INDEFINITE HIATUS

it’s his fault, namjoon supposes, for never payingenough attention while he’s walking. it’s happened too many times before in thepast, left too many bruises on his poor, suffering backside, had his armsscratched until they were bleeding all over the concrete. it’s a regular occurrence,really, there’s no other explanation as to why he’d be lying flat on the groundwith a squirming body on top of his own, except that it’s completely andutterly his own fault once again.

“hnngh,” the body – it’s a boy, namjoon deduces fromthe broadness in his shoulders, tan and toned arms struggling to steadythemselves on namjoon’s chest (and effectively knocking all air out of him inthe process), the short but thick mop of brown hair on top of a restless headand-

the eyes. those big, glistening eyes, full of panicand fear.

wait a second.

“what are you-” namjoon starts, but the boy sits upuntil he’s straddling him, ass pressing right into namjoon’s crotch in a waythat has him gawking, nose high in the air and scanning the area in search ofsomething. or someone.

“shush!” the boy says, lifting his abnormally large handto land a finger on namjoon’s lips and shutting him up. his fingers are slightlystained with the dirt scattered along the pathway – they’re in a park, afterall, it’s to be expected, only namjoon’s never thought he’d be inspecting thespecks of dust so closely to his face. but never mind all that, namjoon doesn’tcare about his clothes getting dirty in the slightest when he has an additionalweight unintentionally grinding against his groin whenever the boy moves.

maybe it’s for the best he reduces his movements to asminimal as possible.

“there!” the boy screams, suddenly, removing his handfrom namjoon’s lips so fast he hits the man on the ground in the nose, “therehe is! yoongi! stop running!”

namjoon cranes his head back, careful not to hurthimself even more, to look into the direction the boy’s pointing in. he seesnothing at first, no trace of this ‘yoongi’ person, nothing besides a fewpassersby ignoring their little scene, too lost in their own world, and a smalllump of fur with a long, fluffy tail escaping their line of vision and unmistakablycarrying something way too big for its body in between its teeth.

namjoon’s so concentrated on trying to figure out what the hell is going on that he barelynotices the boy scrambling up to his feet and exposing namjoon’s growing semito the world. he fumbles with his limbs when he notices, crossing his legs tomake it less visible and his face completely heating up but, to his peculiar luck,the stranger is looking nowhere near at him.

“what are you waiting for?!” namjoon’s acknowledgedonly when he fails to get up immediately, earning him a kick in the side by a very pointed converse sneaker, “help mecatch that cat! he stole my wallet!”

namjoon stares – approximately for a millisecond – butdecides against questioning this handsome man’s intentions. instead, he strugglesto steady himself upright and follow the cat pursuer, who’s already boltingdown the small grass path the pet has disappeared in.

half an hour into their date and namjoon still can’tfigure out where he knows hoseok from.

he’s sensed it the second they’ve met at therestaurant. it’s a blind date, he’s been set up by yoongi who constantly claimsnamjoon needs to “get out more” and “experience life to the fullest”. namjoon’smore than happy experiencing his life through literature and games, thank youvery much. the few instances he’s went out with his best friend and his loudsquad of drunkards never ended well for him.

well. except that one time…

“so,” hoseok speaks up and namjoon’s attention is instantlydiverted from memorizing every pore on his nose to compare it to whatever hazymemory he has in his brain, “seoul university, right? what’s your major?”

“philosophy,” namjoon shoots back immediately. he’squite passionate about his major, though he could’ve pursued so many differentcareer options as his parents never fail to mention whenever he calls.

“wow, that sounds…” hoseok trails off, searching foran appropriate term. his chopsticks play around in the rice on his plate andnamjoon’s gaze falls back to the shape of his long, lean fingers, looking sosoft to the touch, “extremely boring,” he laughs eventually, “though i’m surethere’s a certain pleasure to be found in reading countless philosophers sayingthe same things throughout the centuries.”

something in namjoon’s blood boils at that – the beginningsof a passionate debate, which he absolutely adores – but then hoseok picks up asausage from the grill in the middle of the table and brings it to his mouth,lips wrapping around the meat and sucking it in and-

“oh my god,”namjoon all but shrieks, and causes every single head in the barbecue place toturn around to stare at him for good ten seconds, “you’re the guy – from theparty- you!”

“me?” hoseok’s eyebrows shoot up to disappear behindhis hairline, the half-eaten sausage still dangling from his mouth in the mostdistracting of ways and namjoon’s entire face lights up in embarrassment, “whatabout me?”

now, namjoon remembers, as clear as a day or well – asclear as memories can come when they’ve been made with alcohol poisoning one’sveins. it was three months ago, at a new year’s party, one of theaforementioned rare occasions yoongi’s managed to talk namjoon into leaving hisdorm for a whole night and namjoon, poor, innocent, inexperienced namjoonforgot to calculate the strength of tequila mixed with lightweight drinkers.

somehow, he ended up with his dick down a stranger’sthroat in the back alley of the club they were in.

and even if he was smashed to the point of shaky legsstruggling to keep him upright and solely dependent on his semi-tight grip onthe guy’s hair, he knew he wouldn’t be able to forget his face that easily. notwhen his vision was so blurred the only things he could focus on for a longerperiod of time were hoseok’s flushedcheeks and lips swollen red while eagerly sucking on his cock.

“that time- at new year’s,” namjoon stutters out,quieter this time, body heating at the train of remembrance that overwhelmshim. hoseok stares at him in bewilderment, but he’s thankfully finished thesausage. now namjoon can calmly stare at his lips glowing with grease, andwonder silently to himself how they’d taste like if he leaned over and-

“this new year’s?” hoseok asks, breaks namjoon out ofhis fantasy like he’s stepped on his head. namjoon shakes it off, though, triesto keep himself composed when his brain is torn between drinking in hoseok’s etherealappearance before him and murdering yoongi in cold blood for setting him upwith his past (and only) drunken hookup by accident.

“y-yeah, you- you gave me a blowjob in the back alley,”namjoon nods, ashamed for even having to say those words out loud. and then –then, to his absolute horror, hoseok furrows his brows and leans his elbow onthe table top, resting his chin on the back of his knuckles and scarilyresembling The Thinker.

“which one?” he asks, and all oxygen leaves namjoon’slungs.

“what do you mean whichone! do you do this on a regular basis or?!” he shouts in agony, asdramatic as ever, and internally screams even louder when hoseok’s firstinstinct is to burst out laughing.

“chill dude,” he says through tears, “i’m just messingwith you.”

“oh,” namjoon says, quite dumbly if he can say sohimself, straightening up in his chair like a withering asparagus, “right. ofcourse.”

“i’ve been trying to remember why you’re so familiarsince i saw you walk in but now it all makes sense,” hoseok waves his hand infront of namjoon’s face, and when namjoon blinks a few times, he realizeshoseok’s offering him a slice of freshly barbecued pork. his fingers around thechopsticks are automatic when he moves to take it from him, “granted, from whati recollect we were both literally smashed it’s a surprise we remember eachother even in the slightest.”

the glint in hoseok’s irises is teasing, but the smirkon his lips is something more. he watches namjoon take a bite out of the porkand namjoon has a strange feeling that hoseok’s considering how he should repaythe favor.

he coughs into the meat, and reaches for a half-emptybottle of drink on his right, “more soju, yeah?”

a sense of déjà-vu overcomeshim when hoseok lifts up his shot glass so he can pour the alcohol in it, hisbright smile not wavering even once.

this is stupid, yoongithinks to himself, browsing through racks and racks of valentine’s day cards,all ranging from obnoxiously red to neon fucking pink. who the fuck devotes so much time for designing all these lame asscards-

“i don’t think they’re that lame,” a voice speaks up next to him and, fuck, yoongi hasn’t even realized he’s been mumbling to himself outloud. way to go, idiot, he groans, you’re doing a nice job of living up to thegrumpy single old man stereotype.

“right,” he clears his throat lamely, reaching out tograb the first card his hands could reach. to his luck, it’s a dusty pink one,with a long poem written on the front. something about everlasting love, the thumpingheartbeat when the poet looks at their significant other…

“oh, that’s romantic,” the guy, quite a few inchestaller than yoongi, he notes with disdain, leans over so he can read the sonnetmore clearly. that, naturally, means he has to invade yoongi’s personal bubble,one he’s worked very hard to build.there’s a protest ready on his tongue, but he catches a whiff of the guy’s –no, this boy can’t be older thantwenty, surely, not with those big puppy eyes and youthful glowing skin – scentand involuntarily, his stomach clenches.

he smells like fucking wild cherries.

it takes two whole minutes for yoongi’s brain to catchup with his ears and for him to realize the taller boy is saying something. “what?”he asks dumbly, and the boy laughs, all deep and raspy and with wrinkles nearthe corners of his eyes like the amusement he’s feeling is genuine, and yoongi finds himself dropping the card unceremoniouslyto the floor.

some women behind them giggle at him, but if he allowshis cheeks to get even redder, he’ll probably pass out. which is totally uncooland contrasts with yoongi’s aloof, constantly unbothered image. which, of course, yoongi can never allowto happen.

then the guy opens his mouth again, and yoongi forgetseverything in a matter of seconds, “i was just wondering if you’re buying acard for someone?”

yoongi laughs. he can’t help it – it’s instinctive.the guy is still looking at him with that stupidamusement in his eyes, though he can practically feel his mood dropping asyoongi’s laugh grows hysterical before he manages to tone it down, “ah, no,” hesays finally, his own stupidity and awkwardness catching up with him quick. ifnamjoon and hoseok saw him right now, they’d be having a fucking blast, “single and proud, i am. but it’shard not to notice the cards considering how fucking anno-” he breaks off,glancing up (seriously, how tall isthis guy, for real?) at the boy’s interested smile, “loud, i mean, how loud thecolors are. there’s so many of them. i was just-”

“curious?” the boy supplies and yoongi nods, reliefwashing over him, “your reason is so much better than mine, honestly,” he addsafter a moment, a wistful sigh escaping him when he looks back to the racks.

you don’t care whathis reason is, yoongi reminds his own brain, just say ‘oh that’s too bad’ and fucking leave.

“so, uh, what’s your excuse?” he ends up askinginstead. stupid stupid stupid-

“it’s embarrassing,” the boy blushes, all flustered and shit, looking ashamed to the bone andyoongi has to fight back the urge to hug him or something. god. since when is he so affected by cute strangers? who may or maynot resemble baby animals and sunshine and everything good in the world?

“trust me,” yoongi drawls, his pathetic attempt at acomforting tone, “can’t be worse than a bitter old man complaining about theday of loved ones in a convenience store.”

at least he’s made him laugh, some of his blushredacting. his skin is still wonderfully tan, unmarred and pristine, and yoongihas a difficult time looking away, back to his glossy eyes, “ah well… i like tobuy a bunch of cards every year and talk to random strangers i find cute inhopes of scoring a date.”

“oh,” yoongi mutters. his heart soars in his chest –holy fucking shit dude, you’re being flirted with – but his mind is erasedblank, like someone’s poured a bucket of water over him, and he can’t figureout anything to say.

“it’s stupid, really,” the boy continues, waving hishand in front of yoongi’s face but he barely feels the soft turbulence of air, “nobodyever asked me what i’m doing before, they either ignore me or say they’retaken, i’ve clearly seen to many romantic comedies…”

“the name’s yoongi,” yoongi interrupts, effectivelyshutting up the boy’s rambling, “though it’s hyung to you, i assume.”

the boy smiles, again, and it feels like someoneinjected sunlight into yoongi’s veins, again,“taehyung, kim taehyung,” he bows slightly, “nice to meet you, hyung.”

he makes the decision in a split second; fuck it, it’s not like he has anythingto lose, and he’d much rather use whatever’s left of his eyesight on taehyung’swide boxy grin than the mixtures of pink and red abominations in front of him, “i’mfree right now so if you wanna get coffee or somethin’, listen to me hate onthis pointless holiday for like, two hours or whatever.”

well, now that it’s out there, it’s a live or diesituation. taehyung can either tell him to fuck off or accept his proposal, andyoongi’s stomach swells at both possibilities.

but then, then taehyung’s nodding along, and yoongiwould never admit to the weight lifting off his chest and allowing him tobreathe, not even years from this moment.

“yeah,” taehyung agrees, “yeah, that sounds great.”