Work Text:
Practice Room 12:45 AM
This is the event that sets the stage for the first time. There’s nothing magical, no epiphany, no cosmic aligning of the stars. It’s routine; it’s everyday. It’s all just so normal.
Practice was, as it always is, long, arduous, and complicated.
“I think my legs are broken,” Hoseok’s says breathlessly as he slumps against the wall of the tiny practice room and slips to the ground. He silently whispers his thanks to Jin for fainting after five hours of dancing and finally ending practice.
“I feel ya,” Yoongi agrees, sliding next to him, back against the wall and feet straight in front of him. “I swear I saw my life flash in front of my eyes by the tenth run through. I thought about crying once or twice, too. That dance instructor is no joke. I legit almost cheered when Jin passed out. Does that make me evil?”
“Nope. It makes you human. Why didn’t you go home with the others, then?” Hoseok regrets turning his head because his muscles have atrophied (maybe, probably not but right now nothing is working).
“Did your neck just crack?” Yoongi asks.
“Is that what that noise was? Thank goodness, I thought I’d broken something.” Hoseok laughs, and damn if that doesn’t hurt too.
“Glad to see your lame joke button hasn’t broken,” Yoongi deadpans before answering Hoseok’s original question. “I stayed back to work on that turn I kept getting yelled at for. Thanks for helping me, by the way. Why’d you stay?”
Hoseok turns to face him, a bright smile on his face.
“To help you. You’re welcome,” Hoseok replies.
“Oh.” Yoongi crinkles his nose, and it’s cute.
“I really don’t think I can move,” Hoseok says out loud to no one in particular. It’s a declaration, an FYI thrown out to the universe.
Hoseok leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes. He just needs a moment to recoup and regain his center. His hair is wet with sweat and sticking to his forehead. If he could lift his hand, he’d swipe his bangs out of his face, but as previously stated, moving is a firm no. Sleep is not what he intended, but he gives in to the pull of slumber when it comes knocking on his door and drags him to dreamland.
It’s that simple the first time it happens--or so it seems. They’re just two tired people sitting in a room, leaning against the wall.
Fast asleep.
Mnet Dressing Room 12:15 PM
The second time it happens, they still believe it’s nothing special. There’s no writing in the sky; nothing spectacular or new is taking place. It's routine, just life crawling along at its normal pace.
“This shirt is freaking itchy,” Yoongi complains, tugging at his collar.
Hoseok looks at the older boy through the mirror from his vantage point in the styling chair. He smiles when Yoongi catches him gazing. Lately, he finds himself doing that a lot: staring at Yoongi.
“Don't worry, hyung. Once the performance ends, you can change into something comfy,” he replies. It would be weird not to when he got caught looking.
“Says the person in the comfortable silk shirt,” Yoongi grumbles.
Hoseok laughs out loud this time and chuckles harder when the older rapper scrunches his face in disgust.
“Okay. You’re all done,” the stylist noona says, patting him on the shoulder.
“Thank you!” He graces her with a bright grin before hopping off the chair and plopping next to Yoongi on the couch. “Sooo, how do I look?” he asks the disgruntled man.
“Like yourself,” Yoongi replies, looking up.
“How disappointing. I clearly said I wanted to look like George Clooney.”
“You wanted to look like a fifty-five-year-old white guy?”
“No, I wanted to look refined and classy,” Hoseok replies, a fake pout on his lips.
“Ahh, you might want to go sit in that chair again then.” Yoongi points in the direction of the stylist. “Ouch. Why?”
“You deserved that punch. I’m beautiful,” Hoseok states as he settles himself comfortably on the couch.
“Mmm, okay, anything you say. How much time until the next stage?” Yoongi asks, leaning back, careful not to mess up his perfectly coiffed hair.
“I think like forty minutes, maybe thirty?” Hoseok says, looking at the schedule. “Yeah, thirty.”
“Good,” Yoongi says, closing his eyes.
Hoseok smiles. Taking a deep breath, he follows Yoongi’s lead, allowing his own lids to fall shut. Moments of rest are a luxury in their constantly on-the-go lifestyle. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He only wanted to be still for a moment, giving his body and soul a chance to recharge before their performance. So when he finds himself being shaken awake by a very concerned Jin, he cracks an eye open in surprise.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Jin replies. “You two sleeping beauties need to get up. Ten minutes until stage time.”
“Two?” Hoseok asks, and it’s then he realizes that not only had he fallen next to Yoongi, but somehow he’s managed to fall asleep on Yoongi. “Oh.” He jumps up.
“It’s okay, I woke you up first,” Jin says with a smile. “Don’t want grandpa bitching at you for crumpling his clothing.”
“Thanks, hyung.” Hoseok smiles as he gets up and walks towards the noona beckoning him over with a makeup brush in her hand and a none too pleased grimace on her face.
The second time it happens, it seems as mundane as the first, so run of the mill that neither party pays attention to it because nothing’s changed, not really, not that they’re willing to admit. Life goes on as normal. They’re just two tired people sitting in a waiting room with their eyes shut. Fast asleep--together.
Bangtan Van 10:00 PM
The third time it happens, well, it may have been on purpose, but Hoseok isn’t really sure. The events are still pretty average, still part of the routine. Maybe it’s a matter of circumstance; maybe it’s because of all the times before; maybe he did look for Yoongi. Maybe. He can’t really be sure.
When he enters the van after the concert, there are more than enough available seats. In fact, the vehicle's mostly empty apart from Yoongi and Jungkook who’re both at window seats. Yoongi is in the last row in the back of the van with his head leaning against the window. The rapper looks up when Hoseok enters, and their eyes meet briefly before Yoongi looks away.
They’ve been doing that a lot: locking eyes with each other.
The front passenger seat is free. Somehow neither Namjoon nor Taehyung have managed to secure it. Hoseok contemplates sitting in the front briefly, for a moment; the thought is so fleeting it’s as though he never thought it. He turns and heads to the back of the van and seats himself right next to Yoongi, so close that their clothed thighs are touching. It still feels natural, ordinary. There’s nothing unusual--it’s what he continues to believe.
“I wish we were staying here longer,” he says because he needs to talk, needs to say words that aren’t cutesy or scripted, he’d done enough of that during their two-hour long concert.
“Mmm.” Yoongi’s reply is aimless as he continues to stare out the window.
“Were you able to take pictures today?” Hoseok hopes for a better response this time.
“I got a couple of shots in. Jungkook and I got up early to walk around.” Yoongi turns his head to face him.
“Ahh, the mountains are beautiful here. I really wanted to go hiking. I still can’t believe we just did a concert in Switzerland; that’s just crazy.” Hoseok can’t stop talking. He’s not sure why.
“Yeah, it’s pretty amazing. I remember when going to another country was just a dream. We’ve come so far.” Yoongi smiles, and Hoseok wonders at the picture in the man’s mind that’s causing the sweet curve of Yoongi’s lips.
“Whatcha smiling about?” He scoots closer and wonders why, because they’re already too close.
“Just about how young we were, all of us, when we started this, and how much we’ve changed.”
“Well, I for one haven’t changed. I’m just as handsome as I was when I first started,” Hoseok says defiantly, waiting for one of Yoongi’s pointed comebacks.
“Nah, you’re more handsome now,” Yoongi replies nonchalantly as he turns back to stare out the window.
The words are not shocking in the least; they call each other good-looking all the time. They’re family, more brothers than bandmates. The words are not shocking. What is shocking are those words coming from the lips of one Min Yoongi as though he meant them, as though it wasn’t a jab of sarcasm but an honest to god belief. Hoseok pauses, unable to answer because he wasn’t expecting those words . He wasn’t expecting it—he just wasn’t.
“Oh,” he replies.
They don’t speak for the rest of the drive. Their knees bounce together, knocking into each other with each dip or bump in the road. It’s rhythmic and soothing, and pretty soon it’s all Hoseok can concentrate on. The action is like listening to music or reading a great story. It’s comforting and cozy, and again without realizing, he falls asleep next to Yoongi.
“Hyung, hyung, wake up.” This time it’s Taehyung’s voice pulling him from slumber. “We’re at the hotel.”
“I fell asleep?” Hoseok asks with a gravelly voice.
“Mmm. You and Yoongi hyung.” Taehyung points, and this time Hoseok’s the pillow. He turns his head and comes face to face with a mop of black hair, and he smiles. “You guys do that a lot.”
“Do what?” Hoseok asks, curious as to what the boy’s talking about.
“Fall asleep together,” Taehyung answers as he grabs his backpack and hops out of the van, leaving Hoseok alone with Yoongi.
The air is heavy with Taehyung’s statement.
As he shakes Yoongi awake, he wonders if there’s something happening. He doesn’t really think so. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Life is as it’s always been. They’re in a foreign country, just finished two days of concerts, and will get on a plane and fly to another venue tomorrow. Maybe he did seek Yoongi out, but that is also standard. He usually looks for the man. They’re friends, comrades in arms, fellow members of the rap-line.
The third time it happens, Hoseok wonders if he sought it out. He doesn’t know. He doesn't think so. The action is as everyday as putting on socks or brushing your teeth. He dismisses Taehyung’s statement because it’s just a part of their life, not strange or weird or different. He could’ve slept next to any one of the other six members, and Yoongi could’ve as well.
It’s normal, natural, and it could happen to anyone. They're just two tired people who fall asleep next to each other, sometimes on each other.
A lot.
Recording Studio 3:33 PM
The next time it happens, they’re in the place that feels the most like home, and yes there are differences (maybe, probably)--but nothing’s really changed, and they continue to see it as normal.
Hoseok’s sitting next to Yoongi at the sound booth, feet in the chair, knees hugged to his chest, listening, staring, and waiting.
“Jimin, you’re up,” Slow Rabbit calls out to the younger man. The producer is seated on the other side of Yoongi at the sound board.
“Okay, hyung.” Jimin’s sing-song voice comes from the left, and Hoseok turns and smiles at the youngster.
“Jimin-ah, hwaiting!” He gives the boy a fist-shake of encouragement.
“Thanks, hyung,” Jimin says as he walks into the recording closet and shuts the door behind him.
Yoongi sinks down in his chair next to him, laying his head on the rest behind him with his arms folded in front of him on his lap.
“Hyung, do you think we should have Jimin try that in falsetto?” Yoongi asks swiveling his chair in the direction of the producer.
“Mmm, maybe, but I was thinking just before the bridge as a lead in,” the older man replies.
“Yeah, yeah that sounds good, that build up just before release.” Yoongi sits up and hits the button to relay the message to Jimin in the booth. He leans back, resuming his previous position once Jimin gives him a thumbs up.
Hoseok stares at the older rapper, a sense of pride filling him. Yoongi’s chair bumps into his as the man begins spin his seat.
“You’re unusually quiet today.” Yoongi turns to face him.
“Just waiting my turn, hyung,” Hoseok answers with a grin.
His face is hot. He feels it run up to his ears, and he’s not sure why— the heater , Yoongi’s stare? He hopes it’s not the latter.
Yoongi arches his head to the side and scrunches his brows quizzically, then opens his mouth, and Hoseok’s heart stops, worried that the man is about to comment on his sudden change in skin coloring. When Yoongi closes his mouth and turns to face Jimin in the booth, Hoseok sighs in relief.
“Jimin, take it from the second verse again,” the producer says through the intercom.
“Okay, hyung,” Jimin replies. It’s Jimin’s fifth run-through.
Hoseok inhales and drops his head to the side, trying to find a more comfortable position in the seat.
His movements cause the chair to move and bump into Yoongi’s. Their arms brush during the shift, and the contact of skin to skin is like an electric shock but also oddly comforting. Hoseok breathes and closes his eyes. He’s waiting his turn, that’s all. He’s just waiting his turn and resting, with his chair against Yoongi’s, and with his arm touching Yoongi’s. He’s just waiting his turn like he always does.
The producer's voice has him jumping up suddenly.
“Your turn, Hope,” he hears the man say when the cobwebs clear from his mind. “Did you two not sleep last night?”
The question has him looking down for some reason, maybe to confirm what he already knows. Their arms are still touching, their chairs seemed to be glued together, and Yoongi’s fast asleep. He gets up, careful not to wake the older boy, and walks into the booth. His arm tingles; the ghost of Yoongi’s warm skin still lingers.
It’s ordinary, nothing to write home about, Hoseok tells himself. They fell asleep, so what. People fall asleep all the time. It’s not a crime. What’s happening is standard—very, very typical. They work long hours, and moments of solace are a luxury they don’t often get. So when the chance presents itself, it’s wise to take advantage.
There’s nothing strange. Being tired is a hazard of their job, sleeping is a habit that no one wants to break, and touching is… well, they live with Kim Taehyung; it’s as natural as snow in winter. It’s all so very normal. They’re just two tired people who fall asleep... sometimes next to each other, sometimes on each other, and sometimes barely touching. Hoseok wants to believe this, needs to believe this, but the erratic beating of his heart and the fact that Yoongi’s touch can still be felt on his skin tells him a new truth, one he can’t deny.
None of this is normal.
The Dorm 3:32 AM
The final time it happens, they realize that maybe--probably; it’s not that normal.
“Fuck,” Yoongi grumbles, kicking the sheets off and flailing in the bed like a fish out of water. He’s been tossing and turning for the past hour, no, maybe two--he’s not sure really.
Closing his eyes, he pulls the covers up over his face and tries to snuggle into the softness of the fabric in a vain attempt to lull himself to sleep. It doesn’t work.
Sitting up, he lets out a sigh of frustration and makes a decision that he’s blaming the first person he sees today for his lack of slumber. If he’s suffering, well, someone else is going to damn well share this pain with him. The tile is cold under his feet as he pads around, trying to find his slippers. Once he does, he slides his feet in as he stands up.
The dorm is dark, but turning on the hallway light will cause beams of brightness to fill Jin’s room, and while Yoongi may be miserable and seeking company, he doesn’t have a death wish. He feels his way into the kitchen and flips the switch. Visibility achieved, life is slowly looking up.
“Hyung?” The voice startles him, and Yoongi has a small, tiny, minute moment where he screams like a girl (he will deny it happened with his last breath).
“What the fuck, Hoseok?” he asks, clutching his hand to his chest to steady his heart rate. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“Can’t sleep, and it’s not for lack of trying. It felt like I was hurting my bed’s feelings, so I came out here,” Hoseok says with a tired laugh. “Why are you up?”
“So this is your fault?” Yoongi remembers his promise to blame the first person he saw. “Obviously I’m having sympathy symptoms because I can’t sleep either. This kind-hearted personality of mine is gonna be the death of me.” Yoongi walks toward the couch where Hoseok’s sitting cross-legged with his head leaning against the back of the cushion.
“I for one am baffled by the fact that you’re still alive, hyung.” The banter is easy, and Yoongi finds himself smiling as he sits down next to Hoseok.
“Yah! Cheeky brat. Be nice to me. I’m old and cranky.” He scoots closer to the dancer.
Yoongi tells himself it’s so they can hear each other, so they the won’t have to bellow. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to wake the others with their talking. It’s why (he tells himself) he sits impossibly close to Hoseok, causing their bare arms to touch and his skin to perk up at the contact.
Leaning in, he’s about to open his mouth, about to say something snarky and smart-assed about how kids don’t respect their elders anymore. However, something familiar hits his nostrils, and the scent is distracting and disarming. The odor settles in his stomach and as it mixes itself with the very fabric of Yoongi’s being he realizes at that moment why he can’t sleep. A very different statement escapes Yoongi’s lips.
“Well, fuck. You really are the problem.” It’s a declaration to himself mostly. It’s him figuring out the puzzle that’s been bugging him, gnawing at him for weeks now.
“Huh?” Hoseok turns his head slightly and stares.
The light from the kitchen illuminates the dancer’s profile in such a way that it’s like looking at a memory, and for a split second Yoongi wonders if he’s dreaming. Slowly, like a video pressed to play, each encounter with Hoseok comes to mind, each occurrence of being next to the man, of the comfort and peace he feels when the dancer’s scent fills his senses or the dancer’s skin touches his. Each remembrance of falling asleep next to the man plays out before his eyes, and he laughs because what else is there to do. Hoseok, fucking Jung Hoseok , is his problem.
“I like the way you smell, and I like the way your skin feels against mine, and I sleep like the dead, like a baby when I fall asleep next to you, and you Jung Hoseok are a big fucking problem.” Yoongi’s a writer, a producer; he doesn’t mince words. He tells it like it is because, well, that’s what he does.
“You like the way I smell? You smell me, hyung?” Hoseok arches a brow.
“Really? That’s what you’re hung up on, the fact that I like your scent? Taehyung bites people, like with teeth, and you have issues with me sniffing you?” Yoongi expected a response from Hoseok, of course he did. He basically just confessed to the man, but this was not the reply he anticipated.
“I never said I had an issue with it, hyung. I just, it’s just…well, what do I smell like to you? Because—” Hoseok takes a deep breath, “you smell like home to me.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says as he stands up then immediately sits backs down. He’s not sure what to do next, what to say next. “Okay. Okay. Okay.” Now, now he’s not sure what to do with his hands, with any of his limbs really. Yoongi’s direct; it’s just how he is. He’s a writer and a producer, and he’s completely at a loss for words. So he stares, just stares, okay, okay, okay.
They don’t talk. They’ve said all their words. This time, when Yoongi stands up he has a plan, maybe, and control over his body (mostly). He extends his hand to the dancer and sighs in relief when Hoseok’s warm palm slips onto his own. He pulls Hoseok to his feet and into his arms. The man’s breath hitches, and Yoongi feels a bit like a superhero.
Hoseok’s skin is soft and warm against Yoongi’s lips as he peppers the man’s neck with feather light kisses.
“You smell like home to me, too.” The words are uttered against Hoseok’s skin, into Hoseok’s skin. “You are home to me.”
A whine, more like a soft whimper, escapes Hoseok’s lips, and his head drops to Yoongi’s shoulder.
“Let’s go to bed, hyung,” Hoseok begs softly.
Yoongi nods, face still in the crook of Hoseok’s neck. He inhales and lets the man’s aroma fill his being, his soul. Home, Hoseok is home.
Lying in bed with Hoseok pushed against him, flush against his chest, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, they fall asleep, and it’s perfection.
It’s as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun, Hoseok and him. They’re just two tired people who fall asleep next to each other, sometimes on each other, sometimes barely touching, and most times wrapped together like a burrito.
They’re home, they’re together, and it’s their new normal.