretend you're interested in whatever the hell they have to say. That's what good friends do. That's what decent people—

"But hey, hey, don't get me wrong. He's a nice guy. You're... doing that grouchy, grumpy face again. Kook is a really nice guy. Don't ever think otherwise," Taehyung rushes, then reaches over to give the tip of Yoongi's nose a pinch. Yoongi groans at that, juts out his lower lip in the ugliest pout he can do, but Taehyung is still laughing. Smiling, too, unlike just a few seconds ago, when his face had been void of any emotion. He would've been a great actor, if he pushed through with things. He would've been great. "It's just— You know him, he cares too much about his image. That's—that's what his whole career is built around: image, appearance, projection. I don't think any aspiring idol would want to have a dating scandal with a guy—"

"Bullshit. He got together with you after dropping his agency job—"

Taehyung heaves a sigh. "He got recruited while he was still in the agency—"

"And he stuck with you through the training program. He knew what he was getting into. Don't tell me he just got pressured all of a sudden because he 'didn't know he had to keep his relationship with you a secret'. That's in the fucking idol rule book, come on!" Yoongi scoffs. He bites the inside of his cheek, shakes his head, breathes noisily through his nose, and only when he holds his breath does he feel three things — the thundering pulse at the base of his throat, the cold bottle still pressed to his chest, Taehyung's hold on it loosening as Taehyung leans on him even more. "He's probably nice, fine, whatever, but he shouldn't have kept you on a leash all this time if he knew he was going to drop you, eventually. That's— He wasn't being fair to you, Tae. You gave up a lot for your relationship to work out, and now he just—"

"No, he didn't—" Taehyung scoffs. He tilts his head a little, eyebrows knitting together in accord, then twists his mouth. "I quit my job for myself, not for him. He just happened to benefit from that—"

"Whatever," Yoongi snaps, then cracks his neck. He can hear the thundering pulse at the back of his ears thumping harder, louder, it's almost deafening. "It's unfair what he did to you, Tae. He's unfair—"

"You're shaking."

Yoongi stiffens. He grits his teeth, holds his breath, then breathes out when he feels Taehyung pull away, his sides suddenly feeling too damn cold. Taehyung is sitting up now, looking at him with the most curious gaze, if the gentle furrow of his eyebrows is anything to go by, and he's smiling. Smiling and twisting his mouth in intervals and reaching for Yoongi's hand to give it a light squeeze, to just hold him here, in the convenience store, where anyone can walk in on them and look at them with either shock or disgust or disdain. Maybe, if they were much younger and, thereby, a lot more panicky, Yoongi would've widened his eyes already and snorted and said, Are you drunk or something?, but then he's never been good with translating into the right words all the wayward thoughts in his head — what are you doing, why are you doing this, Kim Taehyung, what the actual fuck?

"Are you mad?" Taehyung asks, voice soft, almost tentative, then he's twisting his mouth and sucking in his lower lip. On any other day, Yoongi's breath probably would've hitched already, and his chest would've grown tight by now, feeling acid slither up his throat, but none of that happens. Nothing's supposed to be hilarious and Taehyung isn't supposed to be laughing and he is not mad at Jeon Jeongguk; he just wishes it didn't have to happen — and especially not to Taehyung. "Wow, hyung, I didn't think— You're actually mad?"

Yoongi huffs. Closes his eyes, focuses on the expanse of black space in front of him, and imagines a human-sized Jeongguk plush in the middle, beaming at him. "I'm not mad. I'm angry," he argues, words cracking a little when he tastes blood and metal at the back of his teeth. It's not even misplaced wrath or anything — if Jeongguk wasn't ready to do all intimate things couples normally did, whether they be a girl and a boy or two boys who'd taken nearly forever to get together, then he shouldn't have entered into a relationship at all. If his heart was there, in the relationship, in the connection that he and Taehyung had, then he should've made it clear to Taehyung that, Hey, hyung, I... don't think I can do stage two right now. Can we just keep clearing stage one 'til then? Is that alright? Maybe Jeongguk tried his hardest to ease himself into that kind of dynamic, but five years is a fucking long time, and damn if both of them never felt like something was wrong, that something had to be fixed.

So maybe Tae's an ass, too, grumbles a voice in his head. He heaves a sigh in thoughtless response. Maybe he was the one who wanted to keep going, so he told Jeongguk to try and give it a shot, even if the other kid already wanted out—

"That's the same thing, you know," Taehyung hums, giving Yoongi's hand a squeeze. It isn't hard enough to hurt, just tight enough to remind Yoongi that they're in a convenience store, that they're not in their flat, and that there's at least one other person here who can hear them — he doesn't care who sees. He takes a deep breath, then, and slowly opens his eyes, blinking the image away. Maybe he can just trip Jeongguk the next time they see each other, or pinch the kid's nipples through his shirt — it doesn't have to be grand. He'll take whatever opportunity life throws at him at getting back at Jeongguk. He's okay with little victories.

Now, if Taehyung tells him to get back at Jeongguk, then—

"No," he retorts, then thins his lips into a tight smile. "Mad is when someone's driving you nuts. And angry is when you want to kick somebody in the nuts," he goes on to say, completely ignoring the way Taehyung's lips quirk up into one of those teasing smiles, then he's reaching over, pinching Taehyung in the stomach, letting out a low growl. Taehyung only ever laughs even more in response, digs his elbow in Yoongi's side in an effort to push him away, but all that ever does is to get them closer — Taehyung cackling against Yoongi's cheek, and Yoongi with his fingers splayed on Taehyung's chest, palms cold and sweaty, the pulse in his hand matching Taehyung's racing heartbeat.

Taehyung shifts. Tilts his head a little, just a little, drops a hand to Yoongi's thigh, and lets out a long and shaky breath. Two beats, then Yoongi's feeling Taehyung's lips brush against his skin, exhalation leaving pinpricks across his cheek, making him shiver all over, and he swears he lets out a tiny, tiny whimper. Maybe even a gasp, spilling from his lips without preamble and catching on Taehyung's ears, but it doesn't matter anymore. His stomach is lurching in several different directions and his fingers are shaking a little and goddamn, his teeth are chattering. And Taehyung moves close, keeps moving closer, until Yoongi has to let his hand fall to Taehyung's knee, but he can't bring himself to move. He can't— He can't bring himself to do anything but try his hardest to breathe again. He can't even think of anything else but the thinning distance between them, the way Taehyung's heartbeat quickens — or is that his? On the other side of the glass, it's probably still raining, perhaps even harder, and they should be going home now before they get stuck here for an hour, but—

"You're really gonna let me do this?" Taehyung whispers, words thinning into a chuckle as he ends. He darts out his tongue, licks his lips, leaves a trail of cold where it barely grazes Yoongi's cheek, then he's asking again, this time more firm, resolute, "Are you going to let me do this, Yoongi?"

Yoongi sucks in a deep, violent breath. Here he is, at gunpoint, backed against the wall with no other option but to look Taehyung in the eye and tell him that no, no, this is not how things should pan out, he's just confused and troubled and terrified at the moment, Don't make decisions you know you'll regret, Taehyung. Don't do it, but fuck. He wants to say 'yes'. He wants to nod and to fist his fingers in Taehyung's shirt and pull him close, close, closer, and he wants to say yes. He wants to kiss Taehyung — God, he's been wanting to for years, decades, nearly his entire life — until he can taste nothing but himself in Taehyung's mouth, until his jaw aches and until Taehyung laughs into the press of their lips, but—

"Tae," he breathes out, then squeezes his eyes shut. He is a lot of things right now — silly, stupid, out of his mind, so damn confused because even if he's rehearsed this moment in his head at least a hundred times already, every ending leads to him waking up and breaking off from the tangle of his limbs with Taehyung's — but none of them are selfish. In the morning, he'll wake up and regret ever pushing Taehyung away when he could've had his happy ending already, but no, not like this. Not right now. "Tae, listen: I—"

"I know," Taehyung whispers, fainter than a sigh, then he's nodding. A snort, then he's shifting in his seat but, soon, he's leaning back in, pressing his forehead to Yoongi's own, closing his eyes. Yoongi thinks of pulling away, because letting Taehyung kiss him is just as bad as getting up and leaving, pushing Taehyung away, but then Taehyung is shaking his head, gripping him tightly by the wrist as if saying, You already turned me down. You can't deny me this. Please, Yoongi, don't deny me this. "I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Yoongi clicks his tongue. "No, Tae. I—Trust me, I'm really, really sorry—"

Taehyung shakes his head and twists his fingers in Yoongi's shirt. He doesn't pull him closer but does keep him there, rooted in the weird fit of their bodies, just close enough. There are no words, just deep, heavy breathing and a soft hey when Taehyung pinches Yoongi in the stomach, but Yoongi thinks he understands more than he should — and Taehyung, more than he lets on.

"Hey, hyung," Taehyung says much later, on their way back to their flat, tugging Yoongi closer by the arm when Yoongi does utter a word. "Don't beat him up, okay? He has a really nice face. It'd be a shame to see that get wrecked."

Yoongi looks to his side. Taehyung's cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are half-mast, and his lips are too red, kind of swollen, but his gaze is focused. Steady. He's not drunk, but he's not not tipsy, either. And Yoongi can lie to his face, probably, just so they can get back to walking to their place, so that they can slip under the spray already and wash off the stink of the day that was, but nah. They're too old for lies and games. Yoongi is too damn tired to do anything but just nod, or laugh, or snort. So instead, he heaves a sigh, rolls his eyes, and mutters, "You're too nice," when Taehyung tugs on his arm again. "Shut up. You don't get to tell me what I should and shouldn't do."

"I think you should get a personality transplant," Taehyung hums. He takes a few steps forward, picking up pace, then pulls Yoongi closer to his side. "That way we can live together without me thinking of punching you in the face every five seconds—"

"You can't even kill cockroaches."

Taehyung shudders. "It's called 'phobia' for a reason, okay."

"Well, I think Jeongguk's an ass and that's enough reason for me to think of kicking his ass, so—" Yoongi shrugs. Taehyung pulls away, rough and without warning, and only then does Yoongi realize he's leaned into the touch without meaning to. "Seriously, what's wrong with— Why did I say 'yes' to this again? Why did I even think moving in with you was a good idea?"

Taehyung stops dead in his tracks and looks Yoongi straight in the eye. He's wearing that faint, barely there smile again, has his head tilted to his and his shoulders hunched forward a little, like he's given up trying to make sense of things. And he's laughing. Nothing too rough or loud — just enough to break the thickening silence around them, the distance in between. "I dunno, hyung. You tell me," he whispers after a while, lips moving just so, then he's digging his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel, picking up where he'd left off. It could mean anything and everything, like, the ball's in your court now, Min Yoongi or don't you dare back out from this arrangement now or you're crazy, hyung, just as crazy as I am, but it's already midnight and his logic is shot to hell. So he pushes the thought, the question, the tiny wail ringing in his ears to the very back of his head, promising he'll mull over them tomorrow. Over coffee. Everything will make more sense tomorrow, Yoongi. Just wait, wait a little longer—

"You're weird," he calls out, then grabs Taehyung by the back of his shirt. A stuttered step, then their strides are falling into rhythm, and their knuckles brush where they're wedged three safe inches between them. 'Guess it's never safe with you, after all. "You're really, really weird."

"Yeah, hyung. I know," Taehyung replies, voice thinning into light laughter. It tickles Yoongi's chest and makes him feel warm all over — even more when Taehyung links their pinkies together and he doesn't feel the strange, crippling urge to pull away. "So are you."

They get convenience store food again the following day. Two days after, they try the dumpling shop nearby, and Yoongi swears he'll never be able to satisfy his ramyun cravings with just instant ramyun ever again. They learn how to cook real food, eventually, but, from time to time, they'd still go out for dinner, coffee, drinks, some fun. If it ever feels like a date, Yoongi doesn't call it one. Instead, he just watches Taehyung gobble up his jjajangmyun through the wisps of steam from his ramyun and smiles.

It takes them forever to figure out their shit. It takes them exactly two months, one week, and four days to sit down and talk about it over coffee. And it takes no more than six hours for the important people to know — Seokjin, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin, even Jeongguk who'd congratulated Taehyung without hesitation and asked when the wedding would be — how they got to their happily-ever-after.

They don't get married, but they do get two dogs. Taehyung calls them Snooks and Snookums; Yoongi calls them their kids.

This is the end of the story.

For a detour, try J.

J. On Yoongi and Taehyung's second anniversary of being roommates, Taehyung came up with a game called 'Honesty Hour'. It was a poorly disguised attempt at getting Yoongi drunk before he did and one-upping Yoongi in the survival skills department, Yoongi was well aware of that, but he let Taehyung have his way, just the same. Free alcohol was still free alcohol, after all, and it was always funny, hearing Taehyung talk about bunnies and his existential woes while pretending to be sober. Only once had Yoongi lost, and that was because Taehyung, that traitor, poured him some vodka while he wasn't looking. The result was Taehyung posting pictures of him snoring his ass off on the floor in their group chat with Seokjin and the others, and waking up with the nastiest hangover he's ever had.

He hasn't drunk vodka since. He'd never even let Taehyung pour his alcohol after that. From then on, he'd always taken alcohol straight off of the bottle, and Taehyung had never won any of their Honest Hour Drink-offs ever again.

Fast forward two decades later and Yoongi's alcohol tolerance is now shot to hell.

Fast forward two hours from when they'd started drinking, and Taehyung's springing the weirdest confessions at him, like I actually purposely dyed your briefs pink that time to piss you off and I was the one who broke your Marshall earphones and, "Did I ever tell you that Namjoonie-hyung and I sort of had a thing before? Like, a one-time thing?"

"What?" Yoongi chokes on his beer and wheezes. He can feel something cold shooting up his nostrils and he's a hundred percent sure people who are still half-sober don't inhale their drinks, but— But you're not supposed to fuck your roommate's friend, even out of desperation. But you're not supposed to do things with your roommate's friend without at least cluing him in on it. What the fuck? And no way in hell are you supposed to fuck with any of your roommate's friends when you know very well that he—that he's always—

"Wait, wait, you mean a wholesome thing, right?" he adds after a while, when the tightness in his throat eases. He scratches the back of his head as he tries to dig through the slush that is his brain for something mildly coherent, but all he ends up with is a string of expletives — fuck my fucking life. They say musicians usually draw the greatest inspiration from life-changing events, like a realization or a revelation or a reunion, but he'd rather not immortalize this in a song. What he needs to do is to forget the whole thing even happened and pretend he didn't hear a thing.

"Okay. It was like, uh, a study date thing, right? A joint academic research collab... thing, or whatever it is you geeks call it? Or—Or— What the fuck, you actually—" Got to the good part even before you could kick Namjoon in the balls for all of his philosophical drama? Seriously?, he means to say, but then Taehyung has already thinned his eyes into slits and is flashing him the biggest, toothiest grin. "No, Tae, no. I refuse to— Come on, man, I'm pretty sure you had better taste even if you kept listening to those lame pop songs of yours—"

"Hey, 1D is great. Namjoonie-hyung is cute. He never runs out of cup noodles in his dorm, would you believe that? And God, have you heard him— You should hear him making sex sounds. An absolute turn-on." Taehyung nods in thought, then clasps his hands on his thighs. There's a peculiar upward curl at the corners of his mouth, one that reaches his eyes and makes them glimmer, and Yoongi can't decide if he wants to smush Taehyung's cheeks to wipe that look off of his face or just curl up in a corner until he forgets.

They could've fucked on the same couch you're sitting on right at this very moment, mumbles a voice at the back of Yoongi's head. Then in a smaller voice, so faint he almost misses when lets out a groan, He liked boys when you two were in uni, Yoongi. He's always liked boys. He liked your friend enough to fuck him and if you'd just tried to make a move that time, if you'd just said something—

He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face in his hands, counts to ten, or at least until his teeth stop chattering and the wild thumping in his chest eases into something slower, more... manageable. He is not going to think about all the things that could have happened if he'd just danced with Taehyung after one of their gigs in Hongdae. He is not going to think about all those times they were hopelessly drunk and slumped against each other on their couch, too close for comfort and too relaxed, vulnerable. He is not going to think about the past and wonder if Taehyung would have kissed him if he'd asked to be kissed, or fucked him if he'd murmured he'd been getting off to the thought of Taehyung sucking him off, or gone out with him if he'd just said, So there's this new ice cream place two blocks down. Wanna check it out? He's spent the past two decades trying to move on from something he never had, and he's not about to throw all his hard work away just because of a single drunken revelation.

"I'm gonna keep thinking you actually stuck with the study schedule during all of those study dates. Wholesome. Academic. Intellectual. That kind of thing," he grumbles after a while, then takes a deep, shaky breath. His chest is a lot lighter now, and his fingers aren't cold anymore. He feels like patting himself on the back because if this shit had happened two, three years, he would've dashed to the bathroom, called Seokjin, and whisper-screamed into the receiver, He's always been gay and I should've kissed him twenty years ago and I want to do exactly that right now but dammit, Jin, goddammit. I don't know how to kiss Kim Taehyung.

"It was a stick-your-dick-in-my-ass kind of thing," Taehyung confesses.

Ah, a 'drive-a-stake-through-my-chest' kind of thing. Great. Awesome. So that's why that ass kept insisting Tae liked sausages more than eggs. Yoongi digs his nails into his palms one last time, then he's resurfacing, straightening up, slumping against the massive pillow on his left. "I don't need to know how you guys fucked," he retorts, pausing to look around and squint, but all he can see are blotches of color and Taehyung's grinning at him some six, seven inches away. He needs more alcohol, or spicy chips, or — ah — a bucket of ice to numb him or wake him up from this nasty, nasty dream. Nightmare. He never knew people could actually have nightmares while they were awake. Heck, he never knew it was possible to get punched in the gut and kneed in the balls yet still be able to sit up straight a second after. You learn something new everyday. "Fuck."

His world spins. Or sloshes around him — he isn't sure. All he knows for certain is that sometime between laughing at him silly and now, Taehyung has managed to walk over and press a warm, warm hand to the back of his head, slowly guiding him until he's leaning into the soft, fluffy embrace of the hugeass pillow cushioning his back. And he's drunk. He's drunk off of his ass and he's hearing things and he's going to wake up in the morning without any recollection of Taehyung's revelation or whatever bullshit he'll be spewing at Taehyung or whatever he'll groan about to Seokjin if and when he manages to get a hold of his phone—

He closes his eyes and imagines an expanse of space in front of him. Just black, plain black, with nothing else but a dusting of... stars, maybe? He doesn't know if the evening sky is a legitimate cure for inebriation, but then Seokjin always says looking up at the sky is a great way to just sort out stuff in your head, whether you're an intoxicated mess or not—

"Why would you even sleep with Namjoon?" he asks, words tumbling from his lips without preamble. A gulp, then clearing his throat, trying one more time, "Why would you— Why Namjoon? Why sleep with him?" Why not me?

Something shifts. Slowly, Yoongi opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Taehyung looking at him with eyes wide open and lips parted into a tiny, tiny 'o'. Maybe, if he had less alcohol in his system, he'd be able to make out the blush on Taehyung's cheeks, or the subtle upward quirk at the corners of his mouth, or the way he furrows his eyebrows a little before arching them up, but he does recognize that shy tilt of the head and that faint chuckle.

"Well," Taehyung begins, pausing only to rub the tip of his nose. "Intelligence is sexy."

"A person rid of existential woes is sexy. There, fixed that for you." Yoongi snorts. He takes a deep breath and shivers a little when he feels something cold pressed to his cheek. All of a sudden, he's taken back to that one time he got sick before finals and, instead of studying with Namjoon, Taehyung had chosen to flip through the pages of his book with one hand and press a cool towel to Yoongi's forehead with the other. The kid's just returning the favor. You took care of him on his birthday, when he got indigestion. Remember that?, he'd kept telling himself that time, but a part of him, a huge part of him, knew all too well that Taehyung was selfless as much as he was selfish when it came to chocolates. Whether he'd left Taehyung in the bathroom that one time or sat beside him with a glass of water at ready, Taehyung still would've helped him because he cared. Taehyung was stubborn and silly and sometimes rather difficult to understand, but he had never been anything less than willing when it came to the people he held close to his heart.

Stop. Don't go there. You promised yourself you'd never go back, Yoongi. Don't you ever dare, he reminds himself. To Taehyung, he says, "But seriously, uni days? You were— I always thought you liked—"

"Girls?" Taehyung laughs. He gives the tip of Yoongi's nose a light bop at the same time that he cocks an eyebrow at him, then Yoongi is rolling his eyes and slowly pushing himself back up. His head still feels heavy and his limbs still sore, but he can see better now, can feel his fingers again, can breathe a lot more easily. He takes the glass and goes for a huge gulp, and only then does Taehyung retreat to the empty space beside him to make himself comfortable again, and pick up where he's left off. "Well, yeah. I liked them. Boys, too. I've always liked boys more than girls. Even as a kid, I'd find my guy friends more attractive than the girls? And that's saying a lot because, y'know, Sunyoung and Soojung are babes."

Yoongi scoffs. "Don't let them hear you say that."

"Which is why I probably wouldn't have tried to ask them out even if I were straight! Soojung would sooner cut off my dick than go out with me, I'm pretty sure," Taehyung grumbles in between light laughter. "And, well, Sunyoung is nice, but she's always had a crush on Joonmyunie-hyung—"

"And you're comparing yourself to others again," Yoongi argues. He sticks his foot in Taehyung's side, then twists it there when Taehyung gurgles in protest, when his insides start to turn. "Stop that."

"Not comparing; just stating a fact," Taehyung counters, ending with a shrug. He leans back against the cushions, melting into its touch, then the tight smile on his lips is easing into something just a tad more relaxed. "I've always been a bit gay. I just... never felt the need to broadcast that. I mean, why should I?" Taehyung's voice thins into a chuckle. He runs his hands up his arms, gives them a light squeeze, then heaves a sigh. "Can't I just scout the world for cute guys without saying, 'hey, I'm gay, and if you're smart and nice and into boys, too, then we should probably go out'?"

Yoongi widens his eyes. Or opens them as wide as they can go, even if he can't feel half of his face yet, then takes a deep, deep breath. Taehyung's right — why should anyone be obliged to put their preferences out there, or be forced to talk about their sexuality when they're clearly not comfortable about it? For that matter, who the hell even invented the concept of 'coming out'? At the end of the day, whether you're a boy or a girl or you identify with both, you're a person. You're a person who likes another person, and that's all that matters. He's Min Yoongi and he's sort of been in love with Kim Taehyung nearly his entire life, but he's never told Taehyung about it. He's made a good amount of progress in the past year with regards to moving on and letting go because forty-year-olds aren't supposed to be hung up on their college crush anymore, but Taehyung doesn't have to know. That never did anyone harm. Sure, Hoseok hates (worries about him, really) him for never really coming forward with feelings, and Namjoon has threatened to get him so drunk so many times already that he wouldn't have a choice but to confess to Taehyung, but did Yoongi's lack of balls ever ruin friendships and people? Did his emotional constipation ever hinder anyone from achieving their dreams? Did he set himself up for a lonely future by never telling Taehyung, Fine, fine, whatever. I'm gonna miss you — there, I said it. Are you happy now? Did he?

"If... If I'd known you were actually into boys back in uni, I probably would've—" Yoongi bites down hard on his tongue. Asked you out, taken you on cute dates, seen concerts with you — he has a lot of options, but instead he goes for something safer. Something that won't send him crashing back to square one, and something that won't make Taehyung put more space between them than necessary. "I probably would've tried to get in your pants or something, I dunno. Stress relief. You were pretty hot, I guess."

The smile on Taehyung's lips falters a little. Yoongi gulps down hard, then, waits for Taehyung to say something, to do something, but he gets nothing. Nothing but a discerning stare, nothing but a sort of vacant expression in Taehyung's features. There's nothing but silence for a while, punctured only by the low humming of the airconditioning nearby, then Taehyung is shifting in his seat, sitting on his legs, facing him. It's difficult to make out the look on his features with the lights on dim. It's difficult to see if Taehyung is furrowing his eyebrows or lifting them, or if he's pressing his lips thinly together instead of just sucking in his lower lip — something Taehyung usually does when he's caught in a very sticky situation. Still, Yoongi fills in the words, the gestures, the expressions, imagining Taehyung scoffing and looking at him with wide and wild eyes. Taehyung would turn to him with his mouth caught in a strange mix of a smile and a scowl, the way he always does when he's in utter disbelief. Taehyung would say, 'I guess'? You're not sure if I'm hot? Hyung, look. Look. D'you think an idol trainee would've dated my sexy ass for years if I wasn't hot? Then Taehyung would groan out loud and slap him on the arm, the shoulder, beat loose fists on Yoongi's chest until Yoongi was grabbing him by the wrists. In the end, Yoongi would forget his words, his retaliation retreating to the back of his throat on its own volition, but it wouldn't matter anymore. He'd already won, anyway, and it might not be the cleanest victory but it wasn't as if Taehyung was on the losing end, what with that bright, bright smile on his lips.

Then Yoongi would feel a dull ache in his head, would feel hot breath prickling his skin, would feel someone twist cold fingers into his shirt. He would hear someone whisper, "Hyung—", and he would take a deep, deep breath in thoughtless response. Only then would he realize how close he and Taehyung were already, that the tips of their noses were touching, and that the only thing keeping them from moving even closer was a pinch of indecision, a morsel of fear, a hitch of the breath. If he were dreaming, he would probably lean over for a kiss, but if everything was real then he would probably be widening his eyes, leaning back, pulling away—

"You could've asked, y'know," comes Taehyung's voice, so soft and faint, he could've just been breathing, but it jerks Yoongi out of his thoughts, anyway. Two blinks, then everything is coming into focus — the twelve long inches of space between them, Taehyung not looking at him in the eye, pressing his lips together into a thin, thin line. "You should've asked. Maybe I would've been okay with it."

Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek. He didn't need to know that. He doesn't have to act on it and he will not, because he'd promised himself at the start of the year to stop making things difficult for himself. It's so easy now to just... reach over and grab Taehyung's hand, or to grab Taehyung by the cheeks and just take in everything, or to kiss Taehyung senseless, until he feels his head spinning again and the dull ache in his back burn, but no. Taehyung is probably just hung up on that Jeongguk guy he broke up with a year ago, and Yoongi will not allow both himself and his friend to make rash decisions they'll eventually regret.

But just once, whines a voice in his head in a thin and reedy voice. He brushes it off even before he can feel his stomach turning again, even before his body can betray him and make him cross the distance between him and Taehyung in one swift motion. Come on, Yoongi. Just this once—

"What— What do you mean?"

"What do I— What do I mean?" Taehyung asks, voice cracking into laughter like Yoongi has just asked the most ridiculous thing. Yoongi doesn't take it against him, though — how else would you explain 'if you'd just asked if I was gay or bi or if I liked you, then I would've easily said something'? It is what it is, and he knows better than to breathe meaning into things, but then he hasn't studied Taehyung's body language for the past two decades to not catch that brief lip bite, Taehyung's unfocused gaze, or the way Taehyung literally sits on his hands like he's afraid he might do something with them — something he'll regret.

So maybe Yoongi is still a bit drunk and his brain cells aren't working properly — big deal. Muscle memory has never let him down. Not yet. If there's something every fibre of his being has never forgotten through the years, it's how his chest grows unbearably tight when he feels Taehyung still has a million things to say even if he's already fallen silent, even if he's already thinned his lips into a tight smile, dropped his gaze to his feet, inched away.

"I mean I'm okay with anything. I'm... I'm okay with lot of things. I can eat cucumber now and I don't not like mint ice cream anymore," Taehyung murmurs after a while. A moment of silence, then he's looking up, peering through the slits of his bangs, tilting his head. Yoongi kind of wants to reach over and brush those intrusive bangs away so they can really look at each other in the eye, so Taehyung can stop hiding behind the thin veil of his hair and the distance between them, but then Yoongi is still fifty percent alcohol and forty-nine percent emotions. The last percentage point, he assigns to the thundering pulse at the base of his throat, the tightness in his chest, the tremble in his fingers that shouldn't be there because he's over this. He's done with feeling too much. He's over Taehyung.

"I'm okay with the whole thing about Jeongguk now. I... I haven't felt bad about the break up in three months, that's why I've been going out with you guys again," Taehyung adds, then snorts. "I'd say 'no' if I didn't like something — you know I would, c'mon."

Yoongi nods. Taehyung is right — he'd said yes to a couple of things he wasn't completely sold on before, but those he didn't like he'd always brushed off even before he could be conned into changing his mind. He wasn't easily agreeable; Yoongi would like to think that Taehyung was... just the type of guy who didn't like conflict and feeling conflicted. There were a lot of things Taehyung was willing to give up for his friends and for the people he loved, but the security of feeling certain wasn't one of them.

Taehyung liked adventures and wild rides, not getting into a roller coaster without a seatbelt. He liked spontaneous road trips to Sokcho or Daegu or Busan, not stealing someone's car and running off with it into the sunset. He liked dragging Yoongi from one ice cream parlor in search of something new at the height of winter, but he would never ever attempt to eat anything with nuts, just for the heck of it.

So you'll be the one to try the ones with nuts for him, because that's the kind of friend that you are, hums a voice in Yoongi's head. He shushes that even before he feels his insides turn, even before he can feel his throat tighten, making it harder for him to breathe.

"But hyung, what if — just what if—" Taehyung takes a deep, shaky breath. He lifts his eyebrows, clasps his hands on his lap, coaxes the corners of his mouth to pull up into a smile, a grin, anything that won't give away the trembling of his lips, but all he manages is a laugh, an awkward smile that disappears as soon as he thins his lips into a straight, straight line. Yoongi supposes it's his cue to shake his head and brush it off, that it's the perfect time to tell Taehyung to just forget everything that has happened in the past five minutes, but a huge part of him wants to listen. He wants to find out whatever the hell it is that Taehyung has been trying to phrase and reword in his head again and again for the past minute. He wants to stick around, for once, instead of walking away even before Taehyung can get a word out, because Taehyung always looks as if he's at the precipice of saying something silly and weird and important.

He wants to stay long enough to maybe hear something he should have heard years ago, back in their messy dorm in Seokgwan, when they were much younger, a lot less afraid, but with a lot more to lose.

"What if... What if I told you I had feelings for you?"

Yoongi blinks. He stares, tilts his head, furrows his eyebrows, then he's blinking again, this time in question. He's pretty sure there's still alcohol in his system even if he hasn't taken a shot of soju or a long swig of his beer in the past ten minutes, but he can't be that drunk. He can't be making this whole thing up in his head. His imagination has gotten the better of him too many times to count, but he's never come up with something as ridiculous as this, even on a really good day. Even in his dreams, there's always been a catch, so he squints hard, leans just a bit close, and asks, clarifies, "You had feelings for me?"

Taehyung laughs a little. "You don't get to ask me anything until you answer, hyung. That's unfair," he grumbles. There's still a quiver in his voice, and he still hasn't—can't look Yoongi in the eye, but his lips aren't trembling anymore. Trust Taehyung to be able to bounce back within eleven seconds. And trust Yoongi to remember these things even years after, even if he's already supposedly made decent progress in moving on. "Again, if—if I tell you now that I've always had feelings for you, like from uni 'til military days 'til we... reconnected or something, whatever, what—what would you do?"

What would I do? What would he do? The first time Taehyung sprung a question as serious as this on him, he pulled up all of his shields and curled up in a corner of his mind. Taehyung hasn't thrown any weird questions at him since, but it's not as if Taehyung has to voice out all of his thoughts for Yoongi to get it, to get him. Yoongi can see it in the way Taehyung sits up in his chair during dinner instead of lounging on the couch while popping slices of tiny kimbap in his mouth. He hears it in sudden stillness in Taehyung's voice, in the clear syllables of his speech because Taehyung's words almost always spill from his lips one after another and he always speaks with lilts. And he feels it in the jerk of Taehyung's limbs when Taehyung finally, finally, finally leans on him and Taehyung's muscles keep shifting, like he wants to say something but can't, instead of relaxing into a warm and familiar touch.

He senses it, no matter how silly that sounds. And for all of Taehyung's claims that Yoongi is the most difficult person in the world to figure out, he knows Taehyung knows when he's off, or sad, or just tired.

Taehyung gets him, too.

So he clears his throat, confesses, "I probably would've kissed you," and bites down hard on his tongue when Taehyung looks up at him eyes slightly widened. His throat feels too damn dry all of a sudden, and his knuckles are locking up, and fuck. Maybe he should've lied, instead. Maybe he should've just nodded in response and said, 'okay, that's cool,' because what gives? He gains nothing by telling Taehyung he wouldn't have laughed at him silly. He gets nothing out of telling Taehyung he would have grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close for a kiss. And Taehyung gets, what, affirmation that he really shouldn't have told Yoongi that even when they were younger because Yoongi sucked at making people know what he felt? Bullshit. There are some things one should never be honest about, and Yoongi is pretty darn sure his feelings are all of them. He can tell Taehyung he looks good in blue and that dyeing his hair a lighter shade of brown will bright out the sparkle in his eyes and that he really meant to hold Taehyung's hand that one time they saw a horror film in a movie house, but he'll never tell Taehyung, I think of holding your hand whenver you bury your stupid face in my chest because you're tickling me and you're unfair and you're not supposed to make me feel like this, Tae. You can't make me feel this way. "Then made out with you. Or fucked you, if you were, uh, okay with that. But—"

"But I'm too late? Because you've got your eyes set on someone else now?" Taehyung asks in a small, small voice, then coaxes the corners of his mouth up into a small smile. It's a sad one, wistful, even, but only because he isn't putting any effort in masking the look in his eyes. Taehyung is a good actor when he pours his heart and soul into his characters, when he likes whom he's portraying and if the lines are great, but when he's tired and drained he just lets his body take over. He lets Yoongi see him curled up in a pillow fort. He lets Yoongi make ramyun for him even if Yoongi can easily just buy the yummier version from the dumpling shop nearby. And sometimes, he even lets himself crawl into Yoongi's personal space even if he knows there's the risk of being growled at, allows himself to rest his head on Yoongi's lap, and look up at him in the eye without saying anything and, instead, just breathing.

Seokjin does that, too, except he's got zero remorse for weirding you out. He'll get cozy with you and watch you not-really-squirm and walk away even before you groan at him. Yeah, of course, grumbles a voice at the back of Yoongi's head. Right, Seokjin — of all of Yoongi's friends, it's Seokjin who'd stuck around long enough to see him break down his walls little by little. Half of him is convinced Seokjin has made it his goal to push Yoongi to his limits, see if he'll break or bend, eventually, but half of him also feels Seokjin is just genuinely trying to help, coaxing him to come out of the cage he'd thrown himself into, reminding him to eat three meals a day even if he's buried nose-deep in work. It's just different, the way Seokjin cares. If Hoseok would nag at him for forgetting to unplug his music equipment and leaving his phone to charge overnight, and Seokjin would just laugh at him and say, 'You're lucky you still have a phone, stupid. If you want to burn down your studio, try to do it at home.' If Namjoon would try to sit him down to ask how he felt after running into Taehyung's asshole of an ex, Seokjin would pull him to the side, try to calm him down, then ask, 'Now, if you still want to punch him in the face, then let's go. I'll kick him in the balls. You can do the rest.' Seokjin is both new and all too familiar that Yoongi always finds his stomach twisted up in knots because he doesn't know what to do with Seokjin, doesn't even know why he keeps doing it, but wants to again, and again, and again.

Then ask, Yoongi, hums a voice in his head. All you have to do is ask. He's always just listened to Seokjin rave about whatever new food he's just tried, or offered Seokjin his opinion on things even before Seokjin can part his lips to broach the topic. Given Seokjin suggestions on his latest travel plans, or tried to convince Seokjin that getting a new desk from Ikea probably wasn't a good idea when he was going to move places. "Patience, Jin. Patience." Maybe tomorrow, he can casually slip that in one of their conversations, ask Seokjin, 'Why do I even bear with you?' and 'Why the hell do you do the same for me?', but for now—

"You're smiling," Taehyung calls out, then shakes his head. Two beats, then he's laughing a little, reaching over, giving Yoongi's cheek a light pinch. Only then does Yoongi feel a dull ache in his jaws, in his cheeks, in his still tight throat, and that there's a thin sheen in Taehyung's eyes that makes them glimmer in a way that makes his heart clench. He'd squint harder, if he could, but then the pulse in his temples are still throbbing and he's still a bit sore all over and his tummy won't stop tossing and turning, like Taehyung has just stirred a storm inside him. Taehyung has already inched away, putting more space between them, yet he can still feel the warmth of Taehyung's touch, the sting of the pinch, the pulse in Taehyung's thumb pressed to his skin. "You're a lot more obvious that you think, hyung. Too obvious. I'm kinda disappointed he hasn't picked up on anything yet—"

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Yoongi thinks of saying, but he brushes it off even before it can take root in his mind. He can save his questions for another day; what Taehyung needs right now is an answer. Not one of his long-winded ones that nobody ever sees through to the end, but a real answer, a nod of the head, a spoken word. So he says, "No, I don't think so. I mean, he's not 'somebody' yet," shifts in his seat until he's facing Taehyung, then heaves a sigh. "But I'm sorry. Tae, I'm— I'm really sorry—"

"It's alright. It's okay," Taehyung answers, then reaches for Yoongi's hand. He doesn't do anything for a while, just keeps his palm pressed to the back of Yoongi's hand and lets the steady pulse in his hand bleed onto Yoongi's skin. The fit of their limbs feels strange, kind of weird, but, at the same time, it feels snug, nice. It feels right. It feels like all of those nights they spent drinking while working on their papers, pausing every ten, fifteen minutes to groan about course work and to toast to happily sharing each other's pain. It feels like Taehyung's birthday on their third year of being roommates, when Taehyung did a video call with his family for thirty minutes and spent the next ten crying into Yoongi's chest while wailing about missing his family. "I miss them, hyung. I miss them so much, but I can't go home yet. I know that, if I go home, I wouldn't want to leave, so I can't—" It feels like that time when Taehyung surprised Yoongi with a pizza cake on his birthday, the last birthday they spent together as roommates, and Yoongi yanked the box from Taehyung's grasp so he could give Taehyung a big, fat hug. It feels like taking a trip down memory lane and getting stuck, so he offers Taehyung a small smile and gives his hand a squeeze. Yoongi knows better than to fall for the familiarity of a warm, intimate touch. He's the type of guy who'd head out into sea with slow, tentative strokes, yet drop anchor without him realizing. He's that kind of guy, so he can't take chances — not with the guy he needs rewrite into his life as a friend, just a friend. "Relax, hyung. I understand."

"You're not happy about it."

"Well, you can't have it all. Recovery doesn't happen in a snap, geez. You're weird," Taehyung groans. He pulls away from the link of their hands, but Yoongi doesn't get a sudden rush of cold, doesn't feel a prickling chill seep into his veins. Instead, he feels the pulse in his palm easing into a steady rhythm, something more relaxed. And when he looks up at Taehyung and into his eyes, he finds the same kid who'd walked out of his room the day he moved in, the same kid who said, "Not being a kiss ass, but I love your place. It's amazing. I—I feel right at home." "But hey, I'm happy for you. And Jin-hyung, too, I guess, because... I can't believe he's actually still alive after calling you 'Yoongichii.' I mean— Seriously, hyung, if you letting him get away with that isn't something then I don't know anymore. I don't know—"

Much later, when they're both mostly alcohol-free already and Yoongi can finally count the fingers in his hands without having to double-check at least three times, Taehyung asks, "So, are you ever gonna tell him? Or will you keep torturing yourself about the whole thing?"

Yoongi looks to his side. If I'm super obvious, do I still have to tell him?, he's tempted to ask, but his throat still feels too sore from their impromptu karaoke session. They'd called their friends and told them to come over while Taehyung tried to make his newly purchased Magic Mic work, but then not everyone was up at one in the morning like them. Seokjin was the only one who'd answered the call, and even then he had to decline because, "What the hell? You're telling me to take a cab to Hapjeong just so I can do karaoke with you guys? Can't that wait 'til seven in the morning or something? Are you guys out of your mind?" So they thought, Whatever, we're just gonna have fun, and dialled their numbers one by one again, gave them a ring, and serenaded them over the phone. Never mind that Yoongi couldn't hear himself half the time, or that Taehyung completely blotched Beyonce's high notes — it had been ages since they sang their hearts out. It has been years since Yoongi has last felt a hundred percent comfortable slinging an arm around Taehyung's waist without wondering if he should press a kiss to Taehyung's cheek or whisper in his ear, You're too close. Give me some space to breathe.

It feels weird, he notes. It will take a while to get used to it.

It feels nice, though.

"I don't know," Yoongi mumbles after a while, then slumps in his seat. When he hears Taehyung snort, he argues, "I don't know if I can do it, okay? Maybe for you it's easy, but when you've spent your entire life trying to figure out your feelings, it's—"

"Nobody does, hyung. Nobody knows," Taehyung says, a lilt in his voice. "That's why you have to do it."

Yoongi stares. Well, fuck you and your wise words, he wants to say, but Taehyung has a point. He's spent his entire life sailing through a sea of what-ifs, and he doesn't even know how to swim. So it's stupid, really, to even be thinking of postponing things to tomorrow, of waiting for the ache in his temples to ease. He already sober, anyway. He's wearing his glasses, and his phone is in his hands. Taehyung has already unlocked his phone for him. The only thing he has to do is to move his fingers and pull up his message thread, then type on the screen, 'Hi. Coffee at 9, yeah?' If he wants to make his life ten times easier, then he can just hit that 'call' button and press his phone to his ear until Seokjin answers, saying, 'What kind of asshole calls his friend at ass o' clock in the morning? The Min Yoongi kind, right. What can I do for you at three-in-the-fucking-morning, darling?'

So he replies, "Tomorrow," and drafts a text, erases the whole thing even before he can finish, types it up again. Coffee should be normal and harmless, and he knows Seokjin well enough to be a hundred percent sure he'll agree to meet up at whatever ungodly hour in the morning in the name of good food. He tries to be as casual as he can be, then, asking, You free to have coffee at 9? I need someone else to look over the album concept. Namjoon thinks they suck. I think he sucks. He hits the 'send' button even before he can think twice and screw up his chances again. It won't be the first time he'll be doing it, if ever. "At nine or something. When normal people are already awake—"

"But he's not normal."

Yoongi's phone gives off a low beep. I think you suck for texting at 3am but if you're paying for breakfast then I'm cool with it, the message reads, then comes in another, something a lot shorter. *:3 Meant to send that with the previous but you get me. He laughs a little. Seokjin might not be someone yet, and text messages might be more neutral than anything else, but a reply at ass o' clock in the morning is still a reply. And, in Yoongi's books, texting back at three in the morning can only mean one thing — hope.

"Aaand you're grinning. And you're totally seeing him tomorrow. And you're gonna need to get your beauty rest because I'm not gonna let you go on a date looking horrible, yep!" Taehyung locks his arms overhead before pushing himself up on his feet. Soon, he's grabbing Yoongi by the shoulders, pushing him in the direction of his room, grunting when Yoongi leans back a little too much, making Taehyung stutter in his steps. "Here I am, helping you prep for your date, and you choose to repay me by making me fall on my ass? What the hell?"

Cool. See you! :D, comes Seokjin's next message and, this time, Yoongi only nods in response. It kind of feels weird to not say anything back, though, to not send one last confirmation, so he reaches for his phone from his pocket another time. He'll regret this in a few hours, because he rarely ever texts people about things that aren't related to work, but hey. He's kind of doing business with Seokjin. What he's doing is purely for the sake of good music. He'll have breakfast with Seokjin at nine, and they'll talk about the future of the new group Yoongi will be working with, and they'll end up staying in the coffee shop until brunch without realizing. When he gets to the studio after his meeting, he'll feel more recharged than ever and be able to get half a draft done — decent progress. Then he'll send that to Seokjin for review, and Seokjin will tell him to do better, and he'll retort, Alright. But if you end up liking what I'll show you at breakfast tomorrow, you're paying for everything.

He laughs to himself. He's beginning to sound weird. He just needs some sleep, and to send the message typed up in his thread with Seokjin — It's a date.

Their first date is a success. Yoongi doesn't get to score a second one so soon, but Seokjin does surprise him with a dinner invitation the same day.

Taehyung and Yoongi adopt dogs — inappropriately named 'Snooks' and 'Snookums', but then Yoongi should have known better than to let Taehyung name them. The kids end up liking Seokjin more than they should.

This is the end of the story.

K. "No, it won't work. You're gonna regret it," Yoongi grits out. He takes a long swig of his drink, hoping Taehyung would find it fitting to reach for his bottle and do the same, but Taehyung neither budges or looks away. "Just stick to what you know. You're already doing alright in theatre, anyway. I mean, why waste all the years you've already put in? You can't take those back. Why put all of your effort to waste?"

Taehyung lifts his eyebrows a little. His bangs are matted to his forehead and his eyes look even more half-mast now, with the hard shadows slanted across his features, but Yoongi can still make out the way his eyes widen, the way he parts his lips into a tiny, tiny 'o'. The way his eyes slowly, slowly crinkle at the corners like he's just been hit with a realization, and the way he lets his shoulders fall forward at the same time that a corner of his lips quirks up. There's something there, Yoongi knows it, can see it in the shy twist of Taehyung's mouth, but God. His mind is spinning from all the alcohol and the thinking and the trying-not-to-think. When Taehyung said earlier, We should drink our assess off to celebrate!, Yoongi was expecting just alcohol and junk food, not this.

This, meaning Taehyung dropping his hands to Yoongi's chest little by little, the cool pads of his fingers leaving a trail of cold in their wake. This, meaning Taehyung shifting, moving even closer, close enough that he can count the Yoongi's eyelashes if he wants to, just enough that he can lean forward and rest his head against Yoongi's own, if he so decides. This, meaning the sliver of laughter that spills from Taehyung's lips and the curious smile on his lips as he asks — no, declares, "You're saying I should stay."

"What?" Yoongi's voice cracks. "No. No. That's not— Don't put things in my mouth!" He shakes his head. Sure, he's had enough alcohol to turn his brain into fifty percent mess and fifty percent mush, but he's a hundred percent certain he'd said the right words. He's pretty darn sure Taehyung isn't supposed hopelessly drunk, either, because Taehyung's tolerance has gotten a lot better since he's turned twenty-two and he can now drink more than five bottles of beer two of soju without either gyrating his hips in the air or saying weird stuff, but looks like you're wrong, Yoongi. Wrong again, kid. When Taehyung looks up at him, his eyes are widened a little and stained red and his lips are pulled up into a teasing smile, and Yoongi suddenly gets the strangest urge to take everything back. He wants to press rewind and to hit play only when they finally get to the good parts, if they can even get there. He—He needs to start over. "I'm saying, you shouldn't give up easily. I'm saying you're gonna regret throwing away all the time and the effort you've poured into theatre—"

"And that I should just stay here in Seokgwan," Taehyung says, interrupting, then adds after a beat, "With you."

"You're not listening. Which part of—" Yoongi heaves a sigh. If it were any other day, he'd be twisting Taehyung's nipples through his shirt already, or assaulting Taehyung with tickles because, he's come to learn through the years, it's the best way to get Taehyung to surrender, but then It's Honesty Hour, dumbass, grumbles a voice in his head. It's Honesty Hour and you play by the rules and lying is cheating. Reminding you just in case you forget. He squeezes his eyes shut, then, shakes his head, and takes deep and even breaths until he feels the pulse at the base of his throat slow down a little. Just a little. "Look: you think of doing it every semester but you've never pushed through with it. If you really felt the need to go move already then you would've done so ages ago. Ages ago, Tae. You would've done everything to make it happen already. Shouldn't that be a sign? I mean, I don't think you're the type of guy who wouldn't chase after his dreams, so if you keep putting off switching courses, changing careers, then—"

Taehyung furrows his eyebrows for a quick second. A beat, then he's widening his eyes at the same time his lips ease into a soft, soft smile. Yoongi should know this look because when you've been roommates for close to a decade already, you're supposed to know the subtle differences between a reassurance and a realization, but I don't get it, he wails at the back of his mind. He doesn't get it. He knows Taehyung gets this weird, dreamy look whenever he eats something really yummy or whenever they bump into a really fluffy dog on campus, but there's something about the way his features soften that Yoongi's heart beat just a tad faster. There's something about the way Taehyung sucks in his lower lip now and snakes one hand up, curling cold, trembling fingers on his nape, that makes Yoongi's insides lurch. And there's something about the question that flashes across Taehyung's features, that split second of indecision in hitch of his breath, that tells Yoongi he should say something. Anything. But then he can't even feel anything beyond the racing in his chest, the tightness in his throat, can't hear anything other than all the voices in his head screaming, Do something, Yoongi. This is your chance. Make it count—

"Then maybe you're right," Taehyung whispers. He takes a deep, shaky breath. A loud gulp then he's leaning even closer until their foreheads bump, and Yoongi doesn't even bother holding back the shuddering breath he lets out. "I... I think you're right."

Yoongi bites down hard on his lower lip. Here they are, at gunpoint, where they only get two options and one shot at things. They can lean back and look away now, while they still can, while Yoongi can't feel the mirrored thumping in Taehyung's chest yet, while Taehyung still hasn't curled his fingers into Yoongi's shirt. They can move a bit closer. If Yoongi tilts his chin up a little, he knows he'll be able to feel Taehyung's lips brush against his own, but he isn't even sure if it's what Taehyung really wants. He isn't sure if this is just another game, or a test, or a dream, because he's had more ridiculous dreams before that felt too real. He isn't—

"Can I kiss you?" Taehyung asks, voice so soft he could've just been breathing, and Yoongi closes his eyes. He must have rehearsed this scene in his head at least a hundred times before, but none of them have ever felt this... strange, frightening, And none of them have ever made him feel more certain than before. "Hyung, may I—"

"Yes," he whispers, punctuating his statement with a nod. Slowly, he shifts, resting his hands on Taehyung's hips, then he's looking up at Taehyung through the slits of his bangs. "Yes, you may."

Taehyung lets out a shaky exhalation. It sounds a lot like a nervous laugh, or Taehyung saying 'awesome' in that cute, excited voice of his, but Yoongi's thoughts shuffle to the back of his head at the first brush of their lips. It isn't much, just Taehyung pressing his lips to a corner of Yoongi's mouth and cocking his head a little, trying to find a better fit, but, soon, Yoongi is opening up, tilting his head back, letting Taehyung in. He licks the seams of Taehyung's lips, and Taehyung shivers, laughs a little, sucks on his lower lip. He licks a stripe along the back of Taehyung's teeth when Taehyung threads his fingers through Yoongi's hair and bucks his hips, moving even closer, and Yoongi takes that as permission to go on. There's too much teeth and spit and they're a mess, but Yoongi can't be bothered with technique right now, not when he can feel Taehyung melting under his touch in a way that tells him, yes, I've always wanted to do this. I've been wanting to do this for years, but I've always been so afraid. His hands are beneath Taehyung's shirt and Taehyung is sucking on his tongue and it feels weird, kissing your friend, the same person you've been dreaming of holding so, so close for the longest time, but there's something in the familiar fit of their bodies, in the way Taehyung's cups his cheeks so he can kiss Yoongi harder, deeper, and in the way every part of Yoongi just gives into Taehyung's touch that makes everything feel nice, warm. Right.

Yoongi buries his face in the crook of Taehyung's neck when they part. There's a dull ache in his jaw that will sting until the morning and his lips feel too sore and swollen, but he doesn't care, just keeps pressing butterfly kisses on Taehyung's shoulder, sucks on his collarbone, smiles against Taehyung's skin. There's a hitch in Taehyung's breathing when he teases, "You're gonna miss this when I move," but he doesn't care about that, either. He just muffles it with another kiss, mouths aligning in an inelegant slide. He thinks about his options, thinks of saying 'no', or that he won't have to because he's not letting Taehyung leave, or that Taehyung can go suck someone else's dick if and when he does move to Seocho, but instead he settles for light laughter. He's in no mood to argue, or to try to deny anything, or to fight whatever it is that he's feeling inside. He just wants to kiss Taehyung some more, because four years of wishing someone would look at you the same way you look at him is a long, long time when you're almost always less than a hitch of the breath away.

"Not if I move with you," he mumbles after a while. He pauses, licking his lips, and Taehyung takes that as his cue to steal a kiss from him — just one more. "I'm not gonna let you leave me here to rot in hell. You know I hate everyone here."

Taehyung leans back a little. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly and his eyes are narrowed and his lips are— Swollen. And red. Too red. I did that, hums a voice in Yoongi's head. I did that to him. It's difficult to focus on anything but the slow-forming smile on Taehyung's lips, or on the little blotches of red along the slope of Taehyung's neck, but Yoongi tries, anyway, looks up at Taehyung, and stares at Taehyung until he's chuckling.

"Everyone?" Taehyung asks, cocking an eyebrow at him; doesn't say, 'Including me?'

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Fine, not everyone," he grits out, "Just the professors. And that tech theatre kid who keeps following you around. I don't think I can ever not like you." He juts out his lower lip in a frown. Taehyung still has that look on his features, though, the type that says, Aww, you're really cute or I need to capture this shit on camera; someone give me their phone! It can mean anything, but Yoongi is pretty darn sure that the wide, wicked smile on Taehyung's lips is saying, So you really like me, huh? And Taehyung may try to hide it, might want to keep blinking it away, but the look eyes is screaming out, Well, good, because I like you, too, Min Yoongi. I fucking like you, too.

He takes a deep, shaky breath. He'll have to get used to this whole 'liking Taehyung and being liked in return' thing. If Taehyung is going to stick around for another then, damn, Yoongi is going to have to remind himself everyday that dreams do come true. He could write more songs about it, about them — he isn't in a rush. He can spend the next decade trying to figure out how he's lived four years of his life missing out on something as good as this — Taehyung looking at him with the fondest of gazes, smushing his cheeks with warm hands, and him losing the feeling in his legs because Taehyung hasn't gotten off of him yet and it's already been fifteen, twenty minutes. "You can get off of me now."

Taehyung shakes his head, sticks out his tongue, and rubs the tip of his nose against Yoongi's own. It's the grosses thing Taehyung has ever done, Yoongi's certain, but he kind of likes it. He likes it enough to ignore the ache in his thighs, and his back, and in his cheeks when he grins. He likes Taehyung enough to let him sit there and let him torture him with that wicked smile of his a little more. Who the hell even does eskimo kisses these days, he half groans, half laughs out at the back of his head, but whatever. It's cute, different. It's... Taehyung. It's then. So he only rolls his eyes in retaliation before Taehyung captures his lips in another kiss, and another, and another, this time softer. Warmer.

Their first date is in a convenience store, minutes after they've finally managed to disentangle themselves from kissing. Taehyung eats most of Yoongi's food, but that's okay — he isn't hungry, anyway. He just needs lots of water and maybe some coffee to sober him up some more, because he's dead sure he'll get drunk on Taehyung's mouth again later. He won't mind some kimbap, but yeah. He's more than okay with this, Taehyung munching on food right beside him and looking at him with the brightest eyes. Yeah, he's more than okay with this.

This is the end of the story, but this is also their beginning. Anyone who thinks otherwise can piss off.